Three wood elf Grand Magus descended from the corrupted sky.
Once, they would have arrived wrapped in the pure white radiance that had long symbolized their race, clad in gleaming silver armor with elegant curved sabers that sang through the air like music.
That light was gone.
The figures descending now radiated only a sickly violet glow. Their once-pristine armor hung in broken fragments from bodies twisted by corruption, while darkened flesh split beneath pulsing veins of miasma that crawled visibly under their skin like living serpents.
Their eyes held nothing.
No hatred.
No rage.
No trace of warriors they had once been.
