Beyond the northernmost borders of Sataurus lay a land of obscurity and mysticism. Befallen by the spell of an ancient rite, the sun is forbidden to shine down upon the frigid peaks of this region, instead the sky is shrouded in an eternal storm.

Three figures stood near one another at the highest point of these harsh lands. With hooded cloaks draped over their bodies, all that could be seen was the cloth that wrapped around their eyes. The booming of thunder cracked through the air as hail rained down atop the frosted spire in which they stood.

“The pieces are in place, Karam. The wheels of the end have begun to turn.”

At the center was a single stone table with what looked to be various carved figures that faintly resembled people, place, and other things; among them, one with chains, one with a deformed arm, one with a tail, and various others.

“Tragedies befall the weak. The weak become strong. Chains link hearts. Lies break chains. Truth mends some. Truth destroys others.” Karam mumbled a plethora of vague prophecies as he paced around the table. “The voices won’t stop, Hakir. The gods speak without ceasing!”

“We have forfeited our eyes so that we may truly see. We have forfeited the sun so that we may be truly enlightened. The voices are mere proof of our pact with the gods, Karam.” He briefly looked down at the figures before him. “We must ensure the preparations are complete before they come to us.”

“Of course, Hakir. Everything will be according to the gods’ wills.”

Returning from the overlook at the edge of the spire, the third walked methodically. “My brothers, pay great attention to the words of the gods; however, do not forget to utilize the brain they have given you as well,” she spoke in a smooth, but serious tone. “The coming of the Great Darkness draws near...” She paused briefly, her breath steaming in the icy air. “Not even we are safe from its grasp.”