At the East Coast of Ashen Heights, ocean waves crashed quietly against the cold, rocky shore. The air was thick with sea mist, and the clouds above rolled low and grey—matching the mood of the soldiers who stood waiting.
Hundreds of boots pressed into the brown sand as four hundred Men of the Watch, dressed in worn steel and thick leather, formed a line across the coastline. Their armor bore the mark of the Velmourns—a towering Steel Dragon with outstretched wings standing before a crescent moon and cracked world tree, flanked by silver and black lesser dragons—a sigil that once terrified the entire world.
A sigil that represented the dominion the Velmourns held over the entirety of Nerathis and their past glory.
*Picture*
Of course, none of the past glory mattered anymore. It stopped mattering twelve hundred years ago. The Velmourn sigil just became… a symbol, an echo from the past.
