"It wasn't long after his eradication, the world stood scorched enveloped in darkness, shadows fell obscuring the lands, those who resided within them. The pond was much smaller than we ever knew, as did the quaking of our world and it's bellow, shuttering and agony a testament to that. Spiraling into chaos dread filled eyes peered to the skies a blood moon reigned it's beaming rays drenched those in despair. Ignorant fickle men a top the world a mountain of bygone gold and wisping power, if only they knew, if only. Seething rage, many of creeds had come within and out tore continents, frenetic searching, scouring and devouring any who stood in their path. Greed laid in their hearts determined to find these sources of power, manipulated by ideals of those they worshiped the world was consumed. The savagery was just the start, splitting the world countless innocence disposed of. To dwell in mass pits, filled with death, thee soon to be dead rotting. The betrayer, whom stole a fragment of this power forsaking those he owned allegiance for his own gain, the power he had obtained, basking in its potency wrought swirling vortexes opening worlds of differing dimensions creating even more turmoil. This source he had obtained, one of the six Chaos Lords they called him Ceron Devourer Of Souls.
Over the passage of time, it turned slowly to centuries, the world forgot. The sands of time shrouded his existence and others. To the overarching dominion it was no more than a frog's tale, a lowly history of a backwater world.
However, this would all change..."
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Chapter One: Unearthed
"Eternal the passage of time winds, never ceasing, always winding and forever changing as do the men in it's age. Those born of a world engulfed in flames ignorant of peace licking powder and steel; and those in the lull of peace naive of reality. However one truth stands where there are men, there are those ready to rule."
...
Amuck the foothills, down the slopping path rocks tumbled. To the sheer drop below, just a slip on the slick steps person or cart. The path from town was an armory of rocks and thickened trees, nature's own stockade, an fitting settlement for the lost and rotting. Deeper in the tumbled patches, older roots lie a decrepit cemetery... Mid day settled, yet still foreboding clouds lingered above, masking the skies forming a blanket of hard shadows.
Sunlight was obscured, in place gloom fell on every crevice, a cold wind nipped at the sides hackling through leafless branches and swaying weeds. As if mother nature herself growled distant thunder shook the ground, a long coat ruffled to the right and back at wind's mercy. The shrouded figure trodden down the path, scraping along more mud than grass approached a iron gate. A thick log had long since fallen warping the rusted fence, torn off it's hinges. The remaining left gate' was slightly ajar creaking with each touch of wind.
This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.
It was then a stride from the gate, beckoning the figure- They looked down fiddling inside their waist satchel, subtle blue emanated inside the bag's confines. Unwrapping the parchment it came clearer as a thin crystal tied by wire cord, it dangled giving just enough light to embarrass a lantern. The glow illuminated surrounding darkness, the footpath behind and innate carvings of the crumbled stone wall by the right. Neither garnered any attention except the boot marks, closely followed animal tracks. The figure brought the crystal low adjacent to the gate, the trail led to forest and out from it' Ahead it still swayed just as yesterday and two suns prior, across the fencing and gate a intricate spiderweb was still undisturbed.
"Maybe not for long." The figure muttered..
...
Spike grass bit my heels, this forest seemed to have more thought than I cared to admit. As hearths burned, much everyone laid sheltered within the town's walls I couldn't-- The oppressive weather shrouded me, this own untapped land. Glowstone's ambiance shone forward scattering across the golden weaver's web it'd have to remake it by the night' as I delve into the dead's quarter. I held close to my security, like a moth. The stone my own idyllic haven, father's only sake he had left. The soft crackling beside was hard to miss, trying best not to stare or part a glance I had seen them. The flightless Roe, four legged feather-less creatures mixed like that of a crow and dog their insidious gazes had pierced and hawked me, before I even set foot within the forest's embrace.
The weather had brought them out irritated and noisy, just waiting for me to drop dead. These scavengers would pounce at any falter; their cowardice threatened by the glowstone and my heavy steps. Still I kept a hand on my dagger's hilt. Anything could change, distant thunder provoked me enough. I wasn't here by choice but consequence, I'd try the third tombstone, one of the unmarked, any meaning of this grave was lost and whom it belonged too? Well the dead have no use for it, or a lich in sight to stop me. Just bones and departed keepsakes, though much to my own apathy to it I'm no fool enough to flaunt it.
To pay due nothing more. Grave robbing isn't a noble profession, nor was I reveling in it, digging up the dead brought headaches in the act alone. Much less this ill-rotten forest, it may only be on the cusp of the crimson field and the much more expansive center isle. Still the unsightliness was frankly rooted. I'd heard the stories, given reason no one lived out here. Well, anyone sane that is. Parasitic, mutated abominations and who knows what and still, it was "safe" relatively speaking. However, troubles laid far worse when any tick or nervous bastard claims one a warlock. Especially a stranger amidst, with none to vouch and just enough possessions to be scrutinized...
Gusts of wind picked up, breaching past and settling a cold chill. Clouds rolled, bulging and stirring, my time dwindled so I again made sure looking back toward the path, and surrounding tombstones. Much that I could discern in shallow light I remained alone, side the too curious roe and distinct flaps of low-flying crows nesting in nearby. The footprints outside were after lasting morning's storm, I dismissed my idle thoughts much I could, paranoia--Being vigilant kept one alive.
I grabbed the shovel as it still remained, leaning on a tree stump. The ground wouldn't dig itself, so I began while keeping a keen look beside myself.