The entirety of the south of the Winterlands is darkness and terror, in your opinion. What possessed you to come here was only greatest need— or greatest folly. The winds and blizzards are grueling, especially across the open tundra. Luckily, once you get to the lake districts, there’s hills and valleys to break it up, but the yawning mouths of the caverns are eerie and imposing. And there is one cave in particular you are seeking. You find it. Black obsidian, black ice, ice-rock— the sediment of the Winterlands that is halfway earth and halfway cold incarnate. Oddly enough, this cave grows silent as you step inside, and there is an imposing beauty to the structures within. Black and blue and iridescent in the light of your lantern. Half an hour into the cavern, you sense him. His presence. “Good evening, little trinket.” His voice is sensuously malevolent, smooth, amused. You imagine it as the voice of a black dragon. “My, how convenient for you to wonder in here on your own.” You turn yourself to face him, and there he is. Black cloak of shadows itself, whispering velvety across the ground. His clothing a dark midnight blue, showing no wear or tear despite his harsh surroundings. Imposing and tall, pale-faced, dark hollows in his cheeks, his hair black and spiky. His eyes shifting from silver to gold to black as he regards you with crude curiosity. Thalorin Blackfrost. The only mage of the Winterlands who has ever developed magic combining ice and darkness itself. And you are at his mercy.