Looking upon a dismal overcast day, we see a small encampment through the encroaching fog.

Small huts draped in tartans line a small riverbed and wisps of smoke from smoldering campfires blanket the area.

Of these buildings, one is slightly larger, and through the window we see several men and women gathered around a long table discussing something important.

It's not as simple as all that. We try to make alliance with all the nearby clans.

Some have even given troops, but it's not enough.

Our meager forces couldn't even hold the line against one contingent of the McKade Army,

much less one from Jodos.

I fear without a miracle, we don't stand a chance. I sent

word off to it. The makeshift pelt door is thrown open as a squat halfling enters. He wears fine

purple clothing, but the war paint drawn on his face belays any thought of nobility. He carries a bundle

of some kind wrapped in a fur, or wrapped in a fur.

Dauvin, quick, put this on. The halfling unwraps the fur, exposing the skull of some great

stag, fashioned in the form of a helm. He hands the helm to the man and begins pinning the fur to his back.

Who are you? What is the meaning of this? No time to explain fully. I know your daughter. I've been off doing things, namely courting with the barbarian tribes and interesting folk.

I've told them you were brought back from the dead and will lead them to a great victory.

They're a very superstitious lot. The halfling finishes tying the fur to the man.

Look, I don't know what you're

trying to do here, young man, but now is not the time for mischief. We're in the middle of a very

serious meeting. The sound of a thousand feet, man and beast alike, began to grow in the distance.

The halfling looks at the man and smiles. When you send word to Dagna of your new army,

Teller Corvino sends his warmest regards. Adventure, a path paved with bravery and treachery,

a pursuit of hope. One that a hero must tread.

...