At the far side of the ruined land that some are now referring to as Mount Sturm, the Knife silently calls to you. It is raining heavily, and the water pools here on the hard cracked land, before running off the edge. Pylons carrying magical power across the island leave a charged taste in the air. This place carries enormous tension, and the feel of the Knife's hungering for your blood does nothing to ease it. This is where the next sacrifice will take place, five and a half hours from now.