For years uncounted, since the God Rift, magic has been a memory, a myth… but there are signs that it comes back.

A band of youths and misfits, barely able to hold a flagon let alone a sword or stave, find themselves at the centre of an unfolding conspiracy. One day, they might be heroes, known throughout the length and breadth of the land of Aireann, but for now, they hardly know themselves.

  • One is an orphan, lost off the side of a cart on the way to market nearly 10 years ago, presumed dead, but taken in for a time by a crazy hermit who fed him mushrooms, pigeon and wild honey, and who taught him a few strange words that sometimes raise sparks or a little more
  • One is the blacksmith's second son, ridiculed by the first and passed over for apprenticeship, but who stole his father's prize dagger
  • One is the daughter of a nobleman, on the run from a greedy Earl who stole their lands and slaughtered her kin; she rides her horse bareback, whispers to him in their secret language, and she can't decide whether to favour the bow or the sword
  • One is a scrapper, looked down by all for his strange smell (his father was a pig farmer), but a dancing girl from a strange troupe showed him how grace can make art from a fist fight
  • One is a story spinner, a tale teller, a weaver of words and music, and a breaker of more hearts in his tender years than you would care to believe

They hardly know each other, they met on the road and fell in together for companionship and to share a fire, and some met only in this place, a tavern between towns where the innkeeper will pay in coin and brew for someone to put a stop to the raids on his livestock, his cellar and who has scared his daughter out of her mind, poor pale girl with red locks onto her green dress.

Innkeeper's red-haired daughter

Dark Star Wandering

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