You don’t remember a time before; before the air felt heavy and thick, before the pain. All sound is whispers in the darkness. The faces around are terrible masks, frozen in crafted despair, enduring an endless night through a deathless winter, trapped between the walls and peaks in valleys of shadow. This is their monument to sorrow. This is the kingdom of the Hegemon. Here you serve a monstrous god.

But an end is coming. Your hollow eyes have found hope – the lost whisper of escape. This is your chance. We meet at darkest hour. Grant no goodbyes. Arrive prepared, and armed. We do not know what happens next but remember: we have nothing left to fear.