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BLACKJACK!
As the merchant federation of Beidan collapses, so too does any semblance of order in the south. The damned run rampant, no longer held in check by the old few constructs the Beidanite Imams had brought back to life. And as humanity's greatest lifeline plunges into darkness, so too does your contract; No longer are you to guard the caravans from the Citadel of Taran to Lorruel City on the whims of your gold-choked betters, and though the land is less fit for travel, it is a sort of freedom the dead have unwittingly granted. At least now, your travels are unhindered by the wealthy elite or the careless unwashed mouths that deliver black rumor after sinful story. Sleeping in abandoned inns and cottages was considered dangerous work, but you did so where you could to avoid the heavy rainfall and storms, which were even more of a threat when twilight struck. As souls tire and morale drags, your destination comes upon you even if you had no destination to speak of: The warm light and strong walls of Pendeltown. Gates open uncertainly, but after quick inspection at the hands of a terrified watchman and his thirty friends, you're allowed access to the cobbled streets slickened with yesterday's rain. As dawn gives way to the warm rays of the sun, little life is restored to the town. Beggars, what few are left, scurry from your path with whatever prospects they've uncovered in hands or burlap sacks, while a decent few men pass you by astride a wooden wagon pulled by what appears to be a shaggy and malnourished horse. Field-bound, no doubt.
