Alaloth.champions.of.the.four.kingdomsv.2022.09... -

The sky over Plamen did not bleed red; it bruised a deep, sickly purple. In the year 2022.09, the stars aligned in a jagged pattern that the High Elves of Goldwood had long feared. The seal on the Valley of Storms was cracking. Alaloth, the dark god cast down by his kin, was stirring in his prison, and his breath was a cold wind that withered crops and drove men to madness.

The Four Kingdoms were in chaos. To the north, the Dwarves of Karak-Hohn had shuttered their mountain gates, suspicious of the shadows lengthening in their deep tunnels. To the east, the Republic of Larastir struggled to keep its forest borders from being overrun by the twisted remains of those who had ventured too close to the rift. The humans of Edrath were fractious, their lords more concerned with ancient bloodlines than the impending god-fall. Alaloth.Champions.of.The.Four.Kingdomsv.2022.09...

In the heart of the Fifth Kingdom, where the veil between worlds was thinnest, they found the altar. It was a monolith of obsidian, pulsing with the heartbeat of a trapped deity. As Kaelen stepped forward, the ground shook. A voice, ancient and resonant like grinding stones, echoed in his mind. The sky over Plamen did not bleed red;

Why do you struggle, little spark? Alaloth hissed. The kingdoms are already ash. They just haven't stopped burning yet. Alaloth, the dark god cast down by his

Kaelen knew the truth that the councils ignored: Alaloth would not stay in the shadows forever. The shards of the god's power—the artifacts of the First Age—were being unearthed.