Gyr’Hark looked at me with compassion in their eyes. "You must have many questions."

"Yes," I nodded and rubbed my hands together. As I proceeded, I indicated each question with a raised finger.

"Where are we? This city is new to me."

"What happened to the Imperial City?"

"What was this Howling?"

"What does it all have to do with Erik?"

Gyr smiled and said, "This area you would have known as the Eastern Midlands. It was largely unsettled in your time, home to nomadic groups of Sauriok. As for why Ravenna was built here, this site is at the mouth of one of the main passes up from the lowlands and was relatively easy to fortify."

"I see," I said, prompting them to continue.

"The rest of your questions share a common answer, and I will ask your patience before I explain. Let the others join us."

As if summoned by their words, Galatia returned, followed by two more beings.

The first was a man, so tall and broad that he had to stoop to avoid bumping his head on the chandelier. Each movement he made spoke to incredible physical power, barely restrained. His upper arms were nearly the size of my waist, and his torso was a ball of layered muscle and fat. This was not a man who sculpted his body for asthetics, but one who had turned his form into a temple of functional strength. He loomed over Galatia, the elf a head below the man's shoulder, but despite all his obvious might, he radiated a sense of serenity that made you feel totally at ease.

Bringing up the rear was a Sauriok with vivid green and yellow scales. They wore flowing robes of buckskin, fringed with hundreds of individual strands, each adorned with some trinket, bead, bone, or pretty rock. Like many of their kind, they had blunt, broad features topped with a frill of cerulean blue. They possessed a wiry, nimble build that hinted at swiftness that might surprise those unfamilier with the reptillian species.

The three took seats at the table, the man turning his chair around and straddling it.

Gyr’Hark rasied a hand to me, "This is the mage I told you of, Ceriss." They removed the coral drake pin from their robes and handed it to me.

"Place that on your chest and you will carry the authority of the Guild with you in all matters. It may open some doors to you that would otherwise be closed to you. There are many who still hold the Guild in high regard, even if we have largely been eclipsed."

I pinned the crest on, marveling at the fine detail and craftsmanship.

Gyr turrned back to the others and cracked a toothy grin, "All right, you rascals, make yourselves known to your new commander."

I shot Gyr’Hark a glare, realizing the trap they had laid for me. They wanted to keep me too busy to dwell on the past.

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"I am Kragza, get of Hyk'ryll. I am a long arrow and being of the forest. I hunt, track, live where others cannot, make mighty dirt magic."

I recognized the clumsy common of a Sauriok new to mixed lands. I asked in the raspy, clicking tongue of the Sauriok, "You mean to say you are a woodland primalist?"

The whelp looked startled to hear his own language from my lips, and nodded vigorously.

"My name is Galatia," said the elf with a lazy drawl. "I'm light on my feet and handy in a scrape. I can get into places people don't really want me in."

The huge man chuckled, "Like their pockets."

"Only if there's something interesting in there."

"I am Dorian of Aranod. I'll fight for you. Gyr’Hark trusts you, that's enough for me."

"Man of few words, I can respect that," I said. "Aranod... You wouldn't be a whirler, would you?"

A smile broke across his face like a boulder splitting in two. "Yes, Mistress. There's few indeed that have heard of my order."

I did my best to return his smile. "I've seen a few in action, a lifetime ago."

Gyr’Hark said, "Now that you are all introduced, I'll tell the tale I wanted you all to hear. Some of this will be things you already know, but some will not, and it's all important, so be mindful. Galatia, I'm talking to you."

"Yes, Granny."

Dorian chuckled and they all settled into their seats around the table.

"What we know about the Howling is fragmentary at best. It was a period of horror and violent upheaval. Survival was paramount at the time, far beyond learning the cause of the catastrophe. Little more has been learned in the intervening time, for reasons that will become clear."

Gyr'Hark took a sip of tea before continuing, "Ceriss, you were attacked in year 434 by the old reckoning, correct?"

They looked to me for confirmation, so I corrected them gently, "435, Gyr. Tenth Moon."

"Thank you, I wasn't certain. As far as we know, it was only a few moons later that Erik arrived at the Imperial City in the company of a newcomer to the Empire. He called himself Benedict Milgarder. He was by all accounts a talented alchemist and quickly found a place in the Imperial Court, his access to the throne eased considerably by a ringing endorsement from Erik. We know almost nothing of what happened in the next thirteen years, but in 448, a massive ritual of incredible necromantic power occurred. Again, numbers are uncertain, but at least three out of every four beings in the Imperial City were slain in their sleep and rose immediately as undead."

I gasped, trying to wrap my head around the scale of the atrocity and the magical power that would be needed to enact it. Gyr saw my pained expression and smiled sadly.

"I'm sorry to burden you with this knowledge, Auntie. The world is not the same place it was when you left it."

I reached out and grasped their scaled hand. "It's okay, Gyr. Please, continue."

"The survivors of the initial massacre woke in confusion and terror. Many more died, attacked by members of their own households. My parent was one of those who were able to help gather up enough survivors to form a knot of resistance and escape the doomed city.

They joined up with other bands of refugees and drove east, eventually settling here. My parent, along with several others, formed the Council of Ravenna. That body rules to this day.

Scouts were sent back into the Imperial City, which had come to be called the Screaming City. They found a strange society of the undead forming. The ruler was simply known as 'The Tyrant'. It ruled with the aid of three mighty generals. Erik the Oathbreaker, The Alchemist King, and Sorkur the Endless."

Everyone at the table was tense, listening intently to the tale. Gyr'Hark went on.

The scouts reported that the undead were forming into armies and preparing to follow the survivors east. The refugees were in no condition to mount a defense, so a desperate plan was hatched. Six Archmages from the Collegia Magicka volunteered to sacrifice themselves to stop the undead advance."

I perked up at the mention of my school.

"One of them was your mentor, Ceriss. Magus Alham."

My breath caught in my throat. Merry old Alham. "What happened?"

"The six mages traveled to the farthest western pass, several leagues from here. It provided a good choke point in which to base their working. It is known as the Adamant Span. A magical barrier like no other before or since. It is anchored in the pass but extends to the horizon in both directions. It is hundreds of cubits tall, and nearly impassible."

"That's incredible," I said. "Sounds like Alham gave his life doing something astonishing."

Gyr nodded. "Without their sacrifice, we would have been wiped out within years. With the Span as the backbone of our defense, We have been able to keep the dead at bay all this time. Roughly a third of the Evoker Legion is quartered at the span and is dedicated to upkeep on the lattice of enchantments that sustain it."

"Even with the span in place, the armies of the Tyrant manage to breach a small section every decade or so, flaring up a border skirmish that can last from weeks to years. The Ravenwatch has to be constantly vigilant. The Triumvirate have managed to launch raids into our territory several times as well. Their motives and goals are unknown, but they seem to involve wiping out all life."