PrologueThis is a time of darkness. Sunlight shines on the hills of the earth, but quickly disappears. A time when the trees become bare; the gray sentinels lifeless and fragile. The air cuts into your chest with every breath. It's winter time. Winter in the lands of northern Falkreath is a time of fear and struggle. The harsh winter cannot be forgiven as it is the ultimate test of survival. The inhabitants of the northern lands of Falkreath have learned to cope with a hostile environment. They are simple people; foragers and artisans, because they are exceptional in both areas. Falkreath hunters are known to have no fear of the terrible wildlife that lives in the Northlands. They hunt the feared saber bears, mammoths and woolly rhinoceroses for food. The hunters of Falkreath spent weeks in the lands tracking down these large animals, stopping at nothing. They need the skin and meat that these animals provide to survive the winter. The artisans of Falkreath build strong structures that withstand the harsh environment of the Northlands. Their homes can withstand the enormous weight of snow caused by week-long blizzards. In this harsh country where survival is a battle, there is something that gives them the desire to live; a mountain. There reaching the heavens; the Mountain. Shrouded in the fog that separates the summit from the base. The overwhelming power of his sight. No one would dare look at it for too long, as if it were the sun. The mountain represents everything that is unknown. Many travel to face the summit and discover the mysteries of its roots. But the mountain would swallow them up and forbid them from returning home. People believe that the Mountain is the arm of the Earth; still moving....... middle of paper...... is the sword and sat on the fur carpet. Barvir walked to the edge of the camp and looked up at the sky. It was a few hours before dawn, but there would be no sun to greet him. As long as the Mountain remained there, these lands would not see the light. Dark times have struck Barvir and the people of Falkreath. The beast that emerges from the shadow of the mountain has not yet revealed itself. Any mention of the monster's name was forbidden and feared, for it could descend upon the earth the moment the name was spoken. He whispered, “Teratorn.” He felt a cold wind blow through the pines and hit his face. His eyes watering from the cold, he felt like there was a pull coming from the Mountain. As if it attracted him, tempted him to come to the Mountain. He shivered and turned to look at the dying fire. “Did you feel that?” Dorian stood up drawing his sword.