A mile outside of Orkshire, you sit down by a small, stone fire pit. The flames eluminate the warm tones of the wizard's face. She has a deep expresson and her brown hair casts shadows on her golden cloak. She's staring at you with intrest, studing your face and features. She doesn't speak, just lifts her pork chop and sighs. A young man suddenly comes running through the bushes, panting with a scar bleeding down his face. "Willow!" he yells, "I need you to come with me."