[Galion]

The walls of Aetius are mounted and guarded for each breathless day of siege.

On the eve of war, an Archmage stands upon the gates, her breath descending upon the lands- the scent and color of lavender. It is bitter, clean, and suffocating.

A fog swells, swallowing the lands before the fortress city- coming upon siege and soldiers alike. Each breath is the snare of freedom of heart and soul, with peril.

The drones vanish into this haze, their chatter drowned, and forms erased. From this haze comes a voice,

"Rotten hearts. Gluttons. Self-righteous swine.

Dominion made by ones wallowing in their own filth, choking on their own tyranny that they remain blind to.
Come at-last. Our blades are sharp."

The mist curls upon the camps, binding fighting men & woman in dread. The walls of Aetius stand resolute, and through this is the sensation. Only a fool would think easy the task of claiming from this rising force. To march on is to thrust oneself into the face of true danger. Even if not made clean upon lips, only the absent of mind would not understand the implications of this shroud.

"One and all, let silence shatter your mouths.

Your dream will end in a world that will learn not to suffer you.

Ours will blossom in a harsh awakening without you, starting here."
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Aetius poises ready to fight.
No demand shall go answered with anything short of blood & steel.
Those who battle shall step into the invocation of [Domain] once more. This is a feud promising of potentially dire consequences to the defeated.