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Aranel is brought forth, the elders beckoning. "The road ahead is dark, but you need to walk. Do not let yourself be heavy with guilt. We need word, action. Victory will come hard, and it will be slow, but we WILL triumph! Go, now, to the Man City, and discover what we cannot."

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To the elf: Nothing is said. They watch as she goes. You gather your gear and leave the safety of home, heading north. The road will be hard, but you have the cover of forest.

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To the human: You come upon a deserted wasteland of a village, still echoing with the dark surges of necromantic fire. Dozens were killed. Some eaten. The Black Moon is waxing. Perhaps, you should not wait long.

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Aranel walks for hours, encountering only the expected sounds of a lush Elven forest, though, it is odd that no other members of your community are spotted. As you come to the exit, the open plain expands before your eyes, and in the distance, under the dark cover of the red moon, you see smoke. There is no wind, and it is not cold.

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