Kras'na "We Still Serve"

Damnation has come to this world. Each generation past has failed, the wards protecting reality weakened through their bitter and petty quarrels, destroying sacred sites. The Hope that was, the promise of divine intervention was taken by those that needed it most, the last chance for utopia lost. The Death of Hope came with the Three Broken Oaths. The Oath of the Root, the vow to remember their past, and to use the knowledge of the old was destroyed in the fires of rebellion. The Oath of the Branch, the vow to honor kin above self was broken as houses were divided in conflict and ruthless ambition. The Oath of the Fruit, the vow made to not only provide for self, and kin, but to stand as beacons of hospitality and honor, providing aid and defense for those weaker than themselves.   When teeming hordes of Orcs and Goblins came from the mountains, and the grounds first opened to reveal the denizens of the underworld, the mortals were unprepared. Secrets of magic, and of science were lost forever, historical records burned and the inhabitants of the cities were cast into a state of fear and paranoia. Temples were ransacked and razed to the ground, the idols of powerless gods were drowned in the blood of their priests. The Oathsworn, Holy Warriors in the ancient time were nearly lost with the setting sun.

Despite the beak situation that they faced, and the heavy losses to their numbers, the Oathsworn fought on. They were bent, but they would not break. They couldn't. The Oathsworn were united in their efforts, those that never met, of land and cultures on the ends of the world followed the stars, guiding the people that they considered under their care away from the seas and mountains that surrounded the land. They commanded that the homes, and riches that the peoples bled for be left for something far worthier of them. They stayed within, fortified and waited out the coming tides. Thousands refused the words of the Oathsworn, and chose to stay within their homes. In response, hundreds of the Oathsworn stayed back, choosing a proud death over the shame of running, or abandoning the foolish.

Sorcerer Kings rose in the wake of the great migrations. Those of the purest blood had innate power, the magic to shatter their enemies with a single word. They ruled over Cities, relearning the magic that they had considered lost forever. Yet the balance ever shifted. Although the first generation of these Sorcerer Kings focused on discovering what was lost, the following generations lost that zeal, seeking to eliminate potential threats, rather than futher improve. By the fifth generation, the Sorcerer Kings were being worshiped as gods, having their devoted war against one another. Despite their knowledge and might, they became fools.   Carelessly they allowed their people to die in droves, mixing their bloodlines with charlatans until their magic was weakened beyond repair. Famine and poverty were the staples of the once powerful people. As the Era of Empires began, their knowledge was used, twisted to fit the needs of the powerful. Sorcerer Kings were put to the sword, as their knowledge and resources were taken by the Empire.

There was much lost in those days, though despite the waste, it allowed arcane knowledge to spread among the commoners more efficiently. The magic that was wasted on the god-kings were painstakingly written, the intricate web of what was considered unobtainable was made simple through trial and error. Despite the great struggle, the first books of Magic were written, and the schools of magic built. Now the common folk could learn to harness power similar to the Sorcerers through education. Others would seek after beings to bring them the power they desired through blood pacts.

The Vampire Princes betrayed the Hags which offered them the Gift. Doing so severed their transformation, making them innately flawed. This betrayal is the reason the common folk suffer. The degenerate and beastial vampires are the direct cause as the magic could not be maintained. But it is not only the Vampire Princes. All civilizations stand, only because they have sacrificed another to do so.

Although truths are often rooted in deception, distrust, and violence, these truths have brought safety and unity. Change has taken hold of the land, the old way of life uprooted. Yet many things remain. Hunger, and the need for survival. In response to this, the people call out to the unknown, the gods, and to the peace which may never be found. "We Still Serve", the chant of the farmers and the every-man as they tend to their crops, wondering the harvest will suffice.   "I Will Serve, No Matter The Cost" is the bitter cry of the nobleman, as tears sting his eyes. The weight of the crown heavy, the knowledge of what evils he must turn a blind eye to in order for his people to prosper.   "We Still Serve, In Death As In Life" is the whisper on the fallen knights tongue, clutching her sword tightly, knowing that the body will be raised to fight onward.   Every individual, whether it be someone who seeks after the unknown, or a wise man masquerading as a fool, each individual continuously serves, whether knowingly or not.