The wind comes in from the west carrying dust, heat and the scent of something wrong.
Radburne has always stood on the edge of two worlds. A gateway and bastion between the realms of the east, and the barren unknown west, where the earth grows harsher, sun-scorched plains stretching beyond the horizon, and water is a memory in which survival breeds hard people.
For generations, that boundary has held. Surviving against apocalyptic events, Supernatural beings and more.
Yet it seems once more the Hamlet is tested.
At first it was only whispers. Traders arriving late, their caravans thinner than they should be. Smoke glimpsed at dusk where no homestead stood. Then came the refugees, sunburnt, hollow-eyed, speaking of raiders pouring out of the western wastes. Not scattered bandits, but something larger. Organized. Violent.
Now the horizon burns every evening.
The raiders have come.
They strike fast, vanishing into dust before any force can answer. Livestock gone. Wells fouled. Outlying farms abandoned or worse. Radburne has always held firm against the tides of chaos and will stand to the last fighter.
A call is put forth, to our allies, to all those willing to come and stand against a new foe.
Because this isn’t just a raid.
It’s the beginning of something far worse.