Such things were meant to be impossible. The Kingdom of Talradius lays dead, a smoking husk of a ruined people. The carcass is not yet decayed before the vultures swarm; the blades of demons smote soul from body, their hunters roam as packs of wolves. Theirs is a bitter feud with no winner. The blood and magic of the grey Carathiliar watch on in anticipation. Theirs is a fear and hatred that bends all order. Foreign legions of the Light brace for the final act. Theirs is a righteous cause of their own making. A Lone God seeks solace in the destruction and death of his undoing, an Exiled Demon scurries into the night, And the first thing Danadrian can remember, is falling.
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