Nobody knew where it came from. Some reasoned they were always there. Sleeping, waiting, their flames but a small warm ember that simply needed to be fanned. Others claimed it was the vengeance of an old ancient and forgotten god given form. Wherever the Host came from, one thing was certain:
They were to be the end of it all.
Not long after the races started showing signs of their immortality withering away, the Host simply showed up. It was a vast army made of creatures born of pure light and white flames. Elegant in looks, the creatures that make the Host, as varied as they are, all appear to be divine in nature with bodies made out of blinding white fire, sometimes encased in silvery or golden armor pieces. This was an enemy that the races of Ithir was not prepared for.
Their army followed a hierarchy of sorts, with the more intricate members of the Host being in charge. However, they offered no attempt at diplomacy. Their goal was simple and pure, the eradication of all the immortal races that plagued Ithir. Whenever they spoke, it was like a choir, their booming voices almost musical in nature. Not that they said much, mind you, other than inform the lands they burned in their wake of their impending doom.