The World of Strife.
It was a World where savagery and primordial violence ruled the hearts of the frenzied multitudes with unquestioned brutish domination. The winds of war blew harshly across the land in ever-increasing strength and ferocity, the idea of peace an unknown, unheard thing in the murderous cacophony of bestial anger and hatred. Every breath was chokingly thick with the foul miasma of decaying corpses; blackly overcast skies and acre after acre of bare, lifeless soils were the extent of the cold hospitality Strife had to offer. The hellish landscape was ravaged with scars of flame and slick with viscous pools of gore, riddled with the uncounted bodies of the slain.
Violence and death were the only constant companions, inviting more and more into their circles of pain and oblivion with uninhibited, morbid delight. A rust-pitted sword was shoved with casual brutality into an unprotected throat, a halberd lanced indifferently into a horseman's vulnerable chest, a pair of red-stained hands tipped with broken, ragged nails twisted a neck with a quick, practiced snap! before moving on mindlessly to the next kill. Wailing voices rose on the wings of the howling winds, torn from the hoarse throats of the maimed and dying, flying above the clangor of steel meeting steel - a macabre chorus of grief and agony.
The World of Strife.
The savage combatants startled suddenly, almost in unison, feeling a glimmer of - of something new . . .
A faint noise insinuated itself among the howls and bestial growlings, amidst the shrieks of the dying and despairing cries of those whose hearts still beat. The noise grew in strength, gently persuading warriors to halt their mindless slaughter and listen. Maniacal grimaces, fixed like demonic masks upon their faces, gradually relaxed as they lowered their swords and bows, the genesis of a desperate spark of humanity revealed in their eyes as the hauntingly beautiful sound called to the empty crevasses of their souls .
A voice sang to them across the battle-torn and weary World. It sang to them of peace and beauty, of a harmony which reached beyond jaded apathy to the vulnerable souls newly unfolding like rose petals in the wake of bright sunlight. A novel sound suddenly crashed throughout Strife, one never heard formerly - that of the clash of weapons hitting the ground as the strong, capable grips of the warriors weakened, men and women alike turning from the violence toward this new revelation of light and hope, a way out of the darkness of war.
The hordes dropped onto their knees among the bodies of the unknown, relieved tears running unheeded down faces streaked black with grime and blood.
A new World was formed that day: the World of Song.
It was a World where savagery and primordial violence ruled the hearts of the frenzied multitudes with unquestioned brutish domination. The winds of war blew harshly across the land in ever-increasing strength and ferocity, the idea of peace an unknown, unheard thing in the murderous cacophony of bestial anger and hatred. Every breath was chokingly thick with the foul miasma of decaying corpses; blackly overcast skies and acre after acre of bare, lifeless soils were the extent of the cold hospitality Strife had to offer. The hellish landscape was ravaged with scars of flame and slick with viscous pools of gore, riddled with the uncounted bodies of the slain.
Violence and death were the only constant companions, inviting more and more into their circles of pain and oblivion with uninhibited, morbid delight. A rust-pitted sword was shoved with casual brutality into an unprotected throat, a halberd lanced indifferently into a horseman's vulnerable chest, a pair of red-stained hands tipped with broken, ragged nails twisted a neck with a quick, practiced snap! before moving on mindlessly to the next kill. Wailing voices rose on the wings of the howling winds, torn from the hoarse throats of the maimed and dying, flying above the clangor of steel meeting steel - a macabre chorus of grief and agony.
The World of Strife.
The savage combatants startled suddenly, almost in unison, feeling a glimmer of - of something new . . .
A faint noise insinuated itself among the howls and bestial growlings, amidst the shrieks of the dying and despairing cries of those whose hearts still beat. The noise grew in strength, gently persuading warriors to halt their mindless slaughter and listen. Maniacal grimaces, fixed like demonic masks upon their faces, gradually relaxed as they lowered their swords and bows, the genesis of a desperate spark of humanity revealed in their eyes as the hauntingly beautiful sound called to the empty crevasses of their souls .
A voice sang to them across the battle-torn and weary World. It sang to them of peace and beauty, of a harmony which reached beyond jaded apathy to the vulnerable souls newly unfolding like rose petals in the wake of bright sunlight. A novel sound suddenly crashed throughout Strife, one never heard formerly - that of the clash of weapons hitting the ground as the strong, capable grips of the warriors weakened, men and women alike turning from the violence toward this new revelation of light and hope, a way out of the darkness of war.
The hordes dropped onto their knees among the bodies of the unknown, relieved tears running unheeded down faces streaked black with grime and blood.
A new World was formed that day: the World of Song.