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The Hinterlands. A deceptively tranquil collection of evergreens and bramble, a trail cutting deep into the valley of the eastern peninsula of the Arm of Malin. G'eg, (pronounced Gerald), sat within the gatehouse as the far distant march of boots emit from the bustling Amathea. Not an uncommon occurrence, though he was bitter he was sent, yet again, to gate duty. They'll rue the day they forced him to sit complacently, scanning the outward bound road for trouble. Alas. Footfall. Fast-paced, rapidly approaching. The guardsman quickly aimed to make ready his weapon. A false alarm. It was four unruly merchants, whom he begrudgingly allowed entrance to the rest of the Elvenessi lands. The rest of the watch was nothing special either. A halfling, a diplomatic envoy, and a gaggle of 'Thill. He's had better watches. But he has certainly had worse. The man returned to his cards. They, at least, brought comfort in a world so cruel and desolate. All was quiet on the western front.
