Veltharion gazed upon the Ashlands. He was one of humanity's many great lords.
And yet, his dominion lay barren. Revolving heavily on importing food from Dawnhaven to sustain its populations.
The Ashlands were named as such because of the state they were in, fire, ash, volcanic rock. Little grew here that wasn't already born possessing the traits of the Crucible.
And yet, for millennia their house had stood proudly in its tormented landscape.
Powerful, prestigious, grand.
All of these things were now threatened by the immediate threat before them.
An errant son gone berserk.
One who had in a moment of madness sacrificed his humanity, and in all likelihood his very life essence to gain revenge on his own bloodline.
Veltharion spat in disgust at the sight where his son, or the monster that consumed him .
A raging fire consumed everything in its path, as if it were a living being devoid of any thought or morality left.
