It is the Year of the Harp. Summer has faded into Autumn and with it the harsh heat. The heroes are in Nashkell, a small town of importance that lay nestled in the northern most foothills of the Cloud Peaks. To the North lay the expansive Greenfields, leagues of arable farming land with villages and hamlets dotting the landscape every 12 miles of so. Nashkel itself is equipped with a temple to Helm and supports a local copper mine, the Northern Lights Inn offers a bed and a tankard of ale and a chance to hear tales from far off places.
The heroes had spent the summer working for Mayor Berrun delivering correspondence to and from Beregost in the North. It had been mostly uneventful except for passing caravans on their way to Baldur’s Gate in the North or the famous markets of Athkatlar to the South. Occasionally, you would be waylaid by enemies, but none were a challenge to your seasoned training. However, strange rumour began to mount of a strange evil growing to the East.
In Nashkell the heroes encountered a rather strange young man named Noober. At first his constant salutations were warming, making them feel part of the community, but this soon passed to irritation as they couldn’t have a conversation among themselves without interruption. And so, as the cooling autumn breeze swept down from the Cloud Peaks they decided to travel North.
The rumour of an evil force spread quickly among the folk of Nashkell and the Northern Lights Inn was overflowing with talk of caravan raids and the destruction of villages to the north and east. Many of the town folk, who fearful for their lives began to hassle the Mayor begging him for verification and protection.
Upon hearing the heroes intention to leave and thankful for the great work you had completed delivering post, Mayor Berrun requested that they take one final letter to Tarbaw Nighthill the Governor of Greenrest, a small town some way to the North East of Nashkell. Berrun stated that Tarbaw was an old acquaintance of his father, and if anyone could filter the fact from the fiction it would be he. Berrun stated that within the letter, if unopened upon arrival, contains instruction to pay you 10 golden coins a piece. Passing you a crudely drawn map of the area, he urged you to leave as soon as you could.
They left the next day.
At great speed they followed Berrun’s map. They travelled for several days following a road that snaked lazily across the rolling grasslands of the Greenfields. Along the way they encountered peasants, farmers, and yeoman. They friendly enough, but, perceptive as always, the heroes sensed a malaise lurking underneath the pleasantries.
Sundown approached when they topped a rise and saw the town of Greenrest just a few short miles away. But instead of the pleasant welcoming town they had expected, they saw columns of black smoke rising from burning buildings. They saw a winged shaped creature, born of legend or some hellish nightmare swooping low over a keep that sat high above the centre of the town. Flashes of lightning occasional illuminated the black and grey smoke giving it a menacing a foreboding shade of reds and yellows. It is at that moment that the heroes realised that Greenrest was being attacked, by a dragon!