S
Sleath
Guest
A slight chill was in the air as the first hints of the oncoming winter made its way off the bay into the surrounding forest. So many changes across the land, one could only hope that things could get better. The land has been scarred and has left many confused and scared. The predators of Sossaria have been allowed to feed on those fears and confusion. Creatures ravage the wilderness, roads between cities are no longer as safe as they were, and it seems that the only way to find big treasure is to take it from those who already have it.
You no longer see groups of travelers, meetings at local inns, or even gatherings to tell stories or create new ones. When you do see that random traveler in the woods, they are armed to the teeth with odd colored weapons, neon colored armor, and more often than not, they have an entourage of Greater Dragons or some other poor creature ripped from its lair, to do the bidding of those to greedy and week to get blood on their own hands.
The Gods have no mercy. They watch from their pristine positions, their minions pay homage by offering up their gold, and they do nothing. Only more destruction and death, while those who have toiled long and hard to make their mark, have long been forgotten and their voices are mere echoes from an age, long dead and gone.
As I walk through the empty streets of Britain, I hear the voices of those who came before. Once upon a time, when the streets were full of citizens selling their wares, offering up their services, and recruiting those new to the lands into vibrant guilds, whose interest were not hoarding gold, rare items, and loot, but to train, instill virtues, and fight valiantly with a purpose. Good or evil. Elaborate cities rose up in the wilderness and communities banded together in common interest. Over the years something has been lost.
What can I do, the pieces have been set out in front of me, and I am just a player in the game. I have been searching for others out there. I know they are out there. I will continue my search. I can still feel the heart beating of the land, although it is much softer than it once was and I have to listen much harder than I once did.
You no longer see groups of travelers, meetings at local inns, or even gatherings to tell stories or create new ones. When you do see that random traveler in the woods, they are armed to the teeth with odd colored weapons, neon colored armor, and more often than not, they have an entourage of Greater Dragons or some other poor creature ripped from its lair, to do the bidding of those to greedy and week to get blood on their own hands.
The Gods have no mercy. They watch from their pristine positions, their minions pay homage by offering up their gold, and they do nothing. Only more destruction and death, while those who have toiled long and hard to make their mark, have long been forgotten and their voices are mere echoes from an age, long dead and gone.
As I walk through the empty streets of Britain, I hear the voices of those who came before. Once upon a time, when the streets were full of citizens selling their wares, offering up their services, and recruiting those new to the lands into vibrant guilds, whose interest were not hoarding gold, rare items, and loot, but to train, instill virtues, and fight valiantly with a purpose. Good or evil. Elaborate cities rose up in the wilderness and communities banded together in common interest. Over the years something has been lost.
What can I do, the pieces have been set out in front of me, and I am just a player in the game. I have been searching for others out there. I know they are out there. I will continue my search. I can still feel the heart beating of the land, although it is much softer than it once was and I have to listen much harder than I once did.
