Some moodtext for the adventures to come.

As the heroes starts picking around the bandits camp investigating what wealth and
information it might contain the world continues to spin new threads of fate.

At the edge of a the luminous hills a platform had been built amidst the bent old trees. At first
everyone was chanting, but as the he slowly made his way onto the platform the cheering and
chanting died down until only the clanking of armour, rustling of the leafs and the swoon of
the wind could be heard. Before he turned to his army he acknowledged his generals and
champions. Giving them each a nod. He then turned towards the assembled army. There
would never be a chance like this again. The Father was their last hope and he knew it. He
would not let them down.

She watched them swing. A thousand people dead and hung. Suddenly her eyes caught
something fleeting at the edge of the horizon, and although she was not a woman of great
reactions or emotions this made her eyes widen. She turned around and shouted with a
powerful voice mastered by battles. “Back to the citadel! Alert the Eater!”

In a tower a lone man takes a sip from his goblet. “Delicious.” He muses to himself. It might
be hard to procure more now though as the war would be arriving at his doorstep any day
now. The sip was enough for now though and he finished the letter, signed it and then put his
sigil on it. “Rokknor!” He called out. And the manservant appeared a moment later. “Sir?”
“Send this to Titans Port. With our fastest bird.” The manservant nodded, grabbed the scroll
and quickly scurried out.
The man waited until the steps of Rokknor was far gone. Then he said with clear
pronunciation. “Lady Morgan.” In front of the mans desk was suddenly a tall muscular
woman dressed in black polished steel with the helmet under her arm, her eyes gleaming red
with hatred. She hated being here. She hated the power the man had over her and her eyes
fumed as she looked at the man sitting calm behind the desk. “You called for me?”
The man nodded and put down the now empty goblet he had greedily finished.
“It’s time. Get the Map.” He said, meeting the woman's eyes.
Lady Morgan nodded. “As you wish.”

Deep underground. Or is it high in the sky? A cavernous fold extends through the black and
red earth that follows this unhallowed ground. It’s hot in the fold. The warmth would be
enough to kill a mortal, but luckily none of that kind is around. The gimp shuffles forward
limping on his cane. The floor, walls and ceiling of the cavern are lined with a grey smoke
that sometimes seem to take up the forms of ancient echos. People that have long waited for
their release and an end to their torment. “My liege.” The gimp says in the ancient wretched
tongue. “It has begun.” From the darkness in the end the gimps vision something moves.
Suddenly the grey smoke on the ground and on the walls seems to coalesce on the ground in
front of the gimp. The smoke turns into the board and pieces of game. Over the board a hand
of smoke and soot forms. And as a dark and hollow laugh starts echoing through the cavern a
piece jolts forward.