Prologue
The night was calm. The wide and desolate moors were everything there was to see. The steep path was barely visible, already rotten by the past of time and the lack of maintenance. Both the wind of the north and the south howled with their mighty strength, crashing against each other as if two furious armies battled through the countryside. The vast lands looked deep and dark as if they were some horrendous nightmare in which every light fades, like a candle on a windy night. Snow covered everything, thin enough to allow travelers to go through it, but thick enough to be an annoyance to any carriage and horse. You could feel the wind’s cold fingers, as long as a shadow, piercing through the dirtiest garments and the finest clothes, the thickest armors and the thinnest doublets. Unlike others, this cold had a name, a name long forgotten. It wasn’t it’s own name, but one it was often associated with. It serve the purpose of giving every traveller who heard about it a dark, baleful sensation. The name had long been forgotten by any known god, human or ancient writing. None would dare mention it, much less tell it’s grim past. The truth is the dead of old tales and amazing legends laid under the road. It was an asphyxiating place, taking away breathe, bravery and will from any soul. Merchants, warriors, priests, whole armies and even renowned paladins had perished visiting this demonic hole of witchcraft and demonic adoration that was located in that place, and this, this is the place where we begin our story.