The Federation
Established Nation
Ben Avon, a small city on the edge of civilized Sylvania, the last stop for supplies on the single road cutting through the mountainous forest wilderness to West March. Home to the rugged Bantyric and Boreasic immigrant settlers who came to Sylvania looking for a life to be made in a new home. Here the motor vehicle shared the road with the horse, old and new clashed within the city’s limits creating an environment unique to the area. Many people of Ben Avon often looked to the wilderness wondering what lay within the dark and dangerous depths of the forest, afraid to venture in and discover it for themselves, content to stay within the confines of the world they had already tamed. However, there are always a few, imbued at birth with a spirt that can never be satisfied by the pleasures of civilization. These select few ventured off into the wilderness to make a life separate from the chaos humanity. Many were never seen again, thought to be dead, but nobody would ever know for sure. Others came back with stories of their lives within the forested mountains, though many of these 'Forest People’ never stayed longer than the time needed to trade with a local doctor or farmer.
It was a month and a half ago that a local adventurer came back from a trip deep into these woods, he was delirious, screaming incomprehensible things at whoever would listen. The local physician took this poor man in and nursed him back to health. Reporters from the city paper made their way to see him, he spoke of his time spent with a group of descendants of these Forest People as they are now known. His stories of them were mostly omitted from the papers, to make room for what they had found to be much more interesting. “Oil!” The headlines simply read. Oil, seeping right out of the ground in the foothills of the forest covered mountains. It was only a week ago that a man of great wealth had shown up in our sleepy little corner of the world, he brought with him a small assortment surveyors and prospectors. The finest hotel in Ben Avon was bought out to house them as they began to plan their expedition. This “Refined Man” as they called him, was said to be a “Captain of Industry,” he spoke with the airy accent of a man from Charleroi, but his mannerisms were that of a Whitehall native; tough, deliberate and most of all reliable.
Leroy Duval stood at the top floor of the hotel looking past the waking Ben Avon toward the mountains basking in the morning sunrise, here he would make his money and become more than just a Captain of Industry, he would become a legend for all other men to envy.
“They say nobody can claim this wilderness. That nobody can tame it. There isn’t a thing on this planet that can not be bent to the will of a strong man.” He said, speaking to his Foreman. The Foreman nodded silently as he looked at the window as well.
Duval watched as his surveyors and prospectors set out from the Hotel on horseback with their equipment heading out on the single stretch of road into the wilderness, they would step off the beaten path into history. Where it would lead him he did not know, but he dared to dream it would lead him to the power only industry could provide.
It was a month and a half ago that a local adventurer came back from a trip deep into these woods, he was delirious, screaming incomprehensible things at whoever would listen. The local physician took this poor man in and nursed him back to health. Reporters from the city paper made their way to see him, he spoke of his time spent with a group of descendants of these Forest People as they are now known. His stories of them were mostly omitted from the papers, to make room for what they had found to be much more interesting. “Oil!” The headlines simply read. Oil, seeping right out of the ground in the foothills of the forest covered mountains. It was only a week ago that a man of great wealth had shown up in our sleepy little corner of the world, he brought with him a small assortment surveyors and prospectors. The finest hotel in Ben Avon was bought out to house them as they began to plan their expedition. This “Refined Man” as they called him, was said to be a “Captain of Industry,” he spoke with the airy accent of a man from Charleroi, but his mannerisms were that of a Whitehall native; tough, deliberate and most of all reliable.
Leroy Duval stood at the top floor of the hotel looking past the waking Ben Avon toward the mountains basking in the morning sunrise, here he would make his money and become more than just a Captain of Industry, he would become a legend for all other men to envy.
“They say nobody can claim this wilderness. That nobody can tame it. There isn’t a thing on this planet that can not be bent to the will of a strong man.” He said, speaking to his Foreman. The Foreman nodded silently as he looked at the window as well.
Duval watched as his surveyors and prospectors set out from the Hotel on horseback with their equipment heading out on the single stretch of road into the wilderness, they would step off the beaten path into history. Where it would lead him he did not know, but he dared to dream it would lead him to the power only industry could provide.