Befuddled minds, great-cat druids, Dyrwoodans with hobbies ... all of these groups face an imminent sunset to their mortal existence. My dark paladin ... who has yet to reveal a moniker, grandiosely fear-inducing though it must surely be ... is on the precipice of laying waste to the Aedyr Empire. Bleak Walking has never been more ominous on the wind.
His magnificence is rumored to be death godlike, both in race and intent. Night-blue plate armor protects his darkness from pitiful piercing attempts, wrapped in inextinguishable Flames of Devotion. From a distance, cowering foes are beheaded, then crushed under the massive weight of an enchanted poleaxe. Up close and so personal as to smell the leather and blood in their final act, whimpering fools are ended by a double-bladed sabre.
Disposition is inexplicably, equally Cruel and Rational, except in the appearance of Sworn Enemy great-cat druids, wherein an Aggressive bent lasts exactly as long as the life of the druid.
Sleep, now, monarchy to the Aedyr ... dream the last dream before the sun shines its last ...