PROLOGUE
A grim sight.
Half-human soldiers watch over the remains of this town. In their horned helms and twisted faces you see only scorn. Men and women line up the streets, some dead, some not even alive, but none of them fight. They follow in line, leashed. And you see that the streets are paved with bone, blood and with the remains of the dead. Crucified men seem to glorify this scorn...
A rage boils inside of you. Slow and deep.
Upon the throne, upon the hill, upon the dead roads: is a miserly man. Of a crown of thorns and cruel smile, he lords over these half-men. Whipping and screaming orders.
The citizens pile rocks beneath his feet. Huge blocks of stone carried in their backs...A smoky fire burns a hanged man...
You charge headfirst towards that lord.
You are stopped by someone. A figure comes out from the shade of a wall and presses a hand in your chest. His eyes searing you like hot flame