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On a dark cloudy night, a fine drizzle of ran began to fall in the swamps around Port Phasmatys. A deep misty fog began to roll in from the foamy waters that occationally sprayed up onto the black cobblestone streets of the ‘For**’ fortress. Many vampyres of all ages and stages of development were present in formations, their heads lowered against the ever increasing stream of water that battered their heads.
From one of the portals in front of amassed forces, the familiar figure, dressed in hooded crimson battle robes, emerged into the pattering of rain. The Matriarch, Lady 'Foryx', stepped forwards, surveying the amassed vampyres, before speaking.
“I am sure you have all heard by now of the circumstances with which have befallen us. We, those who have lived as the rulers of this great land known as Morytania have become strangers in our own homes, subjugated by an old enemy, the Icyene. Yet, there were no battles, there was no war. No fight to preserve our way of life. Our so called leader, Vanescula Drakan, has allowed this Icyene queen to worm her way into power, to be an advisor to the Wyrd beast that rules in tandem with her. And through all of this, we have become nothing more than vassals to Misthalin who treats our race as a disease that must be purged so that humanity can remain in whatever semblance of power they hold west of the River Salve.
(cont.)
