A landlocked country divided in two. The sea is a distant memory, trapped in the vast yonderous unknowns, only resonating in the dreams of adventurous youth. A state of flux, anguish and strife permeates two rivalling nations. Nobility pitted against nobility in an endless, all-consuming feud. The only constant is that blood is spilt with no restraint. This war has spanned many lives, and generations of men howl in sorrow at their torn away youth. The sons mourn and take up the sword in the name of their fathers, as their mothers and sisters weep and take up the plough. This nameless, archaic land locked away by vast mountain ranges still thirsts for more pale crimson. Clashes of steel replace the sound of snarls, and ferocious combat between great creatures of yore fills the skies. Those lovers of life grow tired, as tradition is erased by war. Lovers lament and cry a hopeless dirge, and mothers shed their tears for all the lost sons as families are bled dry beneath the deep azure sky along the front.

The war reaches new heights as the winter wind ebbs, and a reckoning thirst amidst those callous to folly reignites, casting a new fire to sweep through the plains of yesterday; along the neutered grass, nursed on the red blood of youth and carrion, pure fertilizer for tomorrow's reckoning.

The current year is marked as 283 WYT, since the declaration of war by the Cabal Unified Alliance. Written into action by arch consul Emile Rasnorov following the assassination of his missing daughter Caitra Celeste Rasnorov. The council labelled the declaration as Sorrow’s Woe, and sent it carved across the cadavers of freshly executed prisoners.

This decree was acknowledged in full by the Arcus Empire. The response was delivered with fervour by the 14’th Emperor Maxius Novilus Asse’cartus through an oral declaration down to the people and to any gathered court. The reply came the very same day as he heard news of his beloved adolescent brother’s disembowelment.

All scribes and surviving documents (which recorded the war’s start) speak to the burning rage seething from the man’s palette as his voice rang wild down from the balcony of his keep, in the capital city. But, only a few careful scholars make the delicate note that within the tense, anger squeezed brows, the stress lines and stiff contours of the Emperor’s complexion a definite hint of unyielding anguish was hiding behind his eyes.

Prince Maxim’s and Priestess Caitra’s bodies are still unrecovered, long after the efforts and deaths of everyone who wrought the rule of war into a permanent existence. Thus the soul war, dubbed not by any willing to paint a more fragrant name, continues, unyielding, ever enduring with no end in sight.

Author's Note

It was hard to get the courage to post my work online. But don't hold back criticizing, I'd like to hear it. Granted, the courage only came to me at 1 am, so it's a problem for tomorrow's me. Releases will continue daily, (I hope) or every other day. Follow me on Twitter (profile) to catch up with all later releases. I am still figuring out the formatting on this website. It might take a while for everything to click. : )