PrologueIt is a time of darkness. The sunlight spreads over the hills of the earth, but then quickly fades away. A time when trees become bare; the gray sentinels lifeless and fragile. The air cuts your chest with every breath. It's time for winter. Winter, in the northern lands of Falkreath, is a time of fear and struggle. The harsh winter sees no forgiveness as it is the ultimate test of survival. The people living in the northern lands of Falkreath have learned to cope with the harsh environment. They are simple people; gatherers and craftsmen, because they are exceptional at these two things. Falkreath hunters are known to be unafraid of the terrible wilds that dwell in the Northlands. They hunt the feared saber bears, mammoths and woolly rhinos for food. Falkreath hunters spent weeks in the lands stalking these great animals, stopping at nothing. They need the skin and meat that these animals provide to survive the winter. Falkreath craftsmen build sturdy structures that withstand the harsh environment of the Northlands. Their homes can bear the enormous weight of snow caused by weeks-long blizzards. In this harsh land where survival is a struggle, there is something that gives them the will to live; a mountain. There it reaches the sky; the Mountain. Shrouded in fog that separates the summit from the base. The overwhelming power of his sight. No one would dare stare at it for long, as if it were the sun. The mountain represents everything that is unknown. Many travel to tackle the peak and discover the mysteries hidden in its roots. But the mountain would swallow them and prevent them from returning home. People believe that the Mountain is the arm of the Earth; always moving.......in the center of the card......is the sword and he sits on the fur carpet. Barvir approached the edge of the camp and looked up at the sky. It was a few hours before dawn, but there would be no sunlight to welcome it. As long as the Mountain remained there, these lands would not see the light. Dark times befell Barvir and the people of Falkreath. The beast that arises from the shadow of the mountain has yet to reveal itself. Any mention of the monster's name was forbidden and feared, for he could descend to earth the instant the name was uttered. He whispered, "Teratorn." He felt a cold wind blow through the pines and hit his face. His eyes watering from the cold, he felt as if there was a push coming from the Mountain. As if it attracted him, tempted him to come to the Mountain. He trembled, turned and looked at the dying fire. "Did you hear that?" Dorian stood up, drawing his sword.