Choice Results are at the bottom of the page. Goodluck.

"Hurry my champion, hurry, the Bloodstorm rises again and the winds of fate begin to dance a new tune. This world will know war unlike any they have seen before and all could soon be lost if you do not hurry."

Drawn in by her strange words, you find yourself standing atop the slopes of a colossal white mountain, the wind blowing against you and look down to see millions of goblins gathered below, thunder crashing all around them, their voices swept across the frozen surface of the tundra, when a voice as ancient as time itself blasts from every direction, darkening the clouds...

...Blinded by a momentary burst of light, you brush a hand across your eyes amidst a sea of grey tents with dwarven voices barking commands, blacksmiths hammering weapons and thousands of cook fires surrounded by dwarves. While atop a small hill to the north stands a great grey tent, where a large group of well dressed dwarves discuss battle tactics, Dywin's familiar face lifting up from the shadows to stare off towards the brewing storm on the horizon...

...Lorna and Gorrack, their bodies caked in sweat and grime, race through a darkened forest with shadowy figures nipping at their heels, when they freeze in place to look up at the clouds in horror, their mouths gaping in a wordless scream, before being washed away to be replaced with Bone eye...

...Left eye glittering with malice, the Minotaur sat by the campfire sharpening his greatsword, when abruptly he looks up to meet your eyes, "Soon we shall meet again and this time we shall see who is the better blade..."

...Streaks of red lightning rumble through the clouds, and again you hear the voice from the mountain, beating your skull with a rock, pounding it's way through you, almost like a tidal wave of noise. The sound building up to a crescendo until with a thunderous crash, raindrops falls from the sky, covering you in a wet and sticky substance.

Fear gripping your body, you stare down at your blood soaked arms and realise the clouds are raining blood...rivers of blood...

...Streams of terrified refugees push and shove each other as they flee north away from the growing storm clouds, armies gather all across the world, elven priests in white robes stained red kneel down in prayer to the Lightbearer, while trolls swarm out from the swamps like a plague upon the land, and above it all crimson red clouds rain down thunder and lightning, bringing with it death and destruction...

...Quivering and gasping uncontrollably, you stand there unable to move, when Daedalus' voice blares through your mind, "Master!" shaking you out of your stupor, the after images of what you'd seen burnt into backs of your retinas as you stare around trying to remember where you were, your breathing shallow and heart beating like a drum. It had all felt so real, too real. The freezing winds atop the mountain, the pounding of metal on metal, and the rancid taste of fear that seemed to permeate the very air you breathed. But none of it compared to the terrifying sound of that voice, trumpeting out across the darkness. It's voice like a beacon in the night calling all to shelter by it's fire. And despite a part of you always knowing it was a vision, you had felt this powerful urge to answer the call. To let go of everything and walk into the darkness, the feeling so strong that even now, your hands still tremble from the memory.

"There are few in this world that can resist the call of the Bloodstorm, it pries upon our inner most desires and uses them against us. Magnified by the Book of Maglencloid it is a weapon of terrible power, but one that can prove to be very useful in the right hands,"said Daedalus wistfully, "Where next do you wish to go, master? The fighting in the tower has slowed, but it will not be long before more guards come in search for you."

As though awakened to the urgency of your situation, you to think what next to do, flashes of Lorna and Gorrack's faces flashing before your eyes, but they would need to take care of themselves for now.

Mouth tightening, you scan the corridor hoping for some sign or guidance from the gods, when you feel something in your bones.

Whirling about, you look behind you and see nothing, but that feeling of dread only grows stronger inside of you, until finally unable to take it, you begin to run.

6. Do you wish to activate 'Swift Strikes'? (Werewolf Race Only.)

Nostrils twitching at the foul stench of darkness, you cast a wary glance about the corridor, when black smoke filters in from the walls around you. Formed of pure darkness, the Shadow Hunters surround you from all sides, their forms hidden in writhing black smoke.

Having faced these creatures many times before, you immediately call out to the Lightbearer and feel his power wash over you, filling your arms with strength and burning a flame in your heart. Violence had ever been the last resort of your people, but lessons from the past had taught you not to treat these beings of darkness lightly. And no matter what the Fae'lon may say about saving their tormented souls, you knew better, these creatures had chosen the path of darkness and had no room in their heart for regret. There was nothing left of them to be saved.

Claws burning with flames, you stride towards the creatures, light oozing from your fur, and body awash in the glow of the Lightbearer. The cleansing must begin.

Icey cold blades whisper towards you, but the heat of the flames burning inside of you melt them into pools of black liquid that drip to the ground. The creatures shying away from the light as you sweep in amongst, flames roaring to life along the edge of your claws to snuff one life after the other, lessening the darkness.

Undaunted, they come at you again and again, but they are no match for the will of the Lightbearer whose powers flow through your veins.

Slaying the last of them, you kneel down in thanks to the Lightbearer and ask that he send their souls to oblivion for the harm they've brought to the world, when everything shifts around you, the tower shaking and groaning like a wounded beast, walls collapsing inward as though struck by something heavy, and slivers of light breaking through the shadows to show light streaming through large rents in the stone. The tower crumbling all around you as though being beaten by invincible hammers that pound it ceaselessly filling the air with dust.

Battlefield Results

None

Companion Reputation, (+2 Daedalus is pleasantly surprised at the outcome.)

Loot

None