Ten years ago, Gilneas City had been a world-class metropolis, hailed as the brightest jewel of Gilneas. Five years ago, Gilneas City had resembled an aging gentleman: although a trace of gloom had already settled over him, the cold dignity he exuded still kept petty villains at bay.
Two years ago, on the night of the Northgate Rebellion, soldiers loyal to Lord Darius Crowley and soldiers loyal to the royal family had fought a bitter battle across a quarter of Gilneas City. In a single night, the fires that broke out had nearly destroyed a third of the city. Like a stalwart old warrior, like this nation already sinking into twilight, it had become gravely ill, beyond all hope of a cure.
Tonight, Gilneas City had its last shred of dignity torn away. Half the city had become a battlefield between humans and Bloodfang Worgen, and this nation's last human fighting force was struggling in a war to the death against the Bloodfang Worgen pouring into the city.
Yes, perhaps this was a nation's tragedy. In just six short years, it had fallen from an intact nation to an exile about to lose everything. But this was also a tragic, heroic war.
The aged king wore sturdy armor and wielded a sharp sword, personally leading his exhausted soldiers on the front line. True nobles never shirked their responsibilities, so even nobles like Godfrey, who loathed worgen to the utmost, led troops in defending every line in the street fighting. Every moment, soldiers bitten or killed by worgen fell to the ground. Every moment, new soldiers filled their places.
Before them, beneath the black clouds, a dark mass of worgen surged, dotted with green lights-the worgen's eyes. Like the wildest phantoms of a nightmare, towering fires had been lit throughout the