The day had been long with no orders or word from the one known as Lord Shade. The small encampment among the mountains north of Torlynn, a small village with much to say for its farmland but little in any other regard. Vashin Manor stands as a great bump upon the side of the peak with its access to caves and caverns which wind deep through the mountains. Only rock and silver come out by the hands of heavyset Duergar miners. Overseen by Count Vashin himself, a human-looking man with a pale complexion and thinned features, along with his moderators and guards to ensure security and keep the work flowing, the Manor offers much in the way of funding for the efforts of Lord Shade.

Some new arrivals come to the Manor over the course of a few days. Each with their own orders, goals, and purposes either for Lord Shade or their own fruits. Though diversity does not span the cosmic list of sentients, many are present in various forms of commonality; elves, dwarves, orcs...and some mixtures of the undead. None at the Manor question such vile creatures as the walking corpses, and they offer services and act accordingly to the will of Lord Shade. While intelligent and self-driven, some suspect their underlying will is tied to some other force either within or beyond the Manor itself.

Across the landscape of the Manor rests a graveyard, a smithy, and a few houses. One house seems as a store of some kind with general goods such as arrows, simple equipment, sacks of grain and general food. Another seems a storehouse meant for holding goods, perhaps for those about the Manor. Another appears as a more specified intended structure with shields, blades, and armor. Yet another appears as some sort of library with many books, scrolls, and equipment associated with such industries.

Sitting upon a tombstone near a small graveyard riddled with ancestors of Count Vashin rests a palish figure in fine-scale armor grinding stone against the tip of a spear blade. His legs dangle from atop the stone with worn words and dates barely readable upon its surface. His head is hooded and partly covered with strands of black hair dangling from the sides of the inside of the hood. A pipe sticks out from his lips with soft smoke wafting into the air. A satchel of gear rests at the base of the tombstone, nestled close for safekeeping.