Sharyrdaes
...whispers in the woods...shivering in the trees...
...dark and twisted forests, tremble...
...the blowing of a cool wind...
...malice, as old and cruel as time itself cries out into the night for blood...
...for death...
...for vengeance...
...ages of waking sleep filled with wandering dreams of hate and remembrance...
...dreaming of blood raining from the skies, quenching Arethil's thirst...
...that purest blood...
...once thought lost...
It stirred him, and he rose.
The time had come, and they would perish.
They will kneel, and their blood be spilled.
And then they will die.
All of them will die.
...
...
But first, his tools... he will need to gather his tools.
