There are many songs, many tales of adventure. There are lands that live on in the soft whispered rhyme and the lofty call of courtly bards. Names live on past a hundred lifetimes for those who wrought great and terrible deeds. But in the end all deeds are memory, all valor and gold lost beneath dust. The sword of every hero rusts in a garret or cellar or, worse, lays dropped at the foot of the foe too powerful.

The lands of Bresslith lived ages of peace and plenty, the realm guarded by magik and might, so that the boarders of this great land stretched from the sea to the great mountains, across the whole of the northern reach of the great desert. Over taxed, weary from long battles, and tapped of sorcerous energy the kingdom held its shape, but lost its luster. What was once the Shining Beacon upon the Western Shore, was now a candle in the dark. For time remembered the glory of Bresslith has been seen only in legend.

King Grethle ‘the Stone Hewn’, the last of the line of Erundrec, sits on the throne of too old a kingdom. The Circle is too few for their magik to defend against threats from the sea. The King’s Guard have weakened as their blood has thinned and been shed, too thin now to ride the length of the lands. And even the Stones and Winds seem to wish and end to this tale, as the frozen mountain passes thaw and open, the sea rises, and the crops fail.

Will the weakening light of the kingdom finally flicker and go dark, or will hidden strength stand forth and bring a new dawn to Lands of Bresslith?

Dawn in the Lands of Bresslith

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