You're confused. You remember being sent to help the nearby community of Loch Varn. But who are these others with you? Come to think of it, who are you?

A crossbow bolt splinters against the rock by your head, and you taste blood from the chips of stone or steel hitting your face. You try to crouch down, to hide from the incoming fire, and realize you're already pressed against the earth, back against part of a wall, amongst a field of ruins, made of twisted metallic beams and rubble. A few torches lying on the floor provide some light, but not enough to see the enemy.

Your eyes meet those of others, also crouched fearfully in the rubble. They're not shooting at you, so perhaps you're with them? How long has this battle been going on? It's plain the others are as confused as you. Is that a body? Is it a person or... something else?

The only thing that's certain is you can't stay here for much longer, whoever fired that last bolt had line of sight on you. Perhaps that doorway, it looks like the one you all must have entered by...

The armies of the north have broken before the Witch King's onslaught. Survivors and refugees flee south over the mountains. A few brave Paladins attempt to lead a defence of the pass through the mountains, arriving at the ruined fortress of Salang a few hours before the Witch King's scouts. Will the passion of the Paladins allow the refugees to escape, or will their sacrifice be in vain?