‘The day A’fore our prayers were said,
That night a maid did share my bed
At dawn our horses; squires fed
The morning when we proud knights tread
By noon our steel is stained in red
Yet come the dusk we’ll all be dead’
In the frigid north of Anuire is the barony of Dhoesone, clinging to the shores of the Tael Firth. Surrounded on all sides by uncivilized wilderness and savage foes, this northern kingdom teeters on the brink of destruction. To the north, Rjurik raiders are intent on taking what wealth of the Anuirean empire remains. On the southern border, the petty kingdom of Thurazor, headed by a half-breed goblin warchief, is a constant threat of raids or invasion. Indifference is the best one can expect from the Taurhievel elves to the east. Out of the Silverhead Mountains the north east, the Bloodskull Barony, a loose affiliation of giants, ogres, and various tribes of goblins, ride down onto the plains to spill human blood. From within, the guilds continually expand their power throughout the region, exploiting the people. All the while the Church of Sarimie and Haelyn’s Bastion of Truth struggle for the hearts of the people, too concerned with triumph over the other to help their followers.
The aging king will likely not live much longer and his son is but a corrupt, arrogant tyrant. Two bastards, scions of his bloodline, also live. Though feudal law prevents their ascension without adoption, and common law would forbid them support, there are few alternatives that remain.
War looms on all sides. A young bastard, unknown and unrecognized for nearly twenty years, may be the only man able to keep Dhoesone from drowning in a bath of blood.