Rise (War Witch Book 1) (2 page)

Having him in such a state, Ker Zet took advantage of the great Tiger.

But Ker Zet had forgotten that this was the night Isel came to lay with her husband and was caught in her dark deed by the white Tigress.

Seeing her husband bound by the sacred metal and drugged, lying with Ker Zet, Isel knew what had come to pass and flew into a rage.

Unknown to Ker Zet, Isel had spent her days creating magic, while her sister had grown dark, her spirit twisted and cruel.

Isel cursed Ker Zet that night, using powerful magic to bring her sister’s inner ugliness to the surface, leaving only her face untouched. The rest of her became a hideous beast.

Shamed and in pain, Ker Zet fled. But her plan was done and she soon gave birth to thirteen demon children, each as twisted as she.

Ker Zet’s hatred turned to insanity then and with her children, she laid siege to the holy palace of Grannax, thinking to kill her siblings and rule their creation herself.

But the children of Grannax and Isel rose up to defend them and Ker Zet and her brood were defeated.

Knowing that if he did nothing, they would destroy the World, Grannax chose to stop them and separated the World into three parts. The High World for he and his family, the Middle World for all they had wrought, and the Low World into which Ker Zet and her brood were banished, but not before they had sworn to undo all Grannax had done.

And so it remains, even unto this day, when the Gods first created the Blessed.

THE DAWN OF THE SECOND AGE
came after the separation of the Worlds, with the rise of the Golden Empire.

With the World as its boundaries, the Empire was true glory. Under its rule, no one ever wanted and the Six Races were as one. Peace reigned supreme.

At the Empire’s heart was the great city of Everdawn. From this mighty city, the Immortal Emperor Cynthanis ruled with his mystic sword Glyphnok for a thousand generations. Cynthanis was revered for his generous and just rule and in his name, great things were done.

Too easily, the treachery of Ker Zet was forgotten and fell into myth.

Then the armies of the Demon Gods came. Amassed in secret, they were thousands strong and lay siege to the Empire, their advance laying waste to the land.

For one hundred years, the war raged, tearing the fabric of the World. But with Cynthanis leading the charge, Glyphnok in hand, the day was eventually won. There upon that battlefield, the minions of the Demon Gods were repulsed, forced back to the Low World, and the Middle World was saved.

Sadly, the glorious Empire hung in tatters from the long war, and after the last battle, no one saw a sign of Cynthanis. The mystic sword Glyphnok was found upon that great battlefield, abandoned. The Emperor was gone.

The next thousand years saw the decay of the Golden Empire as many tried to take the empty throne, but Glyphnok burned them all, for they were unworthy, harboring greed in their hearts. So it was that the throne remained empty and Everdawn began to collapse.

During this time, the Sacred Order of the Tiger fell apart; its heart ripped out by infighting as the Priests of the Order sought to place their personal God above all others. From the ruins rose the Cleric Mages who, while powerful, were disorganized and without purpose or agreement.

The Masters of Sorcery saw their opportunity to place themselves as the supreme Mage Tradition and seized it. With this act, they betrayed the trust of the Brotherhood of Mages, and the other Traditions feared their next ambition.

What followed came to be known as the Mage Wars, a brutal time when the land was torn apart by their battles. Many thousands died in the War, and the Brotherhood’s once elevated status was laid waste.

When it was finally over, the Masters of Sorcery had achieved their goals. The Clerics have never formed a school since, but the mighty Spellweavers were brought the lowest, their vast libraries sacked and burned, all but a handful dead. Only the Druids escaped unscathed by leaving the physical plane entirely, traveling to the Shadow Realms, worlds brought to life when Grannax separated the One World into three.

The treachery was never forgotten and the once sacred order of the Brotherhood was dissolved, oaths taken to never rebuild it again. But the Masters of Sorcery wrote the tale and only they ever earned the trust and respect of the people again.

The unity once known by the Six Races was no more, each blaming the other for the fall of the Empire. Many wars were fought over land, blame, and the right to claim the now decaying throne of Everdawn. Entire armies took the field of battle for the right to grasp the hilt of Glyphnok, only to be burned.

When enough blood had been spilled, the Six Races stopped speaking and grew apart. At a loss, the Gods wept over the animosity of their children.

As the Empire breathed its last air, new kingdoms rose up; each rejected would-be Emperor consoling himself in his new regime. But these kings had been burned by Glyphnok for a reason and were not just and fair. So, not all people were eager to live in these new regimes and rejected them, traveling beyond their reach.

They who would not live as slaves to the would-be Emperors birthed entire cultures, and the Gods wept even more, for their children had forgotten the ways of peace completely.

The Second Age, the Age of Glory and Blood, came to a close with an event that shook the whole of the World.

Pained beyond pain at the horrors wrought upon his world, Grannax reached out his mighty paw and erased the decayed city of Everdawn from the face of the World. In its place rose up a great swamp, born of the tears cried by the great Tiger and the rage he felt.

Lost too was Glyphnok, the very mark of the Empire, vanished from the shrine that had held it. With it, the last hope that the Empire would rise again, faded.

THE THIRD AGE CAME
with the return of the Demon Gods. With no Empire to check the minions of the Dark Ones, the forces of evil ran rampant, corrupting the World and paving the way for the return of the Demon Gods.

Desperate to save creation, the Ascended went to war with the Demon Seed, but were too few and too weak. Many died and the Gods mourned, for it seemed the World was lost.

Thinking the Gods too weak to save them, many Clerics turned to the Demon Gods, taking their followers with them, seeking salvation in the coming Empire of Evil.

Corruption swept the land and new wars broke out everywhere as kings greedily sought more power and wealth. The people counted the days until the end came.

In the High World, the sky darkened and the wind grew strong as Rialda returned, just as she’d promised she would.

The grandmother of creation sat with the Gods and listened to all they had to say. Though her pain was great at the betrayal done by her once beautiful daughter, Rialda knew that Isel had done what was right and began instructing Grannax in what to do.

Reaching down, he touched a mortal man with his divine paw. A simple soldier whose heart was pure and whose mind was untouched by evil.

“Aladar of Itinis, I shall bless you and make you my hand upon the Middle World.”

So it was that first of the Blessed came to be. Aladar of Itinis, that noble fallen kingdom, bravely went out to do battle with the Demon Seed, and turned the tide of destruction that threatened the World.

Though he fell in battle against the zombie king Ezmoch, giving his life to destroy the foul thing, Aladar has never been forgotten.

Since that day, five hundred years past, the Demon Gods have moved more slowly, biding their time and corrupting the World through more sinister plots.

But the Gods have learned to no longer wait until it’s too late and have begun to create new Blessed.

Warriors of virtue, honor, integrity, and cunning, the Blessed must stop the minions of the Demon Gods, or all will be lost.

The Warrior

EVERYTHING DIES
. It’s the way of the things, the balance of the universe. Birth, life, and death; the law of the cosmos. No one can truly escape it; only avoid for a time the eventual outcome. It’s the cycle of eternity, that which keeps all things moving. Without it, all would come to ruin.

The question then arises, beyond the philosophical musings of who am I and why am I here. Who wrote this law? Who laid out the rule that men and Gods must live, and eventually, die? Who first set the cycle into action and what was their motivation to do so? Did they foresee the eventual need of such a law, or was it some other desire that set into motion the inescapable?

Could we, given the chance, ever understand what drives such a force? Perhaps we could not, were we allowed to ask the author of this edict why, even understand what compels it. Perhaps we’re too small, too limited, to ever grasp the needs of the universe in which we live.

In the end, is faith enough to see us through, knowing we cannot grasp the whys? Or is it all that we have to sustain us?

The fires had burned low, becoming little more than smoldering piles of ash, belching forth smoke. Once, there’d been homes where the charred remains now curled in on themselves; blackened, skeletal fingers clawing vainly at the sky. Once, there’d been life where now, only death walked with sad eyes and a broken heart.

She sat among the ruins, holding the charred head of her mother in her lap. Her flaxen hair was filthy with ash, her cornflower blue eyes red-rimmed from smoke and tears. She’d pulled her mother from the burnt remains of their home once she’d felt sure the men were gone. Alone, in silence, she had dragged the corpse into what had once been the town square, where her strength had given out and she’d simply collapsed, slowly tugging the blackened lump into her lap where she continued to slowly stroke the singed remains of once beautiful hair.

They’d come down from the mountains, a great black wave of evil, descending on the village with frightening battle cries. With them, they’d brought Hell Hounds, massive hybrids of man and animal. Demon Seed, servants of the Dark Gods of Hell.

Her father had been part of the town watch. He and half a dozen others had taken up arms, prepared to give their lives to defend the sleepy community that was their home. Die they had, screaming. She’d watched her father torn limb from limb, like an old doll in the hands of a cruel child.

Behind the Hell Hounds had come worse. Orcs astride steeds twisted from dark magic, unholy creatures that blew smoke from their nostrils as the Demon Seed astride them had laughed, trampling any unfortunate enough to be in their path beneath the blasphemous hooves of their mounts.

Her sister had tried to hide her in a pile of hay beside a neighbor’s house. In her shock at seeing her father die, she’d been unable to move, and her elder sibling by two years had acted, dragging her by the hand, hiding her from their eyes. She had said only two words to her little sister before she’d fled, trying desperately to draw the evil that had fallen upon them from her. Two words only that she’d been unable to obey.

"Look away."

Her sister had been captured before she got twenty feet. The Demon Seed had thrown her to the Hell Hounds, laughing as she begged for mercy. If only they’d eaten her, it might’ve been a mercy. Instead, the twisted creatures stripped her and slaked their lust on her young body, before dragging her away as she screamed, unable to stop.

The girl had covered her ears, trying to drown out the horrible sounds, but she’d been unable to close her eyes as the Orcs set fire to the village. She’d watched as her mother screamed, pounding against a window, holding her little brother as they both burned alive. She moved to run to them, but with her dying strength, her mother motioned for her to stay hidden. The last act of a loving parent.

Her tears came in a torrent that wouldn’t stop.

Horrible men and monsters dressed in black armor where everywhere, slaughtering the men, defiling the women, and carrying away the children. They carried the standard of their master, a black dragon, rearing back, breathing fire, and were led by a handsome and cruel man who had watched over the carnage with pride in his eyes.

He was tall, and carried himself with the air of a nobleman. Pitch black hair fell in a curtain down his back, shiny and sleek. Dark green eyes, lit with arrogance and cruelty, lips that held a perpetual sneer highlighting an angelic face. He’d seen her as she tried to hide, pointed to her before swinging down off his ebony steed.

The monsters had dragged her from her hiding place and brought her to him, where he’d smiled sweetly and caressed her face. He’d encouraged her to not be afraid before slipping his hand between her legs and robbing her of her childhood. As her village screamed and burned, he had stolen her innocence as well, leaving her to the Hell Hounds. Bored with the carnage for the moment, one had raked her chest with his savage claws, leaving her for dead.

She’d laid there for some time, crying, wanting to die, though in the end, death denied her its embrace. When her strength had returned, she’d searched out her mother and now, as the crows picked the eyes of the dead and the vultures circled, she sat. She’d seen twelve years in the village, and knew she would see no more. When night came, the animals would come down from the mountain and finish the job that the Demon Seed had started. So she waited to die.

She wasn’t sure when she became aware of sounds and movement, but she suspected the noises had been going on for some time and she had simply ignored it. Perhaps the Hell Hounds had returned, perhaps it was the monthly patrol come early. She couldn’t bring herself to care.

She was numb. She felt nothing. She was already dead, and waited only for the Gods to notice and end her suffering.

Through the smoke that still billowed before and around her, a form stepped forward, one that sent a chill of fear through her heart. She didn’t move and held her breath, waiting for the shadow to either come for her or move on. After what felt an eternity, it stepped forward.