Shadow's Twilight

Tradition, a term and bond that I hate with vehement passion. Tradition, a strange word it is indeed. Those three syllables have sparked revolutions and caused people to give their lives in its foul name. A wise man once told me that tradition is the one thing that cannot be taken away from man. Yet, tradition binds man to a type of bondage of sorts, one of the soul and the light, to the most extreme hatred and passion at times. It blinds even the most cool-headed man to logic, and if tradition is changed or violated, some would resort to violence even at the certainty of defeat. But for me tradition is much worse than a fragment of a bygone age that sparks fierce emotions of the protection an ancient past. Tradition has so enveloped my life that it is nigh impossible to determine where tradition ends and where I begin.

So, who am I? Some would call me an angel of the light. Others would declare my heart as black as a demon of the abyss. But in my heart of hearts, I know what I truly am. I am neither, one of the few and damned to stand in the middle of things, a gray area in the usually rigid arena of people. Of my kin and blood, we have stood in the boundary of both light and darkness. They, and I included are, and will become the guardians and martyrs of the truth bright.

My name is of no importance, though my story may be. The dark legacy of the dragon man is my inheritance. My "house" are cursed forever more to be like the forgotten wind of the North, swift to protect and quick to flee when the task is done. The house of Markson, as the irony of gods sees fit, live for what seems to be like an eternity in their life of hell, are skilled in all arms, and are as insightful as the gods. For what do we live for, moments spent in an eternity of agony, knowing when and how we will perish reaping the bitter harvest of the past's mistakes and vanities. This entire damned house is forced to be heroes just in order to survive. If we do not, death would be our option against the slavery of tradition. A death that only the bravest of us would ever hope to endure.

For seven eons, this has been the burden and curse upon the House of Markson, for we are the first and the only beings to harness the power of the truthheart, the mightiest and purest power of hope. All of those with the standard of the tree with three branches are afflicted with the Neverpeace, called by the unlearned as the curse of the dragon-man, Sorkanem, who foolishly dared chose through the hubris of his victory against the army of Malo. From his choice of ignorance we, his descendents have been coerced to protect Meredia, years that seem so long for a burden that will never cease. So it has been since the barrier that was created by the sacrifice of Markson's life. So has it been the curse of my life. This journal is an account of my life and how screwed up it truly is to be called an Heir to tradition.

For those lost in my ramblings, I live in a world called Meridia. Meridia is a land of the four celestial planes of power: Aden, Malo, Lifetonia, and Caribou. There have been many descriptions of the four lands. Aden, is the land that abounds with plains and "lofty" and ancient towers. Lifetonia, is the land of the immortal trees and the cities amongst the stars. Caribou, is the land of mountains and of hardiness in hardship. And of all, Malo, the land of evil, immortal enemy to all three, who marches off to murder, pillage, kill, plunder, kidnap, and ambush all others in order make everyone miserable. Of those planes there is a constant war between Aden, Lifetonia and Caribou against the forces of Malo. This war is known as the Perpetium. It has been going on for nearly twelve thousand years, and it shows no sign of stopping or even decreasing in intensity. In this long and arduous war, countless heroes, warriors, organizations, and etc. have arisen to stop Malo in their time. Yet it has never stopped even with their heroic efforts. Even with the creation of a barrier that never fails to fry the Malonians when they come near it, the Perpetium has not ceased yet. No barrier can stand forever to a place that is so focused on killing you that their entire religion is full of mantra that tells you that your going to paradise if you kill those who are different, a religion that preaches ignorance and lies so long in existence that they have nearly become truth.

In the Perpetium however, the most ironic and idiotic thing is that people say that the best offense is a good defense. The idea itself can be pretty stupid, for without a offense, you just defend until you get so tired that you just let your guard down and die as your foes pierce your defense.

Lifetonia, Aden, and Caribou have long since stopped to ever thought or care of attacking Malo, and they live by the stupid and rather ineffective saying of a defensive war against an army that has unlimited resources and seemingly undying hordes of men. In the Perpetium the only people willing to fight Malo at its heart and with its fire are the House of Markson, six lines of bastards and one legitimate line who wage war against the "evil" ones. They are the lines Truthblade, Lightstar, Dragonbane, Firedawn, Blossomseed, Darkmoon, and Shadowheir. Sir Markson had six affairs, and he slept with the most powerful women of his era. The saddest thing about these old and "tradition seeded" house is that one of our lines; the Darkmoons is from Malo and once was ruler of its entirety.

As it has been remarked, I am a Shadowheir, the lowest of the low, I myself am a half-breed and hybrid, the stock of Lifetonia and Aden merged in union that everyone has considered to be unholy. Yet for some twist of fate, the Shadowheirs always seemed to be more powerful than all of the other lines. Fate's a bitch, and I guess being an outcast wouldn't be so bad if we didn't have to live for so long. Yet, as heirs we must bear the "truth" in the hope that we may hold back the tide as we have done for seven thousand years. Yet, I can tell that the storm is growing, and the skills of the Heirs are declining. Our only true and reliable hope is technology, but it seems that every day, the Malonians are coming up with another invention that sole purpose is to torture or kill one of us. I know in my heart that the truth is fading, and if something is not done, it will die, and Meridia will be in a bowl of shit. A bowl that cannot be escaped from and the Malonians begin to envelop the world in darkness.

My conception itself was a joke of sorts. What that word? O yes, laughable. I don't mean that in a good way. It is the proper word for such pathetic beginning. My father was a Shadowheir, the seventh and most skilled line of the House of Markson, yet the most prone to fits of insanity. My mother was a rogue warrior-scholar who foolishly fell in love with my father in the pursuit of "romance", a word that only idiots would dare put with the art of war. In the months before my conception, they heard from a prophecy that their child was destined to save the world, a term that is so completely clichéd, and that in order for that to come true, I would have to pass and live through the evil that was called Malo. So, as they abandoned me in Malo, placing me in the threshold of the manor of a Malonian Deathlord, Cochran the Butcher. Yet, I did not die. For some twist of fate, I became a gladiator of sorts.

The Butcher made me a slave from birth, and began to raise me as a gladiator. Because of my skills with a sword, I became the Deathlord's champion. Before you get heroic thoughts of bloody victories under a golden sun, yet me clarify Malonian gladiator fighting. In it, all of the weapons are poisoned, if you won the previous battle, the arena is rigged against you, when someone in the audience gets the urge to attack, they can shoot you at will, and did I tell you the fact that if you get hit once, the judge begins to attack you with a cat of nine tails. I excelled in this type of fighting, and I was the "prizefighter". Every day, I was beaten, and sometimes tortured if I had in any way did some "infraction" in gladiator fighting, like showing mercy and giving a quick kill which is always against the will of the rowdy crowds. It was difficult to bear such torture, yet I did. I didn't know where I got this strength from, yet I had it. Then, it was strange, for every night, for some reason, a birthmark shaped in a symbol of an H crossed within a S always seemed to flare up and suddenly disappear. At that time, I didn't know my "true and distinguished" heritage, but that was the symbol of the Shadowheirs, a mark that never fails to bring the curse; the curse of the Neverpeace. That mark, as I do know now, was one that would forever separate me from the rest of the world. My childhood and adolescence was a piece of shit, but I never believed that it could get worse. And believe me, it got worse.

"Wake up, you miserable piece of waste!" said Cochran the Butcher

Cochran was one of the most despicable of men, a cowardly Deathlord, without a shred of honor. It was remarked that he fought babies instead of men. However, on his own home turf, he acted like a lion, especially when he had an army around him. He was a bastard, and a mean one to that. A braggart was he, and the worst thing was that he didn't have anything within him.

On that fateful day during the Winter Solstice, when the snows of Malo turned white instead of black, my "awakening" began. It began with a fight.

On that day, I was forced to fight a warrior-scholar, who had been captured by the Malonians when she was reading the Shadow Chronicles. As in all Malonian gladiator matches, the field was rigged. That day, it was strange. I saw the dawn, an occurrence that never happens in Malo.

**************

Flashback

In a coliseum carved out of black granite, two people are fighting, both bloody from many blows. One carries twin axes on each hand, a weapon that was known as a book-blade. The other carries a katana and a scimitar that have definitely seen much use and battles.

"You aren't an ordinary gladiator," she said

"What the hell are you talking about?" I said.

I blocked her blow, and sidestepped her other book-blade.

"You don't fight like a Malonian, it seems almost Trutenholdian," she said.

"Are you just crazy, or are you trying to make conversation?" I said.

I attacked from both sides three times, which I learned later was the basic maneuver of the bright truth rising.

"Dam you, you should be dead by know. No gladiator should be able to block a book-blade," she said.

I then rushed her, being tired of her ramblings, knocking her to the ground. The crowd called for me to kill her, but I laughed bitterly, and threw my scimitar at the judge, striking him in the throat, and as the Malonian "militia," that included some of the worst fighters in the world began to attack me.

My scimitar was broken at the hilt, thanks to the "value orientation" of Cochran to never buy his "champion" a proper weapon. I picked up the judge's whip and faced the militia. I effortlessly beheaded the front ranks and caught their captain with my borrowed whip. I quickly impaled him with my sword and began a dance of sorts. A deadly dance of death, where I hacked back and forth bringing death to the Malonians as my sword and whip fought in harmony. It was strange, as if I knew what to do, my head anticipating my enemies actions, pivoting when a cowardly Malonian attempted to stab me in the back, I caught his blade with my whip, and let go of my whip, and punched him in the face. I felt myself tiring, and it seemed as if everything stopped. It was a moment in eternity. As I looked up, a ship, which had the insignia of a tree with three branches, began to strafe at the Malonians, scaring them away. It landed on the bloody arena, and a green hued man got out. He walked out of his ship, and picked up the unconscious warrior scholar. He looked at me for a few seconds that seemed as if he was looking into the depths of my soul. He looked at me strangely at me, and beckoned me to come. In a lighting instance, he knocked me out, and I fell into oblivion…

**************

End of flashback

What happened to me later, I can only remember in the wisps of my dreams, a time when I was brought to a keep that was weathered long by time, yet seemed as new as the rays of the morning dawn. I can only see vaguely what happened to me in the hours after my capture, but I was brought to a bed with white sheets. How long I was in oblivion, I dreamed of darkness, but it seemed as if the edges of my reality was fading away. But from my nothingness, I began to feel a slither of hope, and I began to see a faint light, amazed to see a white aura around me. But around my body, I was gray, and I as if by instinct, I knew what I had become. I was now an heir.

As I began to make a door from the shadows of my past, I felt as if a burden of pain was put in submission, but as I breathed a sigh of relief, a new and heavier burden was upon me. That moment changed my life forever, for I first felt the Neverpeace. My door of my shadow was complete, and I walked out. But, on the other side, there was another.

He was, a mirror image of myself, and yet I knew him to be even more ancient than the castle around me.

"Hello, renewer." The spirit said.

"Who are you?" I said quietly.

"I am what you make me out to be, hero, villain, or neither," he said almost hesitantly as if he was not convinced of his statement.

"Where am I?" I said a little more boldly.

"You are in a place where the truth rules as king, where its great champions gave their blood. You are within the brazier of the seven," he said almost sorrowfully.

"Why am I here?" I said angrily.

"Because renewer, the tide is turning. All those who serve the truth are needed, no matter who they are. You have done what has not been done for eons, you have released the truthlight?" he said sorrowfully.

"Fate, has her hands upon you, and destiny too struggles to gain your soul. You were "destined" to become a savior of sorts. You are the only heir of shadow left, and with you is the hope that truth is renewed," he said firmly.

"It is almost time. Soon I will past from Meridia until the end. Twin swords are your legacy young Shadowheir. They shall be yours until your death, and even after, they shall always remember your name and feel. Farewell, and may you never despair," he said as he drew two blades from their scabbards and dissipated.

"But, I'm not ready," I said in fear.

As I looked at the twin swords, I beheld ancient runes carved on it. They were a marvelous sight to behold, and suddenly, the sword turned green brightly, and I was back, to reality. And I knew what I had to do.

When I first saw after passing through the brazier of the seven was amazing. Everywhere, I saw patterns crossed within each other, mysteries being revealed. My eyes were opened from their previous ignorance, and I began to see everything. I saw the darkness and the light, I saw the abyss and it looked right back at me. I knew, and with it, countless wonders and terrors were unleashed.

As I began to pick myself up, I felt eight pairs of eyes glaring at me, as if I had just committed a fell deed. One pair, who was hazel brown, gave me a hand up. Then, another pair glassy blue looked daggers at me and said," Do you know what you have just done?"

"Yes," I said in a defiant tone

"So, the last heir of shadow has been found. What's your name Shadowheir," he said.

"I have no name. I am what I am," I said using words that I did not know that I knew myself

"Feisty, aren't you. It stands to reason that you would be like the rest of them, reckless. Seize him, and when he is more eager to talk, let him out," he said disapprovingly. He and the other seven began to approach me.

"Sastrim Mollifous Tresti Adrian Markson!!!!!!!!!!!" I shouted, not even knowing what I uttered was the words of truth magic.

From my words, arose a masculine form clothed in green-hued armor. He took out a great sword, and smote the ground with it. He looked at every face, bringing great shame to each one.

He said, "So, my children now reduce themselves to this. They have not learned that the only way that they can survive is to unite. They still haven not learned to fight with each other. Quaint, they are the outcasts, yet when one even darker comes, they treat him like an outcast."

"Are you Markson?" I said, unsure if I was right or not.

"Yes, young Shadowheir, I am Markson. And you are the catalyst of events. You shall be the one to bring the destruction of the city of darkness," he said in a quiet tone. He glanced around at the others in the room and said," Fight alone, die alone. Fight together, live together." He disappeared from our sight, and we all looked in awe.

"I believe it is time that we fight together," said the blue eyed one.

"First, I kinda need to know what the hell is happening to me," I said impatiently.

"Of course, Shadowheir," he said smugly.

Through that night, and into the days ahead, I learned the powers of the truthlight fully. I beheld how powerful it truly was and studied until I was of an equal power of any heir. Five years passed, and I was introduced to my "destiny" as one of the seven who would set out to renew that brazier of the seven. The people in the room from where I had gotten the twin swords were six who would stand up with me. But events changed all of that. We were scattered like the wind, and I roamed around Meridia, taking the name Shade. In my wanderings, I slew thousands of Malonians and helped to stabilize the free planes. I fought in the name of vengeance, and my twin swords were forever stained black with the blood of the dark ones. I despaired for a while, yet in all the darkness, I saw light. Ten years passed, and all heirs, both experienced or untrained gathered to the keep known as Truthenhold, and I too answered the summons. We decided to take upon a dark course, to lead everyone to the city of darkness, and to destroy it once and for all. And so, my story continued

Before the fight, the blue-eyed one, Arasil briefed the heirs of what they would do, giving a "speech" in order raise their ardor and to tell them of our final and desperate attempt.

"Today we create history

Today we will do what has never been done before

All of you know what is about to be done

All of you know how it is to be done

A campaign like none other in the history of Meredia

Today we will storm the city of Malo

For 7000 years we have stood against this storm

We have stopped it for countless times

Today we will be known evermore in the history

For today we will commence Operation Bright Truth Rising"

So, ten years after my freedom from Malo, I was back upon its cursed grounds. I felt its shadow, attempting to gnaw at my soul, and I laughed it off. I stood in the coliseum from which I once gained freedom, watching the brutal fights. I moved quietly, and I beheld Cochran the Butcher once more. The years had not been kind to him, and he was just a ghost of his old self. He stood next to his gladiator and began to beat him. I moved up to him, and Cochran began to tremble in fear. I looked him straight into the eye and said," Hello, butcher, remember me?" and swiftly beheaded him. I told the gladiator to run, and I began the storming of the city of darkness.

The battle was a deadly dance, where the dancers, who were the heirs of Markson and the Malonians, engaged in deadly combat. The ships came, strafing the Malonians whether they ran, and the city of Malo gradually gave way to the ferocity and skill of the heirs. After freeing all of the slaves within the city, the seven and I entered the temple of Malo. There, we entered and beheld the door where was carved the seven lines. As we began to open the door, a thundering voice cried out, "The time has not come for the heirs to open the door. Leave, for the foundations are crumbling beneath you."

We ran across the temple grounds, as it collapsed beneath us, and the heirs began to blow the city of darkness into rubble. And so, the city of darkness was destroyed, and that is why I am here today in Truthenhold ruins. As I lie upon the brazier of the seven, where Rakmos once gave me guidance, I stand here to renew it. I serve what is right, and for some reason I am glad that I sacrifice myself today. To those who listened to me, farewell, and know that my true name is Arafil, a name that means hope in all languages.

The End