And so it was the ending of the first year of the reform. The winter had passed uneventful, at least on the home island. His Most Benevolent Majesty Harakj VIIstands on the battlements of Fortress Zravk and takes a deep breath. He can still smell the remnants of the previous occupants, the untouched humans have a unique stink of their own. He throws the newest reports from the Royal Ministry of Intelligence, IKWYKBYD (I-know-what-you-know-before-you-do). He laughs. The Beastmen are ripe for the picking a breath of wind and they fall, the Elves have dissolved into a war of genocide, the mad undead king lashes out at friend and foe alike, walls crumble, monarchs cower, fleets are smashed to match wood. Do the true gods, the chaos, whisper in the ears of these lesser races, is this what drives them to this madness, this genius Harak muses. His mind wanders, across vast plains and oceans. The cloud that is the creator and destroyer swallows a village, young and old alike are devoured. He turns, written on the keep wall in man high letters, written in blood of man, ork, goblin is the prophesy. Here it is all explained, the future is now, it is happening even as he reads, more is added by the hour, ecstasy brings the cries of the dying and those yet to. It ends, it begins it is now!
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