The First and the Last...
Prelude...
I would never forget that day, the day my heritage was
broken under the burning sky. It remained forever etched in
my mind, a scar that would never heal. A memory that could
never be forgotten...
It was the high point of the summer, when the lands turn
green for but a fleeting moment, only to be swallowed by
snow. During this time the fields were bountiful and the fish
farms were plentiful. Although the winters were long and
harsh, we endured as we always did. On the clear nights you
could see the Couatil, the High Dragons, dancing between
the stars, their wings releasing the the colors that were
known as the Southern Lights.
Then...our world was shattered...
They came without warning, in great longboats from the
north. The outlying fishing villages were razed like wheat
before the sythe. By the time a runner had made it to the
capitol city form the watchposts, they were already marching
upon us. We assembled our army outside our citadel,
confident we could fend off any foe.
We were wrong.
It was an innumerable horde, outnumbering our forces
vastly. They wore black armor, covered in runes which
writhed as if they were alive. Their skin was charred and
warped, no two warriors seemed to bare any resemblance.
Their voices were guttural and sickly. Their cries drowned out
all else. They came upon us like a dark tide, and broke us.
The shield wall we set was cast aside like the warriors were
small children. Our longswordsmen could find no point to
strike, and were swamped. The shadow-walkers daggers
could find no flesh to pierce. Our arrows clattered off armor
like they were twigs. I and the other Mokep masters could
not push them back. Even our mighty war golems were
destroyed, the dark warriors swarmed them like carrion birds
over a carcass.
We were pushed back into the city, and we fought like never
before. It may have been a blessing or a curse, but in the
midst of the melee a large piece of debris fell on me and
trapped me beneath a pile of rubble. All I could could do was
lay in the darkness, listening to the sounds of battle.
Eventually, all fell silent. I slowly and painfully dig myself out,
and the sight I saw when I emerged almost broke my sanity.
Everything lay in ruin, and all my people were dead. Many of
the heads were taken, grisly trophies of war.
I felt like I could simply lay down and die right there. No,
that would be a mockery to those who fell before me. I could
not stay, memories of all that was lost hung over my head.
However, vengance grew within me, it burnt stronger than
anything else.
In front of the ruined temple of Amok’nathol, I took the oath
of a Sol’Jin. I left across the sea on one of the few boats I
could still find intact.
The whole of the world lay out before me, waiting for me to
venture in.
There didn’t seem to be any other choice.
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