Prologue

Tales of Vyronis

Prologue

'Our lives, a winding path through dark woods and bright open skies,

Through shadows and obscurity,

We can find ourselves walking, without purpose and without cause,

For the right way was lost,

I speak before you now a man, who has walked that path,

And found its end,

Our paths all rally and entwine on this day,

We know our task, we have our duty,

Let this be the day Vyronis stands united,

A shield of blood and bone,

Raise your banners high and your cry higher still,

As one, brothers in arms to the end of the road,

Fight, fight and don't hold back!

Fight!

Emperor Julius Nerva, at the battle of Dalrad 1.851

The sun rose that day and cast its long rays across the Ironwind Seas just like any other; but it was a day that would soon go down in the annuals of history. From the unknown it came, passing over the blizzard torn Windcrest Mountains of the north, across the barren Kandos Flats and down into the sandy dunes of Haradia; a shadow began to spread its silent fingers. Origin nameless, motive unclear, the lands of Vryonis would soon fall under a terrible sickness. The Emperor Julius and the Haradian people were the first to bear witness to its merciless rage.

         A proud and courageous people, the Haradin had long kept the Kargerak of the south at bay. For centuries they had spilled their blood upon the sands in defence of the realm. A sparse kingdom of rolling dunes and parched plains, they were well versed in loss and hardship and they prided themselves on their ability to survive in this harsh and unforgiving landscape. However this fortitude which had served them so dutifully in ages past would not be enough to save them from the coming peril.

         The Haradin woke as the sun turned a blazing a fiery red, the cloudless sky spitting a crimson rain blistering anything it touched, be it skin or steel. The very ground on which they walked became a disease, an aliment to all life. The already scarce crops failed as starvation and famine set in. The bodies piled up on the streets, within a week the death toll immeasurable. The cities of Haradia fell one by one. First to fall was the great trading city of Maarheth. Lying on the banks of the river Ryse, peoples travelled from far and wide to visit the huge markets and bazaars. But all of a sudden nothing was heard from the city; no messages were sent or warnings heard. Then the ancient city of Tiraz, known for its beautiful gardens and glittering palaces, it too had ceased to be.  The nameless shadow had swallowed it whole. Haradia was beaten back within a few days until, standing alone; the last remaining bastion of the Haradin people was Dalrad, jewel of the silver sands.

             In a desperate stand of defiance, Emperor Julius Neva; hero of countless battles, rallied his troops and saw to the defences. This final army formed a battle line in front of the city and waited for the approaching menace. They did have to wait long. They were heard before they were seen; the armies of death brought forth from across the oceans. Creatures of unfathomable horror, talk of which made children far and wide fearful of the night and what may be hiding in depths of the dark.

The banners of the Haradin flapped eerily in the morning breeze as the pounding of thousands of feet shook the sand beneath them. Dread rippled through the assembled lines as over the crest of the dunes, a sea of black descended upon them. An army, stretching as far as the eye could see marched in unison, a tidal wave of destruction. Drums boomed in the distance, great war cries roared so loud, the banners ripped from their poles. It was an army, built with the sole purpose of slaughtering all in its path, leaving nothing alive.

         The battle was short and bloody. The dark legions broke upon the lines of the Haradin, who put up a brave, but futile fight. For every creature slain, three more took its place. After an hour of ceaseless combat, the left flank, commanded by Bardas the younger, buckled and routed, leaving the rest of the defending forces helpless and fatally encircled.  Then as the battle neared its end, a figure loomed from atop the great dunes. There is remained unmoving, observing the battle below. The only time the Dark Corruptor was seen by living eyes. The Haradin were beaten, its army defeated, its great leaders slain. Those who did not perish were enslaved and put to work. Within a week the lands of Haradia had been ripped apart and were no longer its peoples.

'I have seen evil, but what stood before me was beyond that; death incarnate. A vast spectral figure twice the size of any man, wreathed in smouldering flame. The very air suffocated you with the smell of a thousand corpses and all the while apparitions of your worst nightmares infected your mind, sending even the most valiant souls into desperate insanity.'

Bardas the Younger describing the Dark Corruptor 1.851

Haradia belonged to a new master, all powerful and all knowing, none could escape his grasp. The dark god Drekagoth spat out of Hel itself or a man evil and twisted, existing only to spread his misery and hate, no one lived to tell. Whatever its nature, it claimed the lands Haradia for its own devices and turned it greedy eyes upon the rest of Vyronis.
         The city of Dalrad was torn down and rebuilt into a vast citadel. Upon the Black throne it plotted and schemed, its desire to enslave all people unyielding. Vyronis, a vast and diverse world, could not be conquered by force alone. And so agents of darkness moved out in secret across the lands, cast out like intricate spider web. They sowed dissent and fear; they turned kinsmen upon themselves, causing civil wars and bitter rivalries. Minds were poisoned, some driven into madness, every victim another chink in the amour. People disappeared into the night, or were found dead branded with the mark of Dalrad. Soon Vyronis had fell into disarray and the time strike was near. The dominion over the lands which it most fervently desired would finally be realized.

         Perhaps all was lost, and the fate of Vyronis was sealed. But perhaps sometimes there is more than one path, another route to follow which may lead from the dark, and with enough courage, may journey to greatness.

'It matters not, the deeds of one when driven by selfish desires. But if guided by a cause far nobler than oneself, in legend you may prevail for eternity.'

Ardeth of Cycia 1.856