Blossoms of the Demon

Death. War and disease tore our tribe apart. The dead lay forgotten. The living no more than memories. I am all that’s left of the once powerful, now forgotten, ancient tribe of Faerie.

Once, our tribe was full of power, wealth and knowledge. But throughout the centuries we lost our love of literature. The last leader was a fool. He destroyed our books and forbade the Ancient Arts (magic). He was murdered. We tried to undo the horrors he created, but not even our strongest magic users could create a spell to go back in time.

But. One man made it back. With him, he brought The Book Of Destruction (one of the twelve books of power), for he was greedy for power and wanted to control Faerie. But, with The Book Of Destruction, came The Book Of Creation. And it lay on the cold ground, forgotten.

The children of the tribe were horrid. They enjoyed nothing more than to watch blood games and killing. The elders died. Wars began.

The Ancient Language required to perform the Ancient Arts went with the elders. The language that took five thousand years to learn was destroyed by one leader and forgotten in a generation. Magic was no more.  Until one man visited his father’s grave and found something more valuable than anything in Faerie, The Book Of Destruction.

With it, he became King. With it, he brought fear. With it, he killed anyone that rebelled against him. One man, to destroy us all.

Everyday was filled with despair and dread. Dawn brought nothing but pain. Every night, we could not sleep. Were we to die in the morning? Is there another day for us? Our fear dug into our hearts. We understood that there was no hope for our survival. The future holds only death.

Right or Wrong. The people of our tribe fought for our freedom. He had power. We had numbers.

When the war started, the world came crashing down. Deaths were all around us. Loved ones falling around you. Everyone was forced to fight. Elders died, children died, lovers moaned each other’s names. Families were torn apart, children lost everything. But we still fought on. There was no end. Days became years. Every dawn brought fear. Everyday was filled with blood and tears. Make it stop. Help us. Save us!

For seven long bitter years, we fought against him. Seven years of useless fighting. How could we have been so blind? No one, not even the king foresaw the end.

We wiped each other out.

There were few survivors. I was one of them. But the land was stained with darkness. Blood and death lingered on the ground. There was no way of surviving on it. The long nights we spend together were silent. There was nothing to say. We all wished that we could have died.

There was nothing to banish the memories. The was no one that could bring light to us once again. We saw dawn, but never felt its warmth. The sun never greeted us. The moon did not let us bathe in its silver light. There was no one to rely on. The land was poisoned.  
And slowly, the others died. I am the only survivor.

Darkness spread, destroying everything in its path. I tried to run away from the darkness, from the memories, from the despair in my heart. But no matter where I went, it was still the same, the ground was stained with blood; the rivers cried in pain. The world was nothing but darkness. There were no greenery, no colourful flowers, no birds singing in the air. There was only death.

The rain poured down upon me. It ran down my body, cleansing me of my fears. The rain brushes against me. It has been so long, so long since I last felt the water’s affection. So long, since happiness dwelled in my heart.

Nearby, I saw what look like to be a book. Gently I picked it up from the ground. Slowly I opened its covers for the first time. I stroked its old yellow pages. On the first page, four words lay. The Book of Creation.

Power in my hands, Knowledge in my head, I began rebuilding the ancient tribe of Faerie, that was once destroyed, now reborn.