Red Mountain grumbles like an angry giant. Its sides drip with a warrior's red, a slobbering beast before it lunges for the kill. I dream of its eruption, of billowing ash and spouting flames. I always awake in a cold sweat. My Dark Elf companions smirk at me when I speak of it. They talk of the power of their great god Vivec, of his might and glory and magic. I know magic and I know of its end. Of its limits. What is their idol's limit? I fear to find out.