Medievel England, a misty moor where you can make out **one** lonely figure shuffling along in the distance, the **gown** of the figure flies in the wind as you cry, "**Ye!**, up ahead, who goes there?", in your voice that quavers high, unable to stifle the fear growing in you. img:http://static.memrise.com/uploads/mems/378759000120318043115.png by Figan