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A sickly waif sits atop a horse belonging to a stranger who'll never see it again, cowl pulled up, cloaked from the cold morning rain. Before her the gates of Murann bustle with traders, refugees, local sellswords and Harbor Guardsmen. The treeline ends abruptly, making way for the sprawling...

After dusk, a crowd of beggars gathered 'round in solemn reverence. Illuminated in the dim lantern light stands a waif upon a small soapbox. Thieves and brigands and impoverished conglomerate as one body; they are on the city stage, but only one of them knows her lines. "The nations did make a...