The Mourning Prophecy
THE MOURNING PROPHECY PART I: GRIM BEAUTY AND GALLANT MADNESS
The Prophecy does not speak in certainties, and it does not take morality into account. In the language that sang the world into existence, the difference between a pleasant Spring day and the apocalypse is little more than a matter of conjugation. For the men and women drawn to the glimmering city of towers to revisit their darker memories, though, these vagaries of cosmic language will soon take on an all-too potent significance.
Shadows gather in the nooks and crannies of Sharn; disciples of the writhing darkness bubble up from Khyber like sludge; men made of stone and timber gather, passions inflamed, in the charnel sanctuary of the Mournland; and, all around Khorvaire, the tenuous peace threatens to shatter like so much spun glass. All the while, the wheels of Prophecy turn as they always have.