In the land of Kânavad, the homeland of the Kânín, the High Lord Azgharáth stood still in the middle of a dark chamber, seeking guidance from his master Ak’horos. Suddenly there was a flash in his mind, and though his eyes were closed he saw, as clear as day, the image of a blue stone emitting a golden light. A Wolf’s howl pierced his mind as it drifted between the Ethereal Realm and the Plane of Mortality.
As Azgharáth’s vision continued, he found himself soaring over tall mountains capped with freshly fallen snow. Beyond the mountains was a wide River, flanked by great forests on either side that spanned for hundreds of miles. And then the land opened up into a vast plain, and in that plain was a solitary hill of dark stone. At the top of the hill, Azgharáth beheld seven towers, shining brightly with the light of the noonday sun. Energy filled Azgharáth’s being, and the vision faded.
Azgharáth’s eyes snapped open: piercing yellow eyes, and where they would have been white they were instead a deep crimson. No one, not even Azgharáth’s own sons, could look into his eyes for very long, and those who were foolish enough to try were overwhelmed by fear and despair.