Clinging to the side of the Hag’s Crag, a young nomad ascends the face of the mount, snow and wind threatening to dislodge her. A courier's case is bound tightly at her waist.
Above the battlements of the Raven’s Gate a figure wearing hides crafted from firecat pelts fires arrows into a mass of shambling creatures darkening the park east of the city.
Leathers torn almost to shreds, another nomad fights, then dies under a royal blue flag flying a black tower under a golden seven-pointed star.
Carrying a thick pack stuffed with cotton, an older nomad wanders the back roads before crossing a bridge to the south of a tall crystal tower. He carefully unloads the pack, gently stacking vials of naphtha in a crate that was nearly depleted.
Far from all these scenes, a withered crone steps back from a basin filled with water which gradually clouds over. She shakes her head sadly, yet a grim smile rides upon her face.
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