The warrior and the druid sunk into a sullen silence, exchanging hateful glares. Ulrick Brighthammer stroked his beard, musing over what he had been told. The dwarven king had arrived late to the council, but he knew enough from listening to the two supposed heroes that had spent the past four hours arguing in the center of the tent that had been erected for this purpose and this purpose alone. When he felt that enough time had passed for the two to appreciate the gravity of the situation, he cleared his throat and spoke again. "Well, elf. Your peoples' prophecies speak of this day coming. Do they also speak of what happens after?"
The druid shook his head, still scowling. "No, they do not. But-"
Roland gave a frustrated grunt, then stormed over to the opening of the tent, shoving guards from several royal escorts aside as if they were nothing but children. When he reached it, he threw back the flap and pointed, his voice tinged by equal measures of anger and desperation. "What are we supposed to make of this?! What else could come of this but death?!"
The assembled lords and ladies, emperors and empresses, and kings and queens looked out at the sky. Some had grim determination etched into their faces. Others, a detached interest, as if the matter did not particularly concern them. Ulrick himself, though, avoided looking outside. He was never particularly fond of the open-ended nature of the surface.
"Who knows? We can only wait and see," muttered the dwarven king. "After all, it's not as though we can go there to investigate. Unless..."
Telarmas, a ruler of some human realm that the dwarf had never heard of before, chimed in. "Unless?"
Ulrick frowned, considering what he was about to say. He never got the opportunity to voice it, however. A raspy voice, grating the ear like steel sliding across stone, interrupted.