I long for the days before the Last Desolation. The age before the Heralds abandoned us And the Knights Radiant turned against us. A time when there was still magic in the world And honor in the hearts of men. The world became ours, and we lost it. Nothing, it appears, Is more challenging to the souls of men than victory itself. Or was that victory an illusion all along? Did our enemies realize that the harder they fought, The stronger we resisted? Perhaps they saw that the heat and the hammer Only make for a better grade of sword. But ignore the steel long enough, and it will eventuallly rust away. There are four whom we watch. The first is the surgeon, forced to put aside healing To become a soldier in the most brutal war of our time. The second is the assassin, A murderer who weeps as he kills. The third is the liar, A young woman who wears a scholar's mantly over the heart of a thief. The last is the highprince, A warlord whose eyes have opened to the past As his thirst for battle wanes. The world can change. Surgebinding and Shardwielding can return; The magics of ancient days can become ours again. These four people are key. One of them may redeem us. And one of them will destroy us.
The Knights Radiants must stand again. The ancient oaths have at last been spoken, The Spren return. Men seek that which was lost. I fear the struggle will destroy the,. It is the nature of the magic. A broken soul has cracks into which somethign else can be fit. Surgebindings, the powers of creation themselves. They can brace a broken soul, but they can also widen its fissures. The Windruner, lost in a shattered land, Balanced upon the boundary between vengeance and honor. The Lightweaver, slowly being consumed by her past, Searching for the lie that she must become. The Bondsmith, born in blood and death, Striving to rebuild what was destroyed. The Explorer, stradding the fates of two peoples, Forced to choose between Slow death and a terrible betryaal of all she believes. It is past time for them to awaken, for the Everstorm looms. And the Assassin has arrived.
A new storm has come. Ash and red ligntning sweep the land, awakening our ancient enemies. The Unmade shadows of the enemy's soul stir, While the eyes of men open. This war is not, and never was, what they thought it to be. We may soon hold Surges Again, For the Radiance has returned to some, And shines toward others. The Captain, broken by loss, seeks reconcillation. The Spy, broken by cruelty, seeks completion. The Stonewalker, broken by oaths, seeks truth. The Traitor, broken by ambition, seeks freedom. And finally The King, broken by war he seeks the past. That which was abandoned. That which he must not learn. For those secrets will crush him as they did the Knights who came before.
No lines are longer than 80 characters, TYVM. Other specified properties aren't being scored automatically at this time so this is not necessarily good news...