In the Amber Eyes of the Ogre

Deep in the primeval, mossy forest, sprouted between the old trees like stony mushrooms, sit the cottages that make up the village of Wealdburne. Though its inhabitants are predominantly human, living among them are also dwarves, elves, and halflings. And every single villager, regardless of their origin, knows not to go near the Uruan Mountains; never over them. That's where the mythical creatures live: the goblins, trolls, giants, and dragons.

Or so the legends say; nobody knows exactly what's on the other side, because nobody has ever returned to tell the tale. What they do know exists there, in the dark lands beyond the snow-capped peaks, and with complete certainty too, because they came across the mountains in the opposite direction, are ogres. Massive, bloodthirsty beasts.

The very monsters their ancestors faced in numerous wars, but now simply the stuff of stories and myths, given imposing height and bellies, ferocious scowls, sharp fangs, and eye-watering stench once again by the storytellers, the keepers of their traditions; the select few initiated not only into the timeless fables and fairy tales, but also the ancient and arcane teachings passed down from one generation of wild men and women to the next.

So what then is an ogre suddenly doing on the opposite bank of the river, striking terror in their children? It's been a very long time since an ogre was seen anywhere in Tiroran; a solitary one is unheard of. Unarmed into the bargain.

And clothed.

Best to kill it and ask questions later. But an ordinary bow and arrow won't do the trick, so you get the crossbowman to aim his weapon and shoot a bolt at it.

Don't miss.