Tonight, we find ourselves at a makeshift camp within the WhiteLeaf wood of the Frontier. The massive stellar rings that surround the planet brighten the evening sky as small shafts of light break through the foliage to illuminate the campsite below. Lit from the above, we see a tent, ragged and blood stained gently shifting in the breeze of this cool night. The forest is quiet, save for the crisp pop of still warm embers, and the cries of a crow perched on a tree. An ill omen.
Our four Adventurers have not yet met, though they will soon find themselves brought together by the terrible luck of a stranger, and a beast born in flames.
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