Dear readers,
welcome to my world.
It is cold and dark, the chill kreeping upon your shoulders as you read this line. There are humans about, the Red Queen's guards making rounds and occasionally spitting on the less fortunate peasants of Ashkar city. There is unpleasant smell in the air, dank and musty odor of death and decay. It is all hidden under the thin veil of peace and everyday life. The baker bakes, the priests pray and the common folk work hard for their mighty Queen, may her banner never fall.
You look down and see dirt mixed with blood like crismon veins corrupting the heart of the city.
Worry not, my friend. There is hope. There is light.
You look around and see a dark figure marching by and as they leave you notice something on the red cobblestones. A card. Poor man must have dropped it. You pick it up and suddenly recognise the symbol, famous in countless gossips often heard in the taverns and between the Queen's enemies.
A jester carrying an underground lantern. There is hope.
