More history of the Rogue Collective:
Determined to settle Low Torch’s plague of nighttime attacks, the Rogue Collective plotted every step and path and paved a course to rid the crossroads of what seemed to be possessed statues of macabre design. All the while entangled in the secrets of Eaglestride and his rash actions and remaining headstrong in bad blood with local hunters and savages.
A life-changing secret revealed, the party now lives in a time thousands of years ahead of the time from where they thought they were. All but one of the Collective handles it in solemn stride. Kain, the ever aggressive, with the scent of blood in the air and soil, no longer in the shadow of his full blooded brother and the ones he hates so much now rotting underground chose to part ways. The name of his homeland was spoken unchanged, and he took north to live out his days atop a throne of skulls in rule of his Orc brethren as he believes is his birthright. Without so much as a word goodbye, he slipped into the brush leaving nary a footprint nor broken branch.
Tired of a lack of answers and no tether to his Gods, Taliessen begrudgingly informed his compatriots that he could not continue on this journey without guidance and explanation from his deities. With a promise to return as quickly as he could, Taliessen took leave to find guidance in his pilgrimage and purpose in this strange land.
As celestial coincidence would have it a worshiper of the Goddess Dziewona, Leader of The Hunt and the March, approached the Collective in admiration of their mission and their ability to walk victoriously from incredible detriment. His name was Jax, a Minotaur with a corrupted birth looking to satiate his bridled bloodlust on The Hunt and stalking of prey stronger than he. He expressed a desire to add to their numbers and was welcomed with guarded acceptance.
All chaos came to answer underneath a full moon in the middle of the night. The Rogue Collective sniffed out a trail of blood magic to the now dead caster and its anchor, the home of which he lived. Believed to be the cause of living gargoyles they burned it to cinders defending themselves from the grasp of the dying monoliths as the statues dragged themselves from riverbed and brush to halt them.
As the inferno devoured the house, in a sea of howls heard only within each other’s minds, the statues crumbled to pebble and dust.
With only a few hours ahead of them, exhausted from the final stand, the Rogue Collective were persistent in their promise to Drow spies to deliver the head of the traitor of Low Torch, Goddard Eaglestride, by moon’s peak. In the culmination of a near suicidal mission, the Rogue Collective stood bloodied with one foot in the grave over the corpse of Eaglestride who tore his way through them all desperate for an escape and a second chance despite his secrets. Head in hand, said trophy was exchanged for reward and removal of the curse on Low Torch. The Collective, under the now tranquil night sky, retreated to the Inn for a well-deserved rest. Looking to take advantage as quickly as they could, confident that this peace was not promised to them, only a matter of timing.