The Tulan Crescent bordered by the great Mountains of Immutability cradled these fearsome outbursts of nature's wrath in its bosom and held them until they dissipated, meanwhile flooding the land with torrents and culling the weakest trees grown too tall for their bases up by their roots, and wearying the residents boarded in their homes with dark stormy nights and days. It was the perfect time to vanish. The intrepid Gahre set off to the wildlands in the north, the rolling hills that were the domain of the wolf, with his body and fine gear protected beneath a well-oiled weather poncho. It was all very familiar territory in the beginning. A day in he made dry camp in a cave he had explored years before. It was just the beginning of an elaborate structure that wound its maze of corridors into the dark Pangean underworld. How nice it would be if he knew of a route east through the caverns below the tyrannical weather, but this underworld was unmapped and could lead him anywhere, including dark oblivion and death.
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