Saviour

Chapter I

I have known of the existence of magic since a very young age, from before I could even form coherent sentences. My mother would tell me stories of how the magic folk, the creatures and the beasts that lived among us. She would tell me of times when both magic folk and humans lived in harmony, when they lived with us, in peace, for many many centuries. And how they would assist us in our mundane lives. Had a wound that needed healing? The Druid down the road would have no qualms with healing you. Your flowers keep dying? Call upon one of the Elven folk. She would whisper me stories of how parents would let their children wonder into the woods for if they lost their bearings the Centaurs would always return them safely back to the edge of the woods. Or how the Selkies would teach the towns people to swim, or lead stranded sailors to shore. How the forest-dwelling Imps would play pranks on the townsfolk if the mood was a sombre one. Even the orcs, the most brutish creatures to ever walk this planet lived peacefully on the north side, setting up small settlement amongst towering mountains under the scorching sun.

But times changed. The story goes that many years ago a selfish, pride ridden king ruled over the kingdom. He had a single heir to his throne, a beautiful daughter named Gwendalyn. When Gwendalyn wondered into a local town one day, she met a young warlock named Ulrik. It was love at first sight and soon they were to be wed on the first day of Spring. However, the King harboured a dark and twisted secret; he despised all things magical and with it, all magic folk. In a fit of blind rage, he ordered the wedding to be cancelled and banished the young warlock to the Outlands; never to be seen again. In her heartbroken state, the queen-to-be hung herself from the rafters of her chambers, wearing only the cloak her betrothed had left behind. Distraught, the King declared war on all non-humans. Chaos ensued. What was once a great kingdom was now being torn apart as a result of the kings own selfish actions. The war was brutal. Streets were filled with screams of terror, as werewolves ripped children's throats out in front of trembling mothers, fire mages burnt people alive and witches cursed every crop and animal they came across. After only a mere few weeks it became apparent that the humans had no hope of winning this battle as they began to die out. In his desperation to survive and once again regain control of his kingdom, the King fled the safety of his castle in order to hunt down the most powerful warlock in existence. Who was simply known as 'The Old Man'. After many months, the King finally found the hovel in which the warlock dwelled and fell to his knees, begging The Old Man to help him save the human race. He asked for an army as strong as an orc, with the swiftness of a Fae and the skill of only the finest hunter. The Old Man agreed, but, it came at a price. The Old Man told the King that his price was a small one. It was that, one day, a warrior will be born, and they will bring both humans and magic folk to their knees; so that once again the land will live in harmony. The King was so desperate he would of given his own life in payment had that been what The Old Man requested. He agreed to the terms and thus, the Night Warriors were born. Created from Darkness itself, they were human by race, but beast by creation, created to serve one purpose. Kill. They fought back fiercely against the magic folk, allowing the human race to repopulate and once again grow in numbers. The King was relieved that he finally found a means of protecting his kind and couldn't wait to return to his throne and gorge himself on all the food in the palace in celebration. But Aztoz, the God of Torture, who watched from the heavens above, didn't like the King's attitude towards the death and destruction he had caused, let alone the horrid creatures he had brought forth unto the land. So Aztoz cursed the King. He cursed him with eternal life, in the scorching heat of the Outlands. To be forever alone and suffer for the rest of eternity.

Legend has it that the King still wanders the Outlands, a ghastly beast of a man, crying out for a companion.

The Night Warriors still live, although through the generations, they have become more humane in their ways, albeit it slimly. Those Warriors are not men, they are brutes. All brawn and no brains. Cords upon cords of muscles, they grunt more than words, they keep their hair short and grins wolfish. I have watched them crush the skulls of children, slaughter the elderly, torture the women of the other races. They are not men, they are monsters.