Thousands of people stood in Saint Belca"s Square in a candlelight vigil, praying for protection against the wave of chaos that had come from nowhere while the elven high priest standing on a podium high above them, dressed in the traditional red garb of Taroian leadership, he was doing his best to deliver hope through a microphone.
“In the time of our darkest days, the gods will strike down this evil as they have promised,” he said through the microphone. Honestly, he"d been at this for hours now and he was running out of verses, things to say and hope. Father Elrond never expected to be the one to weather the end of the world. The blades had shown up, but the Gods had not.
He was beginning to lose faith in something he barely believed in himself. As leader of the Taroian sect, he had a
