They say that this story was dreamt of by the mad and blind seer whilst she meditated on the top of the tallest mountain in Toril. It goes "Once again will the fragile life of The Races on this planet and of all those in the planes be threatened. No one but the truly mad can maintain the power needed to end the threat but even as the last light of hope flickers out like the candle on the desk of a sleeping scribe, humanity will never willingly surrender the world of Toril. Stalwart defenders from the deep Dwarven labyrinthine holdfasts will march through their gates to battle it. The True Tel-quessir, the descendants of Ssri-tel-quessir and Or-tel-quessir all will unite - though their struggles have distinguished them and set them apart in the past - and flit through the undergrowths and Underdark, using blade and sorcery to defend reality - these will be led by The Lost One. The humans, separate though their countries may be, will unite under the banner of The Fallen Lord and the dust raised by their feet will be seen by the Gods themselves - men of courage and spirit encased in the hardest steel, brothers in arms. Riding at the head of these legions will be the Tragic Duo - they will fight to their last breaths, split by fate after all they had been through together. Even those who originally escaped from slavery in Abeir, the dragonborn, shall have to find the mercy to forgive those who wronged them. These honourable peoples will be led by The Dark Father and The Light Son - leathery wings of all colours will beat out the tune of war, the three pronged spear will fall on the heads of enemies that day - until the blood stains all those fighting to the same skin colour , ending the prejudice forever. Those previously sworn to entropy and madness will use the very power that the enemy does in battle against it at the forefront led by their master. The Betrayer will turn out to be their saviour - for he will be the messenger rousing the spirit of war in the nations of the world, summoning to the cause the mighty Empire of The Sun in the east and the races thought to be too beyond redemption to help - the monstrous and those that inhabit the planes. The thousand thousands of different hands - be they clawed, globular or but visions - will each clasp their weapons, clammy hands welded around their only chance for ending the extermination. This is the story of the end."
- The Story of The End, Classical Children's Tale