The evilness of life continued its cancerous journey, from land to land no one was safe, no one was. The blood of the people rose with the tide of death, turning green pastures into lakes of blood. From high in the mountains the blood streams flowed, turning villiages into swap infested ghetto's.
From the midst of this darkened terror a tiny voice was trying to fight over the mighty roar of evil. As the few that survived began to hear the soft echoing of the light, there hope began to flicker, but who would stand tall to combat the horror of the darkness.
For all the brave knights had tried and try as they might there flesh had been torn from there bones as they lay in the pools of blood. There armour and swords were no match for the evil that passed thru their lands.
That tiny voice still echoes along the valleys and whispers around the twsited trees that once stood tall. Villagers in a trance following this voice into the unknown.
Higher into the mountains it went, as they strode over the bones of warroirs, slushing in the pools of blood, but the few that followed did not know what they passed. Blindly they were led by this voice, almost silent yet piercing the depth of dispare.
From a distance the voice had shown a way, high in the mountains a tiny ray of light shone down upon there weary faces. the voice began to rise up louder and louder, echoing down the valley as the villagers got closer to the light.
Closer and closer they trudged, feeling the light warm their faces as the voice began to pierce their ears with sounds of delight.