You stand on the deck of a mighty ship of the line. For three weeks you’ve been at sea, caught in the grip of an endless expanse of ice and water. Your journey finally looms through the mist rising up above you. Ahead, you can spy the very first glimpses of land. Tall, imposing stone cliffs topped with small copses of pine and fir trees. To the northwest, a column of smoke rises in the distance.
“That’d be the Rangvir village I’d wager.” The captain of the Winter’s Morn, the grizzled Shane Sharray speaks up from prow of the ship.
Stepping down from his wooden perch he walks towards the lot of you.
“I hope y’all are prepared for what Skorderang has in store for you. You knew as well as I that the Winter’s Morn can only drop you off at the mouth of the fjord. Any further and we might never survive.. As much as I wish you luck, you know as well as I do that Skorderang pisses on such nonsense. Keep your eyes wide open and your bodies warm, which be the best I can say.”
He gazes thoughtfully at the landscape fast approaching, lets out a deep sigh and heads off, bellowing orders to the crew.
Less than an hour later, the Winter’s Morn sails between two arches of stone and finally enters the Harfjord, only known entrance to Skorderang’s frozen lands.
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