"The second cataclysm ended seventy years ago..."
The grey cloudless skies above the sands of Daemonium did not give light to the warriors there, nor did it give the women and children hope. The only thing it gave was despair. As a child, he heard the sounds of war from a distance. The deafening noise of swords clashing against bone. Flesh tearing apart and sewing itself back together. He knew he wasn't supposed to look, but he did. And because he did, he saw the bloodshed, and the savagery of these beasts with his own two eyes. The chariots kept moving, though, leaving the brave ones to die in the cold, merciless darkness.
"I vividly remember the days after Black came though my memories of the past before that are very few. One of them I will not forget is the day I heard of Black for the first time. I laughed so hard I cried. I only truly believed it when I saw the blood and death and horror myself."
The little boy jumped down from the back of one of the chariots. His friends screamed for him, but he didn't give ear. His own father was among the brave ones. He stared at them for too long. The horrifying things tore them apart, and devoured them until nothing remained. The boy couldn't move, though. He just stood there, with tears streaming down his cheeks. Eventually, the demon kin turned their eyes to him.
"During the times of the second cataclysm, few were blessed with magic. However, not many viewed magic as a blessing. The Order hated it. And that's how the tale of the Witch began."
A young woman stood in front of him and in an instant, shining powder emerged from her garments and formed a symbol in the air in front of her. She held a staff, and at that time pointed it at one of the beasts. Instantly, as though that wooden stick was a storm cloud, a bolt of thunder struck out at the demon from it's tip. He widened his eyes in shock and admiration. The witch fired a few other bolts of lightning, and struck down the rest of the demons.
When they were all nought but ash, she turned around and nodded to the boy. But then an arrow pierced her back. The boy looked back to see an older woman, amongst others, with rage in her eyes, accusing the witch of all sorts of crimes. The boy regarded the witch and there was only one thought in his mind. Why didn't she come sooner?
"The Witch was imprisoned and tortured without trial. Though she wasn't free of guilt; she had killed her fair share of innocents because they believed in the order. Somehow, when the darkness came, the king came back to his senses and ordered her release. With her abnormally powerful magic, she ended the storm of demons and killed Black, king of demons. She died there."
The boy was now sitting near a massive tree. The walls of a snowy castle not too far away. He stared to the skies and saw for the first time in a long time, a bright sky with clouds and what could be the sun peeking though it.
Suddenly, this boy wasn't a boy, but an old man, with grey hair and a rod for support. He wore a dull grey robe with a symbol embroided on the crest. It was that of a crown and a ring- the insignia of the king's men.
This old man stood next to a massive tree. This tree was so large, it's bark the size of several towers. The bark itself was wide enough for a hundred people to stand around it, resting on it such that only the tip of the fingers on their sideway stretched arms were touching each other. This old man knew it to be true, since the base of the tree where he stood by truly had a hundred skeletons lying around it. A hundred human skeketons.
"And yet only weeks later," The old man continued, "The demons returned. The Witch had killed their king, but did not stop every last one of them. It was said that the demons lost their minds after his death. And now their unrelenting cries of rage continues to echo in our dark empty world. The only thing keeping them from exacting their revenge is a bastion built by the very gods who have forsaken us, where the brave still fight alongside witches and wizards."
"Aethelhard, right?" Another old man spoke up. He had suddenly emerged from the other side of the great tree. This man wore a long black cloak that hid all his features.
"Aye, Margrave. Aethelhard."