Deep within the rainy woods of Stormborn Territory, a woman clad in leather and bones marches. Her blonde hair contrasts with the dark reds and blacks of her robes, armor, and even her glassy red pupils. Every footstep is firm but gentle enough that it appears as if she is appreciating every moment her foot makes contact with the wet leaves beneath her. Eventually she comes to a clearing where a blue skinned woman draped in the skins and furs of a number of animals, stands.
You are not from around here, foreigner.
What gave it away?
We don't get many visitors. What is your business here in the capital city of Stormborn Territory?
Is that what you believe all life to be? What do you believe all life is? Merely business.
Tempest Boy puts her hands behind her back, giving a hand signal to the soldiers behind her to be on guard and prepared for a potential attack.
I believe strangers visiting the capital city of foreign territory, deep within a forest on a rainy night better have a damn good reason to be here.
I have no agenda. I have no alternative purpose to be here besides my inherent nature.
And what is your nature exactly?
I am Entropy. I am Death. I am Chaos.
A massive beast appears from the woods at the behest of this threatening stranger. The torso of a Stormborn soldier has had its arms and head stripped from it, alternatively outfitted with six new metal limbs, each wielding an obsidian blade. A motionless alloy has taken the place of the corpse's head. Tempest prepares to call her soldiers to assume a defensive position. I Before humanity, there were serpents. They were great serpents of legends. A trio of dragons, each tasked with teaching one of the mystical elements of the realm to humanity. When they arrived, Furio, the inflamed serpent, wielded Inferno. Tomrentam, the glacial serpent, wielded Glacier. Finally, Shenlong, the thunderous serpent, wielded Storm. Although today Shenlong is not known as the Thunderous Serpent, he is known as the Plague Serpent. The brothers were content with their roles and were pleased with their place in the universe. Their power was great, and although they could not share it with anyone but each other, as no other intelligent life had manifested yet, they understood their worth and value in the realm. But Shenlong knew there was more he could teach humanity, more he could become more. One day he came to his brothers with a revelation.
I have come to you, my brothers, with a great discovery.
Furio and Tumrentam reared their beastly heads to face Shenlong.
There is an element beyond ours. I have discovered a twisted energy. It spoke its name to me when I found it. Darkness.
Tarentum looked concerned. It names itself after a shadow.
It does. I played with it. It is unruly and dangerous, but it is powerful.
Furio bared his fangs.
Power is not our duty nor our concern. If this darkness is meant to be worlded by humanity, a serpent will arrive, having mastered it and will guide their learning. We were each tasked with an element, and darkness was none of ours.
Shenlong began to grow frustrated.
There is no such serpent coming. If there was, it would be here by now.
Which is exactly why we should not be bothering with it.
We are the harbingers of power. We have a responsibility to share what we find. I can guide them.
I will allow no such thing. Tensions brewed over time between Shenlong and his brothers. Decade after decade, Shenlong honed the darkness, beat it, and twisted it into a form he could use. A form humanity could use safely. He called his new creation Blight. When Shenlong showed off his new creation to his brothers, he was met with hostility and distrust. In a fit of rage, Shenlong killed them both. Stricken with immense guilt, he flew off to a distant island and isolated himself from the rest of the realm. He would never interfere in any living being's affairs ever again. Thousands of years later, when humanity arrived, they had no guides, no shepherds or harbingers of power to teach them how to wield the elements they were left to discover for themselves. Midas could never decide whether his parents were comedic geniuses or cruel bastards for giving him the name Midas. The ruler of the fire wielding Infernoborn Society had radiant metallic gold skin and the ability to change whatever he touched to solid gold at will. Unlike his mythical namesake, he rose to power through this ability to grant seemingly limitless wealth and his infectious, charming personality. His people liked him a great deal. But today he sat alone in his resplendent throne room, pondering the future of his kingdom. He sipped from his golden chalice, a specialty wine native to Inferno born territory, and gazed out the extravagant windows of the room into the city beyond. His wishful thinking was suddenly interrupted by the visitation of his trusted general, Incendior.
My lord.
Incendior. My favorite comrade. How are you?
I. I wish I could say, well, my Lord.
Drop the honorifics. They are not needed with you and.
I. Midas rises from his throne and makes his way to Incendior, placing his hand on Incendior's gold plated shoulder.
Midas, Tempest and her Stormborn have sent a messenger with a grave message.
Is this Tempest the new ruler of the Stormborn?
I believe so. But that's not what's important.
Incendior's face pales and he breaks eye contact, looking uncharacteristically concerned.
I will let the messenger speak for herself.
Incendior gestures to his lead archer, Omar, and he opens the massive doors to Midas Throne, revealing a young Stormborn drenched in mud, sweat and blood.
Tempest has sent me to deliver an urgent message. The entire Stormborn society is at risk. A young girl has discovered the power of the dark arts and has corrupted our ranks. Chaos has unraveled us and the girl is tearing us apart from the inside. We need outside help and I have come to ask for reinforcements on behalf of Ruler Tempest.
Midas does not respond immediately to the barrage of information that has just graced his ears. His eyes are wide as his head slowly dips, staring at the shining gold floor beneath him.
Shall I escort her from the premises until you have made a decision, my liege?
Midas shakes his head and waves his hand.
I've made my decision.
The room prepares for the answer. Midas stands, solemn expression on his face.
Offer Tempest my condolences. I will not be providing troops to her aid.
Incendior and the young messenger simultaneously exhibit shocked expressions. The messenger speaks out.
King Midas, perhaps you do not understand the gravity of the situation.
I understand perfectly clear. I will not send my to a losing battle. If what you say is true, the Apothecary has a successor and your people are already dead.
Meanwhile, in the heart of the southern mountains, in the heart of the Glacierborn Kingdom, at the top of the famous Glacial Keep, the mighty King Vyrgla receives a similar to what do I owe the pleasure of a Stormborn in my keep today? Typically, the ring of the calming voice of King Vergla has an infallibly positive effect on those who hear it. His voice and even his mere presence inspire hope for those that he protects. Unfortunately, the terror this young Stormborn messenger has experienced cannot be shaken. He stands with a grim expression on his face in front of the armored Monarch as the messenger relays the story of a young girl wielding the dark arts Rose, wreaking havoc on the Stormborn. Vurglaw's expression becomes increasingly dour. The light from his eyes dims but does not completely fade. He cannot let that light ever fade, no matter what danger he faces.
Young messenger, you speak of the dark arts. This is a dire situation.
Vergla is not often a man who shows fear. Sometimes even he is afraid, but he never shows it. But today he does. He says nothing as he scoops his helm in his hands and looks into its visor. Slowly he dawns it and looks back at the young messenger as he shivers from the cold and the fear. Virglas grabs a massive iron hammer in his armored gloves. And the hammer ignites with the striking blue color of glacier bolt. Nice.
Tell Tempest I'm on my way.