Is it his imagination or does there seem to be a clearing of the stale breath blowing from below? Its breeze, somehow, suddenly comes clean without the sound of its wheezing. Without sight he can only speculate, can only wrestle with the growing fear of what might be going on about him. A restless anger gnaws at him and his hand tightens upon the blade. There is that which has slumbered deep in the heart of this world called Thrae-and for more than five thousand years, it has dreamt. Of all that was, only the barest portion has survived in the ashes of a thousand wars fought amongst the races of men for dominion over her lands. Yet there still remain those who remember the day the ancient city of Urn fell, when the hordes of the Aunsidhlien first came into being in the aftermath of Delserite’s war. Those powers, hidden yet silent, await the day when they can return. Now, as the great worm Oborean is roused from the mountain’s heart, the long plains shiver again with emerging life. Meanwhile, from the river fold lands to the forests of Ty, the hordes of the Aunsidhlien gather for war. Once more, the ancient feud is stirring.