Return of the Lost Lord
As you look closely toward the hills in the North you can still see the wounds of a war that lasted nearly 100 years. Long tears in the hillside have become valleys of infertile black lands. Those who have been there claim that the musk of charred bone and burned flesh remains in the air. This place is a constant reminder of what hatred and malice produced in the land of Amadar. Loremasters keep tattered bits of tomes chronicling the war locked away in a preserved state to prevent further deterioration. The opuses were discovered amidst the rubble of the Great Library in Lannereth during the reconstruction. This does not deter children from trying to scare each other as they sit by fires, flailing their arms and imitating the clash of steel, creating stories of the evil Mairae raiding villages and slaughtering whole towns overnight.
The facts have become skewed but the tales will never capture the weight of terror that struck the lush lands of Amadar. Not all of the tales of the war are frightening however. Those same children also become excited when their fathers talk about the Veryr. They are chronicled as brave and powerful guardians that upheld justice and brought peace to the realm. Most poets seem to forget the valiant warriors’ names, as they tend to use their own, and some folk believe they embellish the adventures as well. The Veryr’s true gallantry may never be known. All that is certain is that they extinguished the spark of the Mairae. Or so it was believed.
Distraught travelers have begun whispering of creatures emerging from the ground. Some claim to have seen their departed loved ones rise and charge them. Adventurers are returning with ghostly white hair, barely capable of uttering the words, “We’re doomed, we’re doomed, we’re doomed…” The fables have become so recurrent that sherriff’s in the capital cities have begun recruiting young adventurers to their garrison. In recent months, patrols have been sent out to investigate claims but no one has returned. The tension in the air is only outdone by the stinging cold. The lands never get this cold, especially in early Autumn. Those that study the northern mountains are engulfed in a sense that the snow is pacing toward them.
The people are looking for heroes to still the unease; to restore serenity. Will you find your destiny as the champion of Amadar?