Primal Lands

The journey through the Great Mountains was harsh. When you and your followers were out of the northlands into exile, you were allowed only your heavy mammoth leather boots and loincloth of sabretooth hide. You were stripped of your great fur cloak and mighty sabretooth fang blade, and sent into the wilds. You had two choices: escape the freezing cold of the mountains to the forests and plains of the southlands, or die freezing, lost forever to the snow.

You are Rok, son of Kroga, and you are warmed by fury and driven by unstoppable purpose. You do not intend to fall here. Wind rips at your long hair, and threatens to throw even your mighty form, but you push on through the storm.

Not many chose to follow you into exile. Perhaps you had made your challenge to the chief too soon. For sure, you had followed the ancient rites correctly; first, you stole away the chieftess, and made her your own by trial of fertility. But alas, you were found and captured too soon, without enough support to free you, and so find yourself here.

Now, the howling winds and fierce cold have claimed all but one of your followers: Kali, your sister, strides at your side. Proud and tall (though not nearly your own height) and a warrior in her own right, she strides at your side. She has ever been your most loyal supporter, and her own pride at being by your side is all that is suppressing the chills that must be spreading through her. She stands slightly behind you, allowing your frame to break the full of the wind, but you can tell Kali cannot take much more of this.

Just as you think you may need to carry your sister the rest of the way, you spot a natural cave in the rock face along the trail. It is dark, there may be wild animals, and you have nothing to start a fire, but you may have no other choice than to stop here.