Saga: PrologueLevel: All (Recommended Levels: None)
Location: North Western Forest?
Turns remaining for Dispel: 0
The vortex begins to suck in the mist that’s been surrounding the forest making things even more difficult for Batosai who would now not be able to see more than a hairs breadth in front of his face. In that vortex there were images. Like brief flashes of lightning projecting their image upon the body of the mist. Translucent confusing images. People, buildings that reached the heavens. For those that had seen the core then they would recognise these as the intact versions of the ruins that still existed. And then, all at once. Things would seem to stop.[Time Freeze]. The vortex was gone, the mist had faded. However the environment seemed to be
wrong. There was no wind. The grass, it didn’t move. There wasn’t a sound. The silence when compared to the noise of the wind from before was almost disturbing. It was peaceful. But this peace felt more like the kind that comes from the grave. The Dark King was there, huddled over something. For a few seconds it would appear as if he too was frozen. Before he stood, Once more his towering presence dominating the area.
“ How strange”.He whispered to himself. Once more the darkness rose up from the ground beneath him, taking on the form and shapes of the creepers, Hands reaching up grasping around the Dark King. Like a twisted art form They merged to one, forming like an oily skin around the Dark King’s body. Warping and shifting him into another shape. Not another word was said from this impressive new form of darkness. Nightmarish wings did form upon its back each printed with the face of one of the creepers. A single leap and to the skies he took. Heading off to the west, back towards the core. The mist seemed to have cleared. And despite the odd time freeze that had effected the environment. ( Not the characters). Everything seemed to have returned to a strange form of effective normality. Allowing people to leave.
The Day the World Stopped.
To destroy something that belongs to you. That is your choice. But if you try to destroy something that belongs to someone else. They are going to resist. In a book, the pages can be torn, ripped. But the words. They still exist. Perhaps without all the pages, their sentences will never make sense. Their story will never be fully understood. But existence. That is still there. That is still important. The day the Dark king read his page of the book of life. The words that were on the page finally saw once more the light of day. Their truth exposed. When the dawn had occurred, the worlds population had been reduced drastically from that of the old world. Not that anyone was to know this, but the words. They knew. Each letter, each single mark of ink upon their pages was a life. A life that was equally important in the story as a whole. And whilst the book had been destroyed by powers high above. The words. They did not belong to those who unleashed this. The words belonged to themselves. And they resisted.
The day the world stopped. The day that the Dark king’s ambition had done more than simply gain himself a new weapon. The moment the page had been unsealed from its position on the island. Something trembled within the realm of Terra. And the entire world seemed to stop, frozen as if in fear of what truth these words had to offer. For the words. They were jealous. Not all had been lucky enough to be rewritten into the new story. At first nothing was strange but the fact the clouds weren’t moving. The wind was not blowing. The animals weren’t moving. And then from the corners of the world. It came. The fog, creeping into each house. Each city each village. Just as it had the north western forest. And chaos descended
On that day,Terra caught a glimpse of hell.
It started out as little more than strange activity but as the day progressed. Things slowly began to get worse. It seemed that the closer things crept towards dusk the more intense things got. From simple things like objects falling off shelves to the sound of footsteps when there were none. Then, when the sun finally fell. Things intensified. People who went through it speak of doors being banged. The sounds of shouts and yells in incomprehensible languages. Those not lucky enough to be inside, would find themselves under the assault of strange transluesent phantasms. Figures made of the mist that were trying to grab at them. But Their touch, was not real. At least. That’s what some people say. Others report that the phantom figures dragged people into the mist. Only to hear the screams.
Reports vary, and getting an accurate story of the events as an overall is difficult. But there is one tangible piece of information. As the dawn came, the fog faded. The wind returned. Time for the environment seemed to resume. And in every place effected by the coming of these ghosts. In blood, or scarred into a wall. A tree. But always somewhere. Symbols people could not make out...
“ IN THE DUSK WE SCREAM”
END
