The Downlands.

The Edge of our world was not the edge of others.

The City is a refuge, a refuge from the dangers of the world, suspended above the Downlands, a world of beasts and horrors, a world where nobody ventures. The City used to trade with other Havens, but they fell slowly, through disease or uprising. 

The City is old, so old it has no name anymore. Some use the Old Tongue name for it. Gildaran. But those who use the Old Tongue are never usually seen again. Traitors, they're called.

So the City grew old, those who remembered the history of it died, so it is blurred now, between fact and myth. Nobody sure of how the City really came to be, so most stop thinking about it, choosing to while away their lives without questioning the things that happened around them. Not me and Nul.

A few cycles ago, the Prime Minister was replaced, by Kalli Morthor, the man in the cloak, tall with sinister eyes. An New Elf, he called himself. But he wasn't an Elf. Elf's were graceful, majestic beings with morals and a love for Nature. He was a disgusting, sickening beast, no better than what you'd find below. He created the Bladers. He took complete control over the City.

The Citizens, being so narrow minded, took it as nothing to notice. Stupid simpletons.

But a small group of people didn't. The Venturers. The Uprising. The Traitors.

They grew and grew and grew, the Inns of the City no longer big enough to hide the meetings we were having. The Sewers were the only other refuge. 

Me and Nul were orphans, our parents part of the Venturers. Killed by Bladers. We were left to fend for ourselves, until we met Mariss and Kolortian, husband and wife? brother and sister? Nobody knew, but they were part of the Venturers, and they rescued us.

They trained us, in every weapon imaginable, taught us some secondary magic, charms and a few offensive spells, enough to survive in the dangerous world we were awakening to.

Then it happened. We were meeting in the main sewer chamber, all five thousand of us. We had no warning, the Bladers pounced, slaughtering all of us. 

All five thousand of us.

The End

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