Quoth the Raven

Rising Storm of the Righteous

From atop the Vault of Heavens his unseeing vision swept the width and bredth of the land, taking in the changes, both those which had occurred and those about to. The wind at this height casts his dark hair before him like a banner, nebulous seraphic wings encircle his body like a cloak, his arms crossed pensively across his chest. A furrowing frown mars his scarred face.

For days he has listened to the warnings echoing through the halls of the Towers. For weeks he has listened to the taunts flung by the undead minions of the Tainted Shade, Shadows and Infernal as they deciphered the maze of his making to desecrate the Crusader base. A small smile breaks the thought as he reflects on the amount of time it took the marauders to find their way through his trickery and misleading creations.

The loss of the location of the hall is of little import. The discovery of the Paragon artifacts by dark forces is an inconvenience. Such things change with time and eventuality across the course of things.

Hollow victories all in the absence of the presence of the Crusader ranks. Away in the far lands on a quest to convert, new recruits are rumored to be on the way. Things are changing. Order is gaining a foothold. Goodness spreads. Conversion is taking the masses.

It is even rumored that the forces of evil were driven to attempt to do the forbidden, to ally together to face the rising storm of the Redemption. Such a ploy could only have come from one source. A sneer grows on his face. One could almost wish that the plan had succeeded, just to watch it all blow up in Darkstar's face as the Ninth and Shadows betrayed him. Indeed, that could be most amusing.