Drums of War
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_Rumor and tales creep out of the south, carried by trappers, adventurers, and those few humanoids friendly enough to do the occasional trade, of a great battle deep within the Rawlins.
On one side, they say, was the Bugbear King Ostromog, his hordes, the Legion, the Druid Circle, and a band of adventurers. It is unclear if they were all working together or if they simply fell upon a common foe at the same time.
On the other was the largest of the demon-tainted tribes…. vile traffickers in the Abyss and the Undead.... led by Risha the Demonfavored, who intended to sacrifice a druid elder in a rite that would give her masters dominion over much of the wood.
The tainted ones were soundly defeated, their gathering crushed, and the druid rescued.
From the far eastern Rawlins over the next few days can be heard the sounds of wild celebratory drumming and singing. From the south, a dark, cold storm gathers, and a howl of pure rage can be heard, drifting north on the chill wind._
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Malika tends to the rescued druid elder as the howl reaches her ears in the glenn. She turns to face the south, a slight smile on her lips.
Patience Evil One. Your turn comes.
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_::Quin walks out of the crafting hall, thick forge apron still tied upon his chest and a smithing hammer in hand::
::spits a stream of brown to the side::
::his gaze then turns South toward the Rawlins…a look of concern upon his face::_
