Death creeps within you. A sickness destined to steal away the life from your bones. You've heard it in your dreams, the beckoning of Valenhall. That mystical land, shrouded in mist. A world away, yet somehow you trekked that distance. As your malady sapped at your strength, and the nightmares of death without purpose grew ever bolder within your mind. You stand now, just a few days trek from those halls sung in story among the Ulfen. Ill-equiped, ill-experienced, and short of time. There is no return to the life you had. No peaceful twilight years for you live out. Within a year you will be dead, by the sword or by the rot. Burn bright and rage.