Time To Attack

Flamewrought, the grand capital city of the Aslan Dukedom, stood majestically with its towering spires and elegant edifices, each decorated with intricate motifs of flames and dragons.

"What is happening?!" Duke Aslan's eyes blazed with fury as he struck the ornate table before him. In mere moments, the once sturdy piece was nothing but burning ashes. "Why has every drop of water in our dukedom turned a deep crimson, and carry the distinct scent of blood?"

Three advisors, draped in luxury robes and adorned with dazzling jewels, knelt before him, their expressions filled with anxiety. Their faces turned ghostly white, eyes darting around, and sweat beads formed on their brows. "My Lord," one began cautiously, "Whispers claim it's the magic of the God of the Lightweavers. They say this curse befell us for holding their people captive."