By the time the northern army of Mobius had won through Nunshul Pass, it was too late to encircle and destroy the army of the Fen'neko, which had now retreated past Highwater. But although the Fen'neko army was saved from total annihilation, it was fighting a losing war now, a war of retreat and attrition, of steadfast courage in the face of hopeless odds. It is told elsewhere in the histories of The People how the northwest valleys were once more, over a period of many months, forced to bow to the will of Mobius. It was indeed the worst of times for that proud and honourable nation, but might and the Sentinels bow to no man, nor to any Fen'neko. Mobius did eventually prevail.
Gentle Reader, we must leave The People to tell out their own tale of woe, for our story turns now to the southern theatre, where the Human armies under their well-beloved Geldaran Reng stood in panoply opposed to the Ascendancy, and unleashed the dogs of war throughout the middle lands. But in the mighty Sentinels, these selfsame dogs found a meal less to their liking. For though Gaia loves all the sinners of our world and weeps for every one, yet are her ways not ours, and her understanding too far above us to be easily comprehended. And thus it was her will that those who fought so hard for freedom would not this day be victorious. Glory be to Gaia. Try as they might, the rebel forces slowly but surely were beaten down, and their pride ground into dust. Long runs the litany of towns valiantly defended, but ultimately lost: Hasutor and Zulun, among the first rebel towns to be retaken. Dunmaen, that noble port city, burned almost to the ground while Sentinels tramped over the corpses of its defenders. Havengrove and Kalivar, struggling desperately to resist the encirclement, falling in bloody manner. At each place could be seen the silver cloth of Geldaran Reng, leading from the front rank, and carrying always the Uli banner into the most dangerous and bloody affray. She had won already the hearts and mind of her people, but in these dark and most bitter times did she win also their undying worship.

Many are the tales that could be told of this time, but my eyes weep too bitterly to let me do so easily. To tell of the final days of Keril is enough grief for me, and I rest content with that.

Keril, that noble city, flower of the Western plains, city of the hundred spires, and beloved by Gaia. To this city came the last armies of Geldaran Reng, bruised and battered in body but unbowed and defiant in spirit. And to this city came also the great host of Mobius, led by the dreaded Sentinels, and turning the green plains dark with their numberless hordes. It is said how Geldaran Reng stood atop the highest tower upon the walls of Keril and gazed upon her approaching doom with eyes that shed no tear, and limbs that trembled not one whit. And by her side stood those who had been at her side since the beginning; silver-maned Othar Helsbane of Havengrove; the Lady Jessica of Pinehallow; the red-haired Gruy Nordvar, axe-wielder; the Halfling twins Neer and Meer, lovers of the pleasures of the table, but lovers more of freedom; and the renowned F'flk, of harping fame, come from the Moonwood for love of Geldaran. And to these her closest friends she turned, saying to them words that have been handed down over the generations. "My friends", said she, "it seems that Mobius comes a'calling. Let us ensure his royal entertainment". And at her words they wept for love of her, and for what was to come.

For weeks the siege pressed hard. The engines of war ran hot, and blood and fire ran through the streets of Keril in a never-ending flood. Many were the furious assaults upon the battlements, many the brave warriors who perished at the foot of the walls or in desperate combat upon the heights. Many times did the armies of Mobius gain a foothold upon the walls, only to be beaten back by the ferocity of the defenders. Catapults battered the towers, and rams assaulted the gates. But still the gates held firm, and the walls stood unbowed. Famine and disease stalked in rampage through the city streets, and corpses dropped in their wake. The Yellow Pustulance ran unchecked through the beseiged and beseiger alike. The Humping Cough claimed infants by the score. And on every face in Keril could be seen the ravages of fatigue, hunger and privation, mixed with the fierce determination to fight for freedom come what may.

But also in every face could be seen the death of hope. They knew well, these brave people of Keril, that this was to be their end, in fire and agony. The People could not aid them, the Halflings neither, and they stood alone against the power of a mighty tyrant. But still they fought, and fought well. For the hatred of tyranny is a powerful thing, and the dream of freedom spurs men on when all hope is gone. And in the van of battle there was always their shining star, their silver Goddess, Geldaran Reng and her red flower, to give them faith where none was before.

I said every face in Keril. But such was not so, for there was one face, one that shall live forever in the halls of dishonour and iniquity, one terrible face that turned aside from the true path, to walk instead in the deepest, darkest pits of hell. And thus does my tale reach its terrible conclusion. Tears roll down my cheeks even as I write this, and pallor steals across my face. But even as the folk of Keril were brave in the face of death, so must I be brave in the face of dishonour, and tell of things that shame us all.

I must tell of The Betrayal.