There is a sudden spark of activity within the Shadowlands, humanoid emissaries of monochrome ether shuffling through the dark lands of Skarnfel to amass supplies and patrol the areas between it and Aphros's Umbral district, as well as constructing vessels for the seas under deliberate instruction.
Many a civilian that wander too deep within the Shadowlands are dragged away by the ephemeral figures, not to be seen again.
The humanoids were the first sign of things to go awry, the lesser yet plentiful demons that they were; more would begin to join the skirmishes within the fell lands, all shapes and sizes of creatures of damned flesh.

What did it mean?

Nothing good, surely.

The seas near Aphros begin to dim and darken, as does the ground of the Shadowlands.
Something terrible was brewing.

Before long, there is a presence of great power; with a concentration of ether emanating from deep within Skarnfel's territory, all near Aphros would hear a psychic roar of a thousand voices speaking in perfect harmony.
Even in one's dreams would they not be safe.

Quote:

”Hear me, sons of man. 

For your transgressions against our allies, against the Crimson Keep, and for daring to stand against us, we are acting in our best interests.

The interests of stomping you out of our territory, amidst this strife and chaos you have wrought upon yourselves.

You are not worthy of neither the knowledge nor the territory you wield.

If you stand against us, you will reap what you have sown. If you are wise, you will accept this price of tribute to the superior kindred that we are.

If you are not, you will drown in your own blood.”