Under raging storm clouds, a lone figure stands silhouetted against the ancient walls of a crumbling castle.  He stares down a sheer cliff at the village below.  A cold, bitter wind spins dead leaves around him, billowing his cape in the darkness. 

Lightning splits the clouds overhead, casting stark white light across him.  He turns to the sky, revealing the angular muscles of his face and hands.  He has a look of power— and of madness.  His once handsome face is contorted by a tragedy darker than the night itself.

Rumbling thunder pounds the castle spires.  The wind's howling increases as the man turns his gaze back to the village.  Far below, yet not beyond his ken, a party of adventurers has just entered his domain.  His face forms a twisted smile as his dark plan unfolds.  He knew they were coming, and he knows why they have come— all according to his plan.  He will attend to them personally.

Another lighting flash rips through the darkness, its thunder echoing through the castle's towers.  But he is gone.  Only the howling of the wind—or perhaps a lone wolf—fills the midnight air.  The master is having guests for dinner tonight.  It would be rude to keep them waiting.

Into the Mists

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