Garolium Scraggart, beloved ruler of the people, has died. Despite an upbringing of real hardship she rose to the highest rank in the royal court and did what she could to make sure the poorest in Brighthelm were not forgotten. She died too young, her work half done.

A tournament has been announced to find her successor. Brave knights have travelled down royal highways. Bold paladins have knocked on royal doors. So too have bards, lords and heroes. All looking to take over Scraggart’s reign and rule the realm to their desires.

And every one of them has been sent back to whence they came.

Because Garolium herself had devised the tournament. It was the last thing she did, and she decreed it would only be open to those of the most limited means. Those whose potential had been locked by the chains of ill-fortune and poverty. Brighthelm’s paupers. She had spent her whole life building their ladder and nobody was going to kick it away.