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GM December 17th, 2018 Wales Being Wales, it was, predictably raining. True, at this time of year it could have been snowing, but so far the white had not fallen, and not settled. It was a tepid day, with grey overcast skies and a dull wetness to the atmosphere. The green valleys were brown and muddy, and the trees had largely shed their leaves. There was still the smell of fertile land, and the hills were dotted with sheep and cows chewing the cud. 'Twas here, countless millenia ago, after the last Ice age, that Morgen the immortal was born, and met Dreadnought and here she had lain in stasis. And it was here that there was, allegedly, trouble. 'Twas the village of Wrottin Pontyggub that she had gone to, closest it seemed to her ancient settlement. Wrottin Pontygubb was indeed an ancient village, stuffed to the brim full of myths and legends and history. Some of the history might even have been true. She had arrived a few months ago, keen to understand the history of this place. And then she had dissapeared. People now whispered of ghosts and witches and all sorts of spooky spookiness, and Morgen, it seemed, was the go - to - person to blame!