Lindakar, Frostbite Moutains, Twenty Years ago.
Although the air held the sticky warmth of midsummer, rain fell heavily outside the city gates of Lindakar, drumming on the polished armor of the guardsmen like a thousand tiny hammer blows. The soldiers on the wall nervously flexed their fingers around sword and spear hilts as they squinted through the rain. They could still make out the black-clad figure as he continued his steady stride towards the gates.
Scouts had observed the stranger for a while now, and the city gates had been swung shut as a precaution. By size and shape, it was a man in blackened furs and clothing – but there was something amiss about him, hence the precautions that had been taken. He appeared to carry an axe so large and heavy that it could have been taken from
