There used to be stories about the heroes, tales as tall as mountains. Now all you have is a faint wisp of a legend that no one believes. But within those legends just out of reach are memories of the adventurers and travelers of ages past - The Guildsmen and Women of the High City. High City is nothing more than a small farming community that adds little to the region's wealth or commodities market. The only thing left of the old days is a stone statue, worn down by time, that the locals insist marked a great land - High City - Their land. Now most passers-by give these simple farmers any heed, but the occasional sage or scribe might pay a few coin for a story or two for the records. Most stories go something like this: *** He left going west, walking to the far mountains, in search for adventure and mystery. He carried a walking stick and a rug-sack filled with provisions and a few protective agents such as salves. The man was no older than three decades and walked with a confident stride, befitting one of his Guild. ....(The storyteller would go on about this man's deed's and finish with the building of the statue).... *** The sun would greet the unnamed adventurer every morning, the mountains ever-beckoning his nameless silhouette to come explore it's many caves and hilltops. Every now and again, a passing merchant or farmer would sit and have a meal by the foot of the mysterious traveler, thinking it a good luck thing to do before hitting the road.