4Ok, I'm having a block on B&W&G, so I've started a prequel I was planning on anyway. They will probably run side by side, this is basically how the world in B&W&G descended into what it did.
History Made, Monsters Chosen
Prologue- Fallen Waking
A young man stood on a small, steep green cliff over looking a battlement surrounded area. His head was noble looking with a regal air, despite the thick, dark, dirty hair that fell over his handsome face. He had an olive, tan complexion and looked tall, strong and lean, the classic athletic build. The air of him was quietly arrogant and confident; his face was proud and harsh. His hand rested lazily on the sword hilt at his left hip, the other hung casually by the right leg, but his eyes were alert and watchful. They had a humourless, dangerous glint to them. They looked like eyes that had seen too much, to use a cliché; they had a twisted, dispassionate coldness behind them that in their detachedness viewed everything with the same calm, assessing, unreadable gaze.
His lips formed a thin, satisfied smile as he surveyed the vast area below him. His right arm stretched across his body and he drew his sword swiftly and suddenly out of its embossed silver hilt. He brought it in one slicing motion above him, threw his head back and roared;
"Are the Faithfuls ready?"
Below him black green and red covered the ground in a restlessly shifting mass. The swarm stretched to the horizon as the sun set.
A wave of unintelligible noise came crashing back. He felt the power rush through his body as the sound hit him, rippling across the air as it hit him in the chest while his ears rang violently. He raised his head with eyes narrowed to watch as the last blood rays began to seep behind the earths' curve. He angled his blade so it caught a slice of the sun and sent it back, cutting across the centre of his tribe. As the blood lust began to flow, the army increased its volume, chanting and stamping in a mad frenzy to be off.
"Go Faithfuls! Avenge your forefathers with no mercy given! Go! Destroy the Tyrants and reclaim what was taken from you! Make your people great again! Freedom! Victory! Immortality! It's waiting! Go!"
The army sections split from each other smoothly and streamed away, roaring their battle cries as they began their travel to battle for their Master, who had promised them the visions of Freedom, Victory and Immortality that they desired and would pursue to the death.
His eyes closed as darkness fell. The wind buffeted the cliff he still stood on. It was starting. His mind struggled to steel itself as the image of a young, sickened girl swam into his mind, watched by a healthy, bloodied boy. They were young but wearing old fashioned clothing, untouched by time. Exactly as they were at the end. He raised he lids to watch the sun take a last golden look before it slipped away, leaving a clouded moon and some dim stars to light the land. He marched tomorrow. He would have his peace; even it killed him, and the unsuspecting world that lay quietly and blissfully ignorant of the terror a wronged one with hardened, deserving grudges and grief can bring.