FIELD OF THE DAWN, MUIRTHEMNE -- A mere week ago, artisans and laborers from across the lands rushed to complete the half-finished stadium in time for the commencement of the Cup. Some felt that the task was impossible, but they have been proved wrong. Tonight, here in the Field of the Dawn, the world watched as the Opening Ceremony of the Myth World Cup unfolded in the heart of newly rebuilt Muirthemne.

And what a ceremony it has been. I, but a single observer to this grand event, will try my best to share with you the excitement, the electricity, the power of these proceedings.

Upon presenting their tickets at the great gates of the Field of the Dawn, each spectator was directed to their seating, in the area of the stadium designed particularly for their race. They were also handed a square of silk, color-coded to represent their nation and people.

While the spectators slowly trickled into the stadium, those with the foresight to arrive early were entertained by teams of dancers parading about the vast field. The vast crowd watched spellbound, as famous legends from Ages long past played out before their eyes.

As the light began to fade, the crowd's murmuring grew louder, as they waited for the ceremony proper to begin. Suddenly, the air was split by a massive peal from the Grand Horn of the Cath Bruig, from its tower atop the nearby Mausoleum. At this cue, each participant in the Ceremony raised their banners as one, creating a seamless mass of fabric. A palpable feeling of excitement grew as the desert winds picked up, sweeping the banners into undulating oceans of color. With the sounding of the Grand Horn a second time, all the participants released their banners, the winds of the Barrier carrying the fabric away into the early evening sky, a fantastic swirl of color, as if a rainbow had split into a million shards and been swept away.

The crowds, as you can expect, went mad with excitement, creating a cheer so loud that this reporter had to cover his ears from the din. The stands vibrated beneath my feet as the Trow stomped their sizable feet in celebration. I do not believe that I have ever seen a Trow smile before.

While the spectacular display of colours still drew the eyes of all who attended the Ceremony, the champions of the World Cup began their parade onto the Field. Line after line of athletes appeared from the north and south tunnels, outfitted in their full regalia. From the Heron Guards clad in their full plate armor to the Trow in ornate battle dress, every team looked ready to win the Cup there and then. Even the Soulless, without corporeal substance, wore full robes of crimson silk especially for the ceremony.

With all the athletes arranged in their respective groups in the center of the massive Field, the crowd grew quiet. Emperor Alric strode down from the Imperial Box and onto a dais in the middle of the Field, where the captains of the teams were assembled.

The silence grew heavy as many moments passed without Alric saying a single word, as the sun's last light faded from the sky. And then, as if commanding a great army against the night itself, Alric lifted his head high, raised his arms heavenwards, and called out across the dark stadium:

"Let the Games...Commence!"

As the last word left Alric's throat, a lone archer stepped up onto the eastern wall. Drawing his mighty bow, he sent a single fiery shaft streaking across the stadium. Arcing across the night sky like a falling comet, the arrow struck the grand torch mounted atop the western wall. With an audible 'whump', the torch ignited, ripples of arcane fire racing around the rim of the stadium as a ring of lights flared into life like a hundred suns.

But this sound was drowned out by a deafening roar as the stadium reverberated with cheers from the crowd and the athletes. The single phrase spoken by Alric and the ensuing show of light released more energy and excitement than anyone could have imagined. Was it due to the gathering of the races for the first time since Soulblighter's defeat? Or was it perhaps a collective cry of joy at the freedom and unity that these games represent?

Whatever the cause, the effect was thundering. At the peak of the din, the sky burst with color and noise as the first volley of dwarven fireworks took flight. Glorious hues splashed across the sky and darkened, only to be replaced by twenty more in the next flight. And as the display reached its crescendo, the Warlocks began to work their illusions, creating vivid shapes and images that writhed above the field as if alive. What a vision this must've been to the crowds of citizens camped outside the city gates, watching from miles around Muirthemne.

For a hundred heartbeats, the sky above the stadium sparkled with colour, the illusions finally reaching a peak and then dying away to leave the crowd breathless with awe. And then all eyes turned to the dais in the middle of the field, where the champions still stood gathered around Alric.

The Emperor smiled broadly and raised his hands to encompass all of the spectators. Weaving dreamstuff to send his words echoing across the stadium, he spoke: "Welcome, friends. Welcome once again to the Myth World Cup."

"After the Great War, we surveyed what Balor had left for us. Although we had won the war, we had fought on the brink for far too long. And we knew that many hard years of rebuilding lay ahead of us if we were ever to reclaim our lands. In those dark days, the Myth World Cup gave us hope. It let us see what strength we still had left, and gave us the will to carry on when the task seemed impossible."

"This time, everything is different. Once again, we have fought for our nations against an enemy without remorse. But we are not faced with an impossible task; far from it. I bring you here to show you what we can build together. Here around us, you see this mighty stadium. The fruit of a few months' short labour, it is the seed of a new beginning."

"Here in Muirthemne, we come together to celebrate our differences and to strive against each other - yet at the same time we rejoice in our unity. We have lived through our darkest hours, and now it is time for us to emerge from the other side. To move beyond Balor. Beyond Soulblighter."

"It is time to lay our myths to rest."

With that, the crowd leapt to their feet in jubilation, shouting and cheering until it almost seemed the mighty columns that held the roof might come tumbling down. With one last wave, Alric stepped down from the dais and walked off the field, the champions following him out through the northern tunnel as laughing spectators spilled onto the field.

But with all the excitement, it seemed nobody was asking the big questions. Is rebirth really what we want, to be united under the benevolent dictatorship of an immortal sorceror? Are the races ready to abandon their ancient blood-feuds and become brothers? And perhaps most chillingly... somewhere out there, are the Myrkridia watching?

From the Field of the Dawn, here in Muirthemne, this is Logoth al Keven reporting.