Dawn broke laboriously over the devastated plains of eastern Paris, staining the horizon with a blood-red that seemed to foretell the massacres to come. Where once stretched the fertile fields of Brie, now remained only scorched, sterile lands, marked by the gaping scars of previous dimensional incursions. The air itself still carried the acrid scent of sulfur and raw magic.
The portals opened one by one in a tearing of space-time, their edges crackling with violet energy. Each opening released a wave of suffocating heat, laden with the metallic smell of the draconic world a mixture of red-hot iron and scaled flesh that caught in the throat.
On this wounded earth now deployed the most formidable of armies: the legions of Ignivara.
