It is terribly cold. you swam for your life to this mysterious island, losing most of your provisions in the process, only to find it barren of all but grass. A biting wind from the north drives through your wet blothes, chilling you to the bone. Night is falling and promises even colder temperatures; you wish this place had even a bush to burn as firewood. Your stomach has just begun to complain about the lack of dinner, when one of your companions calls, and you rush to his side, hoping he's found a way to turn grass into a sandwich. Instead, he points to the ground in front of him. "Look there."

Set in a shallow depression in the ground is a stone door. Your friend reaches down and gives a tug, and the door swings slowly open on creaking hinges, revealing a descending stair. The first thought that crosses your mind is whether it would be better to freeze to death up here in the wind or fall into the hands of Castanamir the Mad, the unpredictable.