Farther east than even the Great Eastern Forests, over which the great Elven Nation reigns, a village called Orli Yyr rests between the slopes of the Slags and those of the Aoldrix Mountains. The village, famously populated by only Humans, isn't known for its hospitality. Those of other races, such as Elves, Fairies, Gnomes and even Dwarves, often disappear without a trace.


You sit in the corner of the carriage, which is pulled by eight Elven stallions, and watch the other three men whose company you've been forced to endure.
The up and down, winding nature of the path serves to intensify your discomfort. Taking a deep breath and ignoring the sense motion sickness, you open your journal and look at the name of the man you've been hired to kill. Pocrum Wim... Your days are running out. Then, you notice the village of Orli Yyr.

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Don't you owe me a signed, autographed book, Mark?🙂😁  I seem to remember getting Terry Brooks to autograph a book for you in St. Louis, Mo.