The fog echoed with the thunder of hooves, leaving a trail of ghostly blue upon the churned mud. Astride his skeletal steed, Berengar fixed his gaze upon the Dragonsaerie Empire's towering walls. His sword flashed upward at the vanguard. The signal to charge. Though the dead often wander without purpose, in this death-forged legion, Berengar commanded unquestioned supremacy as the leader of the death knights.

Berengar stood peerless as a commander, his prowess undimmed by death's embrace. Once he had been revered in that jeweled city — a Dragonsaerie paladin bearing the title "Imperial Spear." He had drunk deep of victory's vintage, yet deeper still of a draught a hundredfold more bitter. A poison brewed from betrayal and deception, whose aftertaste was mortal oblivion.

Berengar was an exceptional paladin. A man of strong convictions, he had what some might call a stubborn streak. But such stubbornness trapped him in a complicated political landscape. The war horse that once charged across the battlefield was powerless to help Berengar gallop out of the morass. He ultimately renounced his vows, death further reinforcing his apostasy.