As the sun faded in the West, yielding the blood red colors of death to come. A silence took over the encampment. A silence not expressed in the screams of the wounded, or the mourning of bastard children and recently widowed wives, but a silence that can only be found in the souls of men who know of not only physical destruction but eminent annihilation of being.
In all of Rhylon, the most unlikely of fellowships arouse from this day of death for the sole purpose of existence. A human wizard from the towers of Zentarum, an elven noble on a quest for vengeance, a half elven nomad with an appetite for adventure, a human thief with a knack for finding trouble, and a knight of Hiberia in search of glory.
The sun has fully set and the stars have dotted the sky with the constellations of the gods and warriors forever honored. Cold frost fills the lungs and hearts of the encampment, destroying all morale that remains but the companions are not dissuaded and prepare for their journey ahead. Whether for enlightenment, fury, destiny, or a few gold pieces, the fate of Rhylon rests upon hopes that our heroes can forge the way.
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