Listen to the South Wind, for it speaketh of the future’s tidings long ere their advent. Stoop ye to the ground, feel the earth tremble beneath the tread of many feet. Verily, is that not the sound of doom issuing from the Black Land? Our seasons of peace are waning.
Raise thy eyes, behold the horizon! a brooding Sun rises from the East. Veils of smoke hide the blood that stains her cheeks and lips as rouge; her eyes scour the land for the lover who will come to her crimson chambers at the fall of night, and bring her the fresh blood of his victims. His name is War. Girt thy loins for battle, my children: the sun shineth with no more kindness upon these days of strife.
– The vision of Uadrii Adrezarach as told to his three children.
(written c. 2003)