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| + | {{quote|The ritual must continue.|???}} |
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The first part of our story begins in the frozen north, in the [[planet:Koldenwelt/Frontier Land|Frontier]], once a wondrous land - as wonderous as the land ruled over by [[fiction:Empire of Man|fascist xenophobes]] can be, that is. And then- and then... it was... ''scarred''. Devastated, split in half, warped by a sorcerous cataclysm unlike any other - though, if you heard other stories of mine, you would probably know shatterings much grander than that, hah! Since then men came to call the ''thing'' that destroyed their... just that - the Scarring - and then, forgot it. Having given name to it, they deluded themselves into believing that they were safe from the cataclysm's further wrath. They were wrong, ''wrong'', but there was only one man who understood that - hah! not even a man, but a boy, yes, like you once were and like I, ages ago in times gone by, was... ah, the memories. |
The first part of our story begins in the frozen north, in the [[planet:Koldenwelt/Frontier Land|Frontier]], once a wondrous land - as wonderous as the land ruled over by [[fiction:Empire of Man|fascist xenophobes]] can be, that is. And then- and then... it was... ''scarred''. Devastated, split in half, warped by a sorcerous cataclysm unlike any other - though, if you heard other stories of mine, you would probably know shatterings much grander than that, hah! Since then men came to call the ''thing'' that destroyed their... just that - the Scarring - and then, forgot it. Having given name to it, they deluded themselves into believing that they were safe from the cataclysm's further wrath. They were wrong, ''wrong'', but there was only one man who understood that - hah! not even a man, but a boy, yes, like you once were and like I, ages ago in times gone by, was... ah, the memories. |
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Revision as of 19:39, 12 April 2014
“The ritual must continue.”
- - ???
The first part of our story begins in the frozen north, in the Frontier, once a wondrous land - as wonderous as the land ruled over by fascist xenophobes can be, that is. And then- and then... it was... scarred. Devastated, split in half, warped by a sorcerous cataclysm unlike any other - though, if you heard other stories of mine, you would probably know shatterings much grander than that, hah! Since then men came to call the thing that destroyed their... just that - the Scarring - and then, forgot it. Having given name to it, they deluded themselves into believing that they were safe from the cataclysm's further wrath. They were wrong, wrong, but there was only one man who understood that - hah! not even a man, but a boy, yes, like you once were and like I, ages ago in times gone by, was... ah, the memories.
His name was Valdemar, a mage of the Imperial Academy of Saphronia. Once, before the Scarring, he knew a girl named Sefarina - ah, and what a romantic story it was, and how delightfully beautiful their love was!.. except that there wasn't any. They were just that - friends, because you see, the boy was a bookworm and did not really have much time to think about these big things that come in pairs and attract men. Whence the cataclysm came, they were separated - Valdemar escaped, Sefarina, alas, did not. The older mages told the boy that all things in the corrupted land were gone, dead, and the boy mourned his girl - almost as strongly as he mourned his beloved Imperial library.
Then, one day, she came. A girl from the dead north, into his house. Pale, bleeding as if she was impaled on a few spears like a cushion, she knelt before Valdemar and said but one word before dying in his hands.
Sefarina.
She was alive, out there in the scarred lands.
It was then when the hero of our story realised the awful truth and strode to find out what really happened to his friend, his home, and, what was most importantly, his beloved books...