It has been a long and harsh time since you left the crypt. Winter came early and has been unearthly cold and storm ridden. Food has been scarce and warmth impossible to find. Hunkering down in the thickest parts of the forest, you and a newly found band of rebels have struggled for weeks to survive, some have stopped struggling. Travel has been impossible. The sudden fierce storms of winter both freeze the flesh and peel it from the bone with ice particles in the wind like sand in a dessert storm. The only creatures able to move about are those who thrive in these conditions, winter wolves and Ice demons, scour the land seeking rebels or any other poor soul left out in the cold. Every ounce of energy not used to simply survive has been focused on returning shifter to life, though some have murmured that this is no life to bring anyone back to. The realm has changed, the sky, the ground, everything seems pervaded by the evil sickness that has taken over. But there is hope. Word has come to the camp of an elder of the old ways moving in your direction. It is said that he holds the power to return the dead to life. Perhaps as important it is said that he carries warmth with him wherever he goes.