story1

There was a message written down on a piece of parchment, yellowed with age, and the ink that lay upon it had been crafted by a rough hand. The angles on the letters were sharp and hard, showing that it wasn't written in an age of technology. It was a relic of a long forgotten era - a time where one became known through their might, and the strength of their will. A copy of the parchment was posted on every signpost and every door, headed with a single sentence:

'I speak as the Priest of the Beast.'

The rest of the message read as follows:

'You all know me. You know of my record, and what I have made. I have proven the strength that the old ways bring - twice over, now. I speak as the one who has won both of the World Martial Art tournaments. The old ways of our ancestors are much more beneficial than others would like you to believe. So far, there has only been one person to rise to the occasion to build something on these lands, and he has my respect for his actions - but not for his ideals. He brings to his side those that forget the the ways of strength and primal savagery that makes this world turn. I offer a better path for those who wish to walk the path of the Beast, if they make the effort to reach me. We have heard the warning of offworlders approaching our planet, and I assure you that kind words will fail us. The old ways, however, will not.'

Burned onto the parchment was a set of coordinates for the supposed location of the author of this message.