Ages ago, well after the death of the Mountain King, the town of Winterhaven stood on the borderlands as it does now, and in its inn (now Wrafton’s Inn two drunken groups of treasure-seekers swapped several steins of Dwarf stout and even more boasts about their exploits; until, to clarify a point, one reached for a dagger and set about carving a crude map of the surrounding wilderness into the tabletop. For years afterward, every time a group returned victorious from a successful (or less than) foray into the dangerous wilds, stories would be shared, and the map in the table would be tweaked and revised.
The original table was thought destroyed as the borders of civilation were pushed back over an Eladrin’s age ago when the empire of Nerath fell. For generations, the wildlands west of Winterhaven have been the dominion of all manner of foul creatures. Now, again, Winterhaven finds itself one of the scant flickering lights of civilization in a sea of savagery. Here, near the borders of the Fey places, sadistic barbarian hordes raid and pillage, the dead do not always stay in their graves, and monstrous guardians dwell amongst the ruins of ancient empires. For those brave enough to seize it, fortune and fame await!