[Tsaritsa]

Winter, 2187AC.

To major hubs of life, murders of crows flocked, carrying Her unlight upon their wings. Letters scrawled with painstaking precision rained in the streets.

"As the bells toll for the final time and the land is blanketed in silence, our gates will open. Come to us, cloaked in silence and swathed in shadow. Let no face go bare, for even our souls will wear masks this night.

 Between the crows and the candles, She will walk unseen, quickening your pulse, frosting your breath.

Come, dance as the moon hangs high."

Where: The Isle of Death (510, 345, 1)
WHEN: TBA