Wind roars across the landscape, biting into your skin. An inescapable veil of rain streams down your face, mercilessly dripping off your lips and chin. Your boots are soaked through, muddy water sloshing with every step. Your teeth chatter.

The spectral outline of a ruin becomes visible through the mist, an ancient stone edifice standing alone on the moor. You suddenly notice you are walking on the faded remains of a path, leading you directly up a steep hill to the building's door. Several gravestones and mausolea pepper your way, crumbling with age.

As you approach, you notice a cloaked figure standing at the threshold. You can't make out their face, but they hold a mouldering arm out to you in greeting. Their whispering voice is almost lost to the wind as they speak:

"Greetings, stranger. Welcome to the Church of Midnight."