Tyrfalgr: The Battle for the Borderlands

For centuries, the wise men of the Twelve Holds whispered of a prophecy; that, in a sunless winter, the rivers would run red with the blood of Southern sons and daughters; the hill-forts would burn to ash; that, upon a blood moon, the head of the High King of Tyrfalgr would be placed for all to see atop the Eagle's Nest.   Warriors and sellswords, eager to prove their mettle upon the field of battle, waited, some their entire life, for this Winter of the Long Night. Many waited, in vain.   It is autumn of the year 1104 PR. Rumors of strange happenings flow into the Twelve Holds like mead into thirsty horns. A star has fallen from the sky far to the north, engulfing distant lands in ash and the sea; the earth itself trembles under the boots of advancing Auldhelmian troops, as they march to devour what little of the Continent they have not already picked clean of goods and resources; and, most worrisome of all to the Children of the South, are the tales of a massive cloud, swirling overhead from far away, spreading itself across the sky, blotting out the sun. Winter is nearly here. The people are afraid.   But you scarcely care about that. You find yourselves nestled deep in the centermost of the Twelve Holds, in the town of Sweetwood Hollow. Whether by the providence of chance or your own design, you find yourself in one of the South's famous meadhalls, among a populace celebrating coming doom. Maybe you have a job to do for one of the local logging or syrup barons, or you work as a caravan guard for one of the many commodities trading guilds that act as the lifeblood of the Continent; maybe you seek independent wealth, or tales to add to your collection; you may even be a native of the Hollow, one of the few with the grit to act in the face of the coming Cloud.   Regardless, the Cloud comes, and with it, the storied Sunless Winter. You're no hero, not by a long shot; but you may just have to do.