In a snowy forest, figure stands, all features concealed by a dark cloak. All, but one feature, a large raven on the figures shoulder, its feathers midnight black, other than those on its head, which are bone-white. The raven gives some scale to the figure, showing that it is a small, slender being.

The winds swirls around the two, carrying with it a dusting of snowflakes and causing the cloak to flutter a little. As the camera pans around them, the Raven gives off a loud caw, carrying with it the word ‘Nevermore’. When the camera stops in front of them, the figure’s features become visible, finely chiseled bones under light-blue, almost white, skin and piercing, green eyes. The cloak’s hood is pushed slightly pushed back by the wind, showing the figure’s hair, its colour almost the same deep black as the raven’s feathers. The only difference is that the hair has silvery sparkles and some glistening, red and dark-purple highlights. With her hood back, her ears become visible, pointy tips telling a little of the figures race.

“The Pantheon’s gods told us that everyone has their path in life.” The figure begins to speak, her voice soft, almost melodic.

“They tell us that our path is just for us, that some will walk with us for a time, maybe even till the end of our path. But, what if someone crosses you on your path, maybe even tries to bar you from continuing on your path?” The figure asks and the raven caws again and the image fades into darkness.

When light is back, the view is changed. The black cloak bordering the view above telling that one is now seeing through the figue’s eyes and the rhythmic movement tells of walking. On the cobblestone-road in front of her walks a tall, muscular amazon with skin of a tone similar to the first figure, clad in dark armour wielding a hatchet and a shield, next to a second trained figure, this one clad in nut-brown armour that almost looks wooden, decorated with leaves. The glinting spear in her hand shows that she too, is a warrior.

The final figure is smaller than the two women and the only visible male, clad in dark leather armour similar to the smallest and largest figure and armed with two short-swords, similar in length to his forearms. There is another feature that sets him off from the others, where the others look very similar to humans, he does not. His features are clearly canine, a grey-furred muzzle sticking out from his face and a set of ears sitting on the top of his head.

What stands out is, that while the surrounding forest and the bushes at the side of the road are white with snow, the road they are walking on is clear, making one wonder why the public service on a road in the middle of nowhere is that good.

The tall figure raises her hand, signaling for the others to stop and, while keeping an eye on the bushes ahead of them, speaks. “There’s something. I’m not sure what. I think we need Lenore and Ylva.”

After speaking, she lowers her right arm and a silvery white light emits from her open hand and a similar light is barely shining into the image from the left.

Suddenly, a soft, almost musical, twang can be heard, thanks to the almost totally silent forest. While the light from the tall figure in front coalesce into a huge wolf, an arrow becomes visible, flying towards the image. For a second, the view turns dark, as if the one capturing the images was hit, but then it is back, just to see the tall warrior lower her shield, now with two arrows sticking out of it, while the brown-armoured figure is in the process of throwing an arrow back towards the bushes, the arrow shining with azure light. A loud scream told of the effectiveness of that maneuver.

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The others, including the newly appeared wolf, charge forward, weapons at the ready, to engage the attackers. The one sharing their vision follows after them and, as she runs, draws blades of almost translucent ice, shimmering in the light from above. After breaking through the shrubs lining the road, they engage the archers, who tried to land another salvo but all shots went wide.

Their attackers are furry humanoids, clad in simple armour and armed with little more than tools, but the party quickly strikes them down. Behind them, the sound of approaching reinforcement is audible, so, the three others turn, while the one filming stays back as the image fades to black.

When the light returns, the one from the beginning is back in front of the camera, as she had been earlier.

“Bandits, they wait on many paths, the scourge of civilisation, preying on those venturing from their comfortable homes. Those who travel the world universally abhor them, hunting them down whenever they can.” she explains and her voice is hard, making it clear that her hatred for bandits is a deep one.

“They are parasites, plain and simple, lacking even the excuse of instinct and hunger that monsters have. No, they need to be hunted, to prevent that plague to spread. Hunted and exterminated. And, when you solve your problems like that, you need to, as the chinese say, not just cut the grass, you need to remove the roots.” she continues.

“Join me, to see what happens to the roots of those who barred my path.” she finishes with an evidently evil grin before swiftly turning, causing her cape to whirl up some snow as the vision is obscured by a sudden cloud of white fog.

When the fog is gone, the view is completely changed. Gone is the forest, replaced by a snowed-inn hillside. The surroundings are hidden by darkness, only the figure of the one who previously talked is barely visible in the dim light shed by strange symbols etched into a sheet of ice, some of them silvery white, others darker, almost black. But even she has changed, gone is her cloak, gone is her armour, despite the cold evident by the snow, she is only clad in a short skirt-like wrap and her chest is hidden by bandages, but she does not look cold.

She slowly starts to move, one step and mist starts to slowly billow around her, a turn and the mist starts to move. A few steps later, and it is hard to see her through the mist, but wind starts to slowly blow the mist away, driving it into a direction.

The image fades and one sees a village, small buildings made from roughly hewn logs, with smoke coming from a few chimneys. Despite the darkness, the slowly creeping in fog is visible.

The camera shifts back to the hilltop and, for a moment, the figure is obscured by mist. When the mist fades a little, she has changed. Her pale-blue skin is gone, replaced with midnight black feathers, her hair still there, but set within are bone-white feathers. Her hands are encased in vicious looking, translucent claws, almost fully hiding the hands inside, her face is similarly hidden by a white beak and on she has a set of black wings on her back.

Some might call her a fallen angel, others a harpy or a monster. What the truth is? Who knows.

Her movements change, they grow faster as her whole body glows with a strange light and again, the fog billows up, hiding her from view.

When the fog fades, the view is back in the village, only the peacefulness from earlier is gone. The fog is thick and something is moving throughout the fog. Eerily jerky shapes are barely visible until light from somewhere illuminates one of them, a figure that might have starred in a horror-movie. The strangely moving figure looks similar to the bandits earlier, only that he is larger and black blood oozes from gashes on his body. But far too little blood, one would think, and his eyes are devoid of life.

A scream of terror rends the night and another figure is visible, if only for a moment. The new figure looks alive, alive and terrified, as the first figure starts to shamble after her with surprising speed. They vanish from the camera and moments later, another scream is heard, this one a scream of pain.

As the vision fades, the voice from the figure earlier is heard.

“Not every path is peaceful. And those who bar your path need to be vanquished.”

The world, clad in blue flames, is visible again and the banner

“Join us. On the Road to Purgatory!”

displayed over it.