[i]“The prince of change will fan the flame,
The oppressed will rise in his name.
Their banner black, their eyes red,
as they scream of the kings head.
no other god will be able to reach him in this hour of might,
he will avenge ever single slight.”[/i]

The passing of the God King was like a tidal wave, sweeping across the lands and tearing cults and priesthoods up by the roots like a young birch in the face of the rage of the sea. When the tidal wave finally reach the ruins of a old kingdom, far outside the boundaries of civilization it seemed to unroot the shadows clean off the walls. They moved and writhed as they pooled at the feet of a being who shifted and changed continuously as if he lacked stability to stay within this world. Lefredias stirred and awakened with a smile on his lips, the death of a King was the birth of another. But all kings feared the rebellion of those close. The most hated of all his enemies, had fallen and it was only fitting Lefredias had been idling in the ruins of his greatest triumph when the news had reached his ears.

This had once been a great kingdom, one bent on ruling the world. The King had been one of the great despots of his age, he had mercilessly laid low to his enemies and subjugated his people trough violence and terror. But like any king that caught the eye of Lefredias, he had been brought low. The god had taken a mortal guise and convinced a young guard captain about his kings evil ways, and he appeared In the dreams of a young farmer, told him to take up arms. In a few months time, the god had set the hearts aflame within every young man and woman outside the city gates, a black flame that could only be extinguished with the blood of their betters. And they had marched at the city, superior in number, and the guard captain had opened the gates for them. And the city had burned and everyone rich and oppressive had been dragged out of their homes, had their heads removed from their bodies and bodies burned. A massacre that extinguished every single bloodline of noble birth within the city. But the city had no rulers, and the rebellion that became a massacre turned into chaos and in the end there was no big city any more. And more then a hundred years later, the ruins were still cursed with living shadows and a air of maleficence. A fitting seat for Lefredias to be sure.

 Lefredias felt the death of the King ignite something deep within him. His eyes lit up like the black fires that gripped the heart of his revolutionaries. As the God of Shadows rose from the shadows that so often embraced him he let out a scream that tore trough the country side like a howling wind. His sects, many and secretive all felt their god stir and call them to action. All across the country, they poised themselves to take from those who were falling into debauchery. Men with long and crooked knives slipped into the rooms of drunken politicians and slit their throats, charistmatic young leadars called the confused to them on the streets. Lefredias knew not how his father died, but he had prepared for this day. His shadow began to spread from where he sat on a throne made out of broken banners and the bones of fallen kings and queens. Like a wall of darkness it cast itself over the heart and soul of the desperate and uncertain, of whom there was a no sea. He called to them, offered them a way out. He asked for them to throw away their petty gods, to fight for themselves and their families instead.

Indeed, he knew not who killed his father, but they had given him the dominion over people. For he was uncertainty and he was shadows. And now there was a shadow of doubt in every heart, and uncertainty was the only certain thing. This was Lefredias time.