Once called the village of the damned, for no living creatures walked the streets, in their place
was the dead. The dead were a plauge upon all of the land, for Jyend is the center of trade, the cross roads of man kind.
One could never go around, for long ago an ancient curse was placed the sea's on either side of the isle boiled, impassible
for ships. Mountians sprang up on either side, preventing any from entering the village. For the peaks soared so high no
one could venture over them. The mountian sides are shear drops, leading to a certian death. The dead had murdered
all in the village, and no one dare go there to purge it. For a century no one went near, no trade was made, the people had
to survive off the land. A legend has it that the kings of old came from the sky, riding white winged horses. The first king, F'iyn Gretnd weilded a sword of great power, the power to send spirits past
the gates of death. He walked among the dead, weilding his sword with agility and grace. Soon the dead fled, some to
the boiling waters of the sea, or some shed their bodies, leaving them to rot. F'iyn searched among the carnage, looking for
any still living. In the cellar of a house he found a
small boy curled in a ball in a corner. His small figure burning
with the fever. F'iyn took the small boy to his home, careing for him. The boy's name was Gersan, a peasant boy from
a near by village, and came here to learn from his uncle, a black smith. F'iyn adopted the boy, and raised him as a prince.
Under his rule the village thrived, the trade began. The price's decendants still rule the village today, which
is becoming more of a town everyday. The majority of humans live here, and a few non-vicious creatures that humans decided
to take in.