It was called the Irdelmor, a collection of great and ancient wooden pillars surrounding an even ancient yet withered husk of a tree. It is a grand and somber sight, surrounded by plains and what seems to be wilting flowers. From here many of those who are magically attuned could feel great power from merely standing within it, and even greater for those who meditate upon the base of the pillars. Yet to those of particularly strong faith, one may know the malevolence this site of power truly holds.

For it is said by those of the dying old faith that Irdelmor was once the grave of warriors, in which ancient and honorable warriors of the Irdel people where buried. To be returned to the earth just as their old ways dictated them to be, which to those not of the old faith, results in a deep feeling of bloodlust to seep out of the very soils.

It is for this very reason, that aside from the Irdel and godless magical practitioners, Irdelmor is considered a heretical site by many religions. For they in their faith in their gods, could feel that the malevolence Irdelmor emanated, was one that was ancient and cold. Yet still the Irdel held it in sacred reverence, even when their numbers dwindled thanks to the conquest of other races. As they were a people of great stubborn faith, that would see to it that they would be no more.

As in the eighth day of the sixth month of 793, Irdelmor would be the last sight of the Irdel in one final war. A war called the ‘Dirge of Irdel’, for in this time the last of the Irdel tribes that clung to the old ways and their faith, gathered to protect Irdelmor. Their final holy site, for the rest were burned and pillaged decades ago by foreign hands.

It is what could be considered to be the largest, and perhaps most final of pagan resistances in the history of Lukenzel, where the old faith finally succumbed to the might and organized nature of the newer faiths. Which saw disparate cultures of humanity itself banding together, to squash the ‘godless’ heathens that consorted with demons and end their barbaric ways.

In truth it was less of a war and more of a massacre. As the Irdel could not muster up no more than two thousand five hundred warriors, all of which were those willing to fight regardless of age or gender. While their enemies was the combined might of several rising kingdoms and duchies, totalling to ten thousand of what they could spare from their own petty wars and rivalries.

For the Dirge of Irdel, was not a war waged for pious or truthful reasons, rather it was one waged with the intent to steal the lands of the Irdel. So it may be populated and turned to large farming lands for the ever growing nations of humanity, as surely after this very war they would turn against one another months later.

What followed then was a desperate attempt at defence by the Irdel people, as the well trained levies of their enemies engaged them in meticulous and merciless combat. Shattering every attempt they ever did with great and daring charges with armored columns, barrages of arrows, or merciless  use of magic. Almost as if their enemies merely sought distinction in this ‘war’, so they themselves may elevate themselves in the petty politics they were so fondly intertwined with.

Barely an hour had passed, and the Irdel were defeated in inglorious manner. Unable to even reap a bloody bounty against the enemies that sought their extinction, nor could they even honor their gods as one by one, they were executed. Worse still their very deaths were made a mockery, for those that did not die in battle were made an example. Not allowed to be given an honored death, and instead taken as prisoners, slaves, or concubines even, with others executed.

Those who were to be executed were merciless hanged upon the sacred branches of their tree, with some nailed to the pillars before being set ablaze. Which saw to it that the Irdel died with their sacred site, as it was defiled beyond recognition. Which set those few that survived to weep and wail, praying for forgiveness from their old gods.

The Irdel were effectively dead now. Both as a culture and a religion, with their very sacred tree soon set ablaze when the last of the pillars were defiled. It was here that the wrath of the old gods started, it was here a son of gentle harvest reaped a bloody offering.

-

Of what words he could describe what occurred when he set ablazed the ancient, gnarled and ugly tree, Count Likus could not find them. For when he set the very tree ablaze the dozen or so hanging bodies all came to life, fueled by what he could only assume as the most foulest of magics. Followed by the now living corpses to wail in utter sorrow, their eyes and mouths being mere pools of blackness as they weeped and spat black ichor.

In an instant he backed away, his hands trembling in some strange fear as he stared mouth agape at what was happening, with the wailing growing louder and more dissonant as each second passed. It was nothing like had experienced, and he was here for glory and a means to prove himself to the patriarch of his house. He did not expect this, or did he want it, forcing him to turn around and try to run from the very tree he set ablaze.

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Almost as if he wasn’t the one that ordered his men to spill oil all over the tree, and even on the sacred pillars of the Irdel pillars. Running away like pitiful craven from the very sin he had committed, in the name of no religion, but rather his own selfish desires.

He was the first to die the moment he turned his back, his head lopped off cleanly as the chorus of wailing continued to boom. For a moment he did not understand what was happening, only seeing his body run before him and tripping, headless, lifeless. Then blackness took him. Dying a painless death, where he could not have felt the pain of his very life smothered.

He was lucky.

For at the base of the now burning holy tree, a figure had dug itself out of the very ground. Standing just behind the decapitated head of Likus, staring at the very sight of Irdelmor desecrated and burning to the ground.

It was male of a large height, towering than most average males with what seemed to be a beautiful and almost effeminate look, as if he was the embodiment of what the Irdel considered as the ‘beautiful warrior’, bearing qualities that made his gender almost indiscernible. If weren’t for the fact that he was naked, and clearly masculine with his lithe and toned physique, followed by ghastly glowing eyes and long grey hair.

The figure only stood for a few seconds, his beautiful face staring then at the invaders of Irdelmor with an expression of what could have been confusion, which quickly turned to a horrific look of utter anger and malice. To the point his very face turned gaunt, his beauty shattered and replaced by a mockery of what it was once, followed by a grand and murderous rampage.

Where not even the knights and well trained levies could stand against him, for he picked up ax and rotund-shield, the signature weapons of the Irdel Raiders which he used with deft and manic efficiency. Engaging each and every one of them with suicidal and insane actions, that saw doing the most damage against all of them as Irdelmor continued to burn.

At this Duke Mathias pulled his horse back, shouting orders of retreat as the strange Irdel waged a one man war that he was winning in, an unnatural being that he knew he could not best. Choosing instead to live and leave the very holy site he was reluctant in destroying.

“We must go!” He exclaimed, motioning for his loyal retinue and levies to swiftly disengage and quickly leave. Alas he could not get the chance, as he turned his gaze back to the Irdel, an ax greeted his face, and he died limp upon his horse.

Still a single individual shouldn’t have had such an impact against many well trained soldiers, surely they could have killed him already. That was what many nobility thought, and one Count Merelth thought too, as he ran his blade down the man’s shoulder. Cleanly cleaving through taut flesh that was not protected at all. This drew an excited smile from him as he yelled his victory, only for him to find his throat grabbed by the man and promptly snapped.

Followed by the most impossible sight they have ever seen, where the very cleaved flesh of the man was merely attached back by hand and healed.

Over and over, one would seemingly kill him, and he would rise, it did not matter what way they did so, as he rose back no sooner than a few seconds. Each time far more angrier, far more murderous, as with all the weapons scattered around him he engaged to merely kill. Intent at hunting all of them down.

This repeated, zealous or craven, pious or sinner, each and every one was hunted by this monstrous man. From ten thousand they were whittled down to eight thousand, then to seven, six, five until four thousand escaped. Yet a bloody toll was reaped from them, and many of the nobility that came to the sacking of Irdelmor was dead, or captured. With those not fortunate enough to die, finding themselves desecrated.

Their very forms mutilated and then set ablaze, all in offering to the tree that they burned.

Those that survived ran with all their might, and they escaped with half of their sanity intact. With those familiar of Irdel myth and heresies, claiming that man was the Son of Harvest. Once gentle soul of the Irdel faith, now turned to a vengeful spirit, woken from his sleepless death.

Now hellbound to harvest in the name of a dead faith.