Pine Grove was a normal town of Middle America. With perhaps just enough population and industry to be called a city, it yet retained the feel of a smaller suburbia, with many of a small town's virtues -- or vices. Located where the Great Plains met the Rocky Mountains, the town was built into the sides of a valley, with the namesake conifer forests above and a spread of agriculture below.
The advent of internet and iPhone had had little impact on the town's stolid morality, and even the university was unusually placid. Anything that strayed too far beyond what the citizenry considered normal was suspect; dangerous, or even indecent. Rather like the patchy, sad red light district.
Not everyone was happy with this simple way of life. Some enjoyed fantasy, some enjoyed the risque and decadent. And some just yearned for something more, even though they could not put a name to it.
Perhaps they were one of those yearning for something more. Perhaps they even had some idea of the excitement and freedom they craved. Or, perhaps they just happened to be out for a walk in the forest, in an area so far untouched by the logging industry.
Whatever the reason, someone was about to stumble onto something decidedly not normal amongst the pine-scented glades. A rent in the fabric of reality. A glowing tear, a portal to another world -- one of fantasy and high magic, magic so alien to the conservative air of Pine Grove.
A gate to fantasy, fair or dark. An invitation to be accepted, or a prelude to invasion? Who might come through it, and why? To explore? To trade? To conquer? To raid and enslave? Who -- or what?