Bergentrückung and the Garter Snake

[erside]

Long ago, a land said to be stood on the shoulders of giants came to be.

Brought forth by the strength of a conqueror, who united all of the separated and splintered lands under one banner, before facing against the demonic threat that nestled itself within their home. A conqueror whom upon daybreak come, would slay the malicious Imperfect that sought to vanquish the every-life of every-man. Whom upon noon rise, would disappear into the very ether of the world to become its shadow and memory, to a time long past. A story told, hundreds of times, yet very few have ever read on the impact that it carried and left behind. Traces of the past, still held in tradition for wary bedtime lullabies, to warn and help those who may need it in a time to come.

They speak of one who followed this here shadow, who chased this long forgotten past. Footsteps traced, following the will of the Eight Kings, Two Forlorn. A student turned teacher, a son turned father, a squire turned knight. Under the guidance of these kings and their regal wisdom, a man was formed from the mold left behind by their previous conqueror. A soldier they entrusted their armory with, a scholar they provided their knowledge to, an artist they inspired with, a wanderer they guided, a hunter they fed, a lover they gave a heart to, a seer they saw through, and a mind they could cultivate.

This one served as hero for many years, toppled great evils and saved many a life during the time he spent under the Eight Kings, Two Forlorn. Yet as men warred with one another, sought to conquer lands and cleanse evil from eachother, he met one particular being one day. A Black Percher set upon his shoulder, one who's wings sung a beautiful melody to his ear. Many told him, that Black Perchers brought nothing but ruin to those who listened to their song, yet the inheritor heard no such DOOM that stemmed from the creature, more than the cries of a sorrowful being mourning its loss.

This one listened to its song, until one day its nature began to betray it. Black Perchers were hated by the Eight Kings, Two Forlorn, for it was said that any who listened carefully enough could hear the death and plague they would bring about. Understanding, the one heard the pleas of the Black Percher, whom went to the court of the Kings to seek retribution, and peace with acceptance. A way of life to exist within this world and enjoy it with its song and voice, so that it may not bring about the destruction its nature brought by trick of the Rattenfänger. The Kings, filled with remorse in their heart, promised to find a cure toward this fate.

Awaken, Grimblao.
Why has thoust betrayed us, Oh Kings?

.. a march, is soon to no doubt begin.

[erside]

"As the false sun crafted by Havoc's own flame rests above Grimhjall, they say flowers began to bloom in red and yellow color.

If Nemea could see what became of her creation, no doubt she would weep at its horror."

---

A promise had been sown by the Gentry of the Kings. 'Shall the pest be captured, it will be cured and sing freely forever more'. A promise written in blood, sworn as an oath to honor the many years of service acredited to this one. Afterall, it were common teaching that the Eight Kings, Two Forlorn were gentle with those whom served them, and rewarding to those who succeeded. What more could have been asked for by the hero, who had won so many battles and established so many laws in the name of their service? What more could he have done?

It took many nights, but the plagues that had infested the Realms of the Kings had been brought down by a coterie of heroes, gathered from all over the continent. The Land of Giants had been saved, with the main detractor of the Black Percher being but the last one standing spreading this foul disease, unwittingly, unwillingly. It is said that an artist whom wielded the blade, coming from a land of song risen from the ashes of another, was the one who had captured the winged singer. A crusade against this plague that had taken long to finish, but finally it had. Peace in our time. Nations, standing together to heal a great illness and bring about true justice, true happiness.

Awaken, Grimblao.

It was repentance that followed. The Court that had taken in the captive was none other than Her's and Her Loyal Emissary. Among the forests, 'tis was a tower that had imprisoned the Black Percher's song, all in an attempt to fully be able to let her sing brightly once more. With the aid of the coterie of heroes, this one had finally gained hope that perhaps the song he heard would be able to be listened to again. That no matter what disease, what foul ailment or terrible curse may have been paid due to her by the Rattenfänger, she would be freed once in for all. Whence the night came to finally cleanse that terrible pain, the worst of all could happen.

Like a pied piper, the sound of that flute invaded those ears again. Why risk it? Why go so far for a mere insect, whom even the Kings have little care about? There was an opportunity, then and there. An opportunity to end that foul evil and tear down the influence of the Rattenfänger once and for all. For pestilence, must've surely come from this one insect. It were her song that brought the evils to their land, so it would be their land that would take her songs away. Upon the night to heal the Black Percher, its wings were cut off by none other than Her Loyal Emissary in Her name. The other Seven Kings, followed. Each one of their followers would take a little piece of her wings away. Then, they took her legs so that she may not escape. Then her mouth, so she would not scream. At the end of it all- They took away the last thing she had.

Awaken, Grimblao.
Her Heart.

Upon that day. This one wept. He called out to the Eight Kings, Two Forlorn... and all ten answered. For his crime of conspiring with evil, of allowing it to root within his own heart, each king would punish one of his sons and daughters. Family was important to him, afterall. His clan, secondmost. A Soldier who never came back from war, a son who never let go of his crown, a daughter that never escaped her nature, a son whom disaster fell upon and an offspring brought to death upon its first steps. This was what was due. This was justice. This was proper punishment. So that he may never raise his hand again against heaven.

In an act of rage, however, he would do exactly that. Driven by hubris, by hatred, by arrogance, the hand of this one would plunge into the sky. Into Heaven. An invasion of their courts, of their realms. A declaration of war. He was her blade. Her Sword. So long as he fought, she would sing the world unharmed. That, was their contract.

Awaken, Grimblao.

'This war is not yet over.'