Winter, 598 CY, somewhere in the Good Hills of Keoland
“They will be reborn.”
A simple statement, spoken with resolve.
The twelve druids have gathered here, on the peak of an unremarkable hill, in the middle of the Good Hills, called together by one of the most important of their kind. They come out of obligation, and loyalty, and they come out of duty, and despair. The Arch-Druidess Reynard Yargrove speaks to them as the winds of the winter storm rips through their robes.
“Things appear bleak. Omens point towards terrible things. We’ve seen a mighty force trample through the breadbasket of the Sheldomar, and leave the land barren, unable to grow crops. Thousands and thousands of our people have died as a result of the starvation. Many other have perished from the wars, and disease, and brutality.
Fiends have flocked to the lands of the Flanaess, as the Flight of Fiends have proved to be a ruse for the Old One. Old adversaries now threaten arms once again, after decades of peace. Danger now threatens the Sheldomar from the south, and from the north, and from the east. Menace also comes from within, from greed, and ego, and madness.
But even with all that has happened, and all that will soon come to pass, heroes will return to the lands. As we speak, heroes are being born, and diapered, and breastfed. Others have the bravery in their heart, but it has not yet pierced through to their souls. And yet others will be born soon.
Though dark times have returned, and troubled times lie ahead, there is yet hope for the future. Heroes will return to the land. So, seek out those of good heart, and strong soul. Help meld them and shape them, so that when the tools are needed to bring down the tyrants and the fiends, they will be sharp and strong, yet tempered with mercy.
Yes, the heroes will be reborn.”