The afternoon sun shone at a coastal village. Small fishing boats have scattered along the nearby waters, with their nets spread wide along the seabed, some of the boats rowed back to the beaches with a good catch for the day. The cliffside tents have blended well against the tint of the hilly rocks.
Ral sat along the hillside campfire, his plain cloak fluttering against the sea breeze. The last visitor is from this village, as far as he remembered. The Truth Seeking Rod, the only artefact that he marked as his own, has unspoken functions that is for of his own purposes. The three visitors over the past few centuries, have came over his domain with small boats.
Over the campfire are a bunch of people, humans that are acting as leaders of a tribe. A group of five of what they call the Village Elders. It would be confusing to see on which held the real say over the village. An oncoming invasion from the enemy tribes, and their plans on fleeing.
"Escape? I disagree with that," Ral threw a fish bone to one side, "Flee the high seas, and there'll be a day where enemies will learn to cross these waters. Take flight like those birds, and they'll find a way to shoot you down with javelins. And the worst thing of all, you'll lose the things you treasure bit by bit, till the tides of the world sweep you away."
"Fight, and you carve the fate of your clan by your grasp of the spears." Ral stood up, breathing out a few curses as he swept the sand away his robes, "And can you please put away that stupid rod? Its hard to twist words around that thing I borrowed you, but I mean what I said, you've my word for that."
"Oh, I almost forgot, Ragnagedon have awoken. The place where the Truth-Seeking Rod points towards, might help you in the long run." The God of Treasures then vanished without a trace, back to his island of treasures.