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Whispering the wind was, for it could scream no more at the atrocities wrought upon thee land. Hope was lost once the dawn ceased to come, for the halo of the eclipse was cursed to be eternal. Trees withered across the landscape, whilst the druids cried for there was not much that they could do anymore.

Darkness blanketed the land yet there were a few who resisted, not out of hope though but a few brave wanderers who have given up and thrown themselves to the wolves so to speak... The druids thought that if all these said wanderers banded together with them, one final stand could be made. For some were sorcerers, warriors of the blade and gun-remnants of the legendary Lords of Light-, some not even human-for though they weren't common dwarves, half-men and feyfolk lived amongst the land as well-, and worse yet...some were just as evil as thee scourge that triumped o'er the land. Those who commanded the scourge were devious and did not dwell together creating a problem for those who would hunt them. Despair was triumphant on this world, however the eldar beings known as gods sent a star to guide the wanderers, for it called to them. It had amplified whatever it was that had kept them going whether it was the tattered remains of hope or the burning revenge dwelling in their heart. I myself was one of these wanderers, in particular one of the Lords of Light, not quite an angel yet.

"Alright my avid listeners, time for some repose. So any questions as of yet?" says Xaraxel.

Before any of the others could speak, Wanlorn chuckles and states, "Yea, 'ow ye keep all these youngin's silent whilst weaving a tale?" The children, finally out of the trance of a great tale create a battalion of questions for the angel. With the patience that only an immortal could acquire such as he, Xaraxel answers every question whether mundane or superb. After a few tasty pies, courtesy of a pretty young lass, everyone calms back down. Xaraxel in a sing song manner goes, "Thee tale is not yet over, 'tis time to continue..."