Visions & Legends of Beast King

[Petrifictus]

Prologue

Our beastblood is turning thin and tamed.
Our unstoppable flood turning into small drops.
Our sharp fangs and claws turning dull.
Our potential locked and covered.
Our pride lost and given up.

Maybe there will never be a new age for the beastblooded races, no great Black Raids upon the sunlands. Perhaps we fought our last battle at the civil war within the Andunor against the traitors, suffering a slow and quiet death that will last centuries.

All that is possibly left is a beast, wounded by the betrayal, wearing a single crown, haunted by the thought of being last of the true beastbloods.

The beast has been loyal and served many, despite being abandoned, now wondering where did everything go wrong.

Our beastblood must turn thick and savage.
Our small drops must turn into unstoppable flood.
Our dull fangs and claws must turn sharp.
Our potential must be unlocked and uncovered.
Our pride must be recovered and raised up.

If there is to be a new age for the beastblooded races, a great Black Raids upon the sunlands, let it be something that will carry our memory into the future, so when the time comes where there is no more beastblood, at least our legends remains.