On the crispest Winter’s dawn or the balmiest Summer’s noon, a veil of mist hovers over the rocks that watch over the town of Hamelsham. Some say it’s but a peculiarity of nature whilst others envisage something more sinister.
Few visit there for it’s told that those that do suffer terrible nightmares as a consequence. Some it’s said, have never returned.
On the fourth day of June in the Year 1720, a masked rider galloped into the market square scattering the townsfolk and dropping to the ground a parchment scroll.
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