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My Lords, set down your blades. Quiet your armies a moment, and listen well to my words - for I speak not just of old songs of myth and legend, but of a time when the great fought united alongside the Gods themselves - and of an ancient evil that threatens now to swallow us all.

All know of the Day of Eclipse, so many centuries ago, when Balur, God of Chaos, loosed his armies upon us from the depths of Anher'even , and summoned the Great Dragon Farwol from the West to take the Goddess of Light and the Sun from the sky. In those times, Weor of the Firstborn Gods called upon our forefathers to make war against Balur and his Black Horde - and our forefathers answered. Together they met the forces of darkness during the Battle of Gwarheyvad - man and elf; dwarf and shade; nomad, halfing, and vampire - all the Races of Darkshine rose as one against evil. Think of the deeds that were done upon that day! Remember Weor's great sacrifice, besting Farwol in single combat - and then, with the last of his ebbing strength, bringing Balur to his knees so that Lovar the Traitor, might fulfill the prophesy and deal Balur the crushing blow!

My brothers and sisters, alongside the gods our peoples fought to free Eir and the Sun so long ago. Our peoples broke and scattered the Black Horde, and banished Balur and the nightmare beasts back to the abyss. And upon our victory, together we founded an Empire that reigned for centuries in peace and glory, until, by our own treachery and folly; we fell to our present state.

And here we stand now. All the bloodshed, the great deeds done long ago - to what end? The great Empire of Stormfall, the brotherhood of the Seven Kingdoms lies shattered and forgotten. The Citadel of Stormfall crumbles to dust. The Goddess of Light wastes away in mourning for her lost husband Weor, and the Sun - that which for so much was lost to save - dies with her a little more each day.

Do not beg the gods for mercy - for they look upon us now with scorn. We live like animals; fighting over the decaying scraps of the Empire as the nights grow longer and the Sun wastes away. The forces of Darkness mock us in the night, and kill our people with impunity along our borders as we set upon each other, hastening our own fate!

The Beacons, our last hope to survive the coming darkness, the last gifts left to us by the ancients and those gods that had not yet forsaken us, that we might hold back the night and frost when the Sun is dead and gone - where are they now? Laying ruined and forgotten! Their stones are stolen by farmers to build their walls, their altars visited only by the whispering dead.

It falls upon you, my Lords, to save us. Forge your Alliances and unite the scattered Lords of Stormfall - either by the hand, or by the sword - it matters not to me. Rebuild the Beacons and defend them from the rising forces of Balur - for they know it is our only salvation. By great deeds, show the dying Goddess that her husband, Weor the Dreamer, did not die in vain, and give her strength to live...

The Legends are real, my lords, and the time is upon us to fight, or to die. I shall soon return to you with further lore I have recovered about the Beacons, and what must be done. Confer among yourselves and remember: the fate of the lands of Stormfall, and Darkshine itself, lay in your hands.