Snow continues to fall on vacant battle fields, the winds are so cold the undead have frozen still in their armor in the far north, unable to move. They stand like statues on a neverending watch of the dawn of each day and the solace of every moon rise. The cries of fallen avians can be heard echoing through the mountains and valleys as they sing a melancholy song for their fallen kin. They wind whistles through the trees as orcish wargs can be heard howling deep within the vast network of forests within the world of legends. Kingdoms are invigorated by the slow of the undead advancement and rally together holding their swords high they march into the maelstrom of war.
Posted UTOPIA NEWS
FEBRUARY EDITION 1 Yr 4