Shadows of the Midnights Passed - Introduction

Nakon poduže pauze, skoro dvadeset godina, Peruna mi, vraćam se u Forgotten Realms.

FR je inače prvi svet u kojem sam igrao D&D - i premda sam u osnovnoj školi svojeručno i ničim izazvano osmislio rudimentarni rpg smešten u svet Masters of the Universe, D&D i Forgotten Realms bili su moj prvi ozbiljan  frp. I dan-danas mi je taj vajb osamdesetih kojim  je kutija sa campaign settingom odisala instant okidač za nostalgiju.

Bilo je to jednostavnije vreme, kako se obično kaže.

Bilo kako bilo, evo uvoda za moju novu kampanju, koja bi trebalo da se odvija podno Kičme sveta... Ko zna, možda igrači negde nalete i na Drizzta (mada čisto sumnjam).

Frigid are the winds that blow from the high peaks of the Spine of the World and the great frozen expanse beyond them. Frigid and eerie, filled with lost voices of great empires long gone, old gods and friends lost to the mists. To those who dwell in the shadows of the great mountain range, those winds are something to be tolerated and endured when needed, but never something enjoyable or friendly. Cold are the winds that bear the worg's howl and banshee's wail, but none are colder than the breath of the Spine of the World.

In the foothills of the great mountain range nestles a large village of mostly stone houses, cobbled streets and even great granite lamps built wherever one street crosses another, all in the shadow of great fortress built on the crag far above the village, with only a narrow road leading up to it. The ruins of the castle are covered with snow and centuries-old ice, that has frozen to hardness of steel and holes in the walls and crenelations are filled by crusted layers of snowfalls, so old that they've compressed into stone-like mass.
The castle is large and it's central tower tall, but not enough to explain that sharpness of view, that richness of detail laid bare to the eyes of casual observer. It almost seems that the air of the small mountain valley beneath the crag possesses some unnatural quality that lends clarity to each glance pointed in the direction of large ruins, but not anywhere else.
A crow flying above the village would note smoke rising from about a fifth of the surprisingly well kept houses. Most of the village is empty of life - there is no livestock tended in the pens and barns, there are no pets chasing vermin... and there are no children. What few people that can be seen on the streets are all adults, of various races and ethnic origins, of various backgrounds - as seen by their diverse clothing and weapons that are always near at hand.
Said hypothetical crow would in time land on the rooftop of the large building in the central square of the small town or large village, call it what you will.
The house is three stories high above the ground floor and its roof is peaked enough to have a large attic, but the huge windows of stained glass are indication enough that the attic was converted into living space.
Indeed, the ground floor of the building is also converted so that much of the front wall is covered by similar windows, of small glass panes set into a led frame colored and put together in such a way as to show great forest of oak and birch, trees spreading their branches above various small animals nestling in the brushes. Such windows would be almost beyond belief even in the great towns of Cormyr or even in Watterdeep. This far north, in a village that seems forgotten by both mortals and gods those windows are nothing short of a miracle.
Above huge oaken doors is a large iron spike from which hangs a figure of a pig, roasted with an apple in its mouth. The pig looks to be made of gold, but the small cracks reveal that it is in fact made of wood, covered by golden-colored paint.
The Golden Pig inn, run by the dwarf named Kagain. The last home for many a exile, lost soul and wanderer who came to the edge of the world...
The crow that may or may not be perched on the inn's peaked roof would crane its head, carefully looking who would approach the oaken doors next.