WAN - Main Prologue

Dark Ages, 1317, The Fallen Wars.

After an entire nation recklessly performed rituals to their so-called god. The night itself became alive. The humans they sacrificed merged into a dark entity that took the form of a dragon. Sacrificing towns folk to further “please” it. But the serpent wanted more.

On the night of an eclipse the entire nation disappeared off the maps. Sanctum Alrio, a holy stronghold nearby, came to investigate the disappearance. The crusaders who ventured towards the site of disappearance, reported eerie whispering each night they slept.

At the request of Saint Elran, guards, not of the sanctum, were stationed on every tent each night. But that did not stop the whispers.

Night after night, then one crusader lost his temper. Storming out of his tent half-naked, and prepared to scold the guards, fell on his back at a horrendous sight. Just a few feet away from their camp, the giant lush green tree that stood alone was dried up, dead and rotting. Instead of leaves, severed limbs and bodies replaced them. Impaled on the broken branches. Flies and maggots crawling across their flesh.

Dark Ages, 1391, The Church of St. Gabriel

On the highlands in the far west. In a small ruined town, bleak with ashen wood and broken windows, a small boy not more than a decade old, had sweat pouring down his skin, stumbling his way through the dirt road.

As he looks back, the sun sets behind him, and night comes rushing in. He fears even more, then in the middle of all his fear, he hits something. Falling flat on his bottom, the young lad wipes the sweat off his face. "Father Luther!" the boy exclaimed in relief.

In front of the boy, a man dressed in pure white robes, wielding what seemed to be a Thurible. His eyes seemed quite furious, he bent his knees, meeting the boy at the same level.

"Sil, what did the Sisters tell you about roaming this late?" Father Luther scolded.

Seeing the boy wallow in guilt, the man sighed, "Go now. Tell Sister Phara to seal the doors. And don't even think about doing this again. For my sake."

Sil nods his little head, rushing into the doors that slammed shut behind him. Father Luther adjusts his glasses, "The night grows darker by the day, yet light shall stay the same, no? Dragon." He bickers whilst lighting the thurible.

Beyond him, the street lamps illuminate. A dozen or so shadows slowly creep towards him. Their forms, hideously unhuman.

A fierce battle begins.

From within the church's walls you could hear the rattling chain of Father Luther's thurible, and the rancid growls of the night

Thunder crackled through the skies. Wraith-like cries echoed throughout the town. And then silence.

The night went by quickly after the noise died down. The sun rose, and as the light reached the edge of the church's bell tower, the doors opened up. Two priests step out cautiously.

Relieved as they watch a hammock tied across two wooden pillars in the middle of the dirt road. Lying within was Father Luther, snoring in his sleep.

“Father, it'd be better for you to take a rest indoors.” Father Andreas requested.

Father Luthor rubbed his eyes open, his eyebags bigger than the normal human’s. Squinting at Priest Andreas, “Oh, Father Andreas, Yaaaawnn~ of course, just five minutes.” Father Luther proudly went back snoring, now covering his eyes with a pillow.

“Let him be, Father.” Said Sister Phara, stepping out of the church’s main door. She had quite the calm demeanor despite the way things are nowadays. “Father Gordon, about today's trade with Quinn, how many people do we need for the trip?” Turning towards Father Gordon, who stood just a few feet beside Father Andreas, eyes looking ever-so-sore, dug in between the pages of a finance book, “Hold it there Phara, don’t you dare, remember we’re still short-staffed for next winter’s hunt.” He said, slowly raising his eyes from the finance books. “Sil and Milean’s training also requires handlers," he continued.

Sister Phara stood in silence, contemplating how they could allocate people for the needs of the Church. Then a hand tapped Father Andreas at the back of his shoulder, Father Luther slowly got off his hammock, wiping the dirt off his glasses, “The trip to Mainer isn’t that important.” He paused briefly.

Adjusting the mechanical lenses before putting them back on, “The training of the Heirs are much more important than a trade with those money hungry rats.” Father Luther said in a deep tone.