Wylder was standing alone in the library of the crumbling Hold. He stood there, motionless, with his hand held into the air; trying to catch the dim candlelight through a small earring.

It was special to him, that much he knew, but the warrior failed to recall why. He had the same dreams every night. War torn lands, rivers of blood; a soft echoing voice that called out to him.

It made no sense to Wylder, and trying to remember further only brought pain and fog to cloud his mind. Yet, he knew one thing for certain... A dark feeling. A connection. Something great called him here; to these lands, this purpose. Something beckoned him closer... Into the Night.