To further the confusion, whenever these 'individuals' were approached by someone, asking for a friendly confirmation of their status, no sooner did the person tap their shoulder or lightly touch their arm, than the stranger would seem to simply vanish. Not in a puff of smoke, or any other such rudimentary and stereotypical idea - they just would not be there anymore. No flashes, no melting out of sight until only the cloak remained. Just empty air, and a very confused local.
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April Thirtieth
Your Majesty and closest Confidante, King Cecil,
Cecil, it has been a long time since we have spoken, in either each other's presence or through the correspondence of writing. I fear you are upset at my actions at your council. Forgive me. I wish to write this letter as a friend, and for your own convenience of hearing what has recently happened to my kingdom. Perhaps it shall benefit you.
As of late there have been suspicious characters roaming about. Strange men wearing darkly colored cloaks. My people are in absolutely panic. They believe them to be 'ghosts', 'specters', perhaps 'hobgoblins' or such. Some even claim they are 'demons'. There is an absolute stir here.
I will understand if you cannot fathom why this would cause a problem, but I must explain. Upon approaching these individuals they vanish, according to local lore. I have not yet encountered one, but I hear enough of them that it must be true that they exist. I do not know if it is some form of crude joke or just that my kingdom is perhaps drawn too tightly over its fears and, as Sir Edge intoned it, "post-war jitters".
If you can give me any sort of advice, as of the two of us you are the better King and most certainly King of the Masses, I would be much obliged as fellow leader and friend. If there should be any similair problems among your kingdom, I would be honored to offer my support and advice to the best of my abilities.
Your truest of friends,
King Yang Fang Leiden
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The next place to be stricken by these oddities was Mist. This made more sense, and no one took much notice. That is, until His Majesty of Baron began sending out letters to his most closely trusted friends (most of which were world leaders). One happened to be recieved by a young lady of Mist; Rydia Drake.
For a short while, Rydia had decided to remain in the Underground Land of Summoned Monsters. However, there was a problem with this choice, one she luckily thought of before it was too late. The time flow in the land of Summoned Monsters would allow her to age very quickly, eventually passing up all of her friends, and further along the line, dying far before any of them. As much as she loved all of her monster friends and, in her eyes, family, she couldn't abandon her human kin. She was human, afterall, and there were people who were too important to her to just flash by in existence like that. She decided instead to return to the upper world, and become the representative of Mist in Cecil's newly formed World Council. This, she thought, would have been a perfect way to begin teaching the younger generation the ways of summoning, while living a simple, peaceful life in her birthlands.
She had been wrong.
Cecil's letter told her of strange happenings in Fabul, happenings she knew something about. Rydia remembered how Asura spoke of such creatures... she remembered what her mother had said, as well, so long ago. It was not pleasant news.
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May 9th
Dearest friend Cecil,
I received your notice about the strange people in Fabul. I think I have some important information you should know about.
When I was very young, my mother made sure I was well-versed in many sorts of mythology. One type involved Mysidian myths, which are mainly centered around the Moon. I was only vaguely familiar with the Mysidian Legend and prophecies, but I loved to learn about the different monsters and creatures spawned from Gods and Demons. Anyway...
One type of creature was called The Messenger. It basically looked like a human, but would always be completely covered in black. Messengers were said to appear in certain cities, right before a crisis was to befall that area! However, they would never be able to tell you that since they would disappear into thin air if you approached them. Sound familiar?
When I was in the Land of Summoned Monsters, I learned even more about certain beings, and in some of Queen Asura's lessons to me, it was confirmed that Messengers are real, and really do pertain to soon-to-be disasters! Do you think this could really be what those things are, or am I overreacting?
Always sincerely,
Rydia Drake
P.S. The Messengers (if that's truly what they are) are in Mist now, as well.
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Eblan had always been a strong nation. Founded upon the plains, bordered by the ocean, its backdrop a range of rocky mountains. It was the most impenetrable of all the world nations; or so the Eblanites thought. It had come all at once almost...
The King and Queen were missing...
The young prince was digging his way to the Tower of Zot for their rescue...
Their Majesties and been both turned to monsters and put out of their misery...
His young Highness was leaving to.. "save the world"...?
And now everything was resolved, and things were back to normal. Besides the fact the once gorgeous and ominous Eblan estate was reduced to rubble and a few pick-pocketed treasure chests.
And whom did they depend on to rebuild this once glorious and feared nation? To restore their faith and hope, to rise like a phoenix up out of the ashes in a flame of triumph? To lift and hoist each heavy stone, each agonizing burden and build a life again; something the likes to be able to say "Where there was ruin, I built order"?
Their prince.
That shouldn't have been bad... but it was.
His Highness was, as described by his advisors, arrogant, hot-headed, overly-ambitious, womanizing, irresponsible, narcissistic, overzealous, overindulgent, and oversexed. Of course, his advisors had not seen him in battle. Were you to ask one of his four companions during the great battle on the Moon, you would have gotten a different description.
It's true Edge may have been all of those things, outwardly, but there was more substance to him, yet. He had the courage to go up against just about anything, which was occasionally in a hot-headed manner, but courageous none-the-less. Also, while Edge may have been quite a philanderer, he also would put himself at risk to save a lady. And no, it was not just for the sake of "getting some" (unless he could, in that case, why not kill two birds with one stone?) So, true, it may have not been all for chivalry, but it definitely wasn't all for something else, either. As far as his irresponsibleness, that was only in some cases. He had definitely been responsible enough for defeating Zeromus, and countless other dangers. Despite everything, Edge was a formidable opponent, a loyal friend - and besides, he was fun to be around.
Plus, lately, for whatever reason, he hadn't been flirting with women so much...
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May the 12th
Your Highness, Edge Geraldine de Eblan,
Edge, I had to check in with you about something. It is of the most extreme importance, and I hope you will forgive any informalities in this letter for sake of urgency.
I have received several letters from other kingdoms speaking of suspicious individuals in black cloaks overrunning kingdoms. They cannot be confronted, for they "disappear" if you will, on human contact or interaction. They have been sighted in Fabul, Mist, and now here, in Baron.
If you can offer any experience or understanding of these events, any sort of happenings of them in Eblan, the Council would be eternally grateful.
Your friend,
King Cecil Harvey
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May 17
Yo Cecil -
I can't say I've seen anything of the sort. It's kind of hard to when you're carrying around twenty-something two-by-fours and can't see over the damn top of the stack! Imagine, putting me to work on construction. Some people are so lazy!
Anyway you said they were in Fabul and Mist huh? Yang must be freaking out! Can't have anything bad happening in his kingdom. How's Rydia? Is she okay? Those caped whatsamajiggers are gonna have to hear from me if anything's happened to her. Maybe I should drop her a line, she'd probably like to hear from me.
Wishful thinking? Well, maybe.
I'll be sure to tell you if anything suspicious pops up. In the meantime, everything is cool in little kingdom of Eblan.
See ya -
Edge
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Cecil was worried. He had not heard from Edward in a very long time, nor had he heard from Mysidia. He had been relieved to get word from Edge (no matter how informal) and a reply from Rydia. These small blessings were not enough to cover his worries about the other nations, however.
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May the 18th
Your Highness, Edward Chris von Muir,
I haven't heard from you since the council, and I was beginning to worry. Pardon my inquiry, but is everything all right? You might not understand the tone of this letter, and if not, allow me to explain.
As of late their have been suspicious individuals, all cloaked and in dark attire, appearing in various kingdoms. There is a chance they could be dangerous. Have any appeared in Damcyan? Is everything well there?
Excuse my obvious urgency, but Edward, if something is wrong, we must know so we may help you.
Your friend,
King Cecil Harvey
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May 20
Dearest Rydia -
I heard about the little "people-problem" you're having in Mist. What's up? Not even going to tell your most beloved of friends (i.e. me) about it? You know if Mist needs help, Eblan can dish it out. Once we're rebuilt, anyway.
I was worried sick when I heard you might be in trouble, you know. I didn't know what to do with myself! So I had to write you. My gut told me it was a bad idea to send you a letter, what with the way you spurn my affections, and all, but my heart said I had to call out to you.
Don't hesitate to write back if you should need me.
Forever yours -
Edge
PS It wouldn't hurt to stay here with me until this little ordeal is over, no?
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May 24th
Edge,
You should go with your gut more often.
I'll admit, I'm flattered you were worried, for whatever reason, but we can take care of ourselves. Honestly, Edge, sometimes you try a little too hard.
Always sincerely,
Rydia Drake
P.S. Cute... but no.
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The attack came late at night, when everyone was "safe" in bed. The rain was pouring down in Fabul, assaulting the castle walls with unfaultering aggression. Children huddled under their bed covers, their small fingers interlaced with their bedding, softly sobbing to themselves about the nightmare they had been woken from, only to find a nightmare outside their windows, scratching softly and lightly cooing to be let inside. Specters of worry and promises of evil and unholy things to come were constantly thrown against the stone enclosings along with a handful of raindrops, with wind for their voice and thunder for their knock. Wisps of anxiety and stressful nervousness, the kind of awful feeling of edginess that only comes with war, glided down the hallway seeping under the doorways and into the Fabulian's homes, leaving young and old alike awake and shivering in the cold, damp night.
On the wall bordering the many families wide-eyed and uncertain within the kingdom, a sparse number of soldiers, bundled tightly against the biting cold uncommon to May, were fully awake against the late hours. While they had a reputation of being perhaps the most alert and on-task soldiers in the world, tonight was different, and even the most acutely aware of the guards was straining his eyes into the offending darkness, listening vainly for noises that they knew were there but just could not sense.
The guards would never know of the abominations lurking just out of their vision's reach; the gnarled and wicked loathing that swirled and bubbled beneath the misty grounds of the surrounding plains, and the horrible demons of emotion that had mixed and seethed within the ocean against the castle's back, the water concocted with screams of deceit and wails of insanity, and the destitution it felt in this world. And so, without any kind of physical force of it's own, these feelings of hatred and spite slithered erratically up to Fabul, and as they had no confirmed form, they molded themselves between the crevices and melted underneath the impenetrable front gates. Flowing freely about the streets, creating black and sticky canals in the city's cobblestone creases, until at once they all stopped and congealed in different pools among the town. There they remained, stagnant and patient.
A most unfortunate guard, perhaps half an hour later than the 'storming of the castle', ended his watch. With a nod of his head and a quick, polite bow, he dismissed himself from his post, and descended a stairway down into the center of the kingdom. His footsteps splashed in the murky puddles littering the castle grounds, until he made the unfortunate decision of stepping into the wrong puddle, tainted with a black and cloudy liquid. As soon as the leather soles of his boots touched the surface of the rippling pool, a large black string of water with a tar-like texture darted out of the puddle and attached itself to his clothing. He stopped, feeling the light pressure of it against his pant leg, and then stared down in horror as other attachments of the same sort began to leap and writhe below him, biting into his pants, and lower torso, some piercing through the cloth and cloak, stabbing into his skin, and sticking there like a leech.
He began to yell for help, imploring some of the other guards to come and save him, but his cries were lost among the roaring thunder, carried away on the pelting rain and howling winds. His lower body was soon consumed in blackness, all of it squirming and crawling over him, climbing up and clutching greedily with cold, clammy fingers. Fog and shadows and sheets of rain obscured his final moments of consciousness, as this hateful thing continued to engulf him, finally drowning out the soldier's pleas in a choked gurgle as it overtook his head, matting down his hair in a thick residue and leaving a pained impression of him pressed against his dark casing. The body wrenched over in exquisite agony, the blackness seeming to dance and jump off of him like sun flares. Rain now slid off of the slick coating it had made, glistening orange in the limited torchlight thrown about the area.
After what seemed an eternity to the soldier (but was only a matter of seconds), the odd new skin had formed into a sort of armor; blacker than the darkest shadow, and glistening like the eyes of a madman. Out of his head protruded two unfathomably sharp horns, gnarled and knotted at the bottoms, but extending out into the smoothest of points. All of his joints resembled the beginnings of those horns, jagged and twisted, while the fingernails, the foot tips and hip joints jutted out to form wicked points, almost begging to spear something upon them.
He could not see; for he had no eyes.
He could not hear; for he had no ears.
He could not speak; for he had no mouth.
All he could do was hate; for he had no heart.
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Screams and fear. This is what hung pungently in the air of Damcyan that same night. The usually decadently colored streets of the carefree night life lay in tatters for the second time in recent history. However, this time, there were no airships overhead, no explosions scattering brightly decorated banners and astonishing arrays of desert flowers. There was only the inhuman cruelty of the mysterious black knights that roamed the streets in masses.
They appeared with no weapons, only that eyeless and empty gaze, that they acknowledged you solely as prey, if even that. For no, you truly were not prey when killed by one; you were an enemy. You had wronged no one, but this thing truly hated you. There was no logical explanation, it was just that way. Shaking with fear, you would beg them to leave you alone, you had done no wrong! Your periphreal vision might catch a shine of something sharp, slowly growing and slipping out of their hand, as if their very skin molded and reshaped into a long and jaggedly sharp blade. Cold brick wall would meet against your back, as you had nowhere else to go, turning to face the blockage for but a second, but when you turned back around your gaze met black - the purest of blacks - reflecting back your countenance and the terror in your eyes.
Face to face with all your nightmares.
And then you were murdered in cold blood; perhaps it was a long, purposefully and devestatingly slow slice that laggingly drained you of your life blood until you had nothing left to sustain you, moaning and sobbing in pain, or maybe it was a quick and painful death, consisting possibly of a multitude of slashes and, if you were especially unlucky, a beheading. No matter the procedure, the body would be found as mere remnants of a human afterwards, slashed and mutilated until it was nothing more than a few unidentifiable pieces of flesh, decomposing tiredly in a pool of blood.
The holocaust continued long into the night; mothers wailed over those gone forever, children sobbed of innocence lost, elderly groaned as death floated about them, young men shouted in feeble last attempts, nobles grovelled in the dirt, and everyone who made no noise at all was either for the sake of silent and unanswered prayers, or for the eternal silence of death. And the blood of the dreamers, the dancers, the singers and the artists flooded the streets of Damcyan and sunk down into the earth, poisoning the land, rooting their spirits, and assuring that none of its people's hearts would ever again drift into the clouds.
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