The woods were lit only by shafts of moonlight, each divided countless times by the needles of conifer trees. It was a world of blacks and whites, and in the shadows above Nanok, two red eyes glowed like coals. Sitting crosslegged at the base of the tree, Nanok ran his whetstone along the blade of his axe. By the time
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Webs dripped from the city, covering walls and towers alike with a foul, funereal shroud. Tiny spiders moved in rapid swarms and devoured small mammals, while muffled screams emanated from the darkened alleys where the larger insects went to feed. Jonas the Kind walked up the center of this corrupted street, his steel-shod staff held loosely in his right hand.
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You’re sitting comfortably in the town’s tavern, listening to other adventurers swap tales of ancient treasure and daring deeds. You walked long hours already today, cutting off-road to cross the Riverlands south of Red Bridge, but you can feel the weight of the miles falling away. As you sit, a young man bursts through the tavern doors and shouts
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