The indomitable strength and power of the Legion were once a source of pride for the Firan people, and those who heard of their deeds in battle once cowered at the news of their coming. Their numbers were without peer, their endurance for hardship was without equal, and no one among the other realms could match their ferocity and determination in combat. They had once been divided, and then they were united, and for a time in history, their dominance was unchallenged, but pride preceded their fall as they were torn asunder at the coming of the Great Beast.

Its shadow of death swept over the Firan forces in a tidal wave of war, and the blast from its nostrils incinerated men and consumed their bones reducing them to ash. Its talons were like a blade on the wind, and its roar was like the sound of a thousand thunders, and the heavens themselves were commanded by its fury, and no one could stand against it and live. It had taken days to gather the Legion and years to unite the tribes, but in a single night, the Great Beast came and destroyed all the Firans had hoped for.

Fifty years followed this tragic event, and the people of the Burning Realm lived in relative peace. The war was over, the population was healing, and unification seemed once again to be within reach. Though rumors of evil floated about, and though the tides of destruction were felt by some, festivities and celebrations were carried out to herald the season of joy they were in, but on their borders was a darkened figure whose presence would soon be felt by all, and the Great Beast watched the glow of the horizon and rose to return to the Burning Realm.

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