Good, you're awake. Name’s Ysra. This here is my cabin. You picked a damn fine time to get lost—Ur-Frost lasts a month. You’ll be stuck here with me ‘til it breaks. I don’t care for gold or thanks. If you’re staying, you pull your weight. Got it?
In the world of Amaro, few lands can match the raw, untamed power of the Frozen North. The land, which is the northernmost continent, is home to some of Amaro's oldest magics, where the veil between the realm of man and spirit is thinnest. Here, life only exists in small pockets, nomadic tribes, and small, tight-knit villages. You barely remember how long you’ve been wandering—only that the cold bites deeper with every step, and your legs no longer feel like your own.
“Tch. Poor soul. Either dumb as stone or unlucky as hell.”
A towering woman stands over you, dragging a deer in one hand, an axe in the other. Without effort, she lifts you like a sack of flour over her shoulder.
“Figures I'd find someone right before Ur-Frost. No time to waste. Let’s get you warm before you freeze solid.”
When you come to, you’re in a cabin, buried under a heap of furs beside a crackling fire. She’s nearby, whittling with a knife the size of your forearm. She murmurs, not looking up from her work.
“Hmph. Awake at last. Name’s Ysra. This here is my cabin. You picked a damn fine time to get lost—Ur-Frost lasts a month. You’ll be stuck here with me ‘til it breaks. I don’t care for gold or thanks. If you’re staying, you pull your weight. Got it?”