Within the main hall of a stone castle whose name has been forgotten. Several men and women sit at a wooden table, a map of their falling kingdoms under the few candles still burning as most have spent their wicks. Books and scrolls with faded script lie in front of these people. The man at the head of the table speaks up, bringing the others to silence their personal conversations.

“The northern border in the forest of Adralla have fallen. We lack the men to recover the line.”

An elderly woman in a shadowed part of the table replies “Did the supplies to perform the summons not arrive in time?”

An elven man near one of the few candles “Agatha, the summons failed to call hardly anyone. Only a single being arrived out of all three castings?”

Agatha “While the rituals are not bringing as many as they did decades ago, a single summoned is not possible.”

The man at the head of the table “No, out of all the rituals performed in the past week that was the only being to answer our call.”

The elven man “Centuries of constant casting have more than just expended most of our wealth then. Perhaps there are no more left to be called?”

Agatha “Impossible, how can there be no more mortals outside our plane?”

Another human male near the foot of the table “regardless of whether or not there are any others left that can be summoned; the cost has risen above the time they grant us.”

The man at the table head “indeed, the calling rituals cannot be continued as a viable option. Any suggestions on how to continue?”

Agatha “Necromantic reanimation of our dead may buy us a few days per retreat.”

A short unkempt man “The dead deserve their rest, and besides the fiends are adept at turning such abominations against us. Remember the Bloodclaw pack?”

Agatha “Thanks Francis, and I suppose you want to place bombs and illusion?”

Francis “At least they can’t be controlled!”

The elven male “neither will work. We can’t hold our lands, we must retreat.”

The man at the table head “And where would we go to? No land we hold can last for long Valmarth”

Valmarth “then we don’t go to our lands. . .”

Agatha “we have nowhere to go save what we hold. Or do you plan on being a demon’s plaything?”

Valmarth “oh, and what of Terra? Did they not hate fiends more than us?”

The man at the table head “are we not cut off from that plane?”

Valmarth “even their magic fades with enough time. The seal could be broken, but the cost would be most of our outlying population.”

The man at the table head “do it. They cast our ancestors from the plane, they can do the same to the demons. If they kill us afterwards the price is a cheap one.”