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The Dragonlord known only as John sat still. His legs crossed and his arms resting by his side. It had been a brutal few days for his Beast Slayer clan. Almost a year had passed since they moved south into the Silver Hills in search of the Werewolves who had been terrorising the town’s people. His Beast Slayers had hacked a fortress out of the mountain which was named ‘Spire of the Moon’. Rumour had it that on the peak of the mountain rested a great asteroid which contained Moon Shards, stones that had the ability to turn a Werewolf into their beast form no matter what time of day.

The Beast Slayers had been ready for fighting a war against these creatures, for that was their life, but that did not make it any easier for them. They had originally set out as two hundred. Most of them were Dragonlords and the majority of the rest Dragonslayers. They were able to put aside their differences and each use their skills in order to work towards their common goal, making them a force to be reckoned with.

When they counted their numbers but a week ago they consisted of less than half that of whom they set out with, some had left them as the months had gone by, but most had died. The ambush of the Silver Mine was still fresh in all their minds. They had gone in search of the materials in order to make new weapons, but instead they had found a resting pack. In the dark of those caves the beast slayers never stood a chance, and they bodies were ripped apart as they fled.
But John pushed the memory of that terrible event to the back of his mind. He had more important things to think about. Shortly after the battered survivors had been welcomed back into the mountain, something strange happened. A shadow appeared far off on the horizon, just past the edge of the Silver Hills. Each new morning when John awoke, it had grown nearer, moving at a terrible place. Within two days the edge of its shadow had been less than a mile from the foot of ‘Spire of the Moon’.

It was early morning when the howls began. The guards quickly woke John and told him of what they could hear. Out in the darkness creatures of all sorts were howling. They seemed in pain and terror, as if the very darkness itself was infecting them, attacking anything which could rival its power. And from those terrible pits and caves emerged a horde of beasts. They were all rushing away from the shadow which had engulfed them, and they ran towards the nearest thing which was not yet under it. So on the first day of summer the Beast Slayers rallied to their defences. They armed themselves and made ready for the tide of evil which approached. John had stood, on the brink of that terrible tide and awaited his fate. If his destiny was to die that day, then so be it. With a battle cry he sprouted his Dragonlord wings, and clutching LightFlash – his Dragonslayer axe. He charged the oncoming creatures. With that signal his troops followed, glad that their destiny would be decided fighting against those creatures they had dedicated their lives to destroying.

The two sides had broken upon each other, and the battle was terrible. Not only Warewolves, but strange creatures from other realms advanced, even what looked like members of the Dragonkind were in their ranks and they were whipped up into a frenzy by whatever was causing that shadow.

By the time the battle was over, and the Beast Slayers were bandaging their wounds, the shadow had passed and was continuing onward towards Falconreach. While they had won, now less than thirty were in their ranks, and those that were left had grave wounds and scars.

John sat waiting and contemplating. His right hand man walked in. “Sir our scouts have just sent word. The shadow was caused by a Dragon”. John rose slowly; his worst fears had been realized. “Worst yet my Lord, it has stopped close to Falconreach”. John turned, and began to pull on his armour “So Sepulchure, you finally show your hand” he whispered to himself. “Round up the men, we begin marching tonight” he lifted Dragon Amulet, it had been many long years since the death of his dragon, but he had not forgot who caused it, and he would have his vengeance. “Send word to Dragonsgrasp, tell them the beginning of the last great war has begun”. His men would reach Falconreach within five days solid marching. They would strike the back of his army and divide his gaze. The walls must hold.

Sepulchure must pay.