User Guide

WELCOME BACK TO RAVENLOFT
On the Terror of Har’Akir
The heat of the day invades the shadows. Beneath a
relentless sun, exposed flesh withers brown, and
beasts the like of which are unknown beyond
Har’Akir prowl the wasteland. It is a desert filled
with fierce storms and ruined temples. Only the
frightened survive, those wise enough to cower
within the tents and hovels they call their homes.
Huddled within, the population of Har’Akir waits
out the unbearable days of blistering heat and the
nights of unending cold. So tightly have they
wrapped their fears about them, that often the
silence is broken only by a curious, double howl. It
is the cry of the death dog.
In the village of Muhar, the greatest fear is reserved
for the lord of the land, Anhktepot. Once a Priest of
Ra, Anhktepot dreamed of immortality and power.
Common goals, it is true, yet Anhktepot distin-
guished himself by the destruction, terror, and death
he wrought in searching out the key to these age-
old dreams. In ways twisted and evil, he achieved
them and was forever condemned by Ra to live
inside his mummified body. It is said this mummy
lord spends decades at a time “dreaming” in his
moldering tomb. Such times are these, and yet. . . .
A plague works its way from tent to tent, a strange
rotting disease which corrupts the flesh and steals
the muscle from the bone. Fierce storms drive the
sands before them, and all the land seems engulfed
in death and chaos. Has Anhktepot awakened? It is
the question on the lips of every villager, followed
quickly by another: what has turned the wrath of
the mummy lord upon us?
Unfamiliar voices call out across the desert wastes,
and foreign names are heard among the ruins.
Strangers are in the land. The rumors begin, and
more questions are asked. Has the presence of the
newcomers brought the wrath of Anhktepot upon
them all? The villagers gather in small groups,
building up their suspicions like walls to keep the
strangers out.
What few know, and fewer still have the courage to
admit is this: powers beyond those of Anhktepot
are at work in Har’Akir. Unseen forces are plotting,
preparing for battle, and only strangers from a
distant land shall hold the key to its resolution.
These things the Prophet tells us.
The heat of the day invades the shadows. Beneath a
relentless sun, exposed flesh withers brown, and
beasts the like of which are unknown beyond
Har’Akir prowl the wasteland. It is a desert filled
with fierce storms and ruined temples. Only the
frightened survive, those wise enough to cower
within the tents and hovels they call their homes.
Huddled within, the population of Har’Akir waits
out the unbearable days of blistering heat and the
nights of unending cold. So tightly have they
wrapped their fears about them, that often the
silence is broken only by a curious, double howl. It
is the cry of the death dog.
In the village of Muhar, the greatest fear is reserved
for the lord of the land, Anhktepot. Once a Priest of
Ra, Anhktepot dreamed of immortality and power.
Common goals, it is true, yet Anhktepot distin-
guished himself by the destruction, terror, and death
he wrought in searching out the key to these age-
old dreams. In ways twisted and evil, he achieved
them and was forever condemned by Ra to live
inside his mummified body. It is said this mummy
lord spends decades at a time “dreaming” in his
moldering tomb. Such times are these, and yet. . . .
A plague works its way from tent to tent, a strange
rotting disease which corrupts the flesh and steals
the muscle from the bone. Fierce storms drive the
sands before them, and all the land seems engulfed
in death and chaos. Has Anhktepot awakened? It is
the question on the lips of every villager, followed
quickly by another: what has turned the wrath of
the mummy lord upon us?
Unfamiliar voices call out across the desert wastes,
and foreign names are heard among the ruins.
Strangers are in the land. The rumors begin, and
more questions are asked. Has the presence of the
newcomers brought the wrath of Anhktepot upon
them all? The villagers gather in small groups,
building up their suspicions like walls to keep the
strangers out.
What few know, and fewer still have the courage to
admit is this: powers beyond those of Anhktepot
are at work in Har’Akir. Unseen forces are plotting,
preparing for battle, and only strangers from a
distant land shall hold the key to its resolution.
These things the Prophet tells us.
The heat of the day invades the shadows. Beneath a
relentless sun, exposed flesh withers brown, and
beasts the like of which are unknown beyond
Har’Akir prowl the wasteland. It is a desert filled
with fierce storms and ruined temples. Only the
frightened survive, those wise enough to cower
within the tents and hovels they call their homes.
Huddled within, the population of Har’Akir waits
out the unbearable days of blistering heat and the
nights of unending cold. So tightly have they
wrapped their fears about them, that often the
silence is broken only by a curious, double howl. It
is the cry of the death dog.
In the village of Muhar, the greatest fear is reserved
for the lord of the land, Anhktepot. Once a Priest of
Ra, Anhktepot dreamed of immortality and power.
Common goals, it is true, yet Anhktepot distin-
guished himself by the destruction, terror, and death
he wrought in searching out the key to these age-
old dreams. In ways twisted and evil, he achieved
them and was forever condemned by Ra to live
inside his mummified body. It is said this mummy
lord spends decades at a time “dreaming” in his
moldering tomb. Such times are these, and yet. . . .
A plague works its way from tent to tent, a strange
rotting disease which corrupts the flesh and steals
the muscle from the bone. Fierce storms drive the
sands before them, and all the land seems engulfed
in death and chaos. Has Anhktepot awakened? It is
the question on the lips of every villager, followed
quickly by another: what has turned the wrath of
the mummy lord upon us?
Unfamiliar voices call out across the desert wastes,
and foreign names are heard among the ruins.
Strangers are in the land. The rumors begin, and
more questions are asked. Has the presence of the
newcomers brought the wrath of Anhktepot upon
them all? The villagers gather in small groups,
building up their suspicions like walls to keep the
strangers out.
What few know, and fewer still have the courage to
admit is this: powers beyond those of Anhktepot
are at work in Har’Akir. Unseen forces are plotting,
preparing for battle, and only strangers from a
distant land shall hold the key to its resolution.
These things the Prophet tells us.
2
3