[3P Compatible] The Realms breathe and whisper in these humble, perilous hours (Level 1–3). Yours is a tale not of crowns and kingdoms, but of wind-lashed crossroads, smoke-stung taprooms, and ruins half-swallowed by moss. Here, a single silver coin may buy bread—or betrayal. Goblins leer from dripping shadows, bandits sharpen blades by guttering lanternlight, and every whispered rumor might be the first step to your doom.

At this tier, magic is a hushed wonder, flickering at the edge of mortal ken. A hedge-wizard’s mutter may birth marvel—or mischief. The steel you grip is more precious than dreams, for a single poisoned dagger or fraying rope may end the bravest boast. Every choice matters. A jest too bold may earn a blade. A kindness, a quiet ally.

The world will not wait for you, nor forgive your folly. But should you survive the mud and moonlight, you may yet carve your name upon a tavern’s smoky rafters—spoken in awe, or in trembling fear.

Welcome to the low roads of the Realms, where the smallest stone can start an avalanche.