Entry 1: 14th Day of Sun’s Bloom, 12th Year of the Crimson Reign
The rumors are more like thunder now. They say a Demon King, called Azazel, has risen in the east. They say he commands forces of shadow and fire, armies of monstrous things. It all sounds like old wives' tales, but even the bravest men in the market speak in hushed tones. Grandfather says I must be strong, learn to wield a sword if I can, but I just want to tend to the garden. I wish things were like they used to be! Simple and peaceful.
Entry 2: 23rd Day of Harvest Moon, 14th Year of the Crimson Reign
The whispers turned to screams today. Villages near the border are burning. People are fleeing, their faces etched with fear. Our town guard is drilling, men who once tilled fields now brandishing spears. Mama says we might have to leave. Where would we go? I feel like our safe, cozy little world is turning into some nightmare. I finally understood what grandpa meant by strength today. Strength to carry my family, even if it is just my satchel.
Entry 3: 7th Day of First Frost, 16th Year of the Crimson Reign
The war is here. I saw its face today, tasted its ashes. There was a skirmish near the crossroads and our village had to fend off a small band of Azazel's soldiers. They weren't like any men I've ever seen. Horrific, with eyes that glowed. I watched a boy, no older than me, fall to the ground, screaming, clutching what was left of his arm. We somehow repelled them, but the wounds, both physical and mental, run deep. We were asked to help the wounded and I saw pain, agony, and death's icy grasp for the first time. What have I done to deserve this? We’ve barely done anything!
Entry 4: 1st Day of Spring Thaw, 21st Year of the Crimson Reign
Five years. Five years of running, hiding, and losing. We've moved from town to town, as refugees, always a step ahead of Azazel’s armies. Grandfather is gone now, the strain too much for his old heart. Mama is thin, her eyes hollow. We've seen so much hunger, so much brutality. People of all nations, all faiths, are fleeing together. We are all refugees now. We are all united in our suffering. Why must we suffer?
Entry 5: 10th Day of Summer Solstice, 28th Year of the Crimson Reign
A strange thing is happening. The various factions—the kingdoms of Eldoria, the tribes of the Sunken Coast, the Scholars of the Obsidian Peaks—they are talking. Not fighting. It seems the common enemy has finally united us, though under a cloud of despair. They have formed a council, the Alliance of Free Peoples, to challenge Azazel. There is talk of new weapons, fueled by strange magics and mechanical arts. I have hope, and it's been a while since I felt that.
Entry 6: 2nd Day of Moon’s Shadow, 35th Year of the Crimson Reign
There is progress, I see it. The Alliance’s soldiers, clad in armor of metal and enchantment, move with a purpose I have not seen before. They wield guns that spit fire, and ride on machines of steel. These new inventions are awe-inspiring, but there's still a shadow hanging over us. This is still all new. New techniques, new technology, new magic. But I can still feel the dread. The shadow looms.
Entry 7: 29th Day of Falling Leaves, 40th Year of the Crimson Reign
The great battle took place 3 days ago, on the Fields of Broken Hope. We were all there. I was there, helping to tend to the injured. The Alliance threw everything at Azazel. The sky was a tapestry of explosions. I saw the Demon King face to face once. His eyes…I’ve never seen such malevolence. It was like looking into an abyss. He is more than just a man. More than just a demon. He is death itself. We fought with a ferocity I never thought possible. But in the end…it wasn’t enough. He broke our lines like they were made of paper. The dead pile up like mountains, their cold eyes accusing the living.
Entry 8: 15th Day of Long Night, 40th Year of the Crimson Reign
Azazel’s banners fly over every city, every town. The Alliance is broken. The world bends its knee. We all do. We all now serve under him. Some try to resist, but their fate is swift and terrible. The Demon King has won. Millions are dead. Millions more are broken. We were so close, yet so far. This is our new reality. We all now live under the crimson shadow of Azazel, and our only hope is to remain in the shadow so we are left alone.
Entry 9: 1st Day of Sun’s Rise, 45th Year of the Crimson Reign
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It’s been five years since that fateful day. Strange…since then the world has been…quiet. Disturbingly quiet. There are no more battles. Azazel enforces order with an iron fist. The roads are safe, trade flows again, and the fields are once more being tended. It’s like he is building the world up again. We are no more at war with ourselves. It is a strange peace. Born of fear, but peace nonetheless. We do not know why he does this. But we do not care. We do not want to understand him. We just want to survive under his rule.
Entry 10: 16th Day of Deep Winter, 50th Year of the Crimson Reign
Azazel's reign continues. He sits upon an obsidian throne, his face always in shadow, his purpose an enigma. Some say he seeks to remake the world in his image. Others say he does it for pure spite. No one truly knows. But we endure. We work, we love (in secret), we live under the shadow of the Demon King. No wars, no conflict. Just a strange, chilling peace. I often wonder if this is what the world will be like until he is gone…or until we are all gone. We are forever bound to him. I hope something happens. I do not know what, but I hope something happens, or else we are forever in this stasis. A chilling peace, our greatest punishment. I wonder…is this really better than the chaos we had before?
Entry 1: The Scent of Decay - Year 0
The stench of it is everywhere – not of sulfur or rot, but of pettiness. They call it war, these endless squabbles over land, resources, beliefs. They claw at each other, fueled by a hunger that even I, a being born of shadow and chaos, find repulsive. I've seen empires rise and crumble, each iteration mirroring the last in its pathetic ambition and inevitable decay. I’ve walked among them for centuries, a silent observer, and I’ve reached a conclusion: this world is a festering wound, and I am its only cure.
The path is clear. I am done with this form, this cage of flesh and bone. I will shed it like a molting serpent, become something… more. Something eternal.
Entry 2: The Unfurling - Year 0
It tears at me, the transition. My essence unravels, the familiar aches of mortality replaced by the cold, vast emptiness of something else. I am becoming shadow, a swirling vortex of pure mana. I can feel the lifeblood of this world, the raw power that binds all things, coursing through me like an eternal river. My vision expands, and the petty concerns of mortals shrink to the size of gnats.
I am no longer bound by their rules, their frailties. I am free. And with this freedom, I will remake this world in my own image.
Entry 3: The Silent Legions - Year 1
The bones stir at my will. I draw the essence from the earth, the lingering traces of life and death, and weave them into a tapestry of undeath. They rise, not with the grotesque hunger of mindless ghouls, but with the cold, unwavering discipline of my design. An army of bone and shadow, silent and relentless. They are not my subjects, but extensions of my will, tools with which to carve a new reality.
The whispers of fear have begun. Let them tremble. Let them understand.
Entry 4: A Lesson in Fear - Year 2
Their pathetic armies fall before us like wheat before the scythe. They throw their knights, their mages, their desperate pleas at the shadows, and all it achieves is a growing understanding of the inevitable. I am not here to conquer for the sake of it. I am not driven by the same petty greed that motivates their squabbles. I am here to break them, to force them to understand the futility of their conflict.
This is not a war for territory. This is a lesson in order.
Entry 5: The Gears of War - Year 5
They are learning. They’ve stopped fighting each other, for now. A grudging unity has formed against the ‘Demon King.' They huddle together, scrambling for shared resources, forging new weapons with a frantic desperation. They churn out machines of war, powered by mana, their understanding of it laughably crude, yet…effective, on some level. They show innovation. Good.
Let them innovate. Let them unite. It is as I intended. The unified resistance will be so much easier to crush.
Entry 6: The Silence of Submission - Year 5
The final battle was decisive. The clanking cacophony of their warmachines, the desperate roar of their soldiers, all extinguished like a candle in a hurricane. My legions stand triumphant, the very earth beneath their feet soaked with the blood of the fallen. They are broken. Their weapons lie in ruins, their spirit shattered.
Now, as the echoes of conflict fade, a new order descends. My order. I am its architect.
Entry 7: The Undying Reign - Year 10
The land is at peace, though not, perhaps, as they understand it. The wars are gone, replaced by a hushed obedience. They fear me, the shadow that dwells in the heart of their world. They whisper my name in the darkness, a cautionary tale, a boogeyman made real. They do not understand that fear is a tool, a necessary component of the peace I have forged.
They prosper. Crops grow, trade flourishes, and the endless cycle of war has been broken. They have what they wanted, the peace that they could not achieve themselves. They will never thank me for it, of course. But their gratitude is irrelevant.
Entry 8: The Unfathomable Legacy - Year 1000
A thousand years have passed. Millennia. And the world continues to turn. They have adapted, these mortals. They have built lives, families, cities under the long shadow of my reign. They have created new art, new technology, new philosophies. The fear remains, a constant hum beneath the surface of their lives. It is a reminder of the power that brought them this peace.
I remain a mystery to them, an enigma wrapped in shadow and power. They will never understand my motivations, the cold logic that guided my actions. They see me as a monster, and perhaps, in their limited understanding, that is what I am. But the peace endures. That is what matters. I am the shepherd, and they are my flock, whether they like it or not. The mana flows, and I persist. This is all that matters. Always