Night comes, and with it, eventually, sleep. Three Infernals sleep that night, and dream of their lords, those who hold their hearts.<br/><br/>First comes a dream to Son of Wrath. He dreams of Ligier, the most glorious soul of Malfeas, the shining Green Sun. The glorious form stands before him, perhaps one of the few things that could give even him pause. The black brass of Malfeas surrounds, endlessly clashing against itself, a cacophony of screeching metal on metal. Yet when Ligier speaks, his voice cuts clean through the chaos, not a word lost.<br/><br/>"<span class="bbc_size" style="font-size: 2em;">Son of Wrath. Your liege awaits you. The Ebon dragon makes its coiled plans to command the loyalty of the Dragon-Blooded hosts, to have them prepared for our invasion. But the true king of the Primordials will not brook such insolence. I have sent one of the Erymanthoi. You shall take the weapon it gives you- It drips with a special ichor I have created. It will inflict the Green Sun Wasting on those it touches, and change their Essence- Mortals shall die, but if used properly on Dragon-Blooded, it will warp them into a Sixth Element. Vitriol shall enter the realm of Creation through this insinuation... And Malfeas shall have a strong new weapon. As shall you. Induce them to spread their taint, and give vitriol its long awaited due.</span>"<br/><br/>Ligier waves his hand, and a grimcleaver, tainted wood dripping a green venom, materializes in his hand.