“Oh, from afar the Deliverer shall come and smite the
terrible army of the Wicked and bind the hearts of
men into one against the Iniquity . . .” From an
ancient Rune Kobarian prophecy.
Long before the fall of the central
kingdoms and the dark sails of Draccus
pierced the hearts of both men and beasts
into a great war, a tribal battle in the frozen
north is drawing to a final close. The battle,
these barbaric skirmishes have lasted nearly
four generations before the silence of near
genocide befell the weaker, the quieter and
peaceful, as it does so many times before.
Now, beneath the audience of the dark granite
peaks and across the bloodstained snowfields
the spoils of war belongs to the victor. For
the victor, the fierce Tarvas who dwelt over
timeless seas of generations high in the
Catanbar Mountains region had finally come
to them. The lands below the snowfields
beyond the Iratirus River, the lands of their
foes, lay the Ramadan lands. The great
Chieftain, Y‟llian-Talbok lay dead in the snow,
his strong powerful body separated from his
