The end of a great era had come, and with it the end of an ancient blood line. The great war of past had come in a raging fury of fire, and metal. And it ended with one last sing of blades and a wave of hot blood. And there seeping into the ground the last of the life force of a once noble house ran.
Time came and went, aging the land and the people who remembered the battle. Rememberance became just a memory, which turn into myth, as the land once owned by the mightiest of houses fell into disrepair. From the black fertile ground, feed on the blood of it's owner sprout massive tree's of thick girth. Darkened foilage, and tough bark. All of which grew in a clean perfect circle, like dark maidens dancing around holy land.
And to some, who would pass it was holy land, and to everyone it was a place they wished not to venture. For even if the story had died with the last story-teller. The Earth has a longer memory then it's children, and it's pulse and history and memory would whisper to passers by, and warn them that the land they tread upon was indeed special, magical, and something to respect. The sun of another day had set upon this land, night casted her long black gown upon it's crest and the fire flies and creatures of the dark came out to praise in the moons milky glow. And though a few fireflies would grace the circle of tree's, no other animal would set foot there unless it had to.
((Alright I only have a few simple rules to joining, please please be literate, and don't use chatshorthand, please try to have you actions and dialogue seperate enough to where it's easy to understand. No God characters, and no God moves, and whatnot, be reasonable. and have fun!))
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