(Dont think this was posted yet, so I will post it here for all to read especially anyone involved in the Believers of the legend SL)
This is not a story about love. It's not a story about happiness. This is a story about life, about conquest, about how things came to be.
Back when life held no name, no heir, no substance...she existed. Like a mother with no children, she first sought friends. Cutting the clay of the earth into tablets, Fallax breathed into them life. And through her starry kiss, the Ancients were born. The first beings the world had ever known. Far above the title of Gods...they simply were. And without want, they merely existed in harmony of being in each others presence.
For an eon the Ancients walked across the plane, and for an era Fallax breathed life into her home. The trees rose up in thanks to her, and bore her children...the elves. The rocks ripped from the ground and formed mountains. Thank full to her, they bore her the dwarves. The oceans curved and crashed on the shore, and from them arose the mermaids. She gave the planet magick and from her gift fairies were birthed. And when it was all said and done, she was pleased.
However, her brothers and sons, the Ancients thought differently. Where there was beauty in the day, there was no beauty in the night. Hearing her equals, Fallax flew under the rays of the moon and sought to create equally lovely creatures from the dark. Under the stars, mud bubbled up from the land and they gave to her new children...the orcs and goblins. In the mountains, caves cracked and opened their mouths...and from them, they gave her vampires. Shadows overcast the land, and from their depths they gave her new children...the specters. And when it was all said and done...the moon shone her light on the land, and from her lunar brilliance...she gave her the creatures known as werewolves. Looking upon the land, Fallax saw that she had reached the extent of her desires and taking her brothers with her, she left seeking rest.
This is not a story about love. It's not a story about happiness. This is a story about life, about conquest, about how things came to be.
With Fallax gone, the creatures were left with only the gift of their own free will. And so the many species grew into their roles. Some sought to cultivate the Fall with the magicks. Others to find balance and to blend nature in and out of the land. And as a barbaric whole, this was fine. Until more time would pass...and the unintelligent creatures developed an astute consciousness...and formed tribes. In this era of development, harmony and piece was no longer the focus...in its place...was the desire for dominance.
In the Era of Harmony, every race was peacefully divided amongst their own territories. In the era of Harmony their was no need to expand. Then the humans were born. No one knows where they came from. All that is known is what they inspired. From behind the veil of harmony, predators saw them as a great resource. A source of food and labor. But when the predators pressed forward to claim this weak and fleshy race, they in turn clashed with each other, and thus the Era of Conquest arrived.
The first predators to fail in this enlightened period were the orcs and goblins. The second to fail were the dwarves and giants. For a hundred years predators fought each other to prove who was stronger. For a hundred years their goals shifted from conquering the humans, to controlling the lands of the foes who lost...to finally...complete and utter dominance of everything. As power was gained, it corrupted all into thinking that they were the true superiors. And towards the end of the Era of Conquest, the only two predators that remained were the Tribes of Blood versus the Packs of the Claw and Fang.
For a time and a tale, the two would clash in a bloody conflict that proved too equal for either to gain the upper hand. It was in the midst of this stalemate however, that a vampire child would be born. The child soon showed that his comprehension and bloodlust for battle and strategy vastly overwhelmed his superiors. It was his brutality in facing his foes, his lack of compassion for survivors, his drive...that soon earned him the title of King. And as King, he led the unified force of the Tribes of Blood against their enemies. And it was here, that the balance of power would be tipped.
Fifty years into the reign of their new King, the vampires were on the cusp of total victory. And then, when things seemed their bleakest, another child was born. Except, he was born unto the brotherhood of the wolves. And like a twin to his enemy, he soon raised the morale of his brethren in his ferocity for the fight. He spoke to his pack, proclaimed victory in the face of adversity. When they were ready to give up, the boy ran headlong into the field of battle and would rip the heads off of vampiric generals and lieutenants. He prophesied that in the end of days the werewolves would control the land and run free. And it was through his selfless acts and loving words, did the shattered hearts of the failing Packs of Claw and Fang become mended. And by his might, they soon raised a bewildering resistance to the encroaching vampire kingdom. And so the boy was dubbed the Werewolf King, and the final battle would be on the horizon.
For twenty years both races would be locked in another stalemate for control. And so one day, it was decided. The full mass of the Tribes of Blood, and the horde of the Packs of Claw and Fang would meet for a final battle in the great war. At first glance, things appeared bleak for the werewolves. They were outnumbered ten to one. However, once the trumpets blared and the Werewolf King charged into the fight, he alone became a force of nature that would slay handfuls of his enemies in a matter of minutes.
The tide was quickly turning for the wolves as their King fought with a dragons strength. And as the moon basked them in her approving light, they it became clear that they would win. Then in the heart of the fight, the oddest thing would happen. Every vampire suddenly stopped. And as they backed away from their foes, from the crowd appeared the Vampire King. This was how the fate of Fallax would be determined. A fight between Kings. Between the saviors of their people.
Only a moment passed as the two warriors accessed their equivalent. Rushing at each other in a mad furry, their attacks daunting, and bloodcurdling. No weapons, claw, fang, tome, or attack they used appeared to overwhelm the other. In every way they were equals and so the two armies would watch them fight for close to an hour. Both the hearts of beast and bat breaking and fixing, cheering and cursing as no victor could be determined. And in the heart of it all, when both clans thought the fight would never end, a warrior would fall. Upon his back, bloody and bruised, the Werewolf King watched as the Vampire King approached him for the final blow...
In the vampire archives of history and lore, what was to follow would be the greatest victory the species would ever know. The Vampire King dealt the final blow that day, and immediately ordered the eradication of every werewolf present at battle. That not a sole survivor was to live. However, after the blood soaked into the earth and the broken warriors lay dead. The Vampire King would not press the decision to commit genocide. In the years that would follow the remaining werewolves would be split. Half of the servants of Luna would pledge their allegiance to the King as his loyal knights. While the other half chose to roam the globe on their own. And so the fate of Fallax was determined at last. And the Era of Blood and Tranquility would ensue as The Vampire King conquerored all who stood in his path, and would be re noun particularly for his utter enslavement of the elves and their near extinction.
Of course...there would be another side to this tale. At the final battle when the Vampire King ordered the death of every werewolf present, out of the less than thousand that remained...two would survive. These two would quickly spread a tale of hope. A story passed down for thousands of years. According to the myth, as the Vampire King was about to bring down his final blow, the Werewolf King would merely vanish. He hadn't teleported, he hadn't run away...he merely disappeared. This in turn caused the Vampire King to freak out and command the silence of what had gone on. No one was to know what had happened. So the story goes as follows: That when the descendents of the Pack of the Claw and Fang would come to live in their darkest hour...their savior, would again return. And in his coming, he would claim the world as his. And every werewolf who questioned him, would see that he bore the birthmark only bestowed upon him, and that he alone held the ancient and lost tome of The Werewolf King. That in his presence all of his descendants would follow him dutifully...for he was the one true Alpha of his entire species. The one to lead them back into glory.
This is not a story about love. It's not a story about happiness. This is a story about life, about conquest, about how things came to be.
