We were unrooted from our lands, driven from our homes. Like a wave of death, Grand Emperor Zails army swept across our borders, destroyed our fields, put our kings on stakes for all to witness. His message was one of blood and fire, he brough only death. Son In the war that followed, we utilized devastating magic to repel his minions. But it was only temporary, and we ripped the land itself apart in our desperation. Now? Now we are adrift, trudging trough sludge and snow, our wagons stuck in mud, our children crying, our old dying.

Elves, Humans, Dwarves, Halflings and the other races that inhabit the Northern kingdoms are without hope. There are those who are trying to live. We have set out south, in a giant caravan towards the lands of Aela, a land untouched by Zails corruption. Each of us have stories to tell, scars we do not show each other. Each of us left a burning cottage or a dead family member behind. The gods we worshiped did not respond, we fear they are dead, Destroyed by the dark Planars that Zail and his ilk worship.

" And even as we flee we suffer attacks from the Black Blooded, , Orchs, red eyed and with sharp teeth that devour meat of any being felled. Kepulî, like goblins but viler, with cunning and barbed arrows. Able to sneak into our camps and slit our throats should we let down our guard. And even then, they are merely opportunistic raiders that plague us, having no connection to Zail and his mercyless horde

And in front we have to cross the Silver Marshes, The Great Plains ves. Beyond that is the Great Ravine, home to all kinds of monsters. And yet, forward is all we know, all we can do. If we stop, the Black blooded will descend, if we turn back we face the steel of Zails pikes and swords. So we press forward. We continue our exodus.