You look half-frozen. Come, join our circle by the fire. Maggie will bring you a mug of strong ale and a plate of hearty stew in a moment.
My name is Emisil. I'm the Bard in these parts. I travel among the villages on the edge of this forest, sharing tales and spinning yarns to keep the mind active throughout the bleak winter. You've joined us at an auspicious moment - I am about to being the saga of the Rising of The God Whose Name We Dare Not Speak. It is a tale of heroic actions and base cowardice, full of champions, thieves, and people of mighty faith in their gods. And, unlike many of the yarns spun around a warm fire on a freezing night, it is true.
Aye, my great-grandmother told the story to her daughter, who passed it on to her daughter, who, in turn, passed it on to me. If you doubt my veracity when the tale is done, seek the city of Múman and the temple of the Raven Queen. Or rather, what remains of it. The priests there will be able to answer most of your questions.
