A new dawn has broke in the land of Boron. As the dew collects on the grass a new adventurer makes his way into the pass. Responding to a need of a gentleman named The Wizard, he makes his way to The Barkeeps Tavern. The note read as follows.
We are in dire need of your help. We have been without a record keeper in the land of Boron for almost a decade. People are starting to forget what came before and when knowledge is lost, power is lost. Please proceed to The Barkeeps tavern post haste. You will find more than enough cost to take care of your travels.
I make my way into the tavern door and am greeted by the most pleasant man behind the bar. Ah! You must The Scribe, said the barkeep. We have been waiting for you. I myself especially, I grow weary of telling these stories with no record of what happened. It often seems that someone who fights a dog often ends up fighting a dragon by the time their stories make it back around to me. We have set you up with fine living quarters in the archive section of the keep. It has been some time since there was another to keep up with the place but, it should suit you quite well. Before you leave, there is a package that arrived for you yesterday.
I glance over to the corner of the tavern and find a small crate ordained with decorative craftsmanship, stamped on the top is Fable Beard Co.’s logo. I pick up the package and make my way to the keep. As I am walking through town I am struck by the wonders of this town. Bustling with activity and merriment, there seems to be a store for every need. One thing that sticks out more than most is the beards. What glorious beards the townsfolk have. It must be the beard oil that comes in on the ships. The keep is massive but I find my way to my chambers. By candlelight, I turn the corner to a massive library of scrolls, archives, and various texts. Thousands of years of wonders must be in these scrolls.
I set the crate from The Barkeep on the desk and strike a flame. Upon opening the box a plume of smoke pours out from the inside. In front of me, is a looking glass that must be 400 years old, inscribed on the handle reads, property of The Wizard. I look into the glass and find myself behind the eyes of a farmhand that lived many years ago!