You all meet in an inn. It would have been something different, but this was contractual.<br/><br/>The bard Sella Lampwick has roamed the land, seeking a new generation of heroes unburdened by present conflicts, to lead them to vengeance, fortune or glory (or possibly hapless defeat. Bards are like that sometimes!). What she has found has been... less than inspiring, a raw band of misfits to rival an urchin gang and a roughly comparable amount of dirt. But still! Heroes are cut from a rough mold, just some rougher than others. And they're all connected in some way to the prior generation of legendary heroes; maybe some of that has rubbed off, and not in the way that one of the vendors outside is currently selling (what is allegedly) philters of the frost giantess' skin flakes as a cure-all.<br/><br/>The Inndor Inn (its name written in a circle so it never ends)  is run by a dwarf with a truly righteous beard, a gruff demeanor and the constant insistence that he was into inns while they were still underground. It's built like an underground bunker too, stone chairs and all, capable of withstanding an artillery bombardment, a minotaur barfight, and last but not least a delivery of dwarf bread. The common room in the back has some hammocks hung between beds, a grudging concession that the sort of filthy tree-hugging elves who only go to dwarf bars ironically spend money just like everyone else. The air is filled with the hearty scent of sausages cooking - maybe better to not ask how they're made, though?<br/><br/><div class="spoiler_container"><div class="spoiler_header" onclick="hideSecond (this);" role="button">OOC</div><div class="spoiler_body">You all meet in an inn! Presumably a deliberate aesthetic choice on part of our bard. A bit about how you got recruited is ideal!</div></div>