I found myself on a plateau of swirling smoke and mist. I could not see my feet, or perhaps I had no feet in that place. Each step was treacherous. I had to believe there was a ground. If I didn't, there wouldn't be, and I would fall into nothingness. I was protected only by my will and my magic. This was my Harrowing. They force this upon all mages and call it good. But it is neither good nor right. It is evil and unjust. —From a partially destroyed journal bearing no name, found in a Kinloch Hold cistern.