The world is in serenity. The skies remain blue, existance seems small. Though unseen beneath the eye of peace, the plans for greater destruction reigns from the concealed homes of the exiled half-elves. The half-elves begin their rebellion upon the free peoples of Isord.
Amongst the ensuing chaos, the White Witch rides through the air freely, upon her shining white dragon. Her mischevious cackle echoes throughout the night, sending a message of warning to the unsuspecting victims of the oncoming horrors. The villages, and cities of Isord bustle in blissful economy.
King Foxin takes little notice to the happenings in his country.
The sky remains a calm sky blue as the predicament closes in.
A boat crashes upon the Southern Isord shore..
Perhaps this single instance can change the turn of tides..
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