Murderous aura formed battle clouds at the third watch, and a chilling voice transmitted the call for duel for an entire day.
The westerly winds roared, as if murderous intent had materialized. Iron-like dark clouds pressed down toward the earth, and the sky seemed ever so low.
The Terdon Tribe was arrayed a mile away, while the Paratu People watched from atop the fortress walls. Everyone held their breath in anticipation, waiting for the champions of the Mak'gora ritual to emerge from the formations.
Only the crows circling in the sky emitted a series of ill-omened and desolate rasping cries.
Suddenly, the sound of a low horn came from the distance, echoed by more from all around the fortress.
The horn sounded as though it heralded the end of the world, as if a third of the sun, moon, and stars were struck, dimming the sky in turn.
Twelve brawny Herder drummers flung their arms, fiercely slamming their short mallets onto the round-table-like drum heads.