The Shroud of the Necromancers

On the fourth morning of the southern march, the sun never rose. As the grand army approached the jagged foothills of the Obsidian Dunes—a vast, labyrinthine range of volcanic glass peaks and black sand ridges—a suffocating, unnatural darkness swept across the southern sky. It was not a storm of rain or snow, but the Shroud of the Necromancers: a colossal dome of boiling black ash, greasy soot, and screaming necrotic…