Wingra's Page

My mother was a baker. My father was a baker. I am a baker. I hail from Rust River Falls. The home of the best bakers in all of Almebezbik. The farmers and villagers love the bread and biscuits I bake. They say it can calm a sour stomach and even helps them recover faster from small injuries.

A few days ago, the ground quivered and shook like nothing we had never seen before. Luckily our dwarven ovens are built solidly and withstood the shaking. Four days later a young man and his father came to town. They said there was a terrible earthquake up on the mountain.

It was but two days after that Rust River Falls was attacked by a terrible dragon. The dragon laid waste to the village and the farms far and wide. Many of the villagers, including Mother, Father and I hid in the ovens, which protected us from the worst of the dragon’s rage.

It wasn’t until our village shaman blinded the dragon and drove him off that we could venture forth and survey the damage. Alas, the shaman was mortally wounded and none of us had the skills to save her. Not even my best biscuits could help.

The elders held a council and selected me to go out into the world and find a new shaman for our village. Perhaps I can find what they ask among the fey of Ithil’Quessir or the men of Foortmaar. Kinnickinnic, the strange orphan boy, says he will accompany me on my journey. He’s a scrawny little thing. I don’t know what good he can be, but I feel sorry for him. Then there’s Patch. Now he’s a strapping boy. He’ll be a good help if we get into a scrap.

Subpages (1): Wingra's Sideplots