The great book lay open on it’s massive stand. From his perch on the mantle of the fireplace, the Mixer could see the sea rolling under great, dark clouds behind the master’s great, golden shape. The wind that blew in from the ocean would have made the pages of any normal book riffle and turn, but the Great Book had pages so heavy that it would take a storm to move them. The room was well lift, by tall gilded lamps exuding a soft golden light and by the radiance that seemed to extend from the Masters eyes as the scanned the pages as he wrote.
The Mixer loved to watch the Master work. Despite the enormity of his being, the strokes he made in the writing box were as smooth and precise as a dancers, and the Roc feather pen linked to the enchanted sand scribbled across the pages of the book in time to each movement.
“Do you understand that which we record this day Mixer? " The Masters voice was a deep rumble, like the shifting of rocks deep in the sea. "And why it is important? " The massive, serpentine head swung to regard him directly and he shivered as those eyes penetrated to the core of his being.
“Some of it, Master Kethrenalax. " It was not the Masters name. Not even Keeper could pronounce that, and he had served the Master for centuries. “But why these people? What’s so… important about these mortals? Surely other beings are more worthy of your time?” He gestured with a long, slender hand towards the five, dimly glowing globes that hung around the room. And within each globe moved the image of a person. Humans. A Horned Man. An elfen seeming girl. And something not quite like anything else Mixer had ever known.
“You see too little Mixer. If you are ever to ascend to Scriber, you must see more. " The Master gestured with a claw, towards the human girls. "Take these two. Indivudually, they are but people. Each important in her own small way. But their lives are about to collide. And when they do, if the Winds of Fate blow right… The sparks they will raise could ignite a fire such as the world has not seen since the Last Azlanti walked Golarion. "
The Master turned back to the writing sands and cocked his great head as if listening to the wind that rolled through the room. "There is a time of great change upon the world, Mixer. A wind such as I have not felt since Tar-Baphon rose. I will follow these five. For while Prophecy might have died with the Last Azlanti, I know Power when I see it…. "
The Mixer knew there would be no more conversation when the Master bent his scaled head and started writing with both claws. He dropped down from the mantle easily and shrugged his wings to get them comfortable. The Master would need more ink soon. There was work to do.
“There are no good news. Galt is more restless than ever, and there’s even a rumour the Crown is sending a company of the army up here to deal with it if spills over the border. " Garrick Fairshield was leaning on the counter of the Horn of Plenty. "And there’s those new fellows that went into the mountains last week. Awful lot of guards for a simple mine. "
“Come now Garrick, " Mayor Kerren chuckled at his guard captain. "You do tend to see the worst in everything. I’m sure they’re just eager to protect their goods from those beasts that traveller claimed he saw up there. " The fat man was polishing the bar. It was late now, and everyone else had gone home. "I’m more interested in what that old fool Aldrich is up to now, with that poster he put up for Adventurers. We get enough trouble out here without having those sorts rampaging about the countryside! I wish the buzzard would just settle down! "
“You know, they might just do some good Kerren… " Garrick muttered darkly. "There’s been word out of the Verduran. Something’s stirring in there. The woodsmen are worried. And at least one of our trade caravan’s gone missing this past month. Possibly more. i
know there’s bandits out there, but I haven’t got the men to deal with it. And I’m good, but not good enough to take on twenty plus bandits on my own! "
“Well, be that as it may, I still don’t have to like it! " The mayor harrumphed and scrubbed irritably at his bar. "I just hope things doesn’t get worse. After this odd winter… " The conversation trailed off as each man stared into his ale and brooded on their own troubles.
The year is 4714. Spring is new upon the land and people everywhere rejoice that the oddest winter in living memory is over. in some places, winter never came, and all sorts of things that are normally put on hold during the cold months kept on. In other places it was the worst winter in living memory, where the wolves came howling right up against village walls.
Taldor has had one of the latter. The Winter was hard, and in many places people barely had enough to plant when spring came. The region north of the Verduran forest has been isolate for much of the year, and now rumours start trickling out of the region. Galt is set to erupt into violence again. Frost Giants from the Fog Peaks raid down into the lowlands, gaunt spectres of ice that steal anything edible. The Verduran itself is stirring and the edges of the forest have become places of strange sights and odd disappearances.
The only place of real stability in this region is the town of Highhill. From here, trade has resumed it’s flow and from here the brids fly with rumours, news and requests for aid. And from here, our story begins.