The wind whines and howls; in its breath there’s bitterness. Thunder growls and snarls—lightning with savage force pierces a plateau of shining stones, terrifying even the Shadows. Scars—marks of a cataclysm—cut across the plateau that once knew the era of gloomy flourishing. A winding crack splits the ground—like a torn wound from a whip striking a face. Everywhere, coils of mist creep in, tinted in a thousand shades of gray and black; only here and there can you see miserable specks of other colors. In the middle of the plateau stands a mysterious citadel. It’s enormous, gray, and impossibly ancient—older than any human chronicle memory. One of its towers has collapsed across the cleft. From the depths of the fortress, breaking the age-old silence, comes a rhythmic, slow knocking—as if the heart of the world is beating there.
Death is eternity.
Eternity is stone.
Stone is silence.
Stone cannot speak.
But it remembers.
Thus begins the next story, coming from the pen of the Chronicler and Banner-bearer of the Black Squad—Murgен. The soldiers are busy with military preparations. A winter offensive is ahead. Soon the fighters will march south—toward the inevitable, perhaps final clash with the forces of the Master of Shadows. Most of the troops were already on the road, one that promised to be long and difficult. And so, in front lies the plain of Charandapras… But then a new terrible power enters the game, which means the Year of Skulls is already near—and the outcome of the battle cannot be predicted by anyone.