The Loneliest Traid

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  • Published: 2 Apr 2017
  • Updated: 13 May 2017
  • Status: Complete
Love and death and war and Gods and blood and magic and dancing and rest and revenge and kings and fate.
Don't worry, within these three stories you'll know yourself,
And I will put you back together again.


7. News of The Battle

Unlike where you live, where the dead have no names and their souls are turned with the sea, the people of Cardeni, each stretch between the border of Mavros, to the expanse of their lakes, to the desert people, forest dwellers, each undersea civilization and every last child from the fire chasm world - no matter their difference, or breed, or class, they all agree on one thing.

    The Great War was a battle that raged between a seemingly unstoppable skeletal army, lead by an immortal being of cogs and springs, filled with stolen blood of both pixie, siren and witch.  She would be the one to hunger over land and power, and would take dead from their resting place in the afterlife to fight her battles for her.  Each quarter fell for her before she had even began fighting, and by the time that a wise king named Lithera could gather his soldiers - namely the infamous siblings Chene and Gadanx and their crew of wielders and animalistic creatures - she had already taken over whatever land her greed could find.  It was the beginning of a war unlike anything anyone had ever seen before, not only towns - but intricately - families torn apart by their mistrust.  Was the machine girl a ruler, or a fraud, or a conqueror, and was Lithera more than a liar, or a conman, or a joke?  

    I will not be the one to tell you whether he was righteous man, or whether that Cardeni would have been better off scorching and gaining the virtue of metal and mechanics.  Instead of that I will tell you of the ripples that the was sent off in its wake.

    Kingdoms, once great cities of farmland and temples, were sent into disarray, nothing left to fend for them but monks and mystics and mothers and children with sticks and rope and harvesting tools.  Many died, a generation lost to the wicked power of a few.  

    It took many years for the world to be reborn as it was in our heroes time, but the stories still bore ugly scars on their grandparents’ faces.  It took its toll, but something came of it all.  Not only were the cracks in the ground filled with gold, both the land and bonds grew stronger.

    An agreement was made to never let the tides of their war come back again, to keep peace over all of Cardeni, regardless of race or the hunger for power between leaders.  Loyalty to rulers went as far as spilled blood, but the people knew their place.  The king serves the people, and that is the way it must be for freedom and peace.  There were a scattering of battles, still livid witch hunts, but there was power for all when all realise that behind the dagger of a madman are parents and children and futures and past.  No blood should be shed when the heart you slice holds the love for so many more.

    Unlike your world, they knew of the hardship their people had faced, and never would wish that on their gravest enemies, so for that, mercy came with the same rain that buried the bolts and knives and the countless nameless which lost their lives.

    But the war between jins and elves was to be one of the last between those who practiced magic of the earth, if also one of the cruelest.  Their king, Sinder, would be willing to spill the blood of all his soldiers if only to keep his throne, but it would be sometime before his people saw much of his crimes and his ways, and by then the damage would be done.

    And as Sinder gathered news of an enemy soldier named Rilae who had found his way into an outpost in the desert and taken one of his own men hostage, Gomez was holding pressure onto the wound in Chene’s side which he had caused, Ichais was telling tales bold and exaggerated about ships and sirens, and most unfortunately, Jinmi was waking up bound by magic, Daphne ripped from his arms as if she had never really existed in the first place.

    War makes heroes from killers, but who can blame those who choose battles when Gods so easily make legends of the damned.

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