No man, not even the most grizzled of soldiers or coldhearted killers, could recount the horrifying tale of Bathory Ezli without breaking out in cold sweat, for hers is a story of terror, madness, and slaughter that even the most twisted of artists wouldn’t be able to dream up.

Her bloody tale begins in the Darcey Dutchy, a territory that inspired awe and jealousy in the hearts of those who looked on from beyond its high walls. The land itself was impressive enough, its wells never went dry, its soil never lost fertility, and its sky never took a depressing hue, but the blessing that Darcey truly enjoyed was that of its rulers, Duke and Dutchess Bathory.

Very few kings can boast about being unconditionally loved by all of their people, but none can claim to have carried favor with all of their neighbors as well, yet that’s exactly what the Duke and Dutchess managed to accomplish. Even the elves who hated humans on principle had a good relationship with them; a feat many of the surrounding kingdoms envied.

They were tender and compassionate, and their subjects loved them for it, so when their daughter was born, the people of Darcey naturally treated her as a boon. A guarantee that none would be able to steal the throne after the couple passed away. That child was named Ezli, a name that would later be only spoken in hushed tones, in fear of invoking its evil.

Ezli was a brilliant child, the first of her lineage to show any real aptitude for the arcane arts. She could cast spells when she was but 6 years old, and by the time she turned 10 she was already outperforming her teachers, however; her talent wasn’t limited to magic alone. She mastered the sword as quickly as she did the staff, beating full-fledged knights at only 12 years of age.

Even the paintings and poems she made for fun were heralded as great works of art and displayed for the public who gazed at them in amazement for days on end. She was exceptional in every way, and thus she was showered with love and affection from all… until her adopted sister arrived and her downward spiral toward madness and death began.

It was during the height of human-elven tensions that the Dutchess adopted a young elven child, only a year older than her own, hoping that her gesture would work to better the rapidly worsening situation and avoid an all-out race war.

The girl was given the name Atila and made an official member of the Bathory family. It was the first time in history that a non-human joined a noble human family, and much of Darcey did not take kindly to the idea. But Atila, much like her sister, was very talented in the magical arts, but unlike Ezli who was merely human, she had the mana-rich elven blood running through her veins.

Atila surpassed Ezli within months of starting her training, her control over the magical energies was more graceful, and her utilization was far more destructive. The people naturally praised Atila, but they still had their eyes on Ezli as they did so. Elves had a higher aptitude for magic than humans, which was well known even among the most uneducated of peasants, and thus they did not see Atila's success as a result of hard work, but a simple biological advantage. But their doubts were soon laid to rest.

Not even a year later, Atila surpassed Ezli with the sword, winning her first match against her sister in front of the entire dutchy in a friendly match. Those who truly admired the biological daughter tried to rationalize it, saying that it was nothing but a ceremonial event and that it was even planned for Ezli to lose for political reasons; however, theirs was not the popular opinion, and for the first time in her life, Ezli had to suffer true loss at the hands of another and sit in the shadows as they basked in the spotlight she saw as hers.

It all went downhill after that day, Ezli worked harder and harder, but it was proven time and time again that she was no match for her sister. Magic, swordsmanship, art, music, and poetry, there was nothing she could do better than Atila no matter how hard she tried, and she became better bitter and hateful as the years marched on.

Sensing the hatred brewing within their daughter’s heart, the Duke and Duchess tried to deepen Ezli’s bond with her sister, hoping that if she could love Atila as they did, her jealousy would dissipate. Atila herself loved the idea, her sister was practically a stranger to her, she would not look in her direction, let alone speak to her, yet Atila still loved Ezli and made an effort of to get close to her, only to be rejected every time.

Ezli continued to look for more ways to surpass her sister, delving deeper into the pit of magic in search of answers, becoming more withdrawn and secretive as she did, but unbeknownst to her, she was drawing farther and farther away from the very spotlight she so feverishly sought, for the light destined to carry on the legacy of the Darcey Dutchy was looking less like Ezli in the eyes of the people, and more like Atila.

The Duke was the first to pass away. Taken by a mysterious illness, leaving behind a devastated wife and two daughters in the prime of their youth, one of whom did not even bother to show up to his funeral, earning the ire of her mother and the people of Darcey as a whole.

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Not long after his passing, discussions about succession began to arise among the nobles and wealthy. The Duchess was not getting any younger and neither of her daughters were truly desirable. Atila was a non-human, her ascension to the throne would spell the end to their already rocky relationships with many neighbors, and Ezli had fallen too far in the public eye, she was a mere shadow of her former self, one that kept out of sight, locked away in dark, secluded corners of the castle.

News of Ezli grew fewer as time passed, until the Dutchy had practically forgotten her existence, their love fully directed to Atila who had unwillingly replaced her. She attempted to keep her sister in the mind of the people, sharing news of her health and accomplishments whenever she could but none wanted to hear about her. To the people of Darcey, Ezli Bathory was already dead.

Many claim that the horror began on the night of the red moon, but those who were paying attention realized it began on the day following the old duchess's death. The day Ezli took the throne due to pressure from neighboring kingdoms.

In the past, the ascension of a new duke or duchess was a cause for celebration, yet the air in the streets of Darcey was far from festive on that day. All those who say Ezli sat upon the throne of her forefathers could swear that she was a different person, completely unrelated to the Ezli Bathory of old.

Her infamous beauty was still there, only warped and corrupted, resembling more the visage of a succubus than an angel. Her black hair hung down to her waist, and her clear skin was pale white as if she hadn’t felt the warmth of the sun in decades. But even as the crowd looked in confusion and unenthusiastically cheered for her, Atila was standing by her side, a warm smile on her face, truly happy to finally see her sister out in public, addressing their people.

Her sister’s happiness would only last so long, for Ezli Bathory was not a kind ruler. Her years of rigorous research bore fruit, propelling Darcey’s army decades ahead of any other, and she used that advanced army to wage some of the most brutal wars the world had ever seen, which would later be known as the blood crusades.

Alliances were forged, kingdoms put aside their animosity, and empires were formed to counteract the unstoppable army of Darcey, but none saw success, even Ezli’s own subjects were not safe from her cruelty. Every day a dozen people would be ripped away from their families, accused of conspiring against the crown. The lucky ones were killed on the spot, but those born under an unlucky star were taken to the black rooms to become Ezli’s personal lab rats in her never-ending quest to obtain more power.

The suffering, anguish, and pain of the people of Darcey accumulated over the years until it all came crumbling down on the night of the red moon, when a small group of renegade soldiers led by none other than Atila stormed the Bathory castle, looking to put an end to Ezli’s bloody rule.

Little is known of the battle itself. Some claim that Ezli and Atila were locked in a fearsome battle for hours, using magic that was thought to be unobtainable by mortals, but Atila couldn’t bring herself to kill her sister, which allowed Ezli to cruelly end her life. Others claim that Atila attempted to talk down Ezli but was stabbed in the back by one of her own companions who was under the effect of a twisted spell, a cowardly tactic, as expected by the inferior sister, but those are just tall tales, shared by ones who know nothing of the truth.

Atila was indeed exceptional, her magic was better than those who claimed the titles of grandmasters, and her swordsmanship would put those of any other to shame, but such pity things had no meaning to Ezli anymore, for she mastered a branch of magic that none even conceived of before her, and none could comprehend it after. The cursed blood magic, a branch of the arcane arts so vile that research into it is forbidden even amongst the most power-hungry kingdoms.

There was no great, dramatic battle between the sisters. At no point did Atila have the upper hand, and there was never a glint of regret in Ezli’s eyes. Ezli Bathory simply gutted her sister and consumed her blood before tossing her to the wayside, and much like a pebble on the road, Ezli never even gave her a second glance.

The fate of Atila Bathory was cruel, but the abrupt ending of her life was perhaps merciful in a way, for she was fortunate enough not to live through the nightmare that came after she fell to her sister.

The night of the red moon truly began when the high walls of the Darcey Dutchy, once a symbol of safety and respite, took on a sinister new appearance. Crimson veins shot out of the ground and engulfed the walls in their crushing embrace, eventually coiling around the gates as well, locking the people of Darcey into their eternal nightmare.

Once they were trapped, Ezli made her way out of the Bathory castle and into the streets of Darcey, and with a smile on her face, she butchered any man, woman, or child who was unfortunate enough to be near the castle at the time.

Whole families were slaughtered that night, ripped apart slowly, and drained of their blood. Some tried to fight back with crude weapons and simple magic, hoping to buy their families enough time to escape, only for them to be held down and forced to watch as Ezli tore their children apart before suffering the same fate as the ones they tried to protect.

Ezli’s slaughter got cruler by the hour before it came to an end at dawn, and as she returned to her castle, the butcher of Darcey left behind hundreds of bodies, but not a single drop of blood.

The night of the red moon was the very picture of hell, but it was only the beginning, for every night to come was the same, filled with the cries of innocents and bodies drained of all their blood. The horror would not stop until the twin mages of the Elowen Empire carved their way past the gates of Darcey.