February 26th, 1437 A.E., Farm country, north of the Downs

Two years had passed since the Oghre began their rebellion against the Trow. Moagim, having lost the aid of his most powerful forces, had not attempted another siege on Llancarfan. Still, his armies were not idle. Almost the whole of the fertile Downs had been laid to waste. As far north as the Twelve Duns did Moagim extend his deathly grip.

Thousands upon thousands of refugees swelled the city of Llancarfan to the breaking point. The destitute filled the streets and alleyways, living in squalor-yet thankful to be alive. Without home or wealth, they did what they needed to survive.

In the heart of winter, news came from the north that the Twelve Duns had fallen to Moagim's army.

Ravanna, hearing the plight of her people, was crushed. She had planned to leave Llancarfan long ago, yet her ever-growing feelings towards Damas had kept her there. Now her people had lost their land.

Vowing to give aid to her surviving people, Ravanna packed to travel to the northlands-but Damas would not let her go alone. Together they planned to find the refugees of the Twelve Duns and give them what protection they could.

Soon, Ravanna and Damas, accompanied by fifty loyal soldiers, made their way northward across the snow covered landscape. After many weeks of marching through the wind-swept ice and snow, no sign of the refugees had been seen.

Then, one morning as the dawn broke, smoke from campfires were seen drifting on the horizon. Ravanna and Damas hurried their troops to reach the source-praying that they were indeed campfires-and not the fires of battle...