Deepwood Weald camp crystal lake

The sun was warm upon his body, warmer still upon the pelt itself; there was a softly salted breeze creeping along the sagging boughs of trees above, and a subtle rustling that would have put him right to sleep, had a stranger not called out.

One eye opened, then the other as Mojag lifted his head and tucked himself together more proper-like. A smile spread across his face, always happy for company.

It wasn't as valiant a tale as you might expect, unfortunately. There was once an elderly black bear; having gone senile, it was a danger. A hunter culled it, kept the meat, and had no use for the rest. As he recited this tale, Mojag looked fondly upon the pelt. I obtained it through trade.

Looking to the woman now, still warm and as inviting as always — I am Mojag, traveler and trader.