Here comes the fresh Chapter 23 of the story [The FAEL WASTE] from Darth2018. Let’s see together what happens.
“Indeed, Master Rin,” Gwyddian spoke, “the members of my order, together with the High Elven Council of Archmages, are gravely concerned about the violence in the realm. I have poured over many reports coming to Imladon about events both dreadful and seeming inconsequential; a border crossing closed here, a market refusing trade from other kingdoms there, raids and fighting between castles that were once friends. Nyria tears itself asunder and the Wise cannot leran why? Therefore, I set out from Imladon into the wild lands and the kingdoms of Nyria in search of answers. It was in Barter, a village on the Dura bordering the great central plains that word came of a dragon attack on a large Grimm horde.”
Greythywst looked up at his audience. “A dragon!” He began pacing, shifting his staff from right hand to left, as he spoke. “And then we hear of trolls raiding in daylight.’ His wizened features snapped up to glare at them all. “In daylight!” He stopped and stood tapping the butt of his staff steadily. “Many dangers abound in the Nyrian wilds but not things like this! Orc raids after all these years? Trolls hunting under a risen sun? Grimms defying the power of the kingdoms? And now a dragon?”
Everyone silently watched the wizard sorting his thoughts, his right hand absently combing his beard. When he looked up, there was a new light in his aged eyes. “It is almost like the times before the Great War. Strange and terrible things breaking out everywhere without any reason and all the peoples of the land turning against each in their greatest time of need!”
Dolen shook his helmed head slowly. “Greythywst Gwyddian, master of many mysteries and accounted wise even among the Wise, you surely can’t mean the Black Warlock?
He is dead, slain in the wreckage of his dark citadel’s gates at the final battle! I was there! Beset on many sides as we stormed his fortress, I hewed him to his knees, standing on the broken bodies of his guards. Kiireon Arfilliel himself struck the fatal blow, cleaving the warlock’s helm in twain with a searing white flash, though it cost Arfilliel his life and he knew it even as he struck. I helped bear Arfilliel’s body away while the rest of our troops swarmed in with wood to burn the dead beneath a pyre ten feet high.”
Dolen’s face was white with shock at the memory and he trembled. “That fire actually melted the armor of the slain for it poured in tendrils of hot metal down the steps of the citadel’s gate.” The elf looked around at his fellows. “It was a dark day but a great day, for the power of the warlock was broken and the Great War won!”
“Aye!” Greythwst spoke, “I too was there, with twenty-two other mages, blocking the Warlock’s attempts to gather more power from the Void to break our attack. I held a binding spell on him that nearly drained my life. Arnaylius Cantor, the head of the High Council, was so exhausted by his ordeal battling that black sorcerer’s spells, he never recovered, dying on the road back to Imladon.” The wizard shivered at the recollection. “You speak truly, Dolen Skil! It was the final exertion of valor and arms by the armies of the west and the draining of the strength of many mages and wizards containing that traitor’s betrayal that bought a dear won victory for the life of the world.”
Greythywst then turned to gaze at everyone. “And yet we are back at a dreadful nexus! I fear all our sacrifices for the future of Nyria have been for naught!” He looked at Eritra. “Yes, Lady! We are wasting time. The captive you seek and the answers I seek are in the dark and dreadful ruins of Nehmbrodel and it is time we went there.”