The son of a trapper, raised by elves, befriended by animals, entrusted with magic, Barr was but a boy on a journey that had taken many, many lifetimes. Seeking to avenge his father’s death, he would cross into Lumintor, home to shapelings of all manner and size.
Little did he know, Revyn, the God of Change, had plans of his own, plans set in motion long before Barr was ever born. It was what Revyn had been waiting for, the time when one of the new races bore a child on its final lesson, a soul on the verge of enlightenment.
It was what Markus had awaited as well, enduring centuries of enchanted slumber so that he might one day rule all of Taellus – in Revyn’s name. The Emblems would no longer be hidden, and his revenants would stop at nothing to find them.
It had finally come, the journey’s end… The last Incarnation
Betrayed for a sentient sword called Aislin, his friends dead or dying, Barr woke in the waters and starry dark of a strange realm. A place where living shadows moved about, a plane between planes, it was a world of swirling mist that allowed for travel by thought alone.
Its benefits were not without cost. There was a balance to maintain, a price in furie to be paid by the Matron of the Mists – Barr’s mother. Without Aislin, her strength waned. Each use of the mists opened a portal to the Dark, a brief moment when umbrals could pass through.
More than the Matron’s life, all of Faeronthalsos, every life on every world, was in danger of being consumed. Rather than face losing the mother he had only just met, Barr was determined to find and return the sword.
Meanwhile, Markus and his revenants did the bidding of a mad god. Little stood in their way but Barr, his friends and… The Mists of Faeron.
The shapeling war had ended but left Taellus in ruin, its people broken and struggling to mend the pieces. On the verge of ascension, Barr struggled as well, to make sense of his past lives and understand his true purpose. Fluora by his side, coping with her own new powers as Matron, things began to take a turn for the worse.
The children gods, made mortal, were being hunted one by one. Through fiery rifts between realms came new creatures of nightmare, umbrals twisted and remade by the madness of a banished god, and with them a blight that stole furie from the land.
Every world at risk, all of life at stake, the only hope to survive was in joining the disparate races to a common cause. Quarrels aside, they had to ready for his return, for the blight that preceded him, for the horrors that would come from…
