In the North, the winter is always with us. Even in the height of summer, it snakes around the world’s shoulders, dusting frost upon the windows in the dead of night and sneaking chill breaths under doors. The winter knows that, while its grip may lessen, we will never shake it off…

Never so in Rothülfrest, the haven of summer in a frozen wasteland. It is a secret refuge for my people, the warriors of Wulfsmeet, where the ice and snow are kept at bay by the nature of our mountain sanctuary. Only rarely have we brought strangers to this place, but now we must, for winter is snarling at the walls of our home. Its dark, twisted minions spill my people’s blood into the dirt, the blood of our raiders and our farmers and our children. It hardens the hearts of our Ruvastan neighbors, and steals in with their wicked intentions. Worst of all, it darkens the shadow of our sacred totem, the Wolf itself.

Our axes are strong, but too few. Our hearts are fierce and fearless, but gutter like torches in a blizzard, the likes of which we have never seen before. Have any the mettle to aid us against a curse which has brought even our mighty Skjanos fires low?

To those who would: travel north, to where Ruvasta ends in a wall of mountains, and we will find you.

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