Adventurers of Tempered Vale, old and new, gather in the Stonehill Inn. They collect around the now-famous Stonehill Map like iron filings around a lodestone. They plot their alliances and excursions in search of power, knowledge, glory and riches.
Perry O'dershed, unusually quiet until now, lifts his head to speak to them. His voice is low, but audible to those he addresses. His eyes move across the faces of the gathered. He leans in. At first, it seems he might be about to reveal a monumental score waiting to be plundered in the Dark Wood.
Perry O'dershed, unusually quiet until now, lifts his head to speak to them. His voice is low, but audible to those he addresses. His eyes move across the faces of the gathered. He leans in. At first, it seems he might be about to reveal a monumental score waiting to be plundered in the Dark Wood.
Attend, friends. I will tell you what dangers loom, menacing Tempered Vale and Drellin's Ferry.
By now, you have surely noticed the guard is more on edge than seems right. Guard Captain Sildar is taking pains not to alarm the whole of Tempered Vale, so he might appreciate your discretion among those who are not able to do more than disrupt the town with their panicking.
Southwest, in the Wyrmsmoke mountains, a goblin horde assembles. Here is why we think they plan to march north, taking at least Drellin's and the Vale: hobgoblins.
Bands of them are patrolling northward, toward us. In my estimation, they are scouting for waypoints, supply routes and to gauge resistance before their mass in Wyrmsmoke advances, rolling over the denizens, here.
The hobgoblins are well equiped, wearing mail and clothes of red and black, skilled with bow and blade and arcane powers. They command infernal beasts that disappear in clouds of black smoke when vanquished. Perhaps you have met these burly bastards in your own travels. Some bear symbols of Tiamat the Chromatic, Undying Dragon Queen of Chaos.
You have noticed a number of Sildar's new guard recruits in training? You may have seen me sparring with them. They are all brave souls, willing to die to protect their homes, their families. However, they may be able to hold their equal number in goblins, but not much more.
You, as I, must choose if you wish to abandon the Vale and leave these folk to perish or if we will stand for them to give them, in spite of their weakness, the chance to hold the gift of life. Make your choices.
However the Wheel turns, amen.
I, Peregrine of the Watershed, will stand. I must.
To the south, at the Watershed in the mountains, there, stands my Clan. Though they stand strong, stronger than I, by the numbers that gather in the Wyrmsmoke they will be overrun. I cannot allow this. I must stand between here and there, if only to die in an effort to bend the wave to cresting that it might wane before washing over them.
I will not wait here, though you might. My heart is in the wild, and I will meet the enemy there. I plan to head west tomorrow, making my way toward Drellin's Ferry and, unless Alumae, captain of their guard, has other plans, I will go on to Wrath Keep which is held by the goblinoids. If it is in the course of the Turning of the Wheel, I will find Wyrmlord Koth on my journey and return his blood to the soil. It is not clear whether he leads the horde, or is merely a fatter tendril of its mass, but I will seek him out.
May the Turning favour us all with glory.
Who of you will join me?
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