Vultures of Doom

The grey skies pour forth rain like the tears of a virgin widow, as the spectre of famine makes it way through these hollow lands. Vultures of doom circle high above the Slave Pit, their rumors precede them like shadows in the late hours of the day. The taskmasters are gearing up for a blood bath foretold in the whisper of the gossiping winds. Through all of this the Ancient One does not move. Fear does not even shadow his door post. Do we see the battle as an opportunity for death, or an opportunity for victory?