The Spring of 1364 DR
Last year knew tragedy heaped upon tragedy; the death of the young king had been the first of many curses. Impiltur and the Easting Reach suffered - but did not break - under the everwinter, whose origin and nature scholars debate and will continue to debate, study, and speculate for many years doubtlessly. Some know the truth, and some believe to know it; perhaps both draw comfort from the thought.
Where summer should have made a promising appearance, not only chill reigned; one fateful night the very skies fell asunder, and the number seven has become a sign of ill fortune, if not the number of evil itself.
But all winters pass. All deaths meet life. All evils know defeat, eventually.
And it seems that the Year of the Wave, 1364 DR, brings with it this fresh promise.
The city of Sarshel, largely evacuated and abandoned in the previous year's last month, has been drawing more and more people to it: the Crown and his lords send more Warswords to replenish the men lost, the Triadic priesthood intends on regaining their spiritual capitol, and merchants and people of all sorts trickle into the city - those who are lured by the Midwinter Festival or the Greengrass Art Festival, hoping for renewed opportunities.
Whatever their reasons, men and women come undaunted or darkly curious to see Sarshel for themselves; this supposedly blighted, battered, accursed city who had been shaken to its core a year ago. Now, it stands scarred but proud in the light of the sun.
Off the Roads
It was a year ago that a great black shadow, a demon, descended upon Sarshel. In its wake monsters stirred; other demons slithered forth and fed on holy sites. When they clawed and screamed their wretched way unto the Easting Reach under the Daemon Prince's blood banner, and were met with their master's defeat, these fiends disappeared - receded, into corners of the land where only the foolhardy or determined would find them.
Now, in sunshine bask the ruins, hills and forests of Impiltur, but the shadows the summer sun casts are thick and heavy. There have been no reports of fiends, not quite; but villagers speak of the black of night staring back at them.
In the spring of 1364 DR, the towns and thaeders of the Easting Reach heave a breath of relief within their walls, but they do not stray far off the roads. Peace and rest seem so close, but the unknown, unseen watchful eyes seem even closer. What one might find out there?
A Path Forward
For all the glances back over one's shoulder, Impiltur does not remain without worthwhile pursuits moving forward. The snows and ashes have cleared, now new paths open and old ones are rediscovered.
Indeed, the nation's hands are competent, and Warsword patrols and Triadic prayers put the hearts of many at ease, but these are not yet times of plenty; only of recovery. How will the landscape be shaped in such a delicate time?
Some set their eyes on rebuilding family and home, others... far upon the horizon.
For out-of-game events, wrapping up in-game adventures and rumours.
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