chapter 21
previous chapter
"Once upon a time, there was a great race that walked the island, and they called themselves the Ancients. They were a powerful race, noble but proud, and their reign was a time of peace and prosperity. The Golden Age of the land, as chronicled in their records. For many centuries they built a wonderful civilization, and they mastered many crafts. They produced many great writings, many great works of art, and many inspiring monuments. All was good."
"The Ancients were ruled by a single member of their race, whose word was law, and whose wisdom surpassed that of even the wisest human. He was declared the Emperor, and the entire civilization centered around his will. But the Ancients had many enemies in those times, for it is an unspoken law of a corrupted nature that those living in abundance will attract the envy of those with less. Chief among their enemies were the foul race of Demons that lived in the dark, fiery caves deep in the heart of the island."
"The Demons were monstrous creatures of the dark, and their weapons were terror and destruction. Down in the secret darkness, they bred dragons and experimented with many horrifying spells and incantations, in preparation for an all-out war on the Ancients living in luxury above ground. The Demons grew increasingly jealous of the Ancients' dominance of the land above, and hated their own wretched existence, bound to the shadows and scorching fires of the depths. They craved justice, and to them, justice can only be achieved by utterly destroying the Ancients and their proud civilization."
"The Demons were led by the one they called Nargarath, the Evilest One. He was a monster nine feet tall, with horns and many scars across his blackened skin. His glowing red eyes burned with evil, and he thirsted for the blood of the arrogant Ancients."
"Eventually the Demons grew strong enough to wage war on the Ancients, and the war was a terrible one. Dragon riders burst out of the very earth, burning cities and razing everything in their path. A great host of the evil Demons were mustered and marched out of the caves and dark places, sweeping across the island in an unstoppable swarm. The Ancients were caught off guard, and lost hundreds of thousands of their own as the surprise assault destroyed much that they had built. Bodies of their women and children littered the streets as the attacks increased in ferocity, and the Demons struck again and again like a mighty hammer. Nargarath's army was many times stronger than the scattered resistance they encountered, and within a week the entire island had fallen to their hands. The sky turned dark as the Demons blotted out the sun, and began killing every last survivor of the onslaught: those who were not killed were enslaved by the foul Demons and sent down to the fiery furnaces deep below the earth."
"The Emperor survived, and with his remaining loyal subjects, fled to the safety of the Spire, fighting back the black horde of enemies every step of the way. They came at last to the very peak of the Spire, and there the Emperor constructed a fortress to withstand the fiercest assault of the Demons. No dragon was able to fly that high, and anyone attacking the sheer slopes of the Spire found themselves thrown back again and again, until at last the Demons gave up, and retreated to their conquered lands below."
"For many years the land festered as the Ancients regrouped and prepared to seize back their stolen lands. They were small in number, but they trained with a burning desire for vengeance for their slain brethren. A War Council was established to plan all military matters, handling all war strategies and battle tactics. And on the fifth anniversary of their retreat, the army of the Ancients issued forth from the fortress, led by the Emperor himself, and in a titanic struggle that lasted many years, they carved a path through the land, cutting down all who resisted them. In the intervening years, the Ancients had mastered battle magic, and the entire land flashed constantly with the discharges of raw power unleashed by the great army."
"The Demons fought tooth and claw with the Ancient host, and many lives were lost by either side. After nine long years of bitter war, the Emperor himself descended into the depths of the earth, and with a small force cut to the very heart of the Demon threat, and slew Nargarath in his own pit. Nargarath was a mighty foe, and before he died, he lay a great curse upon the Emperor and the entire Ancient race."
"Sure enough, the Emperor was slain by the maddened Demons before he could escape from the depths, but across the island the tides of war were turning. Ancients living in hiding rose up and joined the new army, and they routed the howling Demons back into their pits, where they were sealed and left for dead. With the death of the Emperor, the Council took over until a new Emperor was found, and the war ended with the triumphant display of Nargarath's head in a victory parade."
* * * * *
"The war changed the Ancients, and they paid a heavy price for the ensuing peace. They had lost nine tenths of their number in the entire war, and deep inside, they had been permanently scarred: they had witnessed horrors beyond imagining in the war, for they had stared into a bottomless abyss of pure evil during the war, and it stared right back at them."
"A new Emperor was never elected, for the Council squabbled among themselves, descending into a power struggle for control over the future of the race. Many cities were never rebuilt, for there was no one to live in them, and in the end the Ancients agreed to return to the peaks, leaving the island in its barren state in the hope that time and nature will heal all wounds."
"The race split into many factions, each with a different demand and a different agenda. The infighting went on for many years, and the race grew weaker with the passage of time. Meanwhile, down below, humans arrived from outlying islands, and began taking over the scorched lands and building from it the foundations of a great City, and despite humans being greedy, foolish creatures, the early City flourished, and more and more humans began to trickle into the island."
"Balance exists in all things, and as the power of the Ancients continued to decline, the humans steadily grew stronger, and forged from these humble beginnings a powerful civilization of iron and steel. Their dirty industries fueled a growth that allowed them to spread far throughout the island, and they created weapons and tools from steel. Weapons for conquering and defending, and tools for building."
"And then the female Ancients began dying out to a mysterious plague, until one day, there were none left. The Council ceased their bickering, and with increasing horror, realised that their race was now doomed to extinction. The Ancients had two choices: they could retake the lands below, by force if necessary, starting a new Empire under the rule of the Ancients and selectively intermarrying with humans to ensure the survival of their own race. The other choice was to accept that the curse of Nargarath was at last taking hold, and they should selflessly allow the Ancients to vanish quietly from the pages of history before the curse on their bloodline inflicts more damage on the island."
"The oldest Ancient on the Council bore the name of Arathea, who supported the creation of a second Empire, but he was opposed by a younger, craftier Ancient named Septaphim. Both of them were veteran battle-mages, equally skilled in the ways of magic and political manipulation. Except for Septaphim, the remaining Ancients saw the wisdom in Arathea's belief, but they also knew that their weakened army will be no match for the full might of the humans below. Fearing the eventual death of his own race, Arathea laboured in secret to create a series of rune words that were so powerful, they would allow him to wrest control of the Council from Septaphim, and guide the Ancient race to retake the island from the humans, beginning a new second Golden Age. "
"Through his spies, Septaphim discovered the full extent of Arathea's plans, and moved quickly to seal the chamber, deep within the tunnels of the Spire, where the half-completed rune words lay. Arathea and Septaphim dueled titanically inside the chamber, but in his fury at being discovered, Arathea grew careless and was defeated by Septaphim. The doors to the chamber were sealed with a Key, in order to prevent the remaining Ancients from the temptation of the powerful runes residing within. Septaphim fled the Spire with this Key, hiding in exile in the human City far below. Here, his story was lost to the Ancients."
"Arathea's Gifts passed into legend, and the remaining Ancients searched everywhere for this mythical Key that will lead them to the salvation of their race. But none could find the crafty Septaphim... and then, one day, there were only five living Ancients left, and here our story ends. Yes, yes. But every ending is, hoho, the beginning of another story..."
* * * * *
The old man cackled again, and winked at Seraph. His voice returned to its usual ramble: "Yes, of course of course, there ends the first of my stories, but there are more, oh so many more, I know many stories to tell, to share, oh yes I do! Indeed, many tales, many stories. Ask me another, ask me one more, perhaps things will become clearer then, oh yes..."
And then he began another story.
next chapter
"Once upon a time, there was a great race that walked the island, and they called themselves the Ancients. They were a powerful race, noble but proud, and their reign was a time of peace and prosperity. The Golden Age of the land, as chronicled in their records. For many centuries they built a wonderful civilization, and they mastered many crafts. They produced many great writings, many great works of art, and many inspiring monuments. All was good."
"The Ancients were ruled by a single member of their race, whose word was law, and whose wisdom surpassed that of even the wisest human. He was declared the Emperor, and the entire civilization centered around his will. But the Ancients had many enemies in those times, for it is an unspoken law of a corrupted nature that those living in abundance will attract the envy of those with less. Chief among their enemies were the foul race of Demons that lived in the dark, fiery caves deep in the heart of the island."
"The Demons were monstrous creatures of the dark, and their weapons were terror and destruction. Down in the secret darkness, they bred dragons and experimented with many horrifying spells and incantations, in preparation for an all-out war on the Ancients living in luxury above ground. The Demons grew increasingly jealous of the Ancients' dominance of the land above, and hated their own wretched existence, bound to the shadows and scorching fires of the depths. They craved justice, and to them, justice can only be achieved by utterly destroying the Ancients and their proud civilization."
"The Demons were led by the one they called Nargarath, the Evilest One. He was a monster nine feet tall, with horns and many scars across his blackened skin. His glowing red eyes burned with evil, and he thirsted for the blood of the arrogant Ancients."
"Eventually the Demons grew strong enough to wage war on the Ancients, and the war was a terrible one. Dragon riders burst out of the very earth, burning cities and razing everything in their path. A great host of the evil Demons were mustered and marched out of the caves and dark places, sweeping across the island in an unstoppable swarm. The Ancients were caught off guard, and lost hundreds of thousands of their own as the surprise assault destroyed much that they had built. Bodies of their women and children littered the streets as the attacks increased in ferocity, and the Demons struck again and again like a mighty hammer. Nargarath's army was many times stronger than the scattered resistance they encountered, and within a week the entire island had fallen to their hands. The sky turned dark as the Demons blotted out the sun, and began killing every last survivor of the onslaught: those who were not killed were enslaved by the foul Demons and sent down to the fiery furnaces deep below the earth."
"The Emperor survived, and with his remaining loyal subjects, fled to the safety of the Spire, fighting back the black horde of enemies every step of the way. They came at last to the very peak of the Spire, and there the Emperor constructed a fortress to withstand the fiercest assault of the Demons. No dragon was able to fly that high, and anyone attacking the sheer slopes of the Spire found themselves thrown back again and again, until at last the Demons gave up, and retreated to their conquered lands below."
"For many years the land festered as the Ancients regrouped and prepared to seize back their stolen lands. They were small in number, but they trained with a burning desire for vengeance for their slain brethren. A War Council was established to plan all military matters, handling all war strategies and battle tactics. And on the fifth anniversary of their retreat, the army of the Ancients issued forth from the fortress, led by the Emperor himself, and in a titanic struggle that lasted many years, they carved a path through the land, cutting down all who resisted them. In the intervening years, the Ancients had mastered battle magic, and the entire land flashed constantly with the discharges of raw power unleashed by the great army."
"The Demons fought tooth and claw with the Ancient host, and many lives were lost by either side. After nine long years of bitter war, the Emperor himself descended into the depths of the earth, and with a small force cut to the very heart of the Demon threat, and slew Nargarath in his own pit. Nargarath was a mighty foe, and before he died, he lay a great curse upon the Emperor and the entire Ancient race."
"Sure enough, the Emperor was slain by the maddened Demons before he could escape from the depths, but across the island the tides of war were turning. Ancients living in hiding rose up and joined the new army, and they routed the howling Demons back into their pits, where they were sealed and left for dead. With the death of the Emperor, the Council took over until a new Emperor was found, and the war ended with the triumphant display of Nargarath's head in a victory parade."
* * * * *
"The war changed the Ancients, and they paid a heavy price for the ensuing peace. They had lost nine tenths of their number in the entire war, and deep inside, they had been permanently scarred: they had witnessed horrors beyond imagining in the war, for they had stared into a bottomless abyss of pure evil during the war, and it stared right back at them."
"A new Emperor was never elected, for the Council squabbled among themselves, descending into a power struggle for control over the future of the race. Many cities were never rebuilt, for there was no one to live in them, and in the end the Ancients agreed to return to the peaks, leaving the island in its barren state in the hope that time and nature will heal all wounds."
"The race split into many factions, each with a different demand and a different agenda. The infighting went on for many years, and the race grew weaker with the passage of time. Meanwhile, down below, humans arrived from outlying islands, and began taking over the scorched lands and building from it the foundations of a great City, and despite humans being greedy, foolish creatures, the early City flourished, and more and more humans began to trickle into the island."
"Balance exists in all things, and as the power of the Ancients continued to decline, the humans steadily grew stronger, and forged from these humble beginnings a powerful civilization of iron and steel. Their dirty industries fueled a growth that allowed them to spread far throughout the island, and they created weapons and tools from steel. Weapons for conquering and defending, and tools for building."
"And then the female Ancients began dying out to a mysterious plague, until one day, there were none left. The Council ceased their bickering, and with increasing horror, realised that their race was now doomed to extinction. The Ancients had two choices: they could retake the lands below, by force if necessary, starting a new Empire under the rule of the Ancients and selectively intermarrying with humans to ensure the survival of their own race. The other choice was to accept that the curse of Nargarath was at last taking hold, and they should selflessly allow the Ancients to vanish quietly from the pages of history before the curse on their bloodline inflicts more damage on the island."
"The oldest Ancient on the Council bore the name of Arathea, who supported the creation of a second Empire, but he was opposed by a younger, craftier Ancient named Septaphim. Both of them were veteran battle-mages, equally skilled in the ways of magic and political manipulation. Except for Septaphim, the remaining Ancients saw the wisdom in Arathea's belief, but they also knew that their weakened army will be no match for the full might of the humans below. Fearing the eventual death of his own race, Arathea laboured in secret to create a series of rune words that were so powerful, they would allow him to wrest control of the Council from Septaphim, and guide the Ancient race to retake the island from the humans, beginning a new second Golden Age. "
"Through his spies, Septaphim discovered the full extent of Arathea's plans, and moved quickly to seal the chamber, deep within the tunnels of the Spire, where the half-completed rune words lay. Arathea and Septaphim dueled titanically inside the chamber, but in his fury at being discovered, Arathea grew careless and was defeated by Septaphim. The doors to the chamber were sealed with a Key, in order to prevent the remaining Ancients from the temptation of the powerful runes residing within. Septaphim fled the Spire with this Key, hiding in exile in the human City far below. Here, his story was lost to the Ancients."
"Arathea's Gifts passed into legend, and the remaining Ancients searched everywhere for this mythical Key that will lead them to the salvation of their race. But none could find the crafty Septaphim... and then, one day, there were only five living Ancients left, and here our story ends. Yes, yes. But every ending is, hoho, the beginning of another story..."
* * * * *
The old man cackled again, and winked at Seraph. His voice returned to its usual ramble: "Yes, of course of course, there ends the first of my stories, but there are more, oh so many more, I know many stories to tell, to share, oh yes I do! Indeed, many tales, many stories. Ask me another, ask me one more, perhaps things will become clearer then, oh yes..."
And then he began another story.
next chapter
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