Long shadows cut across the town square as the sun sets far in the west. The townsfolk gather in the garden of the Crossed Candles Tavern after a day tiresome work in the fields. A cool breeze blows through the square giving welcome relief to the warm day.
The tall, gaunt priest mingles through the garden listening to the tales the townsfolk have to tell – until he starts to tell a tale of his own.
“All good beginnings start from nothing. The World Serpent, Ouroboros led the gods in an epic battle against their enemies, the Ubtao. And from the destruction of these wars was born the sun which allowed the Sarrukh to spread great civilizations across the continent.”
“In another Age, powerful archmages rivaled the gods and in their attempt at ascending to godhood, they changed the very workings of magic that we have today,” the priest twirls his fingers in the air forming a magical swirl of light and dark intertwining.
“We conquered the Blue Breath of Change, the verilent spellplague that wrought these lands. We conquered it by seeing past our differences and banding together and in doing so we restored the forests, the plains, and mountain ranges of Toril.”
“Now here we are banded together in this far away outpost, Nyrheim – a new home, neither here nor there, far removed from civilization. I know not why you call Nyrheim home, but I imagine only sturdy folk or, as I too call myself, ‘the desperate’ flock here for a new beginning.”
“What did you have to lose to grant you wings to pick up and leave your Gammelheim – your old home? Think upon that loss, but do not dwell. Think upon that loss as a means that propelled you to this place of new hope. The gods have something in store for us here,” the priest motions all around him.
“I think I understand now why the gods take from us,” he holds up a long finger in realization.
“The gods have brought us together by taking something away from each and every one of us. The baker’s business went under in Waterdeep and now he feeds the blacksmith who can’t bear the memories of Suzail without his departed beloved wife. His tools aid the farmer as he tills the soil much richer than the soil of his former plagued farm near Berdusk.”
“I too have lost. My mother, may she bask in the light of the Eternal Sun, was lost to me when I was just a young boy; and my father only recently departed, may his time in the Fugue Plane be brief,” he lowers his head in reverence for a moment before raising his goblet high into the air to toast.
“Let us celebrate our loss as it has brought us here together to forge this new family. A new family in a new home uncovering the mysteries of these untamed lands. We forge ahead through bravery, perseverance, and when one wavers we pick them up and carry them with us to the promiseland!”
He drinks the goblet empty and pours another before returning to mingle with the crowd.