Ready and determined to seek adventure on the Isle of Wyrmgrave, your grand visions of wealth, glory and fame have taken a turn to more humble beginnings. Your meager purse of silver coins will pay for a few more days of room and board in the common room at the Salty Shark, Torrenport’s premier boarding establishment for sailors and adventurers down on their luck. Even multiple visits to the port master, Garren Dellehue, yielded nothing since most work is given to retainers of the Island Lords. Perhaps a new career as fishermen or crab wranglers is in order.
On the eve of your last nights meager stay at the Salty Shark, the last rays of sunlight giving way to dusk reflect off your watery bowl of fish soup, and find yourself scrutinizing the stale chunk of bread in your hand and attempt to divine a brighter future from it. Just as you think you’re on to something, you are rudely interrupted by a dockhand bursting through the tavern door, and calling you by name, and a few others as well. While passing curious looks back and forth from the dockhand and at each other, he yells, “Get off yer arses, you layabouts! The port master has called for you, unless you’ve something better to do!” With that, followed by raucous laughter from the taproom, the dock hand leaves.