To be an adventurer. One of the elite class of brave souls who travel Eldaria and fight the blight of monsters wherever they are found. Picture rippling muscles, clad in magical armor, perhaps artfully splattered with the viscera of monsters smote in twain. Or- ooh- alternatively, a severely tasteful robe, dusted - equally artfully - with the ashes of enemies immolated with eldritch fyre. Now picture these paragons of heroism sitting astride their muscled warhorses, surrounded by the cheering, garland-throwing peasants of a hamlet they have saved from the blight. Now throw that image out, because this isn't that story. Instead, picture a group of adventurers who are not skilled, have slain nothing, don't own any armor worth burnishing and would probably misspell 'eldritch' if given a chance. While the saying holds true that 'everybody has to start at zero' it might also be posited this misfit band of eager wannabes are starting somewhere in the negative. Bards are not going to be composing any epic ballads about their exploits anytime soon, unless it's in the form of a cautionary tale. But despite all these setbacks, they are destined to save the world, right?No. But they might anyway.