Nighttime descends like a deep blue veil over the River Veloma and the village of Prios Pass. The snow no longer falls, the wind no longer blows, and a grim calm settles in the shadows of the Titans. Somewhere on the other side of the river is the refugee camp, occupied by Alberians hoping to be welcomed into Queen Korinthia’s Promised Land.

Creaking and squeaking, the raft is reeled across the flowing waters, toward the points of fiery light glimmering along the northern shore. The boatman grunts a brusque farewell as he pushes you up on the slushy pier. Now, all that remains is waiting and hoping – waiting in the shadows of the mountains and the towering cliff which raises Baroness Karolia Meleon’s Keep high into the sky; hoping that the incoming caravan has not gotten stuck in the snow. Or worse.

Though you would rather not think about it, you have all heard accounts of what can happen on the journey across the mountains. Predators, bandits, even trolls and elv warn of the infectious darkness which many travelers bring along from Alberetor, the diseased south, to the hopeful refugees at Prios Pass.