<div align="center"><span class="bbc_size" style="font-size: 24pt;"><strong>Chapter I: Stolen Lands</strong></span> (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=XReC6V8xuNs)</div><br/><hr/><hr/><br/><div align="center">(http://oll.free.fr/ShackledCity/Images/Giantdowns.jpg)</div><br/>The lands known as the Giantdowns remain untamed by man, elf, goblinoid, or awnshegh. Known also as the Stolen Lands, the Giantdowns have long resisted attempts at colonization. Wedged in the middle of the northern part of the continent of Cerilia, this ancient land has a long history of being regarded as “stolen” – from and by whom depending on the point of view. In Tuarhievel, the lands are considered stolen from the elven kingdom by humans – or, as the more polite part of the elven society would call it, by non-Sidhe bandits and barbarians. In Dhoesone, the general impression is that Tuarhievel allowed the lands to fall into the hands of monsters and worse in order to keep it away from the human lords of northern Anuire. In Gorgon’s Crown… no one really knows as no one is brave or foolish enough to ask that of the legendary Gorgon. Even within the Giantdowns proper, lands are stolen and conquered in constant struggles between bickering tribes of men and beasts;  fey and fiends.<br/><br/>In truth, the Stolen Lands belong to no one, and are stolen from no one. Many have tried to claim them, but the abandoned ruins and barrows that dot the swath of wilderness stand as testaments to the difficulty of ruling these savage lands. They have remained wild a fierce tenacity, a haven for monsters and criminals and dangerous secrets, and as such have posed a menace to their neighbouring nations as long as anyone can remember.<br/><br/>Yet these times in the Stolen Lands are coming to an end as their final fate is to be annexed by the Barony of Dhoesone. Or at least that is what the ambitious and pragmatic Fhiele Dhoesone, Baroness of Dhoesone of the Northern Marches, intends to accomplish with her newest expedition into the Giantdowns. She would do what generations of Anuireans nor Rjurik before her were able to do. Spurred to action in part by an increase in aggression among the bandits and by building political tensions in the North, the Baroness gathers loyal knights, power-hungry mercenaries, and ambitious adventurers in her demesne in a massive plan to take over the ever-unconquered Giantdowns and turn them into a number of vassal states under the royal sceptre of the newly-crowned Queen. Herself.<br/><br/>Soon, more than fifteen centuries after the Anuirean Empire’s armies marched forth to claim the northern kingdoms as their own, and hundreds of years since the Rjurik regained their independence, the Giantdowns will finally bow down to a new ruler.<br/><br/><hr/><hr/><br/><strong>Darcassan</strong><br/><br/><em><strong>Some time ago, 551 MR | 1524 HC | 2039 Ma</strong></em><br/><em><strong>Braeme, Medoere</strong></em><br/><br/>Even after all these long years after the kindly Delira’s passing, Darcassan’s mind would sometimes wonder to his recollection of her. Especially in times like these: when it concerned her beloved church – the church of Ruornil’s Celestial Spell, the now-state religion of Medoere, and the faith that both understood and encouraged magic instead of fearing it and sending inquisitors to exorcise the occult.<br/>Lady Suris Enlien, or rather, the Archpriestess of the Church of Ruornil’s Celestial Spell, the Sacred Voice of Ruornil, and the Queen of Medoere, was making him an offer he was not sure he could refuse. She knew the woman, although not well, as she recognized the beauty of the jewellery he created for the church a couple years ago. She was also the one who offered him control of and knowledge about his sorcerous gifts. She let him join the talks and seminars the church organized for apprentice mages and others who were similarly gifted, and even spent some one-on-one sessions with him which, however brief, made all the difference in the way Darc looked at the evolving powers in his blood. During each such visit, she would ask him about his time in the Shadow World but even when he was hesitant to tell stories about it, she was kind and understanding. She never forced him to say more than he wanted. She seemed to seek out all the knowledge about the place for research purposes and, as she explained to him, as a service to her god for the incredible gifts he bestowed upon her.<br/><br/>Now, she was offering him a place on an expedition into the Giantdowns in the far North. The church of Ruornil seemed interested in the daring adventure and the archpriestess was prepared to invest resources into it. These resources included talented individuals, like him, who were ready to brave the wilderness and establish a beacon of civilization, with or without her god’s name on their lips.<br/><br/>And so he agreed. He left his – or rather, Delira’s -- shop in the hands of the jewellers’ guild and signed up, ready to face destiny. He joined a small contingent of Ruornilan clerics led by a young Knight of the Veil by name of Sir Arawn Avan who, in turn, was accompanied by a man whom Darcassan knew – the tiefling Victory.<br/><br/>Together, they travelled through Anuire to the barony of Dhoesone from where the expedition would cross over to the Stolen Lands.<br/><br/><hr/><hr/><br/><strong>Godwine</strong><br/><br/><em><strong>Some time ago, 551 MR | 1524 HC | 2039 Ma</strong></em><br/><em><strong>Wilderness of Dhoesone</strong></em><br/><br/>His dreams were… odd as of late. Not as odd as they usually were. These were not the dreams he had come to expect from the spirits that he was so close with. They bore some similarities but the number of differences was astounding. The small details didn’t match. There were always some elements that didn’t make sense – they were too odd to be spiritual memories, they were more akin to oneiric visions. Always filled with the light of the blue moon, they tended to show him wind-swept places full of gigantic rock structures, enchanted forests, and unnaturally twisted skeletons buried deep beneath the ground.<br/><br/>It was a particular time among the druids of the circle of the moon. Every time the moon let itself be observed in its full majestic glory was a sight to behold – and a ceremony to celebrate for them. Even nights such as these, when the moon was not yet fully ready, were a reason to pray, meditate, and dance under its silvery light in the name of Ruornil. Godwine had become accustomed to their ways long ago. The local archdruid was much more accepting of people from various paths of life than his original circle. Günther Brandt, the Archdruid of the Oaken Grove, was originally from Brechtur, where he learnt of a druidic circle that followed both the moon god Ruornil and the nature god Erik. Although he himself wasn’t a member of that religious congregation, he brought this kind of acceptance and tolerance with him to Dhoesone. He didn’t mind that some of the druids he presided over prayed to the Silver Prince and not to the Father of Forests. They all served and protected nature and that is what mattered to him. He recognized the same ideals in Godwine and perhaps it was because of them that he chose him as his representative on the expedition to the Giantdowns organized by the Baroness of these lands.<br/><br/>It was when the Archdruid made his offer that Godwine remembered the then-strange words that he once heard from the High Druid of Hogunmark, Thorjak the Green. You will walk on the moon, among the giants, over the forest, and into the cold darkness where only the crown and crow await.<br/><br/>Soon, the two druids arrived at the Baroness’s castle, in Sonnelind.<br/><br/><hr/><hr/><br/><strong>Nach</strong><br/><br/><em><strong>Some time ago, 551 MR | 1524 HC | 2039 Ma</strong></em><br/><em><strong>Wilderness of Dhoesone</strong></em><br/><br/>Another great beast fell by Nach’s hand – the dire creature would not trouble the forests and the nearby village any longer. Now that his prayers were answered by his newly-found god, Ruornil, patron of the natural world and its secrets, he could easily deal with lesser beasts. He needed a bigger prey. It was his ex-mentor, the famous hunter Renrar, that introduced him to the half-elven ranger by the name Rhuimach Taeline, from the very same city that Nach remembered from his childhood: Sonnelind. He turned out to be a General for the ruler of the barony and, as it quickly turned out, he was looking for an experienced tracker and a fearless adventurer to take part in the expedition into the so-called Stolen Lands. He himself had ventured there countless times but his duties wouldn’t allow him to lead such a party through the wilderness. Having heard a good word from Renrar, he decided to give Nach a chance despite his relative youth.<br/><br/>The half-orc’s skills were thoroughly tested by the man. They travelled through the forests, moors and hills and as Nach guided them, Rhuimach only watched, gathering information about the young hunter’s skills. Nach could only imagine he thought them sufficient as he didn’t say anything apart from making him an offer to become part of the Baroness’s expedition into the Stolen Lands.<br/><br/>When he accepted, Rhuimach took him to the woman’s court where a great feast was soon going to take place in their honour. After that, they would leave and the real hard work would start.<br/><br/><hr/><hr/><br/><strong>Sarek</strong><br/><br/><em><strong>Some time ago, 551 MR | 1524 HC | 2039 Ma</strong></em><br/><em><strong>Sonnelind, Dhoesone</strong></em><br/><br/>Sarek’s latest contract as a bounty hunter was not going to be a simple task. His employer wanted to avenge his daughter whose life was brutally taken to sustain a ritual of magic most vile – a blood magic ritual meant to use a virgin’s blood to sustain lifeforce and rejuvenate another’s youth. The man was willing to pay an incredible amount of money for the life of the foul sorceress but it would certainly be difficult as the magician in question was none other than the country’s baroness, Fhiele Dhoesone. This would take a lot of effort but Sarek had confidence in spades in his ability so even if it took some time, he knew he could do it. He gathered intelligence, listened to rumors, prepared a new persona to assume. He infiltrated the castle and, by shifting his appearance a couple of times, managed to sneak up on the seemingly innocent woman.<br/><br/>Little did he know that he overestimated his abilities. Was it her own quick reflexes, invisible magical wards, or just luck, he had no idea, but the baroness proved to be a swift opponent who evaded all his attacks with ease. As it was her own castle, she quickly gathered guards who overpowered Sarek and tossed him into the dungeon to await his execution.<br/><br/>Or so he thought. The woman surprised him yet again when she came down to his cell. She was clearly impressed with his skill – and didn’t seem to harbour a grudge for his attempt at taking her life. As she explained, it happened at least once a season, sometimes once a month in particularly difficult politically periods. She laughed at the idea she had been performing blood magic rituals and draining virgins to absorb their lifeforce. She was simply a half-elf, born and bred in the elven forests. She offered Sarek a chance to save his life: he could die just as he should for his crime, or, he could swear an oath of loyalty and join an expedition she was launching into the wild north.<br/><br/>The decision could not have been easier.<br/><br/><hr/><hr/><br/><strong>Victory</strong><br/><br/><em><strong>Some time ago, 551 MR | 1524 HC | 2039 Ma</strong></em><br/><em><strong>Daulton, Avanil</strong></em><br/><br/>It was logical to assume that spending time at court in such a powerful province as Avanil would help Vic in securing resources or influence that would come in handy in his plans, but he didn’t anticipate hearing about an expedition in the North. An expedition into the Stolen Lands to be precise: a land so close to the Gorgon’s Crown; a land untamed by civilization; a land with no ruler and no one to channel the vast sources of arcane energies surging through its hills and forests.<br/><br/>Rumours that Avanil’s ruling Prince’s own son would be joining the war party heading into the Giantdowns proved true as Victory learnt first-hand after catching the eye of the young knight. Sir Arawn Avan, the firstborn son of Prince Darien Avan, volunteered to brave the dangers of the northern lands in the name of his patron deity, Ruornil, the god of magic and moon. His declaration quickly received the official backing of the most powerful of Ruornil’s churches in the southern Anuire: Ruornil’s Celestial Spell in Medoere. The man’s decision, however, didn’t sit well with his father who had other plans and did not intend to help his son in fulfilling these foolish notions. After one such conversation between the two, particularly loud and certainly not as polite as the courtly protocol would dictate, Arawn quite easily fell to the charms of his future courtly wizard and gleefully agreed to his help with this epic undertaking.<br/><br/>Soon, they were joined by a contingent of Ruornilan clerics from the province of Medoere sent by the archpriestess of the church of Ruornil’s Celestial Spell. Sir Arawn, as a high-ranking nobleman, and a Knight of the Veil, took command and directed them all to Dhoesone. It quickly became clear that the Medoeran forces included a man Vic knew already – the elf Darcassan.<br/><br/>Together, they travelled through Anuire to the barony of Dhoesone from where the expedition would cross over to the Stolen Lands.<br/><br/><hr/><hr/><br/><strong>Wynne</strong><br/><br/><em><strong>Some time ago, 551 MR | 1524 HC | 2039 Ma</strong></em><br/><em><strong>Sonnelind, Dhoesone</strong></em><br/><br/>It was not his fault. He had said that sentence so many times it almost became true. How could he have known that his last little lie, and the one before that one, and the one before THAT one as well… would come out because of some odd coincidence? It turned out that last gem he had stolen to pay to the mercenaries to rid that one village of the not-so-fake-now raiders had been a stone supposedly sacred to the church of Ruornil, the god of magic? Not that that particular god even had many worshippers in Dhoesone. Neither did he have a temple here, at least, not one Wynne heard of. And yet, there it was, the issue of having to repay them. He couldn’t give the stone back as the ones he gave it to were already on their way into the Giantdowns, so he needed another plan…<br/><br/>It seemed, however, that his mother had other plans. She had finally had enough of his antics and tricks. Apparently, the church of Ruornil had asked for him – by name – to participate in the expedition into the Giantdowns she was organizing and hoping they would co-fund at least one of the groups that would take part. They agreed but they drove a hard bargain. Among their many demands was Wynne’s participation and recovery of the priceless gemstone that was divined by priests to be located somewhere in the Stolen Lands. Due to the Veil being especially weak in these lands, it was considered too risky to proceed with more powerful divination rituals as it could have unforeseen consequences.<br/><br/>The baroness didn’t let Wynne decide whether he would like to take part or not. She had already made that choice for him when she agreed to the church’s demands. She was a good mother and lover her son, but she was also a very pragmatic and ambitious ruler. She knew how to get things done and she could recognize a good opportunity when she saw one.<br/><br/>And so, Wynne needed to get ready. It would still be a few days before all the guests arrive in Dhoesone. But he surely had some issues to solve before he departed for good…<br/><br/><br/><hr/><hr/><br/><div align="center">(https://fastfantasy.files.wordpress.com/2013/01/pine-forest.jpg)</div><br/><em><strong>Barlen, the 30th of Pasiphel, 551 MR | 1524 HC | 2039 Ma</strong></em><br/><em><strong>Sonnelind, Dhoesone</strong></em><br/><br/><hr/><hr/><br/>Dhoesone is a land of contradictions and the fact that it still stands despite all these differences is certainly a remarkable achievement of its regent. The land itself is divided: windswept moor, birch and oak forests, coastal life on the Tael Firth, and upland living in the foothills of the Silverhead Mountains give the people many different lifestyles to occupy their days.<br/><br/>The people of the moor are shepherds, ever wary of many dangers that await a careless human in the Northern Marches. They are, however, a hardy breed, accustomed to the wind and harsh land who live a life only vaguely Anuirean. In truth, they are more similar to the nearby Rjurik with whom many share an ancestry and family ties. Many of the people marry back and forth across this political boundary – a boundary which in Dhoesone bears no actual significance.<br/><br/>The barony is home not only to Anuirean villagers and nomadic Rjurik, but also goblinoid clans, elusive sidhe, and perhaps even more fantastical – or monstrous – races.<br/><br/><hr/><hr/><br/><div align="center">(https://scontent.fpoz2-1.fna.fbcdn.net/v/t1.15752-9/91880339_3151749191585478_2565152806465961984_n.png?_nc_cat=100&amp;_nc_sid=b96e70&amp;_nc_oc=AQlakqmUK35VVMp-O37aBMpgkAZP8SMtRmnwSALM6sVZNrYwRbTWiyMxU7AJmJ1-HmU&amp;_nc_ht=scontent.fpoz2-1.fna&amp;oh=60802a6ffaeebe23b23853b7d7772d17&amp;oe=5EAFE9D9)</div><br/><br/>Sonnelind, the only settlement in all of Dhoesone that deserves to be called a city, is the core of the Baronness’s power and the capital city of the barony. Just like the rest of these lands, it stands witness to many mixing cultures and its styles. Many of its fine stone buildings were built ages ago by the Anuirean Empire to display its masons’ skill to the nomadic Rjurik and to fortify the area against their attacks. Most of these buildings, however, have been rebuilt countless times over the centuries and few had long lost their distinctly Anuirean architectural features.<br/><br/>Situated atop an easily defendable hill, the Baroness’s castle is the greatest building in the city although there is another one not far from its size, namely, the great Merchants’ Hall which once oversaw all trade between Anuire and the Rjurik highlands. The castle is a marvel of finest Anuirean architecture both outside and inside. Vast halls are decorated with elegance that one would not expect from a land that far north and moderation that most southerners lack. Adorned with fineries of verdant green bearing the coat-of-arms of the Baroness in the form of a soaring golden eagle, everything has been meticulously prepared for the many guests and travellers that were invited, recruited, or otherwise became part of the expedition into the Giantdowns.<br/><br/>The Baroness, her advisors and the expedition’s sponsors, in unison and after careful deliberation, selected each member of all five groups that would be sent to the Stolen Lands. Five groups, each tasked with a different quest but ultimately serving the same end goal: the conquest and subjugation of the Giantdowns. If they were successful, their prize was not only the eternal glory of being the one who finally tamed the untameable, but also the very material benefit of becoming direct vassals of the Baroness and rulers of the conquered provinces. Dhoesone offered to provide the resources and workforce needed to build the first settlement.<br/><br/>Having arrived at the castle, adventurers were all invited to private meetings with the Baroness, her advisors and the other people who would soon become their adventuring companions. As it happened Darcassan, Godwine, Nach, Sarek, Victor, and Wynne were all to become one team, led by the noble Sir Arawn Avan, that would be responsible for chartering the central part of the area and dealing with the bandit threat once and for all.<br/><br/>Servants and guards, many of whom display features of half-elven ancestry, seemed to be situated almost at every entrance, exit, or door. The mansion has become a mixing pot of nobles, knights, priests, mercenaries and adventurers, all come for the very same reason.<br/><br/>Finally the time has come for the evening feast to welcome and say goodbye to the would-be heroes of the Giantdowns, soon to leave Sonnelind and Dhoesone behind to head into the danger.<br/><br/>The Baroness spared no expense and it showed. The tables were laid with silver plates and sparkling silverware. The food was exquisite. The number of various dishes, of all shapes, colours and smells, would put a southern baron’s banquet to shame. Beef, veal, pork, venison, mutton, squab, chevon, chicken; thirteen different types of cheese; vegetables and spices imported from both the northern and southern parts of the continent. Servants constantly replenished guests’ cups with dark Rjurik ale, local pear cyder, and bitter-sweet Anuirean red wine.<br/><br/><div class="floatleft">(https://scontent.fpoz2-1.fna.fbcdn.net/v/t1.15752-9/92335156_525902494705043_1894756407819894784_n.png?_nc_cat=110&amp;_nc_sid=b96e70&amp;_nc_oc=AQnmMxWECNJQP5pX77-XnKyyPvV945NZUvhvoCJDLehBnNQ5z1_iEvB47M55F2yuwQY&amp;_nc_ht=scontent.fpoz2-1.fna&amp;oh=7420bd4a10e5d4864be06e2a29442ff6&amp;oe=5EB113FE)</div>The main table of the feast was, of course, the baroness’s. It was designed on a heightened platform so that it would be visible from every corner of the great banquet hall. The chair that she was comfortably sitting in was even further elevated; it seemed almost as if she was not just participating in the revelries, but that she was presiding over them – both symbolically and physically in this case. Looking at her, no sane man would ever guess that she could possibly have six sons and thirteen grandchildren. She looked not a year older than thirty summers, with her pale complexion, dark long hair, and vibrant verdant green eyes. The way her gaze commanded the room, she needed no gold crown on her head to immediately draw attention. One look at her pointy ears, however, and the mystery of her eternal youth was solved. She was wearing a beautifully embroidered dark green dress with golden plant and avian motifs, with a masterfully crafted golden eagle brooch pinned above her left breast.<br/><br/>Beside her sat her sons, daughters-in-law, grandchildren, cousins and their families. Further away, a half-elven man who seemed to remain wary and ready for danger to appear at any moment; an unexceptional looking middle-aged woman whose eyes carefully searched the crowded tables; a bearded man whose green robes clearly bore the sign of Erik; a matron-like woman whose whole appearance exuded an aura of wealth; and a venerable old-haired noble with Haelyn’s holy symbol on his neck.<br/><br/><br/><div class="spoiler_container"><div class="spoiler_header" onclick="hideSecond (this);" role="button">Wynne</div><div class="spoiler_body"><br/>Wynne knew perfectly well who the people sitting closest to his family were: Rhuimach Taeline, General of Dhoesone, whose knowledge of the land and intuitive grasp of strategy had kept the Giantdowns’ inhabitants from overpowering the barony on many occasions; and Halaene Dosiere, the Chancellor of Dhoesone, a lawpriest of Haelyn and swordlady of great renown, as well as his mother’s confidante and true right hand. The remaining three were the heads of the three most powerful churches in the land: the young man was Günther Brandt, the Archdruid of the Oaken Grove representing the druidic faith favoured by his mother; the matron was the Most Sacred Minister of the Northern Reformed Church of Sarimie, the shrewd Larra Nielems; and the old man was the Supreme Hierarch of Haelyn’s Bastion of Truth, James Ardannt.<br/><br/></div></div><div class="spoiler_container"><div class="spoiler_header" onclick="hideSecond (this);" role="button">Godwine</div><div class="spoiler_body">Godwine noticed that his mentor and superior, Günther Brandt, the Archdruid of the Oaken Grove, the same man that recruited him for the expedition, was sitting among those closest to the Baroness.  <br/></div></div><div class="spoiler_container"><div class="spoiler_header" onclick="hideSecond (this);" role="button">Nach</div><div class="spoiler_body">Although he didn’t look the same in the wilderness, the half-elf was still the same ranger that recruited him for the expedition: Rhuimach Taeline.</div></div><div class="spoiler_container"><div class="spoiler_header" onclick="hideSecond (this);" role="button">Religion DC 20</div><div class="spoiler_body">The old man was James Ardannt, the Supreme Hierarch of Haelyn’s Bastion of Truth, a Haelynite church that praises Haelyn as the rightful patron of Anuire and the paragon of kingship, courage, chivalry and justice. They teach that one must emulate Haelyn as a defender of the innocent and labourer for the good of the whole community and not only oneself. <br/><br/>The matronly-looking middle-aged woman was difficult to recognize for those not familiar with Sarimie’s intricate sacred patterns that were woven into her whole dress. She lacked a visible holy symbol of the goddess but if she represented a church of Sarimie in Dhoesone, it must have been Larra Nielems, the Most Sacred Minister of the Northern Reformed Church of Sarimie, the fastest growing, the wealthiest, and the most expansive, church in the barony.<br/></div></div><br/><br/>At the two tables on either side of the Baroness’s sits a host of noblemen and noblewomen, some of whom decided to go an extra mile and dazzle the guests with their expensive clothes, while others chose the truly unique Dhoesonean style: utility over looks not really caring to dress up for the benefit of others.<br/><br/>The five tables located in the center of the hall are all occupied by the expedition’s participants. Five tables, five groups. At one of them sat the red-haired knight, Sir Arawn Avan, whose most remarkable physical feature was the red dragon birthmark that run up the left side of his neck and face, now slightly obscured by a red five o’clock shadow. His grey eyes seemed almost amber in the torchlight as he waited for the feast to begin. Next to him the rest of his soon-to-be adventuring company, Darcassan, Godwine, Nach, Sarek, Victory, and Wynne.<br/><br/><div class="spoiler_container"><div class="spoiler_header" onclick="hideSecond (this);" role="button">Victory or History DC 20</div><div class="spoiler_body"><br/>The knight bears the well-known in southern Anuire birthmark of the royal bloodline of Avan – one of the last existing families who are directly descendent from the line of the Anuirean Emperors. <br/><br/></div></div><br/><br/>At the second table, a party of hardened mercenaries, all clad in iron and aptly named the Iron Wraiths, was already deep into their cups. Only one of them looked out of place, a handsome half-elf with an auburn mane of hair and well-trimmed beard of the same colour, working on his lute instead of drinking with his comrades.<br/><br/>If the observers didn’t know better, they would think that the next table was all nobles and not participants of the expedition. All men and the one woman at that table exuded the noble aura of those who were accustomed to being obeyed and served. They showed impeccable manners and were engaged in well-mannered, polite conversations.<br/><br/>The last two tables were taken by two adventuring parties whose members seemed to have much less in common with one another than any one else in the hall. One of them included a jovial knight who was throwing jokes around and making most of his companions laugh even if they were not ones to laugh. Although it was impossible to say if one of them laughed as her face was covered by a veil. Even the grim-looking pale-skinned, silver-haired woman smiled replacing the grimace that was on her face for almost the entirety of the feast.<br/><br/>The whole hall became eerily quiet when the Baroness stood up from her chair and started speaking, her voice properly trained to be heard even at long distances. “Greetings to each and every one of you. Welcome in the barony of Dhoesone. A barony that has prospered in the past years, and well, I think it’s time to think and move forward. After countless hours of debating about this, of consulting my advisors,” she looked at the half-elven man and the middle-aged, unassuming-looking woman who were sitting at her table, “I’ve decided to, indeed, do just that. Move forward, into the unknown, to tame what is untamed, and to conquer what is yet to be conquered. To press against the bandit tide that’s threatening to build up and crush our borders if we don’t act swiftly.” She stopped, looked around and smiled, “We need to destroy the bandit threat, and rally the Giantdowns together under our banner to ensure the prosperity and security of Dhoesone and our allies. I know, this is a scheme of a dreamer, or so my most cherished advisors keep telling me, but what will we become if we don’t dare to dream? This is our chance to make our dreams reality.”<br/><br/>“Let’s all toast to our dreams, and may the gods will them true,” the Baroness rose her cup, “let’s all toast to the bravery of our heroes, may they never surrender,” she continued, “let’s all toast to the success of our conquerors, for they shall face their destiny and succeed!” The gathered guests loudly agreed with her suggestion as they all rose their cups in the air and toasted together.<br/><br/>Soon the feast turned into a ball, with minstrels playing and singing ballads about epic deeds of larger-than-life heroes, with couples dancing, and others mingling.<br/><br/><div align="center">(https://thedrunkenodyssey.files.wordpress.com/2016/01/dragon-age-halamshiral-winter-palace-concept-art.jpg?w=529)</div><br/>