Balfurous surveys the pieces on his living chessboard, wondering what his “opponents” next move is. Xualla underestimated the power of these mortals, and as a result his body lies in permanent ash. Balfurous seemed intent on not sharing a similar fate. No piece on this board is insignificant, and he will win this game if he must sacrifice everything, down to the last pawn.

Torin Escale-Darkwood stands in front of a group of frightened and confused wild mages. He waves a hand in the air as a cool breeze washes over the masses. Their fear freezes before this display of powerful magic and across their face can instead be seen the glares of icy resolution. Torin speaks to them with a powerful voice, and as the speech goes on, each and every one of these newly invigorated individuals seem to rally behind his words. With a shouted command, Torin begins leading these men and women through the chaotic wastes, his sights set on the east...

A safe distance away, from the wood line, Torin's wife watches and moves, while her animal companions keep a tight perimeter around her.  She will not allow this to happen again.

 

*     *     *     *     *

 

Admiring the rusted, broken scythe blade and shattered wood resting before him, Horuss fell deep into his thoughts within the confines of the Black Dragon, Telligrim's, tower. Drifting between the death of Bellock and the thought of facing against Baalfurous, the dragon's champion leaned back with a sigh of displeasure as he turned his gaze to the sky where the moon would have been.

With the information gleamed from his contacts in Evernight, Horuss leaves for Travance with a small contingent of his elite. He knows what must be done and what lies ahead. He only wished that he could accomplish the re-forging on his own but alas he must make use of these unlikely allies.  He ponders this desisicon, and whether or not this is the time that his luck will finally run dry. Regardless, he knows that he has no choice and so he draws a dark portal into the air before him.

 

*     *     *     *     *

 

Gholug the Scourge of the North, scans over his tribe of monstrous creatures. Through strength of arms he has enslaved wild ogres, tribal orcs, and shamanistic goblins to his band of hardened raiders. This world, savaged by the abyssal creatures has left his band of raiders well fed and equipped. A hunger for more, has left him looking south of New Gaaldron.  It is the land of humans, and they all know that in the land of humans are always hidden the best of treasures…

 

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Waxing Gibbous Moon
Waxing Gibbous Moon
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Billliamm: "I found his weakness."

Liadann: "Oh? What is it?"

Billliamm: "My fists."

 

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