Strange storms have begun rolling inland from the distant coast of the Wyrm’s March—sharp, salty winds that sting the eyes and carry the faint scent of rotting seaweed despite the nearest ocean being days away. Livestock vanish without a sound. Fishermen along the river swear they’ve found great gouges carved into the earth, as though by massive talons. Travelers speak of twisted shapes lurking just out of lantern-light, glistening as if still wet. With fear rising and the strange coastal storms growing stronger, the villagers send for help. Someone must uncover what hunts the March