Where Darkness Begins

The campaign:

I am sure there are many things that it could be called a battle, a war, but campaign fits best. The Darshen-Qui marched a crossed Narsayes; nations dropping like flies before his might and it all started with that one event, the Campaign of Blood. Such a perfect name; in one event it seems, the doom of our freedom was set.

So many lives were lost that I wonder if perhaps I made the wrong decision in fighting him. Perhaps there had to be another way to prevent needless death and bloodshed. But I suppose wrong or right it doesn’t matter now, there is nothing I can do to change it now, for in the end I watched, I watched as all that I knew died around me until there was nothing left but the blood that seeped into the land, staining it.

I guess the worst part of all this was that it never should have happened! So many things went wrong that we never could have calculated. But you know, we knew from the beginning that the campaign would be our end, still we clung to our hope and faith that others would come to our dying pleas and save us from our suffering. Oh how naive our hops turned out to be, after all, in other nations war is praised. Those that manage to survive are showered with riches and glory and titles of hero’s. You know what the truth is though?

It changes you. When you come home after watching your comrades die around you, you don’t feel like a hero. You are a survivor and nothing more. When you live, the dead man is the hero. The praise of death and darkness, that is what war and Darshen-Qui have done to the world. The Campaign of Blood was not the first of its kind and if the world keeps falling like it has it certainly will not be the last. Perhaps the future can learn from the mistakes of the past.
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Across time, at the edge of our land, the shore of the Marklana Sea beats against the tall cliff face, slowly eating away the rock as a soft breeze blew through the tall grasses of the unnamed land. The sun was shining bright in the blue sky, its warm rays gently caressing the unspoiled earth, not touched yet by any darkness. Standing here at the edge, you could feel the innocence radiating from the earth. Never had it known sickness or blood shed.

It seemed so untouchable, but there was a change in the wind:  something was coming.
Slowly, above the high grasses, clouds begun to form, which blocking out the warmth of the sun, freezing the world in a coldness not felt in millennia. The soft breezes turned into ferocious winds beating across the land like a wave, preparing the way. With the winds of the cliff tops whipping at your hair, you would see it; the black lightning cracking across the sky, splitting the very fabric of reality to form the gateway into the realm of the destined. Lighting flashed again, thunder crashing as a single man stepped from the black whole in the sky. His black tunic and cloak billowed in the wind as it surrounded him in a cold welcome.

Underneath the hood of his cloak, piercing eyes glowed in blackness that cast no light. He took a deep breath and stepped forward, the hood slipping back, revealing his waist-length blonde hair that was tied behind him; having no scar or blemish he seemed the essence of beauty.

Absorbing any light cast his way, he was a demanding and terrifying figure.

He looked about the land with a confident smirk, stray strands of hair billowing about him; it was time to begin his work. He did not have much time to waste but it would be such a simple task he believed. He had a few moments to breathe in the scent of this blessed land, before he destroyed it. The tiniest movement reached his ears; his head snapped to the side, eyes locking on the form of a young child hiding from his mother. As their eyes met, onyx locking onto blue, the child froze and took in a deep breath to scream, run, anything but it was too late. He moved without making a sound, in a speed that never should have been possible. Snapping forward his black gloved hand wrapped around the tiny throat, squeezing. He tried to fight, scratching and biting the best he could, but he was no match for the young man; slowly he was losing consciousness.

“No need to worry about your mother anymore child,” the man chuckled, squeezing the life from him.” You are MINE now.”


That was the beginning, our land, which had once been peaceful would soon be gone. His dark aura and presence spread through our land like a plague, until what once had been free of sickness and strife was filled with grief, mistrust and despair. Every day countless succumbed to it. So many died under the hands of darkness's herald: the evil king, the dark demon, the Darshen-Qui. Any that stood against him were slaughtered, leaving a trail of blood be it man, woman, or child. Entire nations and civilizations fell.
Those in darkness emerged into the light and massed behind him, ready to take the world for their own. Oh how many lives were lost. The dead were gathered into mass graves or burnt to nothing but ash.

Not even in death could our people gain peace.

It was one of the darkest days, cities burned, thieves ruled and chaos reigned. I had  walked through a dying forest standing on the hilltop overlooking a city in the distance once. Its once white walls were now black from filth, its buildings alight in fire. Screams filled the air announcing the smell of burning and rotting flesh, the scent of death. Its streets that still stood were riddled with murder and deceit. With a veil over my mouth and a hood covering my head I walked down those desolate streets. As I watched in despair children played with abandoned weapons and other discarded objects from destroyed buildings dressed in rags. In an alley along one of these roads I came across a group of older adolescence, beating a fellow child to death and using their broken teeth to tare away the flesh from his still writhing body as he screamed.

This is what our world had come to.

But even then amongst the darkness and evil there was a small light still burning, a small hope resting in a small village; where a messenger of light was to be born.