The road leading to Aldcroft is as bleak and dispiriting as any I have travelled. The town itself seems besieged by a gloom that sits heavily upon its rooftops, such as I doubt even Arkay’s breath could raise. Under laden gait its denizens scurry, finding what comfort they can in dogged routine, whilst even the birds seem reluctant to take wing into the smothering dusk.
Yet within this endless murk, blushes of hope can still be found. Refugees from neighbouring Camlorn have been granted provision and shelter, the Wyress Gwen and Ileana have arrived, laying aside age old mistrust to offer their aid to the displaced, and the local militia stand united at Aldcroft’s gates, holding back the wild without.
Although I fear the blighted skies above Aldcroft will darken further before a dawn is seen again, it is here where we must make a stand and begin to push back the night.