Slowly, ever so slowly, the flood waters recede, the tide creeping its way back into the ocean. Water is left trapped within the streets of Denocte, but it is dramatically lower now.

But the water doesn’t return to its usual position. 

The waves pull farther and farther back out to sea, revealing the shore line inch by precious inch. Shells, seaweed, crabs, even  stranded fish line the seashore. Off in the distance, the waves continue to recede.

Out in the Area Mountains, the thunderstorms have started. There is no rain, only wind and lightning and thunder ravaging the skies and earth. Trees bend beneath the tempest’s rage, leaves and debris scattering wildly. 

Lightning flashes overhead, arcing across the sky. Thunder rumbles the ground.

Occasionally you might see a glimpse of wings, a huge creature looming in the clouds - brief enough that you wonder if the dragons of the lost Regime have returned. Hope might fill you for just a second - before the lightning strikes again, this time touching down. 

The ground shakes. 

It may not be wise to be caught up here in the storm, but where else is there to go? The sight is dangerously beautiful, and the lightning makes contact with the earth rarely. And where it does, it leaves glittering glass melted into intricate patterns in its wake.

Will you stay, and stand in defiance to the storm, trying to figure out what lurks overhead? Or will you seek cover, or come face to face with the lightning itself?

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Slowly, ever so slowly, the flood waters recede, the tide creeping its way back into the ocean. Water is left trapped within the streets of Denocte, but it is dramatically lower now.

But the water doesn’t return to its usual position. 

The waves pull farther and farther back out to sea, revealing the shore line inch by precious inch. Shells, seaweed, crabs, even  stranded fish line the seashore. Off in the distance, the waves continue to recede.

You know it’s dangerous; the last time this happened, the water came crashing back in with hardly a warning, rushing faster than a horse can run to slam against the shore and flood the capitol. But your curiousity gets the better of you, the hidden treasures beckoning you closer. ”I won’t go far,’ you lie to yourself. ’I’ll only stay a minute, pick a seashell or two.’ But the minutes stack up, and you quickly lose yourself in the wonders of the beach. 

Will you remember to keep an eye on the horizon, where the water waits? Or has your mind already forgotten the danger?

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After a time, the rains finally begin to slow. The sky still weeps from time to time, but the showers are scattered and infrequent, their fall light and easy. The clouds even begin to part, flashes of blue woven throughout the gloom, a ray of sunshine piercing the murk. 

But it only serves to shine light upon the destruction left in the storm’s wake. 

The flood waters are still high and raging, the streams flowing far past their banks and drowning the surrounding meadows. The swamp has become one big, stagnant freshwater ocean, downed trees hiding in the muck and waiting to knock horses off their hooves. But the greatest change lies in the Sussoro Fields, where the earth has seemed to collapse in upon itself, leaving holes several tens of meters deep.

Sinkholes have ravaged the ground, hidden tunnels broken and fallen. The ground is unsteady and prone to mudslides, every step treacherous and uncertain. The cries of horses and other animals can be heard, half-buried beneath the mounds of dirt and mud. But rescue itself is also uncertain, when every step might prompt another section of ground to fall suddenly fall away.

With the storm passing and the sinkholes beginning, you can’t help but wonder: is the true disaster finally over, or has it only just begun?

The capitol has been set up as a storm shelter, tents erected outside of its walls to provide shelter from the rain, and its great hall opened to the public. The area is dry and fires provide warmth: tables also have been set up to provide food and refreshments from the capitol’s own kitchens. Horses and animals alike have sought shelter here: a family of squirrels chatter noisily nearby, birds wait to collect any fallen food from the tables, and you see a fox darting after a small hare in a corner. 

Still, it is warm and dry, and the drinks are flowing. You place yourself at one of the tables, listening to the stories and jokes around you, waiting for a turn to join in. Perhaps you’ll even find a familiar face here, or meet a new friend?

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After a time, the rains finally begin to slow. The sky still weeps from time to time, but the showers are scattered and infrequent, their fall light and easy. The clouds even begin to part, flashes of blue woven throughout the gloom, a ray of sunshine piercing the murk. 

But it only serves to shine light upon the destruction left in the storm’s wake. 

The flood waters are still high and raging, the streams flowing far past their banks and drowning the surrounding meadows. The swamp has become one big, stagnant freshwater ocean, downed trees hiding in the muck and waiting to knock horses off their hooves. But the greatest change lies in the Sussoro Fields, where the earth has seemed to collapse in upon itself, leaving holes several tens of meters deep.

Sinkholes have ravaged the ground, hidden tunnels broken and fallen. The ground is unsteady and prone to mudslides, every step treacherous and uncertain. The cries of horses and other animals can be heard, half-buried beneath the mounds of dirt and mud. But rescue itself is also uncertain, when every step might prompt another section of ground to fall suddenly fall away.

With the storm passing and the sinkholes beginning, you can’t help but wonder: is the true disaster finally over, or has it only just begun?

One section of earth has caved away gradually, forming an easy slope down to the bottom of the sinkhole. And at the bottom lies the entrance to a tunnel: the collapsing ground has newly revealed it. It is small, but perhaps a small horse might be able to weave their way through it. Already a crowd has gathered to inspect it, murmuring amongst themselves. Is it wise to explore the tunnels? The earth may continue collapsing at the smallest provocation, but the mystery of it all is enticing.

The ground is rumbling, and for a second you could swear that you hear footsteps beneath the ground. Whatever has caused these holes and buried tunnels may still be lurking below, and based on the size of them, it was no mere groundhog. 

Still, you may feel called to it… and already, one bold soul has stepped forward with a torch hovering beside them, ready to explore the hidden city.

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After a time, the rains finally begin to slow. The sky still weeps from time to time, but the showers are scattered and infrequent, their fall light and easy. The clouds even begin to part, flashes of blue woven throughout the gloom, a ray of sunshine piercing the murk. 

But it only serves to shine light upon the destruction left in the storm’s wake. 

The flood waters are still high and raging, the streams flowing far past their banks and drowning the surrounding meadows. The swamp has become one big, stagnant freshwater ocean, downed trees hiding in the muck and waiting to knock horses off their hooves. But the greatest change lies in the Sussoro Fields, where the earth has seemed to collapse in upon itself, leaving holes several tens of meters deep.

Sinkholes have ravaged the ground, hidden tunnels broken and fallen. The ground is unsteady and prone to mudslides, every step treacherous and uncertain. The cries of horses and other animals can be heard, half-buried beneath the mounds of dirt and mud. But rescue itself is also uncertain, when every step might prompt another section of ground to fall suddenly fall away.

With the storm passing and the sinkholes beginning, you can’t help but wonder: is the true disaster finally over, or has it only just begun?

Up ahead is a small gathering of horses, growing by the second. You find yourself drawn to them, your own four hooves carefully picking closer, navigating through the destruction. They have gathered around a particularly big and deep sinkhole, talking amongst themselves in worried tones. Once you join them, you understand why: there are two foals trapped below, not yet yearlings. One is unconscious, and the other insists he has a broken leg. The onlookers seem to have no idea how to proceed with their rescue… perhaps you have an idea?

And they are not the only ones in need. The sinkholes have trapped many, horses and woodland creatures alike. The ground is rumbling, and for a second you could swear that you hear footsteps beneath the ground. Whatever has caused these holes and buried tunnels may still be lurking below, and based on the size of them, it was no mere groundhog. 

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The snow shows no sign of slowing anytime soon. All day and all night it rages, the flurries falling hard and fast. Visibility is severely limited, and going out into the desert where it is the roughest might seem a death wish. The snow drifts are now deep enough to swallow even Torstein alive. And they move much like the sands of the desert, their dunes constantly rolling and shifting and piling up against the walls of the capitol. 

The temperatures, too, continue to plummet. Solterra, once the warmest part of Novus, is now known as the coldest. Finding warmth is difficult, and the already scarce desert food has now become even harder to find. This winter wonderland is quickly beginning to wear on the residents of the Day Court, finding themselves unprepared for such an extreme storm. 

Outside the capitol, the snow has lessened slightly (though the blizzard continues on in the More.) A few horses have gathered outside to play in it, but inside there are only frowns and mocking laughter. Fires are roaring, and you only pray that these ones will remain contained and won’t burn down your only shelter from the cold.

Your stomach growls, and you ignore it. There’s no food to be found here; not for free, that is. It seems only the rich were worthy enough for a meal anymore. 

From one corner, an argument has started up over the food stores, and two gruff looking stallions look close to beginning a fight in earnest. The cold and the hunger are wearing thin on everyone’s nerves it would seem.

A barrel of ale is rolled out, as if to appease the hungry citizens… but not everyone appears so easily distracted. There’s whispers now, and from the bits and pieces you’ve heard, it would seem some are planning a raid. There has to be food somewhere. 

And you’re left with a choice… join in, in the hopes of stealing a morsel; report them, in the hopes of gaining the authority’s favor; or maybe you’ll do nothing at all.

Outside, the snow continues to fall.

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The snow shows no sign of slowing anytime soon. All day and all night it rages, the flurries falling hard and fast. Visibility is severely limited, and going out into the desert where it is the roughest might seem a death wish. The snow drifts are now deep enough to swallow even Torstein alive. And they move much like the sands of the desert, their dunes constantly rolling and shifting and piling up against the walls of the capitol. 

The temperatures, too, continue to plummet. Solterra, once the warmest part of Novus, is now known as the coldest. Finding warmth is difficult, and the already scarce desert food has now become even harder to find. This winter wonderland is quickly beginning to wear on the residents of the Day Court, finding themselves unprepared for such an extreme storm. 

There’s a section of the capitol that provides shelter from the blizzard; the snow continues to fall, but the walls block it so that it scatters gently across the ground. A gathering has started - composed primarily of children, but their laughter and joy has begun to attract other faces.

Many of the horses here have never seen snow before. They begin to explore it, cautiously at first, then with more enthusiasm. A few have tried eating it, others have flopped down and begun rolling in it, and others shy away from its cool touch. 

Will you join in, or are you above such childish play?

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The snow shows no sign of slowing anytime soon. All day and all night it rages, the flurries falling hard and fast. Visibility is severely limited, and going out into the desert where it is the roughest might seem a death wish. The snow drifts are now deep enough to swallow even Torstein alive. And they move much like the sands of the desert, their dunes constantly rolling and shifting and piling up against the walls of the capitol. 

The temperatures, too, continue to plummet. Solterra, once the warmest part of Novus, is now known as the coldest. Finding warmth is difficult, and the already scarce desert food has now become even harder to find. This winter wonderland is quickly beginning to wear on the residents of the Day Court, finding themselves unprepared for such an extreme storm. 

And you are one of the unlucky ones.

The snow falls all around you, thick and wet and cold. A temporary cloak or blanket may be wrapped around your shoulders, whether it’s stolen or found, but it seems to offer little protection. There’s no way of knowing how far you are from the capitol - or even if you’re going in the right direction. But you continue on anyway, because it’s better than standing still and freezing to death, right?

A figure appears through the haze, and you creep closer. Are they friend or foe? Horse or predator? Do you really want to know?

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The fire rages on through the night and into the next day, charring sections of the forest black. Just when one side seems all but put out, another dozen small fires mysteriously start in another corner of the forest. 

There is seemingly no pattern, nor source; the fires start randomly as if from thin air, making it impossible to prevent them or make any gains. They steadily grow bigger, spreading slowly but surely towards the forest’s edge. 

But you are back in the capitol, reassured by the distance the meadows put between you and the fire.  Even here, the sky grows dark with smoke, and flames can be seen jumping on the horizon. 

It hasn’t broken through the forest yet, and there’s a whole long meadow separating capitol from treeline, but you are determined to be prepared. A team of citizens has begun organizing, handing out flyers and leading discussions on what to do in case of an evacuation. 

Someone lights a torch, and it casts feeble light over the darkened earth, and the conversation continues uninhibited. 

You take a sip from the wineskin being passed amongst the gathered horses feel it warm your belly. Everyone is working together, helping their neighbors gather their belongings, organizing rations, healing the wounded.

You set yourself to work, collecting your personal items and arranging them neatly for when the time comes. But soon enough you find yourself with time to spare, and notice a few others struggling to get themselves in order. 

Perhaps they could use a hand?

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The fire rages on through the night and into the next day, charring sections of the forest black. Just when one side seems all but put out, another dozen small fires mysteriously start in another corner of the forest. 

There is seemingly no pattern, nor source; the fires start randomly as if from thin air, making it impossible to prevent them or make any gains. They steadily grow bigger, spreading slowly but surely towards the forest’s edge. 

But you are determined to beat it. 

Alongside the other brave firefighters of Delumine, you spend your time heaving bucket after bucket of water into the flames, smothering the fire at every edge. So long as you are on the frontlines, no fire will be getting to the capitol. 

Or will it? 

The flames creep closer and closer, breaking through the lines at every chance. They smother a tree and eat it from the inside out, leaving a smoking shell standing as sentry. Until it begins to fall, slowly at first, then gaining speed. It drops to the ground, crashing in a brilliant explosion of ash and embers. 

You have only a minute to admire it before a horse steps in front of it, their mane caught aflame. 

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