Guess who’s back, back again? Twilight’s back, tell a friend

Tuevel leads Sunday from the council chambers and through the broad streets of the well-to-do neighbourhoods surrounding it into the Northern Ward. Soon the scent of forge fires fills the air, and, as the great stag passes through the red stone of the outer wall of the compound into the hard packed earth of the training yard, the ring of hammer on steel and the crack of wooden practice swords assaults the senses.

Sunday is led to a stout oak door, where Tuevel stops, gesturing her on with a tilt of his great silver head. Inside is a long stone chamber, a large fireplace at the far end. A figure dressed in black stands before it silhouetted by the flames.

The Godslayer does not turn as Sunday enters, but a scarred hand gestures to the huge skull set above the mantle - some kind of brutish humanoid, but warped into a thing of nightmares, all teeth and horns.

“The Tanarukk. Before your time I think. These you remember.”

His nod takes in the skulls either side of the fireplace, rows of teeth like black daggers, shadowed sockets flickering in the firelight. They are unmistakably draconic.

“Thank you for coming, Sunday.”

He turns, the shadows making his face unreadable as he strides to the centre of the room. A broad, ironwood table is covered in maps and reports, and several sheets that look like crude charcoal sketches of some kind of tentacled creature.

“So. Tell me what you know of the Twilight.”