Prologue
When the ancestors of the free nations walked the lands of Krynn in the bloom of their youth even then it had been so long since the Dark Queen had led her armies across the face of the world it was considered to be no more then myth and legend. Bedtime stories best told to children for only a child would be so gullible as to believe them. Time weakens the will of the sentry to maintain their vigil. Thews soften and shrivel under the weight of fine wine and ready feasts. The forces of the light have grown soft. Prone to infighting amongst themselves and outright distrust and hostility of their neighbors as alliances of convenience are formed along racial lines. Human, Elf, Dwarf and even Kender all look inwards to their owns interests in preserving and expanding their territories and power.
As day passes into night, the forces of darkness and light have taken turns in holding dominion over the mortal realm. While the pantheon of the Gods has remained content to watch from the heavens Takhisis alone has continued to interfere in the affairs of mortals. Whispering promises of power to those she wishes to draw into her service, luring them into temptation mere playful sport for the divine being who commands the chromatic dragons. Far in the north east the forces of the Dark Queen have been quietly marshalling their resources and forming alliances, pacts signed with a knife pressed to the throat of any who might refuse to comply. Gathering their strength while bending new and terrible magics to their will to birth creatures with no equal in history. Her burning desire to possess a world that has against all odds alluded her grasp and defied her forces since time immemorial has left her a twisted and bitter being.
Like a child who refuses to acknowledge when something is wrong, the courts and noble houses have kept their fingers pressed firmly in their ears. What reports that have managed to filter back from the East are brushed off as mere rumors and outright fabrications. War would mean the putting aside of pleasurable pursuits and dusting off arms and armor long relegated to ceremonial service. The world is only beginning to wake up as travelers never return from their destinations and villagers disappear from fields and farmlands. Doors long left open are barred before nightfall. In the coming conflict press-ganged peasants and stoic soldiers alike will bear the terrible brunt of the battlefield where honorable combat only exists in the minds of those that have not seen the slaughter of close combat as hand weapons hack off limbs with all the grace of a blind butcher. The storm is rising. Black clouds have formed on the horizon and the very fate of the world once again hangs in the balance.
Sharpen your swords,
or pray if you’d rather.
Kiss them goodbye,
your mother and father.
There’s smoke on the wind,
the innocent dying.
Bereft of their mothers,
the babies are crying.
Fear we all know it,
however noble of birth.
Flashing of steel,
can return to the earth.
The glory imagined,
no where to be found.
The crimson is splashing,
returned to the ground.
My bones lay forgotten,
none sing of my deeds.
my remains are now nothing,
but food for the weeds.
Written and Illustrated by Andrew Johnston
YouTube: https://www.youtube.com/@andrewstuartjohnston/videos
