Our story begins in and around the bustling stronghold of Weylan’s Crossing, on the banks of the Llandril River. In the over a century and a half since the fall of the Third Empire, much of the world has slid into darkness, but Weylan’s Crossing has prospered of late. While Baron Rhadegast and his dragoons deserve a fair amount of credit (at least for keeping the citizenry safe), the Weylanders know that alot of their success is because of their location. Situated as it is, along the old King’s road where the serpentine Zampi-zee caravans (still predominantly halfling) ply their trade, there is also a steady stream of pilgrims stopping through on their way to the cliff-side Temple of the Sun to the southeast.

The trade alone between the upriver mining and logging towns and encampments with the cities of Daimine and Adairan and to the south would be enough, but now that there are negotiations with the mighty dwarven city of Arasten, in the mountains beyond the northern shores of Lake Bradana, things are really taking off in "the Crossin’ ". Their wars with the hobgoblins over a generation ago (well, a human generation at any rate) led to a fair number of elves coming to seek asylum in Weylan’s Crossing during the years that the nearby elven village of Deryn-Caniada was under constant attack. While most returned to their forest home in the Great Western Wood once the danger had passed, some had come to love living in Weylan’s so much that they decided to stay on.