~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
�
This is my plot line and story idea. Please respect my rights as an artist and do not plagerize. My humble thanks to you.
�
The Enemy
They came by sea in ships with high billowing sails like ominous clouds, pulling vessels large enough to crew two hundred or more in each.
They came by air, straddling the backs of dragons as malicious as they were fierce, and visually intimidating as black chimeras, claiming the skies as their own.
And they came in the thousands, like locusts descending upon a freshly grown wheat field.
They were swift, quickly invading the western cities and moving inland like a plague, overthrowing the local leaders and imprisoning them or killing them. They were ruthless, merciless, cunning, and filled with primal rage coupled with the desire for power and blood to quench their own thirst.
They called themselves the Svorin Dominion--A race of demon-like beings from across the western Solaric ocean. Although they appeared human, they neither were human nor reptilian, nor any other species that lived on Itara. Their blood was cobalt blue and highly acidic, and could be used in itself as a weapon. Their eyes were gold with a purple ring around the iris and scales under the eyes, some even had red flecks, and their hair was jet black. The Svorin foot soldiers wore black helms with layered armor, and carried every kind of hand held weapon known to be in existence.
The leader of the Svorin Dominion was an immortal being named Tochravanthis, but the Svori, and everyone on Itara knew him as the Krai�ta�or. Tochravanthis chose this name in his native tongue, Wyrmlor--the tongue of the dragons--because it meant �Master of Darkness�. Ages before, he had risen to power through fear and tyrannical leadership, heartlessly killing anyone that dared to challenge his authority. His immortality, resistance to the acidic properties of Svorin blood, and strong magic sense gained him respect through terror and successes in effectively seizing kingdoms to be added to the Dominion like trophies on a displayed on a bookshelf. The Svorin race came to look upon him as their rightful god of war. No one dared oppose him. Not in fear of death, but in fear of annihilation. Tochravanthis was possessing of the ability to take the souls of anyone containing magical abilities, steal their essence, weave their power into his own, and keep them from ever being reborn into life again through banishment of the astral vortex; a one-way portal to the deapest recesses of the nether-world--Noltach. Nothing has ever returned.
�
The World
Cyre.
It was world of beauty and color that shone far beyond the reaches of its confining atmosphere--A blue-green gem nestled in the black velvety carpet of space. It�s surface provided a home for a myriad of ecosystems that spread over the continents like a carpet, each harboring their own odd forms of life. Great mountain ranges towered toward the azure blue skies, like kings and sentries overlooking the diverse lands below them. As a planet, it was beautiful to behold.
High above the land masses and the swirling seas, where no hands could reach but those of the Goddess Livanthia, and the lesser gods of the lesser species, hung two large moons. The largest of the two, Talee, of cerulean blue, easily dwarfed it�s sister, Yonea, a smaller silvery moon. They were the guardians of the night, and silent watchers of the day.
Just twenty degrees above the equator, between the waters of the vast western Solaric ocean, and the eastern Lunaic ocean, rested the continent of Itara, stretching twenty-five hundred miles from east to west. By Earth�s standards, it was not much bigger than Australia. It was a land that seemed lost in time. For Itara was a place of wonderment, of stories of brave Warrior knights, and ruthless wars fought between kingdoms who weren�t even of the same race. There were dragons that were vicious and cunning, as well as friendly and helpful. Both soared through the skies with their Griffin companions among the colored hues of the clouds. Ogres sulked in dark, damp caverns buried deep within the mountainous regions where the Mountain Dwarves had come to call home when they seperated from the Field Dwarves. And tall, lithe Elves made the continent their home, but stayed mainly in Laithlanon, Home of Life, for they were an old race.
It was a time long ago when man was young, and magic already old.
For generations, the kingdoms had fought for control and power, fighting each other out of blood feuds or anger, until finally one man, King Astrinos of the Yitanian region in the north-eastern area of the continent, met with the leaders of their peoples in a summit meeting, in hopes that a treaty could be devised that would end the warring between the kingdoms and bring in a new era of peace to Itara. To the surprise of many, the leaders agreed, the Kingdom Wars ended, and through hard work, was born the time of the Great Wealth.
To look upon the cities and towns well over a hundred years ago would have been to look upon beauty. The people held a great love for architecture and the arts, yet still maintained a great respect for magic and its bearers. Bright colors of cloth were what the majority of the larger city citizens preferred, like those in Serilinost in the far north west, the trade city of Khale in the center of the continent, and Yitan. Columns of every sort of marble, brought from all over the lands, decorated the larger cities and represented pride in their advancement into new ideas. Even the temples, castles, and towers were wonders to behold in the time of the Great Wealth.
Yet now, not everything about this world is beautiful and serene. The three hundred year reign of the Great Wealth had ended, falling to a time of unparalleled sorrow and fear.
�
The Shadow War
The Shadow war raged for fifty years. The Svorin Dominion had been watching, sending spies to discover the weaknesses and defensive strength of the Itaran people. Svori were hard to find in large crowds, clothed in the fabric of Itaran citizens, and living as the people did, yet discretely keeping out of sight.
Mostly they watched the P�nai, the powerful race of human magi gifted in strong natural magic. It was almost as is if they new the P�nai were internaly breaking down, becoming so arrogant and full of themselves that they tended to ignore the Normals and argue their own trivialities. They held the belief that they were more superior and more in touch with the flow of magic and the goddess Livanthia than anyone else, even the Elves who were more linked to nature than they, although less powerful. The P�nai did see the danger, but they were too consumed with their own petty differences to do anything about it. Because Itara had been at peace for three hundred years, they felt the need to keep battle-ready was a waist of magic, feeling all was safe. A few did not agree with this view and retained their training. These people left the P�nai order and found a home within the order of the Yitanian Warriors, who had never ceased in training. The Warriors, protectors and knights of Itara and keepers of the peace, knew that peace couldn�t last forever, so they refused to become as ignorant to it as the P�nai had.
Thus, Itara was unprepared for the Svorin attack on Brien Tauld Habor in Serillia, and took heavy damages in men, resources, and magic. Those that survived the initial attack fled, or surrendered. In most cases, there wasn�t even enough time to give the dead a proper burial and ceremony so their spirits could be led to Isolis i'Alynn, the silver city of the dead on Talee, the paradise moon, before the Svori would strike again. In ten years time, the Svori had taken control of a great deal of Itara and inflicted tremendous damage to the magi and the Warriors.
There was no way the people would go quietly. They retaliated, forming an alliance called the Elven Resistance, led by Tearnin Normajia, a young Elf from the highlands of Laithlanon, and his twin sister Aurellianthalisa Normajia. At first, the resistance confronted the Svori head on in fields of battle, but were outnumbered numerous times and forced to flee. From then on, the resistance became known for their hit and run attacks and gorilla tactics, striking road patrols and hitting supply routes. Like the Ho Chi Min trail of the Vietnam war, the Svorin supplies would move constantly. As did the rebellion�s. For years it was a stale mate between the two sides, and neither knew when it was ever going to come to an end.
�
The Legend
Two hundred and fifty-five years before the Shadow war, a P�nai prophet by the name of Sorchimorina Meicotica wrote of a vision she had witnessed while in a dream. Her words expressed it through the only manner that could make sense, for often visions could not be clearly interpreted. Her journal read;
"Come the day in the Age of Darkness, the last of light, the last of hope, will dispell the shadows that haunt--thus delivering us to freedom and rekindling the fire of our magic."
At first the P�nai believed her sight and prepared for an unknown trial. But as more and more time passed without any indication of an attack of any kind, they came to ignore it, thinking the Age of Darkness would never really come. Sorchimorina died eighty-eight years later without ever seeing her vision become reality. After her death, her prophecy simply became known as �The Legend.�
Though the Humans, Dwarves, Gendri, and other non-magical beings had abandoned the idea of a so called �Chosen� that would supposedly be the one to end the Krai�ta�or�s reign, the Elves and Fairies used the legend to strengthen their own hope, integrating it into their religious beliefs. They strongly clung to the hope of an Ihanar, the Chosen spoken of in the legend--the Bearer of Light--that would reveal themselves when the time was right, and fulfill the legend. The name Ihanar had been given to only two individuals in the history of Itara, and both were present at deciding points in Itara�s history. The first was Gillgarnin, the founder of the P�nai order, and King Astrinos was thought to be the second Ihanar.
Tochravanthis knew this, and in response, despised anything non-Svorin, especially magic users, and set out quickly to attack the P�nai. An act which he calls, �The Cleansing�.
These magi had held prestigious power in the courts of nobles across the land, and it was not uncommon for kings and leaders to seek the wisdom and aid of this magical race. They had been regarded in such high esteem that it was believed the P�nai could communicate to Livanthia, the goddess of the moons, herself. Most times they would play a mediator to warring kingdoms, seers and council to the leaders, healers, and even diplomats. Their order had helped greatly in preserving the peace on Itara for hundreds of years, and so their ambassador was present in the meeting of the kingdoms to end the wars. Yet their main existence in life was to live for the Goddess Livanthia, who they strongly believed protected them and gave them insight to the meaning of their magic.
Tochravanthis knew that only a being powerful in magical blood could defeat his own immortal prowess, and decided not to take chances. He was heartless and cruel in his hunt as he sought out every living P'nai on Itara in hopes of obliterating them and their threat to his rule. Once they had been eliminated, he would move onto the dragons, Elves, then the fairies and Sprites, until no being containing magic was left except for himself, and his six highlords. It wasn�t long before the mentality of the people took hold of his ideas, and they began attacking their own magi, focusing their anger on the ones they believed responsible for bringing the Age of Darkness upon them. The Itarans came to hate magic, loosing all hope in it and renouncing it. They even went as far as to convince themselves and their children that magic never existed, that it was invented in stories, and that they should fear and hate anyone showing the signs of a magi.
The people used the only method they could to identify a P�nai. They would use a Phocrume, a bubble-like creature from the Cascade forest that created a distinctive chiming sound. Each village and town had at least one. The Phocrume was a waist eater, entrapping its prey within it and digesting it, alive or dead. Yet the Itarans had found a flaw. The Phocrume couldn�t stomach the taste of P�nai because they were unpalatably sweet. If the Phocrume rejected the victim, then the people would kill him or turn him over to the Svori. If not, then the victim would die anyway of being consumed, or great lose of blood from partialy digested limbs. Damned if you do, damned if you don�t.
Now the P�nai were no longer safe in their own homes. As the struggle continued, a great deal of the Elves retreated to Laithlanon, cutting off all interaction with the rest of Itara, and disposing anyone that passed long enough to remember where the Elves had hidden. Only a handful remained to fight with the Elven Resistance. What remained of the P�nai allied themselves with the pockets of resistance fighters dotted all over Itara. Angrily, they wondered why the goddess had abandoned them to this horrible fate of genocide. Where they once had been high in honor and status, living lives of comfort in beautiful towers and temples, they now hid like dogs from an abusive master, with mud caked, and tattered pride.
* * * *
The turning point came eighteen and a half years after the initial invasion at the Temple ruins of Livanthia on the Cliffs of the Silent Stars. The temple had been deliberately destroyed to look uninhabitable by any passing Svori, but was the last real habitation of the P�nai and also a main resistance camp. Through a breach in the Resistance�s security, a Svorin spy had found them and disclosed the information to the Svori. The Svori in turn massed an army and attacked the temple with ruthless haste, taking them off guard and flushing them out into the open. Most of the resistance and P�nai were killed, except for a small handful that escaped into the woods with barely their lives.
Three years later, news reached Tochravanthis that the last P�nai had been slain through the heart by the sword of his second in command--Mortain. Tochravanthis could no longer sense the telltale signature of the P�nai, and congratulated himself for his ingenuity in defeating the legend, and strongly believed it would only be a matter of time before Itara would belong to him.
For fifty long years, the people of Itara have endured the hardships brought upon them by the Krai�ta�or, and learned to live with the Svori, though not without fear. Most of the populous have given up hope and live their lives treading on the border of Svorin law. A small group of resistance fighters have teamed up with the remaining Elves that dare to show themselves, and continue the once bright flame of the Elven Resistance, though now the numbers dwindle. As hopeless as it appeared, surrendering had never been an option. They knew the moment they stood up and fought for their freedom, that there mortality was at risk. Many people fought bravely, but most died in the horrible battles, mainly because the Svori outnumbered them ten to one. The Svori would have it no other way. It had truly become the Age of Darkness.
All magic users, (now only lesser magi-Elves, fairies, and sprites) were hated, reviled and looked upon with contempt, and if anyone aided them in any way, not only was the magic user killed, but their keepers suffered the same fate as well. For more than twenty-five years, Elves were a rarity, and best known in children stories. As were the P�nai.
Once it had been beautiful.
Once it had been admired.