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Guided by the flame of a simple cantrip as the darkness chases the light from the great expanse of grassland, Adila bounds over and around the brush and boulders that dot the landscape. Her breath is ragged, and her heart races, not from such commonplace physical exertion, but from genuine fear.
That storm . . . Â that breathing, thundering presence . . . it has a name.
Description
The Coming Storm
What mysterius centaur bounds with purpose across the land?
Adila, a young Plainstrider Clan druidess, reaches into her satchel and pulls out a handful of soft, fluffy seeds. She crushes them before releasing them into the wind with a whispered incantation. After a few seconds, her eyes go wide, and she gallops swiftly with purpose off to warn the clan.
Something isn’t right. This is no ordinary storm. This storm breathes.
Outrunning Terror Itself
Guided by the flame of a simple cantrip as the darkness chases the light from the great expanse of grassland, Adila bounds with centaur over and around the brush and boulders that dot the landscape. Her breath is ragged, and her heart races, not from such commonplace physical exertion, but from genuine fear.
That storm . . . Â that breathing, thundering presence . . . it has a name.
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