As the Orphean Serenade sang out in the early days of Daedalan, seven hundred and forty six years after the fall of Seleucar, the drums of war began to beat.

Under cover of night, the great battle-stones of Nishnatoba materialised once more, appearing to a violent fanfare of trumpets as the thunderous choir of war sounded a slow, portentous rhythm throughout all the land.

Calls to arms immediately began to spread like wildfire through the streets of Mhaldor and Targossas, each side priming their forces for the journey to the ancient battlefield, where - yet again - only one could emerge victorious.

Drilling their soldiers in battle manouevres and readying their final preparations, the generals of Good and Evil began to gather their troops among the ruins of Nishnatoba. Great stormclouds raged overhead, battering the ravaged landscape with sheets of frozen hail and massive forks of lightning.

Among the eastern ruins, Lord Marshal Nyderrasethi Moonwolf stood beside Tyrannus Proficy, and paced. Looking out over their mustered soldiers, the faces of Cooper, Medi, Saibel, Ailea, Melodie, Kiet, Seortiae, Hataru, Leviticus, Draedetha, Reyson, Tasuu, Titonus, Dhaia, Rom, Herenicus, Lucianus, Ysela, Crixos, Herose, Mariya, and Khel were visible, their expressions blank and resolute.

It was Tesha al Ashtad who stood at the head of the army of light, rousing the virtuous throng to action. At once the figures of Daeir, Jayden, Solnir, Ankhareoutef, Micaelis, Irimon, Laniara, Ashu, Tysandr, Mathilda, Exelethril, Torinn, Nuala, Avianca, Ada, Xaden, Antidas, Illaren, Kicra, Nazihk, and Frederich stood taller, inspired by their general's confident words yet mindful of the absence of both Farrah and Atalkez, for no sign of them had been seen.

Mere moments before the Domnitor of War, Morthif Aristata, blew the horn that would signal the beginning, two brilliant figures appeared. Wreathed in the righteous flames of Deucalion Himself, and the blinding luminosity of Aurora, the two stepped onto the field as Avatars of the Bloodsworn Divine, roaring a resolute battle-cry that shook the very foundations of the plane.

The Dawnlord and the Judicator had come, and the battle began.

Tension hung like a thick fog in the air as the first cautious salvos were loosed, felling soldiers on both sides with neither willing to risk everything on an early melee engagement. Instead, strike forces were deployed by both Mhaldor and Targossas with a singular mandate: to cut down key generals in hope of a decisive early victory. Scores fell, their mortal bodies torn asunder by a relentless onslaught of blades, magics, and martial prowess. Death was the order of the day.

In the midst of death knells and baleful screams, Shamans worked tirelessly to restore the dead, denying either army a sorely needed advantage. The immense stormclouds over Nishnatoba roiled with intemperate fury overhead, and after half a day of ceaseless fighting, neither side had permanently lost a soldier, so quickly were they restored by the powers of Spiritlore.

Kiet and Khel worked in tandem to revive their comrades, racing around the ruins in a desperate attempt to dodge the cataclysmic magics arranged against them. Three times Kiet fell before rising again and again, determined to cling to life even as death loomed.

Under the command of Tesha, the army of powerful magi loosed their collective might, devastating their foes with an elemental onslaught of such ferocity that the putrid smell of burning flesh overwhelmed the atmosphere. The Lord Marshal and Tyrannus harried Ankhareoutef and Micaelis, giving chase with nothing less than utter, murderous intent. Yet while the legion of Evil mobilised with terrifying efficiency, slaying foe after foe after foe, they could not break the stalwart lines of Targossas.

At once a jagged fork of lightning speared from the skies, throwing the Avatar form of Farrah into coruscating relief. With her loyal soldiers beside her and with all the resolve of the Bloodsworn, the Dawnlord brought her powers to bear upon the two Evil Shamans. Thrice in succession did Khel and Kiet expire, the former forced to kneel before Ugrach while the latter was restored in a valiant attempt by Lucianus to turn the tide in favour of the Evil Isle before being ruthlessly cut down a fourth time, with no choice but to embrace the clutches of death.

The army of Targossas pressed the advantage, the flame-drenched figure of the Dawnlord at its head, and death truly began to reap its terrible harvest. Over two hundred times did death triumph over life, blood flowing like ruby rapids across the ancient landscape as yet more soldiers drew their final, agonising breaths. With the Lord Marshal defeated and his legion of evil on the brink of destruction, the Tyrannus readied himself for a final, defiant stand. Calling upon the powers of kaido for deliverance, he waited for the inevitable to come, taking a dozen enemy legionnaires with him as - at last - Proficy lay still upon the field, dead.

Night descended upon the land, yet with it came no darkness. Great iridescent fronds of light erupted over the skies of Nishnatoba, the stormclouds departed. Amidst this mesmerising luminescence did the voices of Targossas resound, exultant in success as they loosed triumphant cheers of victory in the name of the Bloodsworn, and all that is Good and Pure.

Summary: Targossas and Mhaldor met once more on Nishnatoba, ready to go to war. An entire day of fighting took place, and over two hundred lives were claimed in battle. As night fell over the ancient battlefield, Targossas stood victorious, exultant in the glory of the light and fire.

Penned by My hand on the 16th of Daedalan, in the year 746 AF.