For years you have adventured across the world, felling foes and monsters. Now comes the time to rest. Your bones ache, your back and knees hurt. Yet after all of this, still you feel it would be a disservice for your story to turn your last few years into a peaceful retirement in a cozy lodge by the vineyards of Vinoleon.

Up in the north, you know, they seek to repopulate a land destroyed by a lich. Aldrisia, it was once called, but that name will likely not ring a bell of any youngster but the most bookwormy today. It’s a tale of decades past, one of the first places where you tested your mettle, though it was not you who felled the lich.

Still, much of the land remains hostile. Undead still prowl, beasts have made it their home far from civilization, wild races endure through their tough tribal ways within its forests and plains. Thus few seek to eke out a living in such a dangerous place, and it is not as if the land holds great bounties and riches that would tempt a nation to invade it with strength of arms.

It would be the duty of the most adventurous to resettle. Not in the search of wealth and plunder, but in the search of a land of freedom. A land that daring adventurers could call theirs and nobody else’s.

You stop at the ominously called ‘Last Tavern’, which is actually a small town. Dorean, the rather old, bearded tavernkeep who’s missing an eye, hails you.

“Well, you’re a sight for sore eyes… I still remember when you were a young…
>…barbarian.
>…bard.
>…cleric.
>…fighter.
>…monk.
>…paladin.
>…ranger.
>…rogue.
>…sorcerer.
>…wizard.”

“But that was long ago, wasn’t it?” He seems lost in a haze of nostalgia as he scrubs the jar in his hand. “To be young again, eh?”

You tell him why you’re here.

“Are you nuts?” He yells wide-eyed. The tavern’s eyes all look towards you for a second, then return to their own doings. As the keeper ensures that no unwelcome eyes still remain on you, he continues. “Let me warn you, bud. Aldrisia is still the Land of Nightmares. Don’t go there and by all the Gods’ good graces, do not settle there.”

You tell him that you knew he wouldn’t get it.

“Suicidal then, aye?” He eyes the jar ensuring that no stain remains. “Ah well, your death. It’d fit a…
>guy
>gal
… like you.”