WWW #37: Who Goes There
The fog of war floats in the valleys and ravines of the Shroud Mountains like a ghost. It erases. It confuses. It hides. It lies. And through the veil, those unlucky few soldier on, to take in the view, and plan their attack, above a place so many will never leave. Anyone can turn around, but thresholds were made for crossing, and we've got business with the butcher.