High atop the mage tower, far away from the raucous commotion near the Trinsic swamps, Jupiter studied the horizon. He had hoped to divine some form of good news from the distance skies, yet all they would reveal to him was greater tribulation. None of the dragon couriers of the Dragon Lords had returned with any news of the battle, but Jupiter knew. Regardless of the outcome of this immediate confrontation, the hostilities of the undead against the living would not cease this day.
War. That is what loomed on the horizon, and its omens were so thick that they seemed to block his view of the entire future.
Jupiter could only conclude that the most recent battles were merely schemes to distract the men of Sosaria while the undead captains pursued some horrific objective not yet known, perhaps unknown even among the highest ranking of the undead echelon. Admittedly their ruse was almost undeniably perfect too; it had even baffled Jupiter at first. Was the sole purpose that the undead have twice feigned defeat despite overwhelming numbers merely to mollify the hearts of men? He was certain this was untrue and was even more certain that the next time the undead raised their unholy army it would be in pursuit of their true goal.
He had learned from his venture to the catacombs just what powers were necessary to unleash such powerful forces upon the land. Before the recent events of these dark days it required immense power in combination the most specific and wretched tombs of sacrifice in order to re-invigorate just one corpse. This great difficulty to resurrect the dead is what many of the old kings had counted on to keep the numbers of the undead in check and limited to distant dungeons afar of from any towns. Yet these Undead Warlords, as they were now proclaiming themselves, have twice demonstrated their ability not only to raise putrid armies of colossal force but to seemingly desecrate the immutable laws of nature by raising their armies of corpses in almost any place of their choosing.
"Natural defenses no longer held any bearing against powers such as these," he thought to himself out loud.
Jupiter was perplexed regarding a great many things right now, but specifically about his inability to discern the next point of attack. The city called Ravenfel had appeared almost overnight within the deadly fens, yet why had their hordes not spilled over in a direct assault against the Golden City? What terrible force of evil had the power to compel the undead to organize and assemble with what would appear to be some kind of designed endeavor?
Jupiter’s next great journey would take him to Ascalon. He knew of no other kingdom whose defenses relied more heavily on natural fortifications than the Kingdom of the Hidden Peninsula. And while the ancient peaks of the crescent mountains and the solitary pass of the peninsula have provided protection for untold ages, they would be quickly transformed into prison walls if somehow the undead managed to raise their army from within. He had to warn them to make sure they had alternative methods of defense, should the mountains and oceans turn from fortifications to sacrificial walls...