A Jaded Life

Come on, Children, gather around the hearth and sit down. Sit down and listen.

You know, we celebrate the Festival of Lights, or Yule as some call it. But do you know why we celebrate it? Let me tell you the story, of how the Festival of Lights came to be.

Once upon a time, in a far and distant land, there was a race of great beings, living in union with the world and each other. They were proud people, proud and mighty, thanks to their union with the world and the forest that sheltered them within.

But one day, there was one amongst them who was different. Nobody knew why, but she was not like all the others. Where her brethren searched for their place in society and accepted it, she did not. Guided by demons, she did not care for society or for the world around her and driven by her desires she searched and hunted for something.

What she was hunting for? Nobody really knows, some say it was power, some say it was knowledge, others claim it was revenge for a loved one. Whatever it was mattered not for she could never find it. She was searching, as if she had a thirst that could never be quenched, a hunger that could never be sated, spurring her on and slowly driving her to change. And changing she did, at first slowly, but once the change started, it became faster and faster, like an avalanche going down a hill.

To sate her craving, she searched far and wide, thirsting for more power, more knowledge, trying to take everything she could. But it was never enough and her hunger drove her to slowly consume herself, and the proud and graceful being was slowly diminished, making her smaller and twisting her. First, she lost her heart. The heart, formerly proud and strong was consumed by her greed, her lust for power and turned cold and uncaring, leaving her with an icy lump in her chest, never to feel again. Once her heart was lost, the rest quickly followed. Her hair turned black as the darkness she was calling on, her skin pale as the ice she was wielding and her eyes green in envy.

The people around her took notice and saw her for what she truly was, a sad and twisted existence. They tried to help her, calling on the gods and their angels but it was in vain. In order to help her, she would have to want help which she did not. She was lost in her desires, no longer seeing the world around her as something to commune with, something to cherish, only searching for her own advantage.

When the people around her tried to help her and when that failed tried to limit her, she started lashing out and, for the first time, those around her could truly see what she had become. Her twisted magic was powerful, wielded by an uncaring heart and struck those around her, even former friends were not safe from her insanity. They were struck down, consumed by her greed in order to fuel her continued search for more power.

Unshackled from even the smallest consideration and unbound from her former life, she discarded every sentiment of mercy, every bit of joy that may or may not have remained within her and the only thing that mattered to her was amassing more power, causing her to rampage, slaughtering and consuming everything in her path.

Finally, her search led her away from the lands of her people, away from the forest they lived in and the people rejoiced and started to rebuild, for her rampage had caused great harm and suffering.

But the dark being was only gone, not defeated. Time passed as she was gone, vanished in the dark, some hoping that the darkness had swallowed her, as it had so many others that stood against her. They prayed for justice, hoping that her greed for power had destroyed her. But alas, it was not to be. After she had left the lands of her people, her search had led her into the wilderness, deep into the mountains and nobody truly knows what she found there. But whatever it was, it changed her even further and it made her into a true monster. No longer was she one of her people, not even a twisted version of them. No, she became a true demon, the demon we know now as the Dark Queen.

And a Dark Queen she was, dark as the night and cold like the moon, sitting on the frozen throne of her citadel, sometimes sending her minions out to do her bidding. Those minions were just as broken as she herself was, twisted, icy abominations, distorted and controlled by her magic, they raided the land closest to her citadel. The people living closest fled, driven off by the monsters and they carried word of the abominations to the rest of the land. When they learned of the abominations, they prayed, prayed to the Goddess of the Sun to grant them aid, to lend them her power to banish the abominations that invaded their land.

And the Goddess looked down, seeing the suffering of the people and the destruction wrought by the abominations and it made her curious, just what had brought those horrors to the world. The Goddess looked through the sun and everything in the light of the sun was laid bare before her. Learning what had created the abominations, she grieved. Why, oh why was a mortal so horrible, so cruel, to create such monsters and bring so much suffering?

The Goddess turned to the mortals, for her power was limited on the mortal coil, and told them of her discovery. Told them of the hordes of horrors hidden in the mountains, told them of the abominations in the frozen valleys, told them of the terrible Frozen Fortress, raised out of the land itself, crafted out of a glacier. And atop this Frozen Fortress, there was a throne, a throne of Ice and atop this throne, a Dark Queen was sitting, surveying the shadows cast over the land. Everything in those shadows was hers, or so she thought.

The Goddess called upon the mortals to stop the Dark Queen, to rally to each other and break the Frozen Fortress, to overthrow the Dark Queen and bring on a new dawn. And they would not stand alone, the Goddess called upon the angels to stand with the mortals, to shield them and fight alongside them. Called by the Goddess, they angels obeyed, joining the mortals in their crusade.

But the Dark Queen was not idle. She called upon the horrors of the frozen wastes, upon the wolves and upon the ravens. She called upon them and granted them power, but her power was not without drawbacks, it twisted the wolves into wargs, making them larger and stronger and the ravens into nevermores, separating their spirits from their bodies and making them into bringers of death and ruin.

As the crusade marched towards her fortress, her own armies waited on them in ambush at the pass that is now known as the Gate of Tears. At the Gate of Tears, a terrible battle ensued, the Queen herself was bringing her might to bear against the gathered crusade, tormenting and weakening them while her armies tore into them. The Nevermores were ripping their souls from their bodies, leaving the bodies in a state between life and death, not dead but also no longer the beings they were before. In that state, they were easy prey for the cruel wargs, tearing into their flesh and ripping the bodies to pieces.

The only reason that the crusade did not die at the Gate of Tears was the intervention of the angels. They saw that the battle was lost, that the armies were being destroyed and the only chance to avoid a total loss was a retreat. They sacrificed themselves in a great magic, striking at the land and the Dark Queen itself, causing a huge avalanche to cover the retreat of the crusaders, to drive the forces of the Queen back to their land.

But not all was lost, after the disaster at the Gate of Tears. The strongest, the most wily of the crusade had taken another route, bypassing the ambush and sneaking into the lands of the Dark Queen herself. Behind enemy lines, cut off from all support, their conviction was simple: succeed or die. They were willing to give everything to stop the Dark Queen, everything they had and more. With that conviction, they marched, marched upon the Frozen Fortress, marched to their destiny. They were calling themselves the Korbal and on their lips was a prayer to the Gods, calling upon them to grant them victory, victory or death. That was their battle-cry.

Victoria aut mors.

Onwards, they marched knowing that they would only return victorious.

Victorious, or not at all.