Unconciously, hands poised on their weapons, many warriors raised their heads towards the sky to see what started out as a great shadow that covered them.

Forming big circles over fortune encampment, a trained dragon, mounted by a Brave in armor, searched for a place to land in the plains already darkened with people. In the last few hours, many Fighters had reached the border of Al Drifa, in these plains more accustomed to hosting festivities and other markets rather than the veritable military camp that was currently there.

The incessant hubbub, mixing the dialects of all the regions of Ganareth, began to subside when a group of men, accompanied by guards and the Duke Tenastil of Cidd, left Cidd. One of them, a mage from the look of his garments, climbed up on a headland and called for silence and explained to everyone the serious situation that reunited them.

The Oracle, before falling into a deep coma of strange origins, foretold the approach of a powerful army of Dragoon marching on Al Drifa. Unfortunately, we knew nothing more, and the scouts, even if they had located the uncoordinated movements of Orcs or Trolls, were unable to determine their gathering place.

At all costs, it was important to know more about the place that the danger would come from and only the Oracle could answer that. Time was running out, and the old man was in a pitiable state, the clerics and priests were powerless to heal him. A scaled operation had to be put in place.