In the latter days of Mayan, seven hundred and forty four years after the fall of Seleucar, a great crowd gathered once again on the Delosian bridge with but a single topic on their minds: WAR.

Called to order by the highest among the Aegaens, Morthif Aristata himself, the growing throng listened with rapt attention as the Warlord painted a bloody picture of the days to come, of war in all its terrible majesty between the just forces of Good, and the iniquitous legions of Evil.

Turning to the representatives of both the Dawnspear and the Evil Isle, the Warlord sought their final agreements, impressing upon all present the need to be ready for anything.

So it passed that, in a rare display of mutual respect, Farrah Roualt, Dawnlord of Targossas, and Nyderrasethi Moonwolf, War Minister of Mhaldor, did agree to the terms set forth, bloodlust worn like a familiar friend upon their faces.

With resolute purpose did the flock depart, eager to make their final preparations. To the victor go the spoils.

Achaea now stands on the brink of open war, and it will surely shake the world with its coming.


Penned by My hand on the 20th of Mayan, in the year 744 AF.