Amarok

The world has died—again.

Covered by a pale shroud of cold and horror.

What remains of the living has been reduced to barbarity.

They and the dead - of this and other Ages - cannot rest.

The living, out of sheer stubbornness. Life blindly keeping itself alive.

As for the dead... who knows what motivates them?

You walk. You survive.

You hear legends, myths: a place where Ice cannot enter.

A place of warmth and color.

Your ancestors sought it, left clues.

Or were they merely the delusions of spirits who succumbed?

It doesn't matter.

You walk.

There are no cities, no towns. Only caravans and wandering bands.

There is no mercy—an ever-present truth in nature, now impossible to ignore.

There is no abundance—meager resources, minimal warmth, and only three colors: the black of night, the white of ice and snow, and the red of blood.