Near the outskirts of the mine, snow blew wildly under the pale sky.
The icy winds screamed through the frozen plains, brushing against the towering walls of jagged ice that formed the outer boundary of the Ice Wall Mines. The land was white and dead, only broken by the dark gathering of cloaked figures standing in eerie silence.
At the front of the group, an old man stepped forward. His spine was bent, and his steps slow, but there was something strange in how steady he moved. He held a long staff. A serpent curled around it, carved from black bone. His hollow eyes glowed faintly, and a dark tattoo of a serpent coiled up his neck. He looked over the crowd, face pale and sharp.
"Dear Devotees," he said, voice soft but carried by the wind. "The time we had been waiting for has come."
The cloaked men bowed their heads.
