_
_
The Beginning of a New Age
"Bordering the capital of the Empire, The City of Eons, was a dense forest known as Faeon Wood. The forest was home to many living critters and beings, housing both peaceful and violent sorts. Among its many denizens were the mythical faerie folk. Once thought to be just a legend even to the vast knowledge of the elves, the faerie folk of Faeon had served the Empire not only as guardians against outside aggression but had also shared a strong trading ecosystem that was beneficial for both parties. Since it was their home, the faerie folk could travel the woods with ease and avoid ever getting lost, but for an adventurer, as seasoned as he may be, would not find his way through the forest even if he had walked in a straight line for an eternity. The hungering beasts that inhabited the woods made the forest just as dangerous during the day as it was in the darkest nights. These woods were well known for swallowing unwary adventurers’ whole, beckoning them into its false and twisting paths that disorient and confuse, only to spit them out and leave them wandering hopelessly lost until starvation would set in and take its claim. With the partnership between the two realms of man and faerie, travelers could be safely led through the woods without worry of joining the eerie chants emanating from deep within the thickets that forever cry for help. This mutual alliance had lasted for many years, and the foreseeable future had not any plans for this relationship to wither… until The Great Purge of Magick was set in motion.
The sun had reached its highest point, yet no light was shining down from the great blue above. The skies were black with smoke and soot. A sea of fire clawed up towards the heavens as the woods of Faeon were devoured within its flames. The Empire had begun its genocidal march against all magick folk and it started with the very woods surrounding it. The armies of the Emperor, the newly knighted members of Legion, marched through the remains of the scorched woods, following the path of the burning flames and slaughtering anything that hoped to escape towards Eons. One particular high ranking officer of the Emperor’s army and a founding member of Legion took extra care to make sure his kill count towered above the rest of his kinsmen. It was a self-imposed mission that he had no intention on failing, for he had never once failed a mission assigned to him. Fendrel the Hallowed pressed through the oncoming hail of ash that sprouted across the burning treetops. Barghests whimpered as they limped from the woods ablaze, but Fendrel helped relieve them from their misery with a swift swing at the neck. Families of Satyrs huddled together with their weeping children as members of Legion surrounded them, standing no match against the sheer number of warriors that had enveloped them into such a small confined area. The burnt wood underneath their feet was flooded with the blood of the beasts. First were their children, so that the parents could witness the lack of empathy the members of Legion showed. It was Fendrel who would draw the first blood. He wanted these vermin to know who was in charge. For every few dozen they would kill, they left one run back into the burning wood, either to feed the burning flames so that they could envelope the entirety of the woods, or they were giving it a mission, a mission to warn the rest of the world that Legion was coming, that they were taking back their Empire and cleansing it of all magick.
Finally, at the last standing ring of forest that had yet to burn, Fendel and his army had pushed the faerie folk to their final defenses. They had gathered up their children and ran for the outer edge of the forest, still withholding hope that they wouldn’t have to leave their home. But the flames burned fast, and the armies of the Empire followed just as quickly. Fendel stepped up and demanded the leader of the faerie folk to step forward. Traditionally, there is no leader of faerie clans, they simply live amongst each other as equals and share the responsibilities that are at hand. No person is more or less important than another, and it was a system that had worked for centuries. When Fendel was told this, he couldn’t help but feel a sense of disappointment. That was one less head count for his grand total. He and his armies stepped forward, slowly cornering the magick folk just as he had done with so many of the beasts before. He spoke out to them, reading them the new law of the Emperor, preaching to them that they were no longer recognized as citizens of Eternus and that magick was forbidden. They scowled at the man as he listed their absurd crimes against the Empire and that they were all to receive the punishment of death. Normally, the warriors of the forests would have been able to take on the human fighters and stand a reasonable chance, but so many of them were separated from their families and their souls claimed by the burning flames that there were few left. Those who wished to use their magick couldn't do so without risk of self-injury; the life energy of the world around them was waning, depleting through the flames that burned a heavy wound into the planet.
One by one, the number of faeries dwindled into the single digits; only a handful of adults were left standing at the end of Fendel’s blade. They looked around at the bloodbath set upon them: all their children dead, their wives, husbands, and friends mutilated beyond recognition. Then the numbers waned even further, until it was just one man standing. Fendel looked at this man for a long hard minute before finally letting out a deep laugh. It tickled him to look upon this man, because Fendel had recognized him. He was a human. He was a great knight to the Empire, a strong man who believed in building relationships between the people of Eternus. Fendel would laugh at him, saying that he just wanted to lay with their women. As it were, this man had indeed wed himself to a female faerie. The man’s name was Felix Vanitas, a hero to the Empire before the Emperor’s madness, a husband to the mythical magick-folk, which was previously unheard of, and a father of two half-creatures.
Felix stepped forward, past his dead kinsmen’s bodies scattered around him, and ordered that the men stopped their killing. Fendel approached him, albeit cautiously, smiling furiously. He knew that this man was a warrior and the best of the land. There would be no mistakes; Felix was to die. Fendel declared that Felix chose to live his life with the Faeries and that the law of the Emperor considers him an abomination all the same. He stated that he is to be charged with breeding magickal offspring with another magick being, and that creating such a warped, twisted creature with human blood is punishable by death. But Felix would not go down without a fight. Before Fendel finished his accusation, Felix’ hand was firmly grasping the hilt of his sword. He pulled it from its sheath in a second and held if steadily in front of him. Fendel grinned at the opportunity; he would get to kill the best.
Both of the battle-ready warriors approached one another, circling around an imaginary point between them as they held stance. Fendel waited for his partner to strike first. Parrying and delivering was always an easier strike than attempting to overpower a foe. And to his luck, Felix charged forward. Fendel’s plan was exact. He pulled to the side, brought his blade up to clash with Felix’ sword’s underside and deflected his blade above their heads. Fendel finished his parry with a thrust; Felix’ stomach accepted the sword’s tip as he fumbled with his own weapon above his head. The confrontation had ended only seconds after it started. Fendel declared his victory with a cry of egotistical gloating, stating he was the best swordsman in the entire Empire.
Felix’ head turned away from his killer as the blade plunged deeper still, blood gushing from his gaping mouth and his torn chest. Just before the blackness of death all but completely filled is weakening vision, he saw a figure rustling in a nearby bush. Their eyes locked. It was a faerie child, and it was a child he knew all too well, for it was his own blood, his elder child. With his last ounce of strength, he mouthed his final words to his child. F-family. He urged the youth to hurry back to the only family it would have left, for if the man impaling him didn’t take his life, the flames would. He hoped to instill the sense of duty that the little one was in need of a caretaker and without the love of his family; the world would do dark and twisted things to his fragile mind. Faeries don't ever leave their homelands, not commonly anyways. But there was no home in Faeon any longer. The child turned its back to his dying father and the lunatic killer and ran, searching for its younger sibling to escape the burning wood. Those were the only two survivors of The Burning of Faeon.
The light of day was lost to the children for what seemed like ages, but when the skies finally cleared and the light returned, the mourning didn't cease."
View User's Journal
The Tome of Long Lost Tales
This is where create my characters and record my stories.
 |
