In the east, a grey sun rises. Sightings of ghosts and worse come in from every quarter, and in the night the smallfolk bolt their doors in fear. Even the guard dogs bark little as the silent threats come down out of the high places, hungering for prey.
The shadows are rising.
Cold, pale eyes watch from every corner.
No one is safe.
My friends, these are black tidings indeed. My home, my future, and all I love lies under threat from this faceless menace. I feel the fear of my people pressing in around me, while my own terror lies coiled like a serpent, threatening to swallow me whole the moment I lower my guard. We know not from whence this threat came, or why it has chosen us for its prey. The day's shadows seem to grow darker about our heels with every step, and some swear their dreams are haunted by terrible screams from unknown voices.
What hope we have is dim as a flickering candle in the middle of a midnight sea. Even those scarce old enough to lift a blade are being called forth to muster beneath our tattered banners. We know not when, but we feel our foe drawing closer with the closing of every day.
This may be the last you hear of me, my brave friends. Though I arm myself with bow and sword and spear, I fear it will be of no use.
I will call to you when I can, but in times like these, none can be sure which day will be our last.
Keep your watch fires burning for me.
The nights grow colder.
The winds cry higher.
The dark comes closer.
Exams are coming.