Bleakborn

Descriptive Text

It was the damnedest thing. High on Death's Glacier we were about to receive civilised company. A toboggan rider, dusted in ice particles glistening with the light of the full moon, bore down rapidly upon our position. The threat of arrows and arrows themselves did not slow the chap. An instant after we marked him as being a parody of life, we were hammered by a wave of cold that felled a third of us. Too late, I ordered the men to scatter, for within seconds the dead out numbered the living and were rising to fill out the ranks of our foe. I would not be here had the thing been just that little bit cleverer and put its sled beyond use.

- Gustov Petroff, hawkmaster and horse smuggler, wanted for desertion from the Falkovnian army, remembering his mission to the Sleeping Beast Mountains