Neon Valkyrie
She Who Is Called I Am
People aren't born Great, or Heroic. They become so by merit of their deeds, and the scope of their actions. Some do so on purpose, some by accident. Some do so by fate, some against it. Whatever the case, they do it, rather than being it. It is, then, fair to say, that legends, and heroes, and even villains, cannot be made without the opportunity to perform great deeds. This is probably why there are very few legends about office workers, janitors, and bakers. There is little glory to be amassed at the sharp end of a baguette or a ball-point quill.
Our story begins in the township of Rookskellar, where our would-be Heroes are about to hear the enticing rattle and moan of fate's machinery. Rookskellar is a large, walled community located on the crossing of two major trade routes. It's cobbled streets are lined with shops and businesses of all sorts, and it is often said one can find anything there. Residents live in large apartments and side-by-side houses full of finery. It's a nice place to retire, but a boring place to live. And so, inspired by the severe lack of excitement, a few residents have banded together in a kind of loose association. It is little more than a weekend social club, but the discussion during meetings often centres around treasure, combat, foreign lands ... adventure. Things the average citizen of Rookskellar would call foolish, childish, embarrassing, if not downright scandalous.
But those people are boring.
Naturally, when the king's criers arrived in the dead of night calling for able bodied adventurers for a mission of the utmost importance, the only shapes to emerge into the night, still clad in their pyjamas, were our intrepid wannabes. The details were provided via parchment, and read as follows;
To whom it may concern,
Your King, for whom the earth and skies and sun move, has need of you. With the industrial age looming upon us, pushed ever onward by the ingenuity of the gnomes, and the magic of the elves, it is becoming apparent that progress is not without consequence. You may have noticed the increasingly warm weather in our fair region (yet more proof that the gods smile upon your glorious ruler). The Kingdom's greatest scientists and advisers have determined that this due to the smoke and steam spilled out by our factories, and indeed those of our neighbours, and that this increase in temperature is, in fact, occurring everywhere. While this may cause a slight rise in sea level, it has also begun to thaw the mysterious northern continent, revealing a previously undiscovered kingdom. Our scholars can find no evidence of any culture existing in the frozen wastes, back to the age of King Pious Zealous the First. Your mission, should your mettle prove adequate, is to travel into the north, reach the borders of this kingdom, determine whether it's inhabitants, it's wealth, or it's structures are intact, and report back to his great majesty.
Sincerely,
The God-King of Moranmolandran
(Transcribed by Marty, Royal Scribe/Actor)
On the reverse side of the sheet is printed a map of the continent, with a large arrow pointing northward. (Ignore the symbols and place names, the general shape is what we're using)
It is now the following morning, and the party is gathering, preparing to depart.
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