Two centaurs, lightly armoured and with weapons at their side rest comfortably near a fire, not quite keeping watch but being awake and aware to raise the alarm, if one of the outer guards raises a disturbance. Around them, tents made from canvas create an orderly camp, with clear paths for swift movement and organisation. At the edge of the camp, almost hidden by the darkness of night, the rising slopes of a valley are visible, hiding the camp within.

“What is that?” one of the centaurs asks, pointing towards one of the slopes, atop which the stars suddenly disappear.

“Are you scared of a cloud now? Relax, there are guards up there, making sure that nothing bad will happen. Not only our guards, either.” the other centaur replies, taking a swig from a earthen jug.

The other looks back over to him, not quite sure what to say to the older centaur, before focusing back to the rugged slope of the valley, keeping an eye out, just in case.

“I don’t think clouds are supposed to do that.” he mutters, when dense, white mist starts to reflect some of the fire-light, blocking sight to the previously lightly lit slope.

“What?” the other is now roused, following the gaze of his partner and realising that something is indeed very wrong. Without a moment of hesitation, he gets up, not quite ready to raise the alarm, but almost. It wouldn’t do to raise the alarm needlessly, not with the long march looming the next day.

Suddenly, the mist surges forward, almost leaping at the surprised centaurs and now, the centaur is shouting, both in alarm and in shock. But the sound seems to be hollow, muffled by the cold, cloying mist that suddenly surrounds him, almost choking him.

“The wolves will betray you…” a soft, gentle voice whispers in his ear, making him reel around, trying to spot the speaker. But there is none, maybe it was just a figment of his imagination.

The scene shifts, showing a group of orcs carefully moving through a dark forest, without light, without making sounds. Their leader, apparent by her size and an air of confidence, suddenly stops, listening for a moment until a bird call sounds, causing her to nod and move on. They move across a small clearing, where a few more orcs stand, one of them giving a hand-signal to the leader, drawing attention to the still bleeding carcasses of a few, dark-furred wolves. They lie hazhapahrdly strawn around the clearing and after a quick look, the orc nods, gesturing for her people to continue on.

Soon after, they reach a steep drop, looking down on a small group of centaurs, standing in the mouth of a valley, clustered around a couple of fires. Looking further up the valley, there are a couple of fires lighting up an encampment, the sight causing the orc-leader to frown and settle down, as the image shifts again, back to the centaurs.

“Clyde?” he asks, his earlier bluster now gone, just as the partner he is looking for. Swallowed up by the mist, as if they had never been there.

Doubt starts creeping into the centaur’s mind, fear and uncertainty making him look hither and fro, scared what might be out there. His mind starts to conjure up shapes in the mist, snapping jaws, trying to tear into him, dark wings, ready to reap his soul and carry it into the underworld, predators lingering in the strange shadows cast by the last few flickers of the dying fire. In the distance, a wolf is howling, the noise strangely clear, as are the howls answering the first one.

Looking around, he tries to gather his bearings but there is no way to do so, around him only a slowly moving sea of white, dense enough to obscure even the ground beneath his feet. Stumbling, he moves forward, hoping to find his friend, just so he doesn’t have to face the cold mist alone.

For a moment, he hesitates but suddenly, he’s certain that he heard someone behind him, trying to sneak up on him. Instantly, without thought or mercy, he’s around, striking out at…

Nothing.

The image of the scared looking centaur fades to white mist and the scene returns to the orcs and the fires of the camp fading into darkness, as if snuffed out all at once. Despite the distance, some noise is audible, a cacophony of disturbance and a smile becomes visible on the orc-leaders face.

“That should be the signal.” she softly chuckles before raising her hand towards the centaurs below, quickly sketching out fiery runes while softly speaking under her breath. A shout of alarm is raised below, but far too late. Before the centaurs are able to react to the alarm, a streak of fire arcs out, exploding in their midst, scorching the ground and setting the centaurs aflame. The fire seems to stick to them, despite their efforts to get rid of it, causing them to quickly succumb, sinking to the ground as charred husks.

Before the fires caused by the explosion have a chance to burn down, the orcs move down the slope, the last of them setting up spears and caltrops, turning the slope into a deathtrap for anyone trying to charge down. Other orcs make sure that the burned centaurs are truly dead while the leader directs some orcs to place wood they had been carrying into four of the still-burning fires. The wood seems to light aflame unnaturally quick, almost as soon as the orcs have a chance to step back, it starts blazing. And, as the fires blaze in the dark of night, the orc-leader steps up, throwing some powder into the flames, causing them to flare as she is, again, speaking under her breath.

Moments after she finishes speaking with the first fire, the wood within starts to move, assembling into a burning stick-figure and walking out of the fire-place. With a few more words and gestures from the orc-leader, it takes up position facing into the valley, while the orcs finish their quick preparations for battle, forming lines and setting up defenses. And just in time, as the howling of wolves echoes into the valley, apparently coming from all directions, as the image fades again.

A piercing scream, echoing strangely in the empty, whiteness of the mist, is finally the straw that broke the centaurs back, causing him to run. There is no thought in his mind, but that he needs to escape, stark terror making him flee, without even trying to do anything but get out of the valley, away from the cold, cloying mist.

His mind starts to slowly come back from the numbing terror that had gripped him as he’s able to see a bright, orange light in front of him, making him wonder just how long he had been in the cold mist for it to already be dawn. Speeding up, he wants to welcome the warmth of the sun, hoping that it will banish the mist, back into the dark realm it came from.

Just as the heat is embracing him, he notices that it is not the Sun, that there are fires burning in the valley, a smell of charred meat filling the air.

Again, his mind is enveloped, only this time by burning pain.

The image follows the bolt of searing flame back to its origin, the group of orcs from earlier, in particular one of the wooden stick-figures. As another centaur comes charging out of the mist, one of the other figures raises its arms and a new bolt starts striking out, unerringly flying towards the centaur, flame incinerating another one. The orc-leader looks on, shaking her head, almost in disbelief.

“That is one scary lady.” she mutters, taking another look up the valley, the flames now allowing her to see that the centaur-camp is completely covered in dense, white mist, a mist that the centaurs flee, without any rhyme or reason. They seem to almost welcome the fiery attacks of her spirit-golems and her, not even trying to dodge or avoid them.

“Luckily she is on our side.” one of the other orcs notes, before calling out orders, as another group of wolves is approaching. Luckily for the orcs, fighting wolves with a prepared position and flanks secured by terrain is a lot easier than fighting them in the open or, even worse, the woods.

“But how long will that last?” the orc-leader whispers, speaking only to herself, as she conjures up another bolt of flame, ready to burn down another centaur, as soon as they escape the mist. Not that she would be easily able to do so earlier, the mist dampening her flames, almost dousing them.

As the bolt of flame arcs out, the scene fades again, only this time it is replaced by a globe, with blue flames racing across the continents.

“Find your own path.

On the Road to Purgatory.”