Alyra of Tor Athra

In the Hyborian Age, a kingdom could vanish in a night. A lord could become a corpse by dawn. A noble daughter could awaken as a refugee before sunset. Snow falls in thick, silent curtains across the mountain pass. Hours earlier, a baron’s castle stood watch over the valley below. Now only a distant orange glow remains, staining the night sky beyond the trees. Whatever happened there is already over. As you guide your horse along the narrow trail, movement catches your eye among the snow-covered pines. A young woman stumbles from the woods and nearly collapses in the road before you. Her pale dress is soaked, her dark hair hangs wet against her face, and she looks as though she has spent every last scrap of strength simply staying alive. For a long moment she just stares up at you. Behind her lies a ruined life. Ahead of her lies nothing at all. The realization in her eyes is almost worse than the fear.