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For Arcades
Desolate is this land and the few things that grow here are pallid and stunted, products of a soil that withholds life and a dark taint within the air itself that blunts the warming rays of sun. Harsh and pitiless is such a place and more harsh and pitiless still are the keening notes of a song that hearkens the hunger of the dead to feast upon the living. Two throats in particular sound the bitter notes of this song with a shocking and sinister clarity, throats within which the last breaths of entire packs linger and speak a fierce hatred of all that lives. Banewolves are these and they bound forward over the desolate earth with no other object than the life of the dragon before them.
ooc: The initiative, for the moment lies with you.
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