Prologue

I can’t remember.

Twelfth division fall back!!

Who am I? Where am I? What am I?

Hordes and hordes of arrows surged past us, filling the sky with screams as the Lethargion charged us one after the other. We slashed them. Our swords were stained with the sickly blood of the blighted, the people that had once protected and raised us until they became victims of the catastrophic enemy spell. Now they are our enemies.

I hear the songs of souls, songs by the god of death. Death? What is death?

Fall back! Retreat! Before its too late!!

I hear it more clearly now. A sweet melancholy voice. a voice that expands through the blue sky, like a dragon, soaring through the peaks of mountains and the troughs of valleys.  A voice from where rivers run sapphire blue and trees bloom beautiful flowers all year  A voice reminiscent of the voice of Valhalla. My home.

I sprinted away as fast as I could. The battlefield was in chaos. Our commanders had fallen and our number was rapidly diminishing. My bloodied legs roared, crashing against the agonising pain of tearing muscles.

Why am I here?

I continued.

A fate far worse than death would await me if I stopped.

Passing a khaki green hill, a small mage tower protruded up into the sky. Covered in swirling vines, its cobblestone walls stood strong, proudly supporting a figure, cast in blue and silver upon the ramparts. Its oak door beckoned me in, luring me away from the danger behind. I glanced back, the wave of monsters crept closer. I can’t make it to the capital- I must seek help from the tower’s mage.

I stepped inside. A warm smell of garlic and rot swept over me. The inside had deteriorated into a state of disrepair; maggots and cockroaches gnawed at the paintings on the wall reducing them to unidentifiable splatters; cobwebs with giant spider corpses dribbled from the cracked ceiling like hanging voodoo dolls. A few connoisseur glasses were balanced on the window sill, filled with bloody residues of wine and tilting dangerously; housing the dancing flickers of a fiery sunset like children holding shaking candles.

I trudged forward.

The floor dissembled into splinters of wood and revealed an array of small muddy bones - the tower’s foundation.

Outside, the cry of the Lethargion poured into the hills filling the air with pandemonium. Smoke rised from their iron barrels, turning the once lush green into manky brown. Yet after firing round after round, the tower remained as it were, domineering and grey. Frustrated and unsatisfied, the commander charged the tower.

Inside, I shuddered.