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Here you stand now, in a saddened hallway, darkened by the misery it has housed for the past decade. In another lifetime, this same hallway echoed the footsteps of Kings, and the Paladins that served them. Now however, as you look up into the buttresses, barely enough light spills in to see any of its former glory...

Different sounds prevail now, and you look yonder into them. Deep howls bellow from the black orc ranks ahead; the sound alone is enough to paralyze you in fear. And then come the risen dead, hellishly lurching forth, eager to add you and your allies to their forces. It is unbearable.

But you must press on. Your grip tightens on your sword, and likewise on your shield. You don’t need to look around to sense that your comrades are also raising their arms in preparation of this one last push. It wasn’t easy getting here, and the horrors you’ve seen will haunt your dreams forever. But it’s time to end this nightmare; perhaps even bring glory to this hall once again. If you live to see it, that is.

“CHARGE!” orders your commander, and for a moment, the sounds of the alliance overpower those of the orc and the dead. Hundreds of men provide their war cries as they rush forward. Only forward... to the end of this hallway, and to the throne that lies beyond it. To the Dark Lord that awaits. “Let him hear,” you think, “...Let the Dark Lord hear his death coming!”

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The ranks of darkness have ruptured, and the Alliance has surged forward, into the enormous Chamber of Kings. Like the grand hall that prefaced it, this once legendary chamber is tainted with naught but misery and death. Disarrayed, both armies struggle to regroup. Your mind - battered and exhausted - drifts unwillingly into a swirling dream...

Years have passed. Many of them in fact. The journey you have taken to get here has prepared you; hardened your soul to the sacrifices you have witnessed, and those you have made. Family and friends have come and gone. Some have faded into the grave; others into the timeless past of the Continent. The only constant has been the war. And the march to end it. You recall the first time you heard of this Alliance - of the Eryndor Crusade. It seems like such a distant memory, but yet it thrives, for in this moment the Crusade is much more than a spoken word. More than a notion. It is a flame that has persevered through the ages; a flame of Light that - even now - in the darkest of chambers, will not expire...

Oxygen rushes your lungs, and you snap back from the recesses of your mind. You take in your surroundings. The armies have reformed within the chamber, both sides filled with bloodlust as they prepare to clash again. Without a command, your line instinctively begins a hard march towards the enemy. Twenty paces ahead. Ten. Your fire burns courageously. But then... A silhouette stands tall amongst the enemy... And you catch a dark glimmer atop its head...

It’s the crown. The crown of the Dark Lord you have come to kill...

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