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An evil Wind stirs in the Nentir Vale.

It blows in harshly from the south and travels up the Nentir River to Fallcrest. It is strong enough to seemingly push a young man off the cliffs to his death, at the edge of the Falls of Fallcrest. Lingering a moment to savor the loss of life…and perhaps even the gain of death, The Wind blows on around the Vale, from Harkenwold to Hammerfast, then bounds off the Dawnforge mountains in the east.

As it streaks west on its way to Thunderspire, The Wind blows through the Five-league Inn, causing its shutters to rattle loudly. A few of the Inn’s guests begin turning fitfully in their beds, as if suddenly plagued by terrible nightmares.

Moving on, The Wind reaches the summit of Thunderspire and circles amidst ominous looking clouds. Lightning bolts strike the base of the mountain repeatedly, as if trying to gain entrance to its depths. A family of Halfling traders quickly seek shelter in tunnels near the surface.

Not tarrying too long, the seemingly possessed Wind, now whispering words in a sinister language long forgotten, speeds further west towards the Stonemarch range.

Purposefully…Urgently…Hungrily…

Frightened children, returning home before sunset, gaze skywards from the fields outside Winterhaven as The Wind passes overhead. In the town itself, old sage gazes out the window of his tower. His eyes move northwards along the sky, as if following the passage of The Wind. He shudders as the flames in his fireplace suddenly extinguish.

Even orcs and goblins will stay indoors tonight. Only the dead seem unperturbed by this strangest of winds.

It eventually slows down, having found its destination amidst the ruins of an old keep. “It is time…….”

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Shadows over Nentir Ravenblade