Struggling to salvage your breath, you kneel against the dampened soil. Twigs snap in the distance. Familiar shouts of Tyrael's men echo off the solid trunks of ancient trees. Having broken free from the shackles of that rotten prison caravan, your mind races for peace as you have come too far to have it end in this dreadful forest.

You rattle forward against the mossy frame of the gate.

A blatant stone skull looms overhead, engraved into the unyielding barrier that is the wall of a cliff. The hounds are closing in, and with little heed, you grasp the brass handles gingerly and push inward to the unknown murk.

You have 1 choice: