The Forsaken Arts

Volume 2: Folklore

It had been thousands of years since The Great Conflict, a lifetime had passed that was unknown to the current generations who now occupied this world. No facts were absolute or certain as the details from that time had slowly corroded away, passed on from father to son not as truth, but rather legend.

Within all the different versions the stories were molded from, one detail remained a chilling constant. On that fateful day, the immense amount of bloodshed and disregard for life that swept an era, had almost led to Rendarg's extinction.

Once again the kingdom was suffering from a crisis and thrown into peril as a threat so malevolent had emerged from the darkest crevasses of the earth and shook the land. The rich crop bearing soil was drenched in blood and laced with dismembered half-eaten corpses of the fallen.

Towers crumbled to the earth beneath them with fields of grain set ablaze. The fierce sound of cold steel rang throughout the land, chaotically intertwined with the hopeless screams of those both losing their lives and running for cover.

The stench of sweat, blood and desperation continued to fill the lungs of the men and women on the battlefield. Those gifted with the arts and regular soldiers alike all drew from the lingering musk and felt the mental toll of uncertain survival that had taken root.

Death itself crept from the shadows, snatching souls as it slithered its way past the gates and into the very heart of the kingdom.

Atop the fourth floor of the palace, betrayal, confusion and misunderstanding reigned supreme with the abrupt loss of the legionnaire Osyrus, one of the heroes of legend Silvannas and even the sovereign ruler of the land, Lord Kashif.

Unfortunately the time for mourning, let alone fully processing all that had transpired would have to wait as Naitosai continued his battle with the remaining arch-creation.