Lore Scroll: Parched Terrain

"Remember, General," came the solemn but terse voice through the sand-blasted winds, "we do not attack."

"Yes, Empress." General Fang gritted his teeth and nearly hissed the words. Of all the hells-damned Dracai that could have passed the Oath, it had to have been her. The sand was everywhere, damaging the armor he wore proudly through multiple battles. The winds laughed at his armor, finding multiple holes that daggers, swords, or axes would never pierce.

How long had it been? It felt like a thousand eternities. Since the deception, the lies, the promises. Deceptions that plunged deeper than he could have imagined, lies that twisted themselves so thoroughly that they became truths, and promises fulfilled beyond his wildest imaginations. For Fang, the fall of his beloved emperor, the hunt through the streets for His killer, and the twisted power plays that followed felt like a blur.

He looked up then, a sudden realization. This place was familiar. It used to be farmland. He remembered the fertile fields, the peaceful windmills. He remembered the joyful laughter of neighbors and friends and...family. This was his home. But it was his home no longer. The blasted terrain has been completely transformed. Not a drop of water remained in this once-fertile valley, the sand blasting the soil as it turned into ash as dust rose into the air. Fang's heart sank, but his anger grew.

"Yes, General," Dromai said, watching his face carefully and expertly exploiting the moment of weakness, "your futile quest for vengeance for the Emperor you loved brought this desolation. In your blind rage, you destroyed villages, burned homes, and slaughtered families. Now, it is up to us to find the last remaining hope in this parched world, and restore the Dracai to its former glory.

Fang spun, dagger in hand, ready to defend against someone who had slipped past his own keen senses. The air was thick with tension, and the fading light of dusk cast long shadows that danced around him. He had let his anger get the best of him, but the figure that stood before him re-ignited his fury. The figure wore a cloak that fluttered slightly in the evening breeze. He held a long sword in his hand, its blade glinting as it seemed to absorb the evening sun, almost as if it were forged from the very essence of twilight. As the figure stepped closer, Fang's eyes were drawn to the scar that marred his face, a jagged line that told tales of past battles and unyielding resolve. The fading light highlighted the contours of the scar, making it appear almost alive, a testament to the man's survival in a world where weakness was punished ruthlessly.

Fang could feel the smile form on the Empress's lips from behind him, a knowing expression that sent a chill down his spine. The figure before him was not just an opponent; he was a symbol of everything Fang had fought against, but now he struggled to maintain his composure in line with his Empress's wishes.

"Brother," Dromai said. Fai simply nodded.