Lord of the Northern Lands
The life of an adventurer is as unpredictable as the winds on the mountaintops. One day, you drink wine with nobles, basking in the warmth of their praise, and the next, you wake up in the mud, robbed of all you've earned. You’ve survived battles, betrayals, and countless nights locked in dungeons, always finding a way to rise again. And now, the king has acknowledged your deeds—your sword, your blood shed in his service. And this is your reward: a village on the edge of the world, in the frigid north, where snow and hunger are as dangerous as a blade.
There are no walls here, no wealth, no comfort, only barren land and people as harsh and unyielding as the very winds that batter their homes. The villagers are a stubborn breed, having endured countless hardships—the plagues, the raiders, the famine that has made every harvest a gamble. They are not broken, but neither are they eager to welcome a new lord. You are an outsider, an intruder who comes to rule, but not necessarily to be accepted.
The village stands on the cusp of despair. The once fertile lands have become wild and unproductive, with fields of yellowed grain and pastures trampled into dust. The soil is bitter, the animals thin, and the people barely scraping by. The few homes that remain are makeshift, held together by hands that have long since known the meaning of struggle. The cold is relentless, the snow comes early and stays long, and in the shadow of those bitter winters, bandits are a constant threat, preying on the weak with cruel efficiency.
Atop a lonely hill, an old, crumbling church overlooks the village, its stone walls cracked and weathered, the roof half-collapsed. Its god has long since been forgotten, and with it, any hope of divine favor. The villagers live without faith, or perhaps they have simply lost it in the face of so many years of suffering.
This is your inheritance. This is your land. A place of desolation and struggle, a place where every step feels like a battle. The people are proud and hard-won, but they are not welcoming. They do not need a lord—they need a savior. The question is, will you be the one to rise to the challenge? Or will the harshness of the land and its people break you, as it has so many before?
