If trees could talk, this great oak would have a mighty tale to tell. Standing alone in its peaceful grove, this great tree has seen battles and bloodshed for hundreds of years here in Yartland. It's also seen brief moments of happiness during the great nation of Yartlands seasonal festivities. The wind blew briefly and rustled the leaves on the tree.
Butterflies landed on flowers and fed on the pollen as fireflies began making their appearance to signal the coming night. Peace was something that had been in this grove for nearly a century now, but tonight that peace would be shattered. A deer drank from a small spring, but suddenly stopped as the water started to boil. The winds pace began to pick up at a speed so harsh it ripped the leaves right off the great oak tree. The ground shook as if a giant were throwing a temper tantrum.
The land in the grove began to split and open, steam rushed out and a foul smell filled the air. Hands began emerging from the gaping cracks and piercing howls of pain rose out of the splits as once dead soldiers pulled themselves out to breath the fresh air of the living once again.
In moments, there were thousands of walking corpses standing in the grove, but one stood out among them all. He wasn't a soldier, no, he was a magus, a mage of ancient times. Corrupted by the power and obsession of creating the ultimate Eudemon, he led the war against Cronus and the other allied cities because he believed they were weak, only having the help of Eudemons as companions. His army was obliterated by the most dominant protectors of the land, and he himself was sealed away beneath the earth, the old oak tree planted as a symbol of all the fallen who had protected their land. His name was forbidden to be mentioned. Even the faintest whisper of Cromagnus was believed to bring him back.
"My brothers, now is the time to strike again. We shall rid the land of the weak and take back the spirits that are rightfully ours!" Cromagnus said, raising his glowing staff high into the air. Lightning traced through the sky and drops of blood began to rain down upon them.
Even the Gods of Yartland knew this was a terrible turn of events, and they wept for the denizens of the land... |
