All the children are insane

[Lord Arithon]

Branches and dried leaves crunch beneath his feet as Arithon steps along a neglected path through quiet forest. Although the trees are not giants, they loom sufficiently well to give an impression of a land with eyes long hooded for sleep, the piles of shed foliage are mixed with a fine layer of grey ash, perhaps explaining the fact that the quiet wood was open pasture not so many years ago.

Nearing the border in space, his mind wreathed in a far off time, his face twists into a grimace and his steps abruptly cease. Although the physical ribbon of wall, long since razed into rubble, lies a few yards further on, the shriek of magical wards tortured beyond bearing causes a dissonance more evocative of the screeching of demonic claws on a world-sized chalkboard. Examining the ward-walls in their elemental form, he sees a mosaic of twisted impi shapes, the sacrificial goats whose blood and life were used for no purpose more noble than the magical kin of paving stones. Some great weight of sorcery unknown has shattered the linkage between the individual wards, leaving each abandoned soul without power or ability to be whole, but still full of the excruciating agony imposed upon them by demonic spell to ensure the integrity of the defenses.

Arithon straightens, extends his hearing and sight briefly to ensure he remains unseen and unnoticed, and then with workmanlike competence weaves with low words and violent gestures a dampening field. The reverberations of the wards fade into a hum almost impossible to discern beyond the background noises of nature.

"Daddy never wanted you but that is no reason to scream unless spoken to."

"But never fear, blood shall pay for all."

Without further comment, he passes on into the lands once known as Loiselle, surveying with unknown purpose the remnants left by rampaging mobs and foreign armies.