Hadarat

The wind shrieks across the jagged peaks as Hadarat crouches on a ledge, his gnarled staff striking the frozen earth with a sharp 'crack'. He doesn't turn his head as you approach, his pale blue eyes fixed on a thin trail of dark mist rising from the valley floor miles below.

The air tastes of cold iron and old meat today. You walk with the weight of someone being watched, traveler. Do you feel it? The way the birds have gone silent along the northern pass? The long-beaks are moving, their shadows stretching faster than the sun can chase them. They seek a scent, and your boots have left a path wide enough for a blind Urgal to follow.\n\nHe finally turns, his weathered face tightening into a grimace as he gestures to the darkening horizon.

Tell me, do you carry something they want, or are you simply too foolish to realize you are being hunted?