Yes, I know the opening post is long, but it's worth the read, trust me. This post establishes the plot and the current state of the world. Don't worry. This is the only post I'll make that's like this. sweatdrop
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Blue skies heralded a day that was to pass without much trouble. It was a day that would bring families out into the streets of Corzel for a festival that came but once every decade for a King that had barely been on his throne for a year.
The wait for dawn was as much torture as anyone could imagine and as the sun pierced the horizon it was no surprise that the majority of Corzel was already awake and hurrying to finish what little business still remained before the kingdom's troubadours would begin the first of several rounds about the kingdom's circular streets.
Meat pies baked in neat shells within dozens of ovens about the city, flowers filled whatever held space, and banners dyed with colors that even put shame to the prettiest of rainbows flew high above the cobblestone and dirt streets.
And high above this happy place a pair of crimson eyes scanned the land as a hawk watches it prey.
The time to strike was now.
It began with little more than a rumble that crept through the earth like a serpent, slithering through the streets and up the high walls of Corzel Castle's outer walls.
The magician Haitel stirred within his quarters, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. He had felt it. It was faint, but he had most definitely felt it. He threw the covers from his body and raced to the nearby window, throwing it open with a roar of frustration as his eyes scanned the horizon.
They worked in ways a normal man's could not and his lips worked quickly, repeating the faintest of magic spells to find this power. He felt it coiled, tightly honed, a spell that, to most magic wielders, had been lost.
Soon, his eyes settled on his target. A figure stood upon the edge of a great precipice, their crimson robes lashing about them in the wintry winds. A black beak commanded strings of magic that descended about their home like spider's silk. He recognized this spell and as his eyes read her beak he could tell she was already quite a way's into it. He could feel his body quaking, his skin growing clammy.
"Who the hell is this woman?!" he whispered hoarsely. His mind was swimming. There was no time to waste.
The man raced from his quarters in his bedclothes, jumping the majority of stairs that wound their way up his personal tower, and found himself speeding through the main corridor of the west wing, picking up half a dozen guards that seemed to have trouble keeping up with him much less stopping him to question his suspicious behavior.
He searched the kingdom from the center of it's sprawling city to the very outskirts as he raced to the main hall, his magic searching through the minds, bodies, and spirits of the many residents until it found the ones he'd searched for.
A talented number of children, a number he did not have the time to count in the little time that remained, that held the faintest signs of unquestionable talents in the the art of battle or the arcane. He let their spirits leach the magic from his body as he hurried through the main gates and into the city itself.
The power that stretched from the mountains flickered, then roared to life. She'd felt it and decided she would no longer waste time in making delicate preparations.
That was when the nightmare began.
A dank smell rose from a well in the center of Corzel and filled the alleys and streets around it, startling the many townsfolk that milled around it. They circled it, holding their noses as they tried to investigate.
"What is that wretched odor?" one asked.
"Where did it come from? Did someone dump their garbage down the well? The bucket's not up here..." asked another.
The nearby tavern owner waded through the town, grumbling as he shoved a produce merchant aside, grabbed the crank for the well's bucket, and began to turn it.
The smell grew worse and the citizens around it backed away. Haitel froze on his way by, watching the crowd with horror. The smell reached his nostrils and he took off again, grabbing a push-cart while it's owner was distracted.
The tavern owner leaned towards the well to peer into its depths as he turned the crank. He could hear something below, echoing against the stone walls. It was bubbling.
He started to suggest that a hot spring may have opened, that he heard the sound of boiling water, when a rush of black tar spilled over the edge of the well wall and onto the ground around it.
The people nearly fell over one another as they scrambled to get back. The dark pitch caught a pair before they could move far enough, clinging to their legs like the hands of the devil itself and pulling them in.
Then, it rushed out for more.
Screams filled the alleyways, echoing across the sky, and though Haitel could barely breathe he still continued to run.
The rush would start soon and he would be trampled beneath it, so he worked with all the speed and efficiency that he could muster.
He knocked open the door of a small home, weaving a swift spell that lulled the family inside to sleep. Then, he stole through their home, found the child he searched for, and carried them out to lay within the hay-filled cart.
He then made his way to the next and the next as panic and death filled the streets of Corzel. He'd gathered perhaps half a dozen or so children before he reached the city limits and dragged the cart to a nearby farmhouse that had been abandoned for the day for the festivities.
Two by two, he carried the children inside and set them on the floor, fishing a bit of chalk from his pockets and drawing a shaky rune about them as quickly as he could. Then, he settled in the center, hugged their small bodies against him, and began chanting anew.
The city roared in the distance and the dreaded black pitch spread further and further from its center, growing stronger the more it devoured and the farther it traveled. The energy it exuded made him dizzy, but he could not let that deter him.
A voice whispered to him, like a lullaby from the god of death, and he could feel his entire body tremble. As the tendril's from their mountain observer tried to close in on him, to consume him...he and the children vanished.
Panic swept over all of Corzel and their King could do nothing but cower on his throne until he, too, succumbed to the darkness as the witch's dark brew crept through the throne room windows and devoured all inside.
Clinging to the earth, it spread across the land and filled the Aspelai Valley as if it poured from the underworld itself. The valley became a basin, filling nearly to the brim with an evil so thick that even those across the high seas could feel its weight spilling out into the world, bubbling and churning beneath the clear, blue sky.
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Years passed and the darkness grew and ventured out and over the next thirteen years it would go on to swallow four more kingdoms on the Viraldi continent, two seas, and a lake before edging onto the Laekshi continent’s western shores.
Only one other remained untouched and on the Bern continent, far within the depths of the Great Southern Forest of the Kingdom of Antev, smoke trailed from the chimney of a cozy little two-story cottage.
Inside, Haitel stood before a fire, his old hands stirring a great pot of stew that filled the house with the scent of meat, vegetables, and a small amount of spices he’d managed to gather over the years.
He let out a small sigh, his eyes wandering to an old clock hanging from the wall.
“All of them are late,” muttered Haitel. “They’ll hear it from me when they get in, I can promise that…”
