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- Nov 9, 2022
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The township of Rand, in the verdant farmlands and rolling hills within the sprawling province of Amberglaive, was facing a creeping threat. In this budding bread basket of sturdy, sure folk, whispers bounded in the day, and a curfew held people in their homes early in the night. The Lord, Walhiem Rand the 8th had been beseeched for aid from the forest dwelling Orcs that harassed the locals, some organizing into raiding bandits, others deeming swaths of the nearby Ashbark Forest as theirs to encamp and exploit. Needless to say, tensions were rising higher and higher. The Lord however had shifted the gold to the next best thing. Rather than reaching into the coffers to levy the Armies and forces of King Satorius, or seem weak to his fellow Nobility....the Lord laid put a bounty to draw in adventurers and mercenaries. A thousand peices of gold to Adventurer to solve his problems, repel the Orcs by any means, and recover whatever had been taken in the process.
Questing adventurers began to step forward, ferried in by wagons and farmers that ventured out in the day. But there was no luck in the few weeks that this had began, the bounty crept up higher still as the strings of crimes only escalated.
On the dirt roads, a farmer was riding towards Rand, a rickety old thing, hauled by oxen with fresh vegetables and a small gang of hopeful adventurers in tow. The farmer driving was tight lined, an older man with white hair, a hunched stature as and frumped clothing. He clicked his tongue gently, the oxen urged to move faster as they began to wind about the roads towards a Stine bridge, his eyes flicking along the bridge and hype shifted brush that flanked them.
Questing adventurers began to step forward, ferried in by wagons and farmers that ventured out in the day. But there was no luck in the few weeks that this had began, the bounty crept up higher still as the strings of crimes only escalated.
On the dirt roads, a farmer was riding towards Rand, a rickety old thing, hauled by oxen with fresh vegetables and a small gang of hopeful adventurers in tow. The farmer driving was tight lined, an older man with white hair, a hunched stature as and frumped clothing. He clicked his tongue gently, the oxen urged to move faster as they began to wind about the roads towards a Stine bridge, his eyes flicking along the bridge and hype shifted brush that flanked them.