Role

Chapter 6

Through the sleepy haze a familiar voice cried out. Jolting him into
consciousness.

"Help! Tiria, Sufu, Yohnerk, Bigglespot are raiding the Cabal!"

It was the Maran. The call had become familiar since the Empire languished
north of Balator and the Scions appeared only in the darkest nights.
Herethon grew restless.They slew his Squires took the Orb and seemed to
grow with each passing day. Droves of gnomes, humans, dwarves and others
flooded to the Island. What balance they sought he could not understand.

As the days turned to years and seasoned turned his muscles from a spry
teenager to a middle-aged relic of the days of the Imperial horde he could
sense the end was near, and yet the Nexans rose, like the Blade or Shadow
sect, they became legions of Imperials.He felt his own restraint weakening.
showed no remorse, their pursuit of Balance was nothing more than
greed, their own desires for power.

Herethon saw past their pathetic guise. There was only one solution.
Strike at them, keep them off balance. Attack them, force them to cower
within their Island. To feed from their corpses, to cause panic and
confusion amongst their ranks. Beyond the Fortress, beyond the Maran.

With a powerful thrust of his wings he hurtled towards the coming storm,
entrails of a gnome hanging from his beak.