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First and foremost, any background information on the world can be found on Last Stand Campaign Page. I will work on getting this moved up to this page.

This story picks up 50 years and 3 thousand miles away from the events of the Last Stand game. The world has moved on, wars have ended, and peace looms on the horizon. The Empire has finally made peace with the leaders of the Unclaimed. The foul minions of Kin’Varos have lost their foothold on the continent. A sanctioned port for trading and communications between The Tide established in the ever growing city of Char.

The city of Lidar is the crown jewel of the Empire, whose tendrils snake all across the continent. For the first time in centuries, the land mass is united under one banner. Emperor Cyranus IV has done what his predecessors failed to do: he removed the Tide’s foothold from the South.

Knight Commander Ashe, ruler of what was once the Unclaimed, has renounced the Spiked Crown, and cast Kin’Varos’ followers from his land. All Tide loyalists were shipped off the continent, safe for an established neutral trading spot in the rapidly growing village of Char. Lord Ashe, along with his entourage, will arrive in six months’ time and he will bend knee to the Emperor. His trusted nobles will be given a section of the city to shape and call their own, which is currently under construction by Ashe’s contingent of engineers. This, too, is a historic event because this is the first time any goblinoids has been allowed to walk freely in the streets of the city.
Disdain and sneers follow the unfazed beings, which work with a single minded purpose to complete everything according to Ashe’s plans. Hatreds run deep, and there have been many scuffles in the dirt between the goblinoids and Lidar’s denizens. While no fatalities have occurred, the deep rage and enmity simmers and threatens to boil over. Many still remember the Night of Blades, and more than one noble has been taking lessons in how to use the blades they carry. Nicks on the blades and cuts on the wielder show more and more how strong the paranoia has grown.

The other kingdom’s representatives are uneasy as well. The Elves have established a perimeter, allowing fewer and fewer strangers in. Rumors abound that the dwarven families have rigged their tunnels to collapse at a signal, sealing them in and the enemy out.
The Borderlords, many of them hardened veterans of the Crimson Ditch’s many campaigns, stare at the goblinfolk openly, daring them to make a comment.

Bonda Wrought-horn, the former Tide mercenary who defected and led the Borderlords to victory in the Blood Crawl campaign, scowls at the goblin workmen, and keeps his axe, Heartrender, close at hand.

Tensions are building among the nobles and politicians, but the beer and stories flow freely. Whispers of underground fights creep through the shadows, the paltry purses far outweighing the danger and thrill of beating a goblin with your bare hands. The bareknuckle fights have inspired the younger generation to learn to box, and many a young noble walks into court with a black eye or bruise. They exchange looks with each other, but nary a question is asked. One does not talk about the mudbox.

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