Deep in the Fe'gan mountains, hidden amongst the snow and jagged peaks lies a small path leading up to the summit of one of the many mountains. Most don't dare to travel here, because on all counts, why would you? This place is inhospitable and treacherous to get to, hell, why would one even think of making a home up here anyways...
But then again, its nice and quiet here. With the exception of the strong winds blowing between the peaks, and the sounds of your own ragged breath, its quiet and remote. Two good reasons for a group of misfits and introverts to set down their supplies and make a home.
As you make your way further up the mountain, map in hand giving you precise directions of where to go, you turn the corner and stand in awe at the sight of a castle in the middle of the mountains. You look at the natural stone bridge connecting the fortress to the only way back down the mountain, save for the sheer fall to either side of it, and swallow your fear, putting one foot in front of the other. The gates to the castle are open, and no one stands guard at the front. But as you walk into the entrance hall, the warmth of the nearby fires push away the cold and you set down your belongings and brush the snow off your shoulders.
Once the frost has left your fingers, you dig into your backpack and pull out an empty notebook. Its bound in red leather and has gold letterings on the front that make out the words Basantha Census, and you quickly pull out a pencil and call out into the empty building, seeing who exactly lives here.
But then again, its nice and quiet here. With the exception of the strong winds blowing between the peaks, and the sounds of your own ragged breath, its quiet and remote. Two good reasons for a group of misfits and introverts to set down their supplies and make a home.
As you make your way further up the mountain, map in hand giving you precise directions of where to go, you turn the corner and stand in awe at the sight of a castle in the middle of the mountains. You look at the natural stone bridge connecting the fortress to the only way back down the mountain, save for the sheer fall to either side of it, and swallow your fear, putting one foot in front of the other. The gates to the castle are open, and no one stands guard at the front. But as you walk into the entrance hall, the warmth of the nearby fires push away the cold and you set down your belongings and brush the snow off your shoulders.
Once the frost has left your fingers, you dig into your backpack and pull out an empty notebook. Its bound in red leather and has gold letterings on the front that make out the words Basantha Census, and you quickly pull out a pencil and call out into the empty building, seeing who exactly lives here.