Sakri

The Death of Wonder
Approximately 2,400 Years Before the Emrosian Empire

 

Alhu

The great central city burned. Those few survivors dispersed into the surrounding forests hoping to find succor somewhere far from these devastated lands. The charred soil was littered with the corpses of the slain. Alheen and Firlosii warriors, their allies the stout folk of the distant Mountains of Ice, as well as the southern demons.

The trail of the dead led south, a hundred miles of carnage. A swath of destruction carved into the land, leading to the mountains from whence the demons spewed forth.

Deep below the ruined city a dozen figures surrounded another. They each carried their exhaustion plainly.

“Are you sure of this?”

“There is no other option. They must be kept at bay. This power must be controlled. They cannot handle it.”

“Then so be it.”

“I am sorry my friend.”

“It is the only way.”

Sorceries flared from the dozen figures, wrapping about the central figure, his body contorted with pain as he was lifted from the ground. He aged millennia over the course of mere moments. Wisps of light spiraled about the man as he was locked into a timeless prison of agony.

The others turned their backs on him. There had been no other choices. They did as they must. For themselves, for Alhu, for the world.