Wrote this a while back for a personal project of mine that's been delayed for a very long time. Here's an exerpt which I will gladly hand over to talented hands to interpret

Have fun!

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The Prologue

In the realm of the Helm of Authority, there dwells the Keepers of the Crypt, the royal guardians of the ancient burial grounds of the dead.

Passed down the line of marshals, the legendary rune blade was, without question, a symbol of domination over the military of the faction. Only direct lineage from the first Keeper were allowed to wield this sword, and ill fated it was when I was robbed of my heritage by an older sibling.

Jealousy clouded my judgment, and thus blinded by my obsession and greed of this heirloom, I befriended an opposing faction in a desperate attempt to ensnare my brother and take the sword for my own.

I was cast out of my kingdom and pronounced an exile, never again allowed to be admitted into the walls of the city. Forced to dwell far away from community, I set up a small house in the outskirts of the forests.

Though I never set foot out of the woods during that time, whispers of ill tidings of the Helm reached my ears, and to my horror, the nightmarish events that were taking place meant that my exile was the sole reason I am still alive.

The Affliction burst forth from within the kingdom of the Helm and consumed it. Like a plague it swept across the city and killed all its inhabitants. As the corruption set in, diabolical magics rendered the slain to rise from the ashes of the city. The undead turned towards their neighboring settlements and proceeded to genocide the living from the face of the world.

Gripped by the fear of an apocalyptic end to life as we know it, I flew back to the ruins of the Helm to manumit the few who did not succumb to the Affliction. Amongst the survivors I met the one person who was the closest thing to a true friend I've ever met. An escape was underway and we managed to outrun the necrotic soldiers of the undead. Though I must admit, a shadow of an inclination to go back and retrieve, what should never have been, my heirloom did pass through my mind as I took one glance back towards the walls of a kingdom which once was my home.

We were foolish to think my house was enough of a refuge to hide from the Affliction. Maybe happiness and false redemption blinded us. Maybe we were too stupid to think. Whatever the reason, it wasn't long until the undead reached the forests and butchered my friend, setting fire to the house as well. My rage made short work of the skirmish party, but from then onwards I was a loner. A loner in a world conquered by death.

Vengeance drove me to charge headfirst back into the kingdom of the Helm, believing the rune blade would resurrect a force large enough to wipe the Affliction out of this realm. What could've killed me before this madness was decimated by a sweep of my sword. I met many horrors along the way, but compared to my final despair, were insignificant.

The Keepers of the Crypt, royal guardians of the ancient burial grounds and marshal of the armies of the Helm are now the top lieutenants of the Affliction. Reanimated greater in power, least of all my brother, wielder of the sword.

As my brother's damned soul burst asunder his plate armor and stretched into the sky, the rune blade span in the air and stuck itself deep into the blighted earth. While the unholy death cry diminished, I limped across to the sword and uprooted it.

Agony beyond anything I've experienced before ripped fire across my forehead. The screams of pain resume its chorus, amplified to an unbearable volume. The sword's curse slipped into my spirit, like a freezing gale entering a wooden hut, extinguishing all warmth and chilling the foundations to a degree that was beyond description by a scribe of my grade.

Woe unto me...

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Now that I read over it again, it's awfully cliche... then again it was one of my more dated ventures into story development.

-- IIruhtrA