You are all no longer of this town.
Or maybe you never really were.
The soothsayer each village hides away from the Church found your lot, read the intestines. (I hope it weren’t your little brother’s…)
You are all special, heroes chosen.
Cruel spins the wheel of fate.
Wanderers will you ever be…
Cruel caricatures in plots preposterous entangled.
But first, before you leave, a little help, please. It awoke, or maybe we just noticed, but evil has pressed forth from the fog shrouded wood. Please, heroes, smite it, or trick it, or cajole it asleep.
Do not fail to render aid, lest you be damned to an even more terrible fate…