<strong>Eledsford, Oathday.</strong><br/><br/>The Eight Legged mug was perhaps the star attraction to visitors in the small town - the ale wasn't watered down heavily like at most bars, the meals well cooked and obviously crafted with care, and the chairs designed for comfort after a long days worth of travel. Adventurers and local patrons made this bar and inn their home for a night or two, when they were too exhausted to continue, or perhaps too drunk to head home. As of late, festive stories and eager adventurers however had been slowly eked out, instead replaced with more haggard folk, and rumors of dark tidings. Goblins and their ilk nipped at the borders of the nation, sacking caravans, attacking ill guarded towns, abducting or murdering the reckless wanderers of the realms. And people were beginning to worry. These were not random, unfortunate acts. These were calculated - unusual for goblin kind, and worse, coordinated with a precision that few would directly attribute to the diminutive greenskins. They were being led by something darker, fiercer. And few knew who that was, a horror story in the making that was shrouded in mystique and shadow.<br/><br/>Few knew, but perhaps one woman at the tavern did. At one table there was to be a group of travelers, much like any other party coming across this inn. Yet, however unlike many of them this group had a purpose, a reason for being. And knowledge of the threat, the true danger that threatened not just this nation and its people, but any that the brute known as Kraetos could get his greedy, hungering grip upon. Dark days awaited the realms ahead, but it could not be stated that the lands weren't without heroes in this hour. Could they rise to the challenge? Or would they fall before the threat that had claimed so many others?<br/><br/>It was early evening, the sun only beginning to wane in the sky, the beautiful moon slowly making its rise and peak, to envelop the world in the blessed cover of night for good or ill.