High summer.
The ruins of the outpost camp.
The scorching sun beat down on the crumbling walls, and the distorted air made the distant monster lairs look like shimmering mirages.
This was a forgotten corner of the Kingdom, a paradise for Adventurers, exiles, and gray-market powers.
As the gateway to the Dark Land, this place was a tangled web of factions. The Rusted Key Thieves' Guild seeped into the shadows of the ruins like mold, surviving by robbing Adventurers and taking on shady jobs, occasionally dabbling in unearthing forbidden secrets and trafficking in relics.
In contrast was the relatively neutral Anvil Guild, which provided intelligence and mercenary services. The Silver Oak Leaf was more mysterious; rumor had it they specialized in tracking and resolving... "problems" that officials found inconvenient to handle.
In this heat, which was intense enough to bake a man dry, nothing soothed an Adventurer's restless soul better than a cold mug of ale.
