In the barren lands the faint sobbing voices of innocents dying was generally unheard by anyone except the uncaring cold winter tundra. Yet, occasionally, through some obscure motive of a somber chtonian deity, the useless tears would be magnified as drops of martyr blood calling for more blood. It would become a beacon of red light for the righteous and the outraged. Grief turned to flame and blood. Indifference turned into fire and statu-quo into chaos. In such times despair could become hope and indifference was banned. But even the heroes of these times of change knew better than to praise the nightly hands that ignited the ashes.