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This world was falling apart. Her energies, which created and held it together for centuries, can no longer flow through it. The veins were choked and brittle, the mana that once surging through them like the whitewater rapids quieted and staled in place. This plane made from her mind and soul can no longer be sustained. Like a dying beast it wheezed and coughed; a sad remainder of its former glory. Or was always such a sad place? No matter, for that would be her last glance at it; her sight was set on making a new world. This time, she would not make a world from just her will alone, for she needs a haven for eons to come. Rather, she will mold a natural world to her standards. Yes, a natural world that will last forever. And going to one would just be the first step in rebuilding her…

This was the land of the godforsaken, a world that was ravaged by war and plague. It is of no wonder, for the Kar'an Hatamus, the last king from the noble bloodline of the kings of old, had a slow but steady decline from the light that the bloodline had so vowed to serve. Although the symbol of the Kar'an Kings had always been the glorious Lion Sun, the one in Hatamus's heart and soul was being eclipsed by a strange darkness. Oh, how the mighty have fallen!

Here was the land of Karania, a mighty beast on the verge of death, a beast that can no longer look at the Sun that inspired it, but at the cold earth that would devour it. Rebels under the leadership of Karu Vil, descent from a line of warlords, moved in stealth against the armies of the fallen king. The rebels were likened to dragons, setting fire on the barracks and war factories of Hatamus. The confrontation at Fairgreen was spoke of for many centuries to come, were the blood of thousands of soldiers was spilled spoiled the land and the death cries filled the air. But that would be for another time.

Anyway, the armies of Hatamus suffered many casualties and many more then that abandoned it for a post under the Lord Vil. Oh, they can not be blamed for abandoning Hatamus, but they were cursed just the same, for the abandonment of their comrades. When they died they became the Harkatu, the pale souls of Ire, not able to go to grave for their sins.

But with their help, well when they were truly alive that was, Hatamus’s castle was breached and stained in the blood of his wives and children. Did I tell you that the blood could never wash off the walls after it was conquered? This blood was the blood of the cursed, a dark eclipse of the sun. Could his bloodline not be saved from it? No, for each and every last one of them was killed on that faithless day, the screams that begged for mercy for their lives, for their children. Their screams were heard echoing from many farlongs away from the castle. I was in a town square far from the conflict myself, but chills were sent up my spine when I heard those pitiful cries. My spine still shivers from recounting that, aye, it does still.

I digressed. Pardon me for my old age.

And so Lord Vil found Hatamus, a shadow of his former self, in the depths of the catacombs beneath the castle, which housed the bodies of the dead kings before him. Hatamus was unperturbed by the violence above him, the thick walls of the catacombs did not allow the noise of battle into the chambers. You wouldn’t believe what the last king of the noble line of Kar'an Kings was reading in the depths of the catacombs! His eyes were fumbling over the inscriptions and incantations in a book of dark magic, yes, a book of dark magic! Oh, how the mighty have fallen. Slain there he was, and may I add, a fitting place of death for one such as him. No one was left alive from the Kar'an bloodline; all who lived in that wretched place was slain and put to rest quite unceremoniously.

The castle was conquered and the beast-lion that was Karania fell to the Yellow Dragon, and the Yellow Dragon roared and proclaimed the land his. King Vil, self-pronounced after the death of Hatamus, declared the grounds of the castle as his own, and ordered for the castle to be washed. But as I told you, the blood would not wash out, the stains of death echoed around the castle, not allowing any sleep to those in it. At long last, the castle was sealed off, and our King Vil moved out relocating to a nearby untouched stronghold. This became his castle, and that was the start of the Age of the Vil. Karania was renamed to Alurea formally, but the old name of Karania still rang in the heads of the elders.

This was a time of unrest and uneasiness, as would anytime a kingdom was overthrown. Although King Vil was a masterful commander and shined in the heat of war, his diplomatic skills paled in comparison to his skills of the sword. The land of Alurea was still in a time of strife and matters soon turned to the worse.

So it was, on the fourth year, the two hundred and fortieth passing of the Dark Moon, since the crowning of Vil that the Blood Castle mysteriously collapsed on its foundations. It’s not mere superstition; the old castle of Kar'an kings was built very sturdily and would probably have lasted until the end of time had it not collapsed that night. Some say and some still do, that perhaps some prankster got a hold of Matron Korbus’s fire scrolls and blow the Blood Castle apart. Some say that maybe it was Vil himself, wanting to get rid of the last relic of the old age, the last vestige of a time passed. But let me tell you, it could not have been a prankster with Korbus’s old parchments or the King Vil. Oh yes that old castle was burnt to the ground, yes there was gouts of fire, but that fire… It was unnatural I tell you. From my home I saw it, it burned in a dark purple flame, so dark that it’s surprising it didn’t melt into the darkness of the night. There was wailing, and you know how far my home was from the castle, but there was wailing still, like the souls of thousands of the dead escaping from the clutches of darkness. The next morning, the Blood Castle stood no more. In its place, a dark shadow hung; a dark omen of what’s to come.
The King Vil sent soldiers to investigate the ruins, but no one returned. No one alive returned that is. The mangled corpse of one horribly defiled soldier was sent to the court of Mortrush Castle, where King Vil sat on his throne. It was sent as if by magic. The corpse, lifeless and cold, shook and rose up to its feet, pointing its sword at the King and uttered…

Yooou… Who arrre not of the … line of Kar'annnn…
Yooou… Shall not rule in the throne of the king…

And then strangely it cried a battle cry in the name of the late Kar'an, (Hail King Kar'an, and death to the Traitors!) and ran at a frightening speed at our King with his sword held up. The walking corpse didn’t go far, as the soldiers guarding the hall, pierced it with iron lances. The king himself went forth and cleaved its head off, the head of one of his former soldiers with his holy blade, whispering a word of thankful sorrow and ordered for its ceremonial burial as a brave soldier. Oh those are the terrors of the undead, things that borrowed the faces of friends but have the souls of demons.

The good king ordered the ruins to be resealed and fortified, for the darkness lurking in there would pour out if not stopped. But that would be to no avail. The good king has an inkling of what the late Kar'an was reading in those old catacombs along side his ancestors. The late Kar'an may not be so dead anymore.

But so be it we say, for our king was glorious in battle. He who was a mighty dragon surely couldn’t be defeated by the likes of an undead. Even if that undead was a lion in its life. Were we wrong to believe that our king can defeat a dead enemy that he defeated when it was alive?

In any case, the horrors lurking in the ruins of the Blood Castle had stride forth and battled with the bastion established just outside it. The field that was named Fairgreen was once again stained in blood, but this time the blood was not just fresh red. It was also the color of decaying ichor, stale blood that rot and no longer flow smoothly. Fairgreen, in a twist of irony, was no longer green, nor was it fair. The darkness poured out engulfing the lands like a gloomily plague. I like all the townspeople within eighty farlongs from the ruins were moved away, relocated to other parts of the kingdom. That is still way I am alive to tell you this tale, little boy, for those unlucky enough to be left behind were devoured by the undead army.

I can still recount the terrible screams that rose from the darkness. It still resounds in my dreams, those terrible, terrible wails of despair. This land was once again divided in chaos as though the peace was only an intermission between the two halves of the play, a play of bloodshed, a play of the yellow dragon and the beast-lion.

Did I tell you that there is an old saying… a saying that had resonated throughout this tale and it will ring true for an eternity to come. It is said that

Those who shine the brightest in the light…
…are also those who cast the longest shadows.

The oldest and most noble line of kings, the Kar'an, shone in the light more brightly then any other. They were righteous in their rule, wisdom shows in their words, and all of the world would gladly stand still for them. But in their nobility they harbored a great darkness, a great desire. Hatamus is the apex of this desire; he was the Kar'an’s deepest and darkest shadow. The dark king cannot keep from his desires and so in turn his desires devoured him. Our good king, like a dragon swooped in to banish this defilement, but his price was that of the same. The fiery breathe of a dragon, shone with the brightest lights, but those only produced flickering, more definite shadows.

How the mighty have fallen. The great king Hatamus, is now a Lich King. He perfected his command over the dead and the undead, the spirits of the night and the souls that cling to darkness. The betrayers and the tormented, all flock to him. The Harkatu, once again awake, sought leadership under the Lich King, not under loyalty but under fear. The corpses of the blood stained Fairgreen raised from their shallow graves, soulless and cold. Even the corpses of the past kings were defiled, becoming undead, shadows of their former selves.

The beast-lion roared a mighty roar. The dragon tries to shield itself within its wings. But a dragon’s wings are only made of stretched skin. The beast-lion’s claws can easily tear through them, and claw at the exposed belly.

And claw at the exposed belly the Lich King did. After only one year the land of Alurea diminished to only a fourth of its former size, and likewise the territory of the Lich King grew by that much more. His land was pronounced the New Karania, ruled and divided into five sectors, one for each of the previous Kar'an Kings. The Lich King himself stayed in a tower erected over the ruins of the Blood Castle, like a tombstone, a tombstone were he continues to learn his dark magic and exert control on his undead minions.

Our good king was not attuned in holy magic; he was helpless against the Lich King. But this was not the end of his reign, for as you know, he is still our good king even as I tell you this tale. A greater light come to Alurea on a night of the High Moon, only two years ago. The gods have not totally forsaken this land, for he sent us Angels, true to the light, to guide us against the Lich King himself.
This is the end of my tale, but it is only the start of yours. It is only two years after the Angels have descended from the sky, but the wheel of fate has already turned for the people of Alurea. Remember every last detail, for this is your legacy and the legacy of all the people of Alurea.