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This is the coldest winter any of your party can remember. The intensity of the storm continues to climb - it takes no druid to know a terrible blizzard is approaching. You are hurrying to reach the village of Arnok where you hope to find an inn or sufficient lodging to wait out the coming storm.
The plains you have traveled just days ago have given way to foothills, and lightening flashes over the nearby mountain range. It seems to you that the closer you get to the mountains the louder the howling of the wind grows. But then the wind dies briefly - but not the howling. A chill deeper than the cold strikes you as you realize something is hunting; something large and terrible.
The falling snow parts for a moment and you see the lights and fires of the village just ahead. The howling seems disconsolate now and you and your fellows breath a sigh of relief.