Heroes of Antipater

The lands southeast of Antara and roughly north of Previd represent the breadbasket of human civilization along the western coast - a farm country dotted with humble villages, majestic estates, and the occasional wayside inn. It is an isolated but not inhospitable region and travelers are free to come and go about their business. The intrigue of the cities seldom reaches here and the greater evils of the world have known no place in many, many years.

Along the many paths that wind gently through the rolling countryside, petty merchants can be seen hauling their wares from one sleepy hamlet to the next. Old wooden signs point their way. Small forests left uncleared serve to separate the various parcels and farmlands and low-standing walls of stacked stone and split rail fences covered with ivy further denote ownership.

The local people call these lands Cennaway. It is indeed a beautiful country.

Or at least it would be if not for the rain. For three days since your arrival in the region, it has rained continuously, alternating between light drizzle and permeating downpours. On the eve of one particularly sodden night, you make your way to a modest and rather overcrowded wayside inn. Over the main door a sign swings violently, buffeted by the wind. Painted on the sign swaying in and out of view, is the image of a pixie hefting a frothy mug of ale in his left hand and holding a sword out in front of him with his right. The pixie is mounted on a large gray rat which is outfitted with a saddle. Both rat and rider sport identical, rather comically exaggerated grins. Beneath the image in boldface is the inn's name: "The Legendary Pixie."

As you enter the inn, the sound of beating rain is drowned out by the raucous din of men well into their cups. A burley middle-aged man has just arrived from the cellar waddling from side to side as he attempts to maneuver a huge cask of ale.

"Well lads," he bellows with a chuckle, "only four more after this one!"

Across the crowded common room a young, well groomed man dressed in a red and green silk doublet stands with a bound. He has ended his lute playing abruptly and it is clear that he has the attention of the entire room. Raising his hand in a flourish, he exclaims dramatically, "In that case barkeep, another round for everyone!" The crowd cheers and raises mugs in unison. With a gleeful nod, the bard returns to his lute.