A Forsaken Legacy

A Beginning, Born From An End.

A/N:Please take note this story is not one for reading on the go, these chapters can be expected to be long most likely, sorry if that inconveniences you.

A Legacy, something to be remembered through time and in itself, something to be respected. Legacies often take the form of children stories, that's what we all call them. Just legend, stories.

So I only speak here to clarify.

That is all this is, a story.

Now let us begin the tellings of the Forsaken Sword Legacy.

Every story has a beginning, yet, some do not have an end. We always wonder which is which, is an end a beginning? Or a beginning an end? Perhaps we can never truly understand, but in this case. We may call it a beginning.

Prologue

A Beginning, born from an end.

a long while ago, while the land was still young, it was a prosperous and peaceful one. Two strong kingdoms stood side by side. The Amethyst Empire, and The Haros Kingdom. A peace emanated between the two. Then, it was all so joyful, the world really felt like a place worth living in. Of course, everything fades eventually. We all disappear like specks of dust, insignificant and unimportant. So, such an event occured upon the peace. The ruler of the Amethyst Empire, Drakus. He struck for unknown reasons, one by one he took control of the lands. First the Grasslands and Tundra, then the Swamplands and Magma Grounds. Each area tried to put up some form of resistance, but their blades all fell to the Amethyst Empire.

Drakus binded the rulers of these lands. Forcing them to serve him and him alone till death.

Eventually, with this massive force at his disposal. Drakus struck The Haros Kingdom.

Warm air lofted past trees and through silken blades of grass, sometimes it would burst into 2 seperate breezes when it blasted against a tree. Or it would instead flow around the trunk separately only to come together once past it. Wind is a curious thing, it does what it wants to do. Whenever it wants to do it. Yet, even wind cannot deny decimation.

It all happened so quickly, so swiftly. It was all so blurry, it came like a storm. 'Drakus' came like a storm. Nobody expected it. The peaceful inhabitants of The Haros Kingdom were already in bad days. Thugs were cornering people in alleyways, stealing any resources or money they could get. Which meant bodyguards were in high regard and being one could pay you quite well.

Yet, no army of bodyguards or knights could prepare for the chaos.

Bloodied blades scattered themselves across the once beautiful carpeting of the Castle. Their red and gold design cut and painted over with crimson. As if that was the worst of it, bodies found themselves littered over the ground as well. Some minor nobility found themselves upon the flooring, clutching pathetically at the expensive blades they attempted to wield before death. It truly is sad that with such expensive swords they never bothered learning the art of swordplay.

There were also a collections worth of farmers and other townsfolk. That may seem odd, but the King had been hosting a banquet for all of many sizes and notorieties.

Eventually, one of the many townsfolk found themselves moving, their blood was evidently littered around them. Yet, they managed themselves onto their knees. The rest of their body feeling a encasing of numbness. Their eyes were hazel and seemed glazed over, as if their own mind was completely ignoring what was around it.

He remained there, on his knees, his position completely rigid. His glazed over eyes landed on the king, their chest embedded with a shortsword.

He could read the message given by such an action. 'You were nothing, pathetic, I wouldn't even bother staining my blade with your blood.' For some reason, this was what came clearly to him. The rage that boiled what blood remained inside him. The fire that blew through his organs making his heart pump heavy once more.

The silence seemed to burst as he let out a breath he hadn't known he was holding.

His eyes glazed fizzled and faded, and the encasing of numbness around him cracked like glass. It was only then that he realized that everybody around him was dead. It was only then that he realized that all of his friends were dead, their bodies littering the fields just like the rest.

He felt his life fall apart like it never existed.

Yet, that boiling rage told him something else had to be done.

Almost blindingly, he stumbled between the bodies before encountering one that still took breath.

He was just a runner boy, the kind that the royalty would use to contact people. His lips were parched and appeared to be split. The man knelt down in front of him and slowly moved him onto his knees. He knew it was going to take a moment for the boy to process this.

Yet, they did not. They spoke swiftly. "D-...Drakus."

This wasn't a large shock compared to the one still afflicting the man. Yet he still fidgeted at the name. The boy fell back down, not that it mattered. He had the information needed. He knew what had caused all this madness.

He moved from his kneeling position and continued his walk to the throne. Stepping over every corpse, in the slightest case that all were not corpses. His eyes flicked to the blade piercing the Royal Lord of this castle, of this kingdom. His left hand wrapped itself around the blade. He pulled.

It came free without hesitation. As if the blade longed to be used after having disrespected royalty. How ironic.

He stumbled again, now towards the exit of the gray and red castle of blood and death.

As his end became his beginning.