enter, those who are damned

...and now, time has passed and much has happened. The Rakshasa found each other and founded their own city. The Elves have forged a treaty with the races of Man and Dwarves. Magic has found its place throughout the lands. The Orks have waged wars on many, them being a very bloodthirsty tribe. And many times have the daevu stepped forth into the realms of men, slaughtering and committing unspeakable atrocities. Others too have risen and been removed from their thrones of blood, each in a place of their own, each calling upon their own perverted powers and thrusting their will upon others. Each time they were thwarted, sometimes they weren’t. It is true even that the greatest threat to this world merely swept through it, leaving countless dead and ruined in its wake. This being merely awoke in this world, and escaped it to another, chasing after its own foe. Some say this creature slumbers, some say it is merely biding its time.

Some don’t even know it existed.

But this is no tale of such a creature. This tale has nothing to do with it, although its portents may reveal its presence. This tale is of a lesser evil, but one of great threat as it is. Of the selfish need for power, of how evil lives in the heart of all, but also has its own uses. How redemption is merely an ideal, and may be given by the most unlikely of individuals.

So let is move our eyes away from the scenes of birth, of how everything began and the slight balance that rules this world. Let us now move ahead and gaze upon a woman, petite in form, who is holding a bag containing all of her possessions. She stands gazing upon a stall’s goods at a fair, and all around her there is the bustle of activity and joy that only a country fair can bring. But this is no ordinary fair, as we soon realize, for there is much that escapes the eye. We may look closer and see that all the stallholders have a strange demeanor to them, and stare more hungrily than a normal merchant would at their customers. We analyze the customers themselves and see that they too are more than what they seem.

Everywhere weapons bristle. The glint of metal plate and chain mail hides below florid cloaks and silk shirts. Simple leather jerkins conceal daggers and the appearance of a broadsword is not rare. These people are no simple villagers; they are mercenaries, mages and people of the blade, people who have felt the fires of battle and seek their own fortune across the mortal realm. All are here to spend their bounty, for this particular fair is known throughout the land to be a place where one can acquire items of great value for a low price.

Our woman we gazed upon earlier, she stands here for reasons other than acquisition of good wares. We notice that her clothes are cut in a fine fashion, colored brightly and seem to pull the eye to her. She looks for work, and where some men may take it to be of a more dubious nature, her work instead is to fire the soul and not the lions. For she is a bard, one traveling the world to see it more for its beauty than for its money.

Lets move away from her as she inquires on a cut of material from a merchant who seems to disturb us and instead look upon two others who have entered the tournaments that always appear at these fairs. One appears to be a large Ork, but when we notice how his skin is of a paler green, his teeth less pronounced than his brutish cousins, we realize that in his past must lie some strange tale of love between the savage ones and a human. For it must be love; how can it be that anything else can produce a youth of such joviality? The man smiles broadly, his Mohawk waving in the slight wind, and laughs at a comment his companion has made. He is to enter one of the feats of strength competitions. He too does not know the true intent of such things, for no one here knows that this year’s fair has a more sinister motive than any of the previous ones. He strains and relaxes his muscles, preparing himself and steps forward to the ring.

His companion, a dark haired human, smiles at his friend. But his eyes convey very little mirth. We see his scalp is almost clean-shaven, only a topknot of thin hair running down his back. This man carries himself like a warrior, and the markings on him convey his origins as a monk of the god of war, Helbred. Yet he shows none of the restraint normally associated with these men and women, instead his darkened clothing with red trims seems to make him more menacing than those who have followed the bloody god’s path. A complete opposite of his Orkish friend, he doesn’t seem to fit in this world of colored tents and gleeful cries.

Lets pass over them now, to the last who bare interest to this tale. We move across to a man in brown leathers, Elven yet bearded, tall and simple, yet his wolf companion at his side gives him a more interesting aspect. He too has entered the tourney, seeking to match his skills against others. He has thoughts of victory in his mind, and smiles at the idea of taking the purse of riches. His bow is in great need of replacement, and he has seen one at the stalls that is to his liking.

Now that we have met those who make up the beginning of this tale, for indeed they are the beginning we shall retreat and think about what is to come. Images flash before our eyes, of the half bread Ork screaming in pain, the dark human wreathed in flames, blood dripping off of the bards hands, the tall elf standing fearlessly, shooting blazing light from his bow and of something dark and awesome in its own beauty gazing over them. something that even now is close to them, watching their every move, selecting them for its own grand purpose…