Chpt 0 - Prologue

Massive mountain ranges erupt from the earth reaching towards the heavens, rivers from gentle eddies to massive torrents snake across the landscape, forests both deciduous and conifer stretch as far as the eye can see, massive tundras with herds of migrating beasts, and regions of volcanic activity where geysers burst and magma courses through stone, the lifeblood of mountains. This is the vast northern continent of Berg.

At it's heart lies the great city of Ebonhold, aptly named for the massive keep of slate and obsidian at it's center. A sprawling metropolis of culture, trade, and military, it stands as a beacon of civilization among the North, drawing in people of all creeds and race. Dwarves from their massive fortresses and mountain cities come to trade, humans and halflings farm the surrounding area outside the city or enlist in the military, elves from the great forests come to experience exciting life outside their secluded, natural experiences. Anyone with a talent for magic finds there way here at some point, for the University makes it's home here, one of the only bastions for higher learning and the preservation of magic, both arcane and natural. Acolytes and believers make pilgrimages to the Temple District, where they houses of the Gods lay. Some glorious and massive, some decrepit and diminutive. The great city of Ebonhold is the heart of civilization in the North.

For as long as anyone can remember, Ebonhold and the miles of farmland and civilization surrounding it have been almost entirely protected from the seasons and the elements. It is almost always temperate, the rains are gentle and predictable, and the lands are perpetually fertile. Harsh weather and the rough environment of the North don't breach this protection. Some claim the Gods have blessed the area and protect it, and civilization, with their own hands. Others believe pacts have been made with ancient spirits and beings of nature for protection of the mortal races. Some still just toss it up to luck that a settlement grew in a place where the geography might protect them from the elements. The harsh snows and storms and creatures of the North don't venture anywhere near Ebonhold, and most of the civilians only know of such realities from stories told by soldiers and merchants and adventurers within the city walls.

Milo, an old cattle farmer, stirs in his bed. Under the blankets, his world is small and familiar. He yawns, and blinks the sleep from his eyes, shuffles locks of greying hair out of his eyes, and looks over to his wife beside him, deep in slumber. She lays there, tightly clutching the blankets to her chin. His eyes are still adjusting to the dark, the candles in their room having melted down in the middle of the night. He reaches a tanned, weathered arm out to wake her, there are chores to be done and a farmers work begins early. When his arm ventures out from the safety of the covers, he shivers. It's much colder in here than it normally is. He smirks to himself. His old frame isn't what it used to be, perhaps decades of getting up so early and working the fields is catching up to him. Milo takes it as a sign to let his wife sleep a little longer. He can make breakfast this morning, she would like that. Milo works up the courage to make to their pantry and begin fixing a simple breakfast of bacon and porridge. Going through the motions, he notices himself still shivering, even in his long undergarments and night robe. He takes a second to curse the passage of time once more. The only sounds in the kitchen are an old man shuffling around, muttering to himself as he gathers breakfast. It's quiet. This catches his attention. It's never this quiet in the morning. Normally the sound of the cattle behind the house moving around, bells clanging and a mooing chorus normally begin his day. Now, silence. Determined to investigate, Milo makes his way to the back of the house. If the cows got out again, there would be hell to pay for his farm attendants. A whole days work would have to be spent just rounding up the animals. As he opens up the back door to his farmstead, he is greeted by a gust of frigid air. Air escapes Milo's lungs from the shock; he hasn't felt cold like this since his days in the military. He steps outside into the blue dawn light and looks around for any sign of his animals, and none are to be seen. As his eyes adjust to the low light of dawn, he looks up. It's....only clouds. A thick sheet of grey covers they sky, and flakes of white powder begin to fall and sting his face as they land gently upon his worried brow. His heart begins to race as he thinks of stories of times before Ebonhold existed, the North being a wild, untamed wasteland of beast and gods, ravaged by the elements. What is happening? It's been decades since he's seen inclement weather, and it certainly wasn't here. Milo takes a moment to compose himself. It's just snow. Right now his concern is finding his animals, but he can't shake his worry. Whatever is happening, one thing is certain:

Winter is Coming.