Or even just: you are resting at home, waiting for harvest to come around and patching the holes in the roof in the meantime, when suddenly an elven raiding party comes over the hill to the west, seeking war no doubt for some minor trading incident in a mountainside fort... So you pick up your pitchfork and defend your home from the hippies, stabbing through throats and bashing in skulls through wooden caps, your brawny arms (built up from the months of plowing, tilling, reaping, gathering) glistening with sweat and frightening off the less motivated soldiers. And when your homestead is safe and you hear that the fighting has moved towards the town square, you take a few moments to find your hatchet and your leather coat before setting out again. On the way you meet up with the grizzled old veteran who is now coming out of retirement to defend the town, and join his rag-tag squad, taking the elves in the flank while they are distracted by the defensive line set up near the well.
After the elves are driven out, you are tasked with carrying news of the attack to the capital, being a hardy individual and a decent outdoorsman. You are given a horse, but it is eaten by wolves two days in and you barely escape with your life. By the time you reach the capital, having walked through the mountains for five days, ambushing wildlife for food and drinking from brooks when you find them, you look more a beggar than a herald; but your letter is taken seriously, as the scouts' reports tell of an elven army approaching from the west. The city guard has set about checking over the defenses, but most of the army is away on a joint venture with the humans with the goal of neutralizing a nearby goblin tower. You are drafted into the Guard, assigned a barracks (with a bed and cooked food, thank the gods) and told to report to the armory in the morning.
At first light, you are standing outside the armory with a hundred other men, few who look any better off than yourself. The administrator at the door is saying something but you only hear it as it ripples through the crowed. "Those with weapons proceed on to the citadel, where a cap and bodkin will be issued." Your hatchet was lost in a river during your travels, so you wait. The armorer begins passing out whatever weapons are left, and when your turn comes, you receive a tarnished but well-made bronze battle-axe.
That evening finds you behind the western gate, on the front lines of the defense. The elves batter down the rotted wooden doors and your mind focuses on the task at hand: Survive the war tigers...
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Topic: Thoughts on future adventure mode... (Read 871 times)