𝒜 𝒷𝑒𝑔𝒾𝓃𝓃𝒾𝓃𝑔

Sit down, lend me an ear, and let me tell you a tale. A tale of hope, of despair; of everything and yet nothing. A tale you may enjoy, or that you may not. Most importantly though, let me tell you a tale that does not give you the answers you seek; let it instead lay out the questions you need.
Let us start as all good tales do. Let us start at the beginning. Not at the true beginning; not at the place where all stories begin. Instead let us start a few steps after that, but a few more steps away from the end. 

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“Long ago, in times of darkness, when the world was taking its first breaths. There grew a tree, and although it may not have looked like it; this was no normal tree. It was a tree grown out of Eour’diar’s love for what could be.” The wordsmith looked around the inn; the fire flickered in his eyes and caused shadows to dance around the room as she continued. 

“It is the very same tree that is said to grow at the centre of the world. Eour’diar lays in wait here, for one who is worthy enough to face the greatest horrors of this world.” 

he fingered the sword that sat on his belt, the wordsmith captured the attention of everyone in the bar with her words. They had all heard this story before, thousands of times. However no one seemed to mind, as it was the town's favourite. 

“He waits there, below the tree. Trapped in the prison of his own mind, waiting until the day when his brother Merik’aelum will shatter the skies; bringing forth his army of a thousand horrors-” 

He sighed, he always hated when wordsmith’s told his story wrong, twisting his words and actions; making him seem like the villain. 

The wordsmith continued telling her twisted lie, leaping onto a table and gesturing with her hands as she did so. He watched with apathy as she told how the hero would spear the darkness with decimation’s end, the sword that would supposedly kill him, if anyone could figure out where he hid it. With the evil vanquished from her story, the wordsmith gave a grand bow; expertly slipping out the door before the crowd could hassle her for more. 

He sighed once more, slipping to his feet and making his way out the door. stopping only to watch a gust of wind blow through the open doorway and knock the lanterns to the ground, setting the inn ablaze.

Merik’aelum smiled to himself as the screams began. He could almost feel it, the flames licking at his flesh. It was rapture, glorious rapture. He opened his eyes.
    Had he closed them?
He watched as a gust skulked out of the shadows. The great vine-like tentacles that made up the creature sliding across the ground towards the humans. As it got closer it began silently clicking its mandibles in anticipation.
    It was eager, they always were. Gusts loved the slaughter.
Abruptly, it darted forward; its lust for blood driving it into a frenzy as its spined tendrils slashed at everything around it with deadly accuracy. This was the first of the Fa’shoull, the faceless, born of souls ravaged by darkness and torment.

Once it was apparent that the town would be devastated by the gust, Merik’aelum tore his eyes away from the spectacle; digging a small coin out of his pocket he flicked it into the air. Time seemingly slowed as the coin fell through the air, warping the air around it with its sheer power. Merik’aelum stepped through the tear the coin made as it fell. Begrudgingly leaving the beautiful screams behind.

He didn't look around as he marched through the between. There was no point, it would never be the same as it had been. Brilliant light used to fill the Between, it used to be paradise. Now it was ruin; darkness, mist and decay. The great structures built by the shoull now toppled over, bathed in the mists that covered everything. As he drifted to his destination —wherever that was— he muttered a silent oath to himself. Humanity would pay for what they did to his brother, they deserved to burn. And they would, they all would. Soon. He had been preparing for milenia, bending and twisting the shoull; turning them into the horrors he needed.

He was pulled out of his thoughts as he arrived at the foot of a great staircase, one that gently kissed the bottom of an even greater tower. The tower, the tower that once was home to the seat of the world. It still was, but it lay empty. Merik’aelum ascended the stairs as he continued his thoughts. If he wanted to rid the world of humanity,  he would have to take seat upon the throne; as much as that thought disgusted him, he would do whatever it took to restore his brother Eour’diar.

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