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sathorJust some more fiction work in darklund i threw together quickly after some serious inspiration while pacing around my house. I like it, and i think i want to right more about the story itself now that the past is fleshed out even more than before.
The sounds of industry play in the background, like the pounding thunder pouring from the mountains of the east. Thousands of years have passed since the age of destruction, though we have advanced, we are still far from salvation. The steam always rises from the mills and smithies of Bar'dun, the last outpost that still stands in the desert of the east, always looking to the mountains and the Peak of Destruction. Always watching. Waiting for the return of our Tormentor. For three-thousand years we suffered in his iron grip, and that of Morlok - his apprentice in the dark arts of necromancy. But near the end of that three-thousand years came the age of industry, and the coming of the Ka'lor'mal, or Kalor as we of humanity called them. With Industry came down the forests, came the burning winds of the south that stretched the desert farther and farther out of its bounds, as if it was to swallow up the cities that still struggled to survive. We, in Bar'dun created the city on top of the desert to survive its treacherous landscape, but we never planned for the forest to be swallowed up whole.
You see, the Kalor came from that forest after its decay. They were a people long ago separated from the humanity that was left after the coming of the tormentor. The radiation changed their genes in a miraculous way they were the only humans capable of anything close to magic. Their brain had been modified in such a way that they could manipulate the world about them with mere thought and they could peer into the spirit realm at will, and even navigate in pitch darkness because of this. They were a very learned people, and knew much of the lore of the old world. Even knowledge of long-lost technology that we received, in exchange for free supplies. Yet, this would have never been possible if not for the white warrior.
In the darkness, there was always a light that burned. A hope for the people that some way, some how, some day they would find a way to escape the iron fist of the Tormentor. This light came in the coming of the first Kalor. Before we knew what the Kalor were. He was a tall, strong and young man who we only know through legends. But his efforts were of earth-shattering proportions. It was said that with his mind he sculpted the lands to be more suitable for living. He created walls out of thin air, protection for free. And the weapon he bore a blade that was said to glow brightly white, blinding all those looking directly upon it when it was brandished, that struck down the tormentor in an incredible battle that left parts of the world scarred into depths that could never be recovered from. But the white warrior triumphed over the tormentor, and cast him over the peak of destruction, into the pit of eternity. But before this mysterious man left, he said one thing to the people of Darklund: Let it be known that in the age when metal and machine replace the labor of man, that your Tormentor will return. Pray that he has not improved in his long imprisonment, for his wrath will be incomprehensible for you humans. More of my people will come to you when the time nears, but I cannot see any more of your future. Darkness will surely fall, but for how long will be up to you. And then he was gone, like a whispering wind, never to return. Some say that he was a god that returned to Darklund to watch over us. And others say he never was real, and humanity destroyed the Tormentor for all time. But I know better. I have seen his coming in my dreams. And I fear for the people around me.
The sounds of industry play in the background, like the pounding thunder pouring from the mountains of the east. Thousands of years have passed since the age of destruction, though we have advanced, we are still far from salvation. The steam always rises from the mills and smithies of Bar'dun, the last outpost that still stands in the desert of the east, always looking to the mountains and the Peak of Destruction. Always watching. Waiting for the return of our Tormentor. For three-thousand years we suffered in his iron grip, and that of Morlok - his apprentice in the dark arts of necromancy. But near the end of that three-thousand years came the age of industry, and the coming of the Ka'lor'mal, or Kalor as we of humanity called them. With Industry came down the forests, came the burning winds of the south that stretched the desert farther and farther out of its bounds, as if it was to swallow up the cities that still struggled to survive. We, in Bar'dun created the city on top of the desert to survive its treacherous landscape, but we never planned for the forest to be swallowed up whole.
You see, the Kalor came from that forest after its decay. They were a people long ago separated from the humanity that was left after the coming of the tormentor. The radiation changed their genes in a miraculous way they were the only humans capable of anything close to magic. Their brain had been modified in such a way that they could manipulate the world about them with mere thought and they could peer into the spirit realm at will, and even navigate in pitch darkness because of this. They were a very learned people, and knew much of the lore of the old world. Even knowledge of long-lost technology that we received, in exchange for free supplies. Yet, this would have never been possible if not for the white warrior.
In the darkness, there was always a light that burned. A hope for the people that some way, some how, some day they would find a way to escape the iron fist of the Tormentor. This light came in the coming of the first Kalor. Before we knew what the Kalor were. He was a tall, strong and young man who we only know through legends. But his efforts were of earth-shattering proportions. It was said that with his mind he sculpted the lands to be more suitable for living. He created walls out of thin air, protection for free. And the weapon he bore a blade that was said to glow brightly white, blinding all those looking directly upon it when it was brandished, that struck down the tormentor in an incredible battle that left parts of the world scarred into depths that could never be recovered from. But the white warrior triumphed over the tormentor, and cast him over the peak of destruction, into the pit of eternity. But before this mysterious man left, he said one thing to the people of Darklund: Let it be known that in the age when metal and machine replace the labor of man, that your Tormentor will return. Pray that he has not improved in his long imprisonment, for his wrath will be incomprehensible for you humans. More of my people will come to you when the time nears, but I cannot see any more of your future. Darkness will surely fall, but for how long will be up to you. And then he was gone, like a whispering wind, never to return. Some say that he was a god that returned to Darklund to watch over us. And others say he never was real, and humanity destroyed the Tormentor for all time. But I know better. I have seen his coming in my dreams. And I fear for the people around me.
