“Within a temple blanketed by thorn, The torches on the walls are black and cold. The narrow steps are pitted, bleached, and worn, Descending to a labyrinth dark and old. “Beneath the weathered hill, within the deeps, A hallway and a chamber silent wait. Upon a bed of gold, the Watcher sleeps Behind an ancient adamantine gate.” How old is the Watcher in the Hill? Not even the wisest amongst us can say. Is the Watcher real or an invention of the Vanya storytellers who come and go along the riverways of Vangyr? Either way, its legend hangs over us like a deep shadow. Out of the western lands the drifter came. A soldier. A slayer. They say he fought for dread King Dwyer, and that blood is still on his hands. They say he lost his wife and child when Easthorn Castle fell. They say many things about the drifter from the west. He brought with him the sword with runes that burn. Vathiriel. Does that blade belong to him or possess him? None dare to ask. But on the frontier, we have never chosen our heroes. We take them as they come, if they ever come at all.