Rends-the-Gar sees patchwork monsters sewn together from dead wolves run in a ravenous horde across the earth and into the sea, dragging countless victims with them and staining the ocean red with blood.
Mocks-the-Night sees a circle of dark men and women stand with their feet in hell while their heads stretch up towards heaven, blotting out the night sky. Their chanting is discordant, labored and painful.
Zas sees a spidery crimson priest reaching across a river of blood, one talon grasping for the virgin wilderness while the other stretches toward the clamorous cities of men.
Hears-the-Song sees a vision of a man in a fine suit on a throne, a lord or governor of men. Then he is caught in the midst of a battle and wounded grievously in the chest, the crimson stain spurting out over his clothes. Slowly his chest caves in as his gory injury grows to envelop his whole body, but still he reaches to reclaim his fallen throne.
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