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For three days and nights the mighty fleet of Durenor steers swiftly towards the Holmgulf, a strong wind filling the sails of the warships. But although the voyage is fast, the soldiers’ confidence and eagerness for battle has slowly faded as if their will has been drained by some invisible vampire. Lord Axim is close to despair.
‘This black mood that haunts our decks is the evil work of the Darklords. I know of their power to turn a man’s mind, but the curse that befalls us is a sorcery we cannot even see to destroy. How I pray that this spell would end, for even if we arrive at our destination, I fear that we are too weak in mind to break our foe.’
As if in answer to his prayer, the black curse seems to be lifted from the fleet with the dawning of the next day. But the spell is replaced by a threat far deadlier.
