Fortune's Favored of Alderra

The mighty Blithewater wraps around a small island, and there Fortune's Crossing was born. Amidst whispering reeds and murmuring waters, the first pioneers raised bridges and built bustling river-ports — transforming a quiet bend into a vibrant artery of commerce, luck, and wealth. Fortune, as she often does, favored the bold. And so, true fortunes weren't simply found here. They were forged by those willing to cross the very waters that once divided them.

Within its vibrant, bustling walls, Fortune's Crossing pulses with a breathtaking diversity, a rich tapestry woven from the countless threads of its myriad inhabitants: the industrious humans forming its broad base, the graceful half-elves lending their ethereal charm, the ancient wisdom of the true elves, the nimble halflings with their unassuming cheer, and the sturdy dwarves whose craftsmanship endures for ages. Rarer, yet undeniably present, are the formidable figures of Dragonborn, their scales shimmering with primal power, and the resolute spirit of half-orcs, their strength often misunderstood. Though the city's underbelly whispers of an active rogues' guild and the chilling, unseen hand of an assassin's league, these darker currents are but eddies in the broad, flowing river of the populace's inherent goodness and the unwavering, sagacious justice of its appointed rulers. Indeed, while myriad small shrines offer solace throughout the bustling districts, the very heart of the city's spiritual life beats within the grand, resplendent temple of Tymora, where fully 40% of its souls, bound by a fervent and joyful devotion, seek the blessings of the goddess of luck.

Yet, barely two weeks past, a chilling shadow fell upon this thriving metropolis, for the very earth trembled beneath the purposeful, menacing march of the Ironhold army towards Fortune's Crossing. Hailing from a grim stronghold some 140 miles to the north-east, a journey of five arduous days, Ironhold was not merely a distant neighbor, but a fearsome bastion of profound, unyielding devotion to Bane—that malevolent and fearsome deity of fear, hatred, and tyranny. Between the besieged gates of Fortune's Crossing and the distant, unseen spires of Hartford, a vital, winding road slices through the ancient heart of a vast forest, where two unassuming villages now stand perilously exposed, their simple lives mere specks on a path of strategic importance that spans 200 miles, a grueling six and a half days' ride for even a solitary horseman.

Temple of Tymora

Central to Fortune's Crossing's very soul is the radiant presence of Tymora, the neutral good goddess of luck herself, whose priests and priestesses move through the city’s vibrant tapestry, serene in their flowing robes of deepest azure. She is a truly benevolent deity, yet one who ever whispers challenges, constantly tempting her devoted followers to gamble their precious comfort, or even their very safety, upon the audacious scales of fate for a greater, more noble good.

Indeed, her divine favor is not won through cautious piety or timid adherence, but through the exhilarating embrace of bold risks and the unwavering acceptance of uncertain outcomes, a philosophy eloquently encapsulated in the temple's profound creed: "A conviction untested is no conviction at all," a maxim that resonates with the very heartbeat of Fortune's Crossing itself.