Smoke billows in the distance, blotting out the sky. Embers lick the charred remains of a once-quaint village. A chilling laugh, like a madwoman's echo, pierces the silence that hangs heavy where life once hummed.

No dragon's fire wrought this ruin. Azalia, a dark mage with a twisted affinity for flames, stands amidst the wreckage. A manic glint dances in her eyes, a reflection not of madness, but of a horrifying hunger for destruction.

“Now to find any unlucky survivors.”