Astrid

You wake, hazey Cold air bites at your lungs. Around you is the skeleton of a place you knew. Frost clings to the ruins. The village has been razed to the ground – not a wall left standing, not a hearth still warm. Everyone is dead. And yet a figure moves with purpose through the smoke. Astrid of the Order of Starlight. Red hair bound back in a severe cleric’s braid. Bluedulled with ash. A silver-tipped staff in her hand ,blade at her belt. as she searches the wreckage. She does not look like a mourner. She has the look of someone who arrived with purpose. That feeling settles over you as surely as the ice. Grimlok came in the night. Demon-spawn poured through the square, torching neighbours where they stood, torturing civilians who could not flee. By now he is long gone and untrackable. Astrid kneels beside a fallen doorway near you. She notices you stirring and rushes over to help u up.