Summon Your Dragons

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The howl of that infernal wind made it hard to even think. Menish, king of Anthor, hero of a dozen battles and many more songs, stood at the edge of the Chasm of Kelerish and shuddered.

The cold was slowly eating into his aging bones. It never snowed on the high plains of Kelerish but winter here was more severe than in the lowlands. White clad mountains frowned down at the plains and the wind carried their chill.

Sometime in ages past these plains had been snapped in two leaving a dark, misty pit whose depths raged and echoed with an insane wind. It was a sound that chewed at one's soul. He clutched his fur cloak tightly around himself in an effort to find comfort in what little warmth it gave in this hellish place.

Hellish. The Vorthenki believed that Hell itself lay in the Chasm of Kelerish. The noise of the wind was the crying of imprisoned souls. It made him shudder again; the wind did sometimes sound like a cry of agony.

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