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From: The Storyteller
Date: 11/15/99
Time: 3:07:09 PM
The majestic cityscape of Dallas, Texas. A city of light, of shadows, and of the nighmares that follow. Our home.
A cold wind blows through the streets today. Only desparate men are out, for this is not a wind like any other frigid blast of air, it chars as well as freezes, and it burrows its way through your flesh, beyond your brittle bones, into the very essence of your soul, and it shows you what you've always feared - There is nothing. This is the wind of Oblivion. And from it, not even the skinlanders can trust themselves safe.
This wind heralds the coming of winter, the cryogenic devourer of life, and the leaves have already withered. It is a season of chill. And between the worlds, the delicate membrane that separates the living and the dead grows thin and translucent. The dark Hierarch-Tyrants, perched upon their tall ebon thrones, gaze solemnly at their lost paradise, while rampant souls churn screaming through the streets in a mindless revel. The living can only cringe in terror from the things beyond their vision. It is the time when life beyond death begins. And it is now.