Here It Is, The Prologue To "the Shadow Rises"


Since the beginning of humanity, the Clan existed in their city, an enormous tangle of streets and buildings, ever growing, ever expanding. The archives stretched back centuries, millennia, recording the actions of the Clan since the beginning. From the Glorious Mother and Father, creating humans form the ashes of the First Civilization, to the naming of Haven, to the events of today. Society has continued as it always did, with the birth of new generations, their occupations decided by the marks they bore at birth. From the swords and shields of the warriors, to the flames of the magicians, all paths were decided at birth. And for ages, this worked. Then the Great Evil came. A boy was born with the mark of the farmer, and he was named Marcus. For years he toiled at the plow, learning the trade that he would ply for the rest of his life, as he watched from the fields the lives of all those who lived in the city. How he envied them, and with this envy the first seeds of evil were planted. He thirsted for something more than a life on the farm, he thirsted for power. He was dissatisfied with his life, and he blamed the mark on his skin, the scythe, as the source of his problems. He told himself he was destined for greater things, that he was destined to rule. He gathered others who also felt slighted by the destiny their marks had chosen for them, they felt slighted for having a lifestyle thrust upon them instead of having the freedom of choice. They gathered in numbers, few at first, then many, the number growing at each secret meeting, and finally, with an army at his back, Marcus attacked. He led his ragtag group of shopkeepers and mages, warriors and scribes, to the arsenal. They encountered no resistance, the guards scheduled for that night turned and opened the door, letting the hundred or so dissenters surge forward to take arms and armor. They then hurried through the town to the Hall of the People, where the Leader of the Clan slept with the rest of the leaders. Once there, the burst into the foyer, expecting no resistance, free to slaughter the leadership of the clan and take power, to free their brethren from the shackles of destiny, but they were betrayed. One of their number was not whom they said they were, and he told the Leader of Marcus’s plot. A trap was laid and the Elite Guard stood ready, and a slaughter ensued. The resistance was crushed and Marcus fled the city with fewer than 20 of his followers still alive. He swore that he would be back and take what was rightfully his. That took place over two thousand years ago, and that tale is still told to the children of the clan as a warning, to show the folly of fighting their destiny. The Clan lives as it always did, until the day, almost 16 years ago, when a child with the mark of the dragon was born, a mark not seen in recorded history, almost five thousand years. The boy’s name was Zen.

Any comments and criticisms are welcome!
DarkSoulVa DarkSoulVa
May 17, 2012