Mälque risked a quick glance as they rolled past the corpse of his brother. “Ain’t nothin’ but dyin’ out here today.” In a softer voice, as if offering a prayer or reciting a prophecy of his own demise, he added: “Nothin’ but dyin’ everywhere you look.”
Yet when all hope is lost, a whisper comes.
The War of Whispers rages.
The Council of Ebon encircle the Cauldron, their grotesque features shrouded in shadows. With voices like ice shards scraping against stone, they disclosed their dark prophesy.
War between the dark nation of Ebon and rebel forces is imminent. The Martyr’s Moon rises. The blood of a storyteller is spilled. Hope vanishes. Yet in night, the King of Claire whispers.
The Dark War is over. Betrayal, defeat and death forever accompany any mention of the battlefield known as Min Brock. The shining kingdom of Claire is no more. Any hint of rebellion is supressed by the constant drone that echoes throughout the land. The Oracles of the Council of Ebon forbid even mentioning the name of the King of Claire, on pain of death.
Yet in the night... a whisper comes.