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Description
Vol. 1: Birth of Hope

Prologue

“These are dark and treacherous times for the land of Zuumil. For as long as any living soul can recall— some dare acclaim it has been hundreds of millennia— my people blessed as the Arrant, the beloved and chosen children of the Creator, have been governed under the brutal law of the Nefarium, the accursed and rejected multitude. Our kind is despised by these vehement and hellacious creatures who seek to destroy every faint thought of faith and hope. Long ago, they invaded our peaceful shores and imposed their tyrannical rule; drudgery has become much of our daily lives. Under the crack of a leather lash, we slave for these darkened beasts in order so that we may live. If we even so fail to submit to their edicts, we may die of starvation or are dragged to the execution chambers. Not one is strong enough to fight back, let alone resist the masters as they break the younglings’ spirits at the early stages of youth and carry out sporadic purges of the villages within the districts. It is pure suicide to speak of treachery or even mention the Creator’s name. Anything that the shadowy leader of the Nefarium deems to be ‘fomenting’ is to be silenced instantaneously.

“While we praise and give thanks to the Creator, the Nefarium worship and devote themselves to the Fallen and his Shakatai minions, having sold their souls to him in exchange for becoming the beloved people of his rather than endeavouring to get right with the Creator. Little is known of the enemy of the soul or his foul cohorts, but it is said that Shakatai are demonic entities who take the form of dragonic creatures, bat-winged creatures and other vile monsters which are able to appear in the world yet only are observed by those who believe in the spiritual realm. According to legends passed down from generation to generation, before the foundation of our world was laid, the Fallen led a great rebellion against the Creator along with his Shakatai followers; this was a short-lived revolution as they were quickly defeated and cast out of Nirvana for their betrayal. Besides the given knowledge about his hatred towards us and the accompanying desire to destroy us by turning our hearts against the Creator, the Fallen and his dreaded Shakatai followers are all but myths nowadays. Evidently his plan is seeming to succeed as a vast many have lost their faith in the truth and the Creator. The Nefarium are his puppets… and we are his prey.

“In order that the Nefarium may keep better account of the Arrant, we were put into twenty three districts that divide the land of Zuumil: Altar, Bender, Chide, Dagger, Eclipse, Focus, Gasket, Hectre, Ion, Jax, Kestle, Loop, Moss, Nova, Okta, Polk, Quee, Rise, Sierra, Tambor, Ursa, Vector and Waxor. It was the will of their wicked leader to put us into tightly-packed ghetto-like villages so they may further regulate us and control the rate of birth of our young as our families are restricted to having one child every ten years. However, one of the commanders named Åalung neuters a number of females at random and castrates whichever male child he so chooses to keep our population low to control us easier. It is a callous and absurd method that works up the righteous anger within us… however, what could mere spirit-broken slaves do against this level of evil? All we supposedly can do is beseech the Creator through praise, prayer and fasting to send us the deliverer that had been prophesied to come to us the first day we fell under Nefarium rule. And that was eons ago… perhaps some twenty four generations or so.

“The main difference between our two factions is our captors openly defy the Creator and defile their bodies of natural sexual reproduction by producing their young within breeding pits locked away in the Barren Wasteland south of Zuumil. Once there were lovely creatures of feminine nature when there was a people known as the Eros, but the males became lustful towards the beautiful, embodied plants called Nefaria. These plants— sown by the Shakatai— were seductive in nature to the point where they can convince a victim to believe that all others are wretched beasts. Eventually, all the Eros males were consumed with hatred for their females and destroyed them all. And thus they began to breed with the Nefaria that contain the ovaries for them to insert their gametes into. Over time, all the Eros died out although the Nefarium—descendants of the Nefaria plants—remain. Such an act is an abomination to the Creator, and thus they are an accursed and rejected race.

“Aside from that, they also broke the Covenant of Lasting Peace with the Creator when they invaded our peaceful land with intent to enslave, kill and destroy. The crime is so grievous that the aftermath is the eternal punishment of Immersion by Fire. Compared to other methods of punishments, this is the ultimate penalty for wickedness—all the other ones are practically a mercy in comparison— as a living soul is cast alive into the always-burning fire, to remain so they will be purged of their wickedness for all eternity. For a long time, Vaticinators— those who are able to convene in private with the Creator— frequently portended the fall of the Nefarium and the rise of a Champion to formally discharge them from the living world to their eternal punishment. For many, however, such hope for those things to come to pass was abandoned long ago; our masters pay special attention to any unrest and dispel it quickly and efficiently. Each captain of the garrison of every village is keen and quick to put the sword to anyone who even speaks of prophecy, and unleash their wrath upon those associated with and related to the accused.

“Many have lost hope, tis’ a true and unfortunate thing but they are not too far from the Creator’s love as they remain His beloved chosen few. Others have fallen away from the faith all together and scoff at any mention of our Creator. In regards to His Champion, they mock those who believe such a prophecy, call it a hoax and formally deny the existence of the Creator. Long ago, when the Creator openly communed with our forefathers, He declared that if anyone renounce Him, so He will renounce them and hand them over to the Fallen. Evidently, the enemy glorifies such dissenters as they are elevated to positions alongside the Nefarium, abandoning their right to be of the Arrant and are now instead considered the Cascade. The dark spirits of the Shakatai have succeeded in getting them to believe a lie, and now, they are the Fallen’s trophies.

“Zadok, a twisted bear-like beast, is the leader of the Nefarium and he seeks to continue the brutal reign of terror his ancestors commenced long before he came to power. Unlike all his predecessors, his ambitions exceed all theirs as he plans on erecting a temple to himself and declare himself a god over every living creature. His trusted advisor is a self-proclaimed priest known as Dagge, a demented and sickly coyote creature, who commits live sacrifices in order to please Zadok and establishes enormous graven images of his master in every village. Those of us who slave for the pleasure of our fiendish masters are forced to kneel before it at the end of the sixth day of the week. The Arrant who still believe in the Creator advert their eyes from the idol while many others are perplexed at the sight of it. Due to these abominable acts, it is rumoured that the one known as Zadok has been prophesized to come as the Lawless Beast—a wicked and despicable creature who would speak pompous words and declared himself a god— which inevitably means the Creator’s Champion must be coming soon.

“We do not know how long we have been subject to our brutal masters as time has never been recorded before… not until myself, of course. My name is Unit 26398100542—although my mother had dubbed me Gettaspire Icewill— of Bulkale, District Rise, and I am the only scribe in the land of Zuumil despite being a rather old badger. Granted, I am simply the bookkeeper for trafficking goods all over Rise for my slave tasking, yet I secretly have been endorsing the concept of recording time and events. As for references, I study ancient manuscripts mostly, and I have stumbled across what appears to be the Prophecies of Old. Nothing I have read has a timeline nor have anything related to time. So, I am the first Keeper of Time—well, it is a self-proclaimed title naturally. While I have lived for so long as it is, I only started recording time half a dozen years ago although I am well-aware that our land is much older than that. However, today marks the introduction of the Year of 7 since I initiated with chronicling time. And this is a very significant event as seven is the number of completion and I remember that number is in correspondence to a myriad of the prophecies I have studied. One day… someday the number seven will change everything.”

In the darkened room illuminated by the flickering light of several candles and a fireplace, the old badger finished inscribing the final words into the book he had stitched together. The book was a detailed, chronological list of all the major events that have occurred within Zuumil within the past six recorded years, and now to begin the list of events for the Year of 7… well, the events he knew of or eavesdropped from the Nefarium slaver drivers, of course. Setting the quill back into the ink bottle, he closed the book and set it on the bookshelf in his bedroom, before he removed his bloodstained attire and went to examine the deep wounds in his back.

Although the physical wounds did not penetrate that far into his flesh, the emotional wounds ran deeper. Had he known what it had been like to live without a master to submit to unwillingly, it may have had a larger psychological effect on him. But this was life, as it was for everyone including those up in their years too; this was all they had ever known. And after eons of being subjected to the brutal system, most of the Arrant just learned to cope with it and accepted it as a natural part of life. The male beasts became impervious to the pain that ripped through their backs when a flogging whip was swung against it or the work that calloused their paws. In many ways, they were stronger than their persecutors and if they chose to rise against the wicked Nefarium, victory could be possible. However, in spite of outnumbering their enemy by two hundred to one, fear was the defining factor that prevented them from rebelling.

Gettaspire took a damp cloth and began to gently stroke the wounds in an attempt to clean them up before infection could take root. His pride in being one of the Arrant had nearly been fully diminished and he was often tempted with renouncing the Creator just to end his misery. This decision was always altered by remembering the special birthmark of the Arrant on his right wrist and how that signified that they were the beloved children of the Creator. At times like those, a belief in a supreme being seemed futile and for the simpleton. Yet, in the midst of all the anguish and strife, the badger had received a peace that even baffled the slavers. And a myriad of specific confirmations were enough evidence that their Creator had not left them to suffer at the hand of the Nefarium forever. In fact, a Champion would be raised. One day… someday.

Being naturally curious as he was, the old badger sought the wise counsel of Aidyn Thunderwind, one of the last Vaticinators alive. Aidyn revealed that the Creator promised the Champion to come out of the land of Siranek—the name of a valley running between the Icliky and Deception Mountain ranges in District Sierra— and that his coming was nigh. District Sierra? What good has ever come out that appalling region? Choosing to accept Aidyn’s words as truth, Gettaspire meditated long over what information he was given for the past few years since he acquired the wisdom of Aidyn Thunderwind. Still, Gettaspire pondered to himself, what would this deliverer look like? Would he be the Creator in the flesh and fur? Or could he very much be a different species altogether that had never been seen before? Were the suspicions of an angelic being like the warrior prince, Borindur, accurate? How would they know the Champion when he does enter the world?

While his master, Tregol, had granted him the acquiescence to return to his place of residence for the night, he had been noticing some very peculiar and intriguing behaviours about the other Nefarium who keep the village of Bulkale enslaved. Today, the first of the month of Vandari—the first day of the Year of 7—has seen their fearsome masters have been unusually brutal to the younglings and elders— himself included— bringing the sting of the leather whips to their bare backs although none were accused for any crime nor did they fail to complete their work on time. Well, the painful wounds were hardly of consideration to the old fellow as he was intrigued because he finally saw a newfound ideal within their eyes that he thought would never occur, yet there it was. Although they bellowed and maintained their ferocity and hatred, this time it was much different as each and every slave driver had fear embedded in their eyes.

Coincidence, perhaps? No. For every single Nefarium janissary within the village to be overcome with fear could not be probable as they knew no fear. Or did they simply claim that? If it was all over this village in particular, could it be widespread within the ranks of the despised beasts? Perchance it was some type of revelation that was quickly spread to all of them struck them and seized their darkened hearts with absolute terror. A psychological attack from someone who understands how the mind works, perhaps? Well, whatever the reason for it and cause of it, clearly this plan was working. Simply observing their actions and behaviours proved they were suffering a serious level of anxiety as if they were feeling watched. And if they are frightened of something, should everyone else be too? As much as Gettaspire held resentment in his heart for them, he could not help himself from pondering if they were seeking some help for this sudden mental anxiety. Hopefully, whatever it was, it could pass quickly.

Another curious thing he took notice of was the village elder, Theodren Winterstar, gave thanks openly to the Creator at morning, midday and evening spontaneously without any arranged ceremony. Perchance this sudden acknowledgment was enough to rile the slave drivers to the point where they were driven mad and sought to take out their anger upon the children and elders. As much as that would seem a good answer, it was not a very satisfying one and would only be welcoming ignorance in. Even the slavers from the other villages who journeyed over to assist, culminating in an abnormal increased presence of Nefarium, were overwhelmed with anxiety as if their world was on the brink of collapse at any moment. One thing remained a mystery: why were the Nefarium terrified?

Gettaspire rubbed his wounds with a few ointments from concoctions as prepared by Serena Whitefrost, the village healer, as he quietly pondered on these unusual events. He winced a bit as the medicine began cleaning out the wounds and then watched in amazement as the abrasions began closing up into scars. Now, he could think clearly. Retreating within the labyrinthine-like halls of his mind would help him process all of this, and he continued searching for an answer and trying to piece together the strange events. Sliding his night gown over his head after setting his torn, flea-infested pants aside, the old badger sat down onto his rather comfy bed, covering himself with the coarse sheets as he stared up at the ceiling above his head. And then he started to chuckle.

“By the Stars of Nirvana, of course!” he exclaimed, sitting upright, “Blessed be the Creator! The one to drive the Nefarium to the Immersion of Fire has entered our world! The Champion has been born!”

Description
Vol. 1: Birth of Hope

Prologue

“These are dark and treacherous times for the land of Zuumil. For as long as any living soul can recall— some dare acclaim it has been hundreds of millennia— my people blessed as the Arrant, the beloved and chosen children of the Creator, have been governed under the brutal law of the Nefarium, the accursed and rejected multitude. Our kind is despised by these vehement and hellacious creatures who seek to destroy every faint thought of faith and hope. Long ago, they invaded our peaceful shores and imposed their tyrannical rule; drudgery has become much of our daily lives. Under the crack of a leather lash, we slave for these darkened beasts in order so that we may live. If we even so fail to submit to their edicts, we may die of starvation or are dragged to the execution chambers. Not one is strong enough to fight back, let alone resist the masters as they break the younglings’ spirits at the early stages of youth and carry out sporadic purges of the villages within the districts. It is pure suicide to speak of treachery or even mention the Creator’s name. Anything that the shadowy leader of the Nefarium deems to be ‘fomenting’ is to be silenced instantaneously.

“While we praise and give thanks to the Creator, the Nefarium worship and devote themselves to the Fallen and his Shakatai minions, having sold their souls to him in exchange for becoming the beloved people of his rather than endeavouring to get right with the Creator. Little is known of the enemy of the soul or his foul cohorts, but it is said that Shakatai are demonic entities who take the form of dragonic creatures, bat-winged creatures and other vile monsters which are able to appear in the world yet only are observed by those who believe in the spiritual realm. According to legends passed down from generation to generation, before the foundation of our world was laid, the Fallen led a great rebellion against the Creator along with his Shakatai followers; this was a short-lived revolution as they were quickly defeated and cast out of Nirvana for their betrayal. Besides the given knowledge about his hatred towards us and the accompanying desire to destroy us by turning our hearts against the Creator, the Fallen and his dreaded Shakatai followers are all but myths nowadays. Evidently his plan is seeming to succeed as a vast many have lost their faith in the truth and the Creator. The Nefarium are his puppets… and we are his prey.

“In order that the Nefarium may keep better account of the Arrant, we were put into twenty three districts that divide the land of Zuumil: Altar, Bender, Chide, Dagger, Eclipse, Focus, Gasket, Hectre, Ion, Jax, Kestle, Loop, Moss, Nova, Okta, Polk, Quee, Rise, Sierra, Tambor, Ursa, Vector and Waxor. It was the will of their wicked leader to put us into tightly-packed ghetto-like villages so they may further regulate us and control the rate of birth of our young as our families are restricted to having one child every ten years. However, one of the commanders named Åalung neuters a number of females at random and castrates whichever male child he so chooses to keep our population low to control us easier. It is a callous and absurd method that works up the righteous anger within us… however, what could mere spirit-broken slaves do against this level of evil? All we supposedly can do is beseech the Creator through praise, prayer and fasting to send us the deliverer that had been prophesied to come to us the first day we fell under Nefarium rule. And that was eons ago… perhaps some twenty four generations or so.

“The main difference between our two factions is our captors openly defy the Creator and defile their bodies of natural sexual reproduction by producing their young within breeding pits locked away in the Barren Wasteland south of Zuumil. Once there were lovely creatures of feminine nature when there was a people known as the Eros, but the males became lustful towards the beautiful, embodied plants called Nefaria. These plants— sown by the Shakatai— were seductive in nature to the point where they can convince a victim to believe that all others are wretched beasts. Eventually, all the Eros males were consumed with hatred for their females and destroyed them all. And thus they began to breed with the Nefaria that contain the ovaries for them to insert their gametes into. Over time, all the Eros died out although the Nefarium—descendants of the Nefaria plants—remain. Such an act is an abomination to the Creator, and thus they are an accursed and rejected race.

“Aside from that, they also broke the Covenant of Lasting Peace with the Creator when they invaded our peaceful land with intent to enslave, kill and destroy. The crime is so grievous that the aftermath is the eternal punishment of Immersion by Fire. Compared to other methods of punishments, this is the ultimate penalty for wickedness—all the other ones are practically a mercy in comparison— as a living soul is cast alive into the always-burning fire, to remain so they will be purged of their wickedness for all eternity. For a long time, Vaticinators— those who are able to convene in private with the Creator— frequently portended the fall of the Nefarium and the rise of a Champion to formally discharge them from the living world to their eternal punishment. For many, however, such hope for those things to come to pass was abandoned long ago; our masters pay special attention to any unrest and dispel it quickly and efficiently. Each captain of the garrison of every village is keen and quick to put the sword to anyone who even speaks of prophecy, and unleash their wrath upon those associated with and related to the accused.

“Many have lost hope, tis’ a true and unfortunate thing but they are not too far from the Creator’s love as they remain His beloved chosen few. Others have fallen away from the faith all together and scoff at any mention of our Creator. In regards to His Champion, they mock those who believe such a prophecy, call it a hoax and formally deny the existence of the Creator. Long ago, when the Creator openly communed with our forefathers, He declared that if anyone renounce Him, so He will renounce them and hand them over to the Fallen. Evidently, the enemy glorifies such dissenters as they are elevated to positions alongside the Nefarium, abandoning their right to be of the Arrant and are now instead considered the Cascade. The dark spirits of the Shakatai have succeeded in getting them to believe a lie, and now, they are the Fallen’s trophies.

“Zadok, a twisted bear-like beast, is the leader of the Nefarium and he seeks to continue the brutal reign of terror his ancestors commenced long before he came to power. Unlike all his predecessors, his ambitions exceed all theirs as he plans on erecting a temple to himself and declare himself a god over every living creature. His trusted advisor is a self-proclaimed priest known as Dagge, a demented and sickly coyote creature, who commits live sacrifices in order to please Zadok and establishes enormous graven images of his master in every village. Those of us who slave for the pleasure of our fiendish masters are forced to kneel before it at the end of the sixth day of the week. The Arrant who still believe in the Creator advert their eyes from the idol while many others are perplexed at the sight of it. Due to these abominable acts, it is rumoured that the one known as Zadok has been prophesized to come as the Lawless Beast—a wicked and despicable creature who would speak pompous words and declared himself a god— which inevitably means the Creator’s Champion must be coming soon.

“We do not know how long we have been subject to our brutal masters as time has never been recorded before… not until myself, of course. My name is Unit 26398100542—although my mother had dubbed me Gettaspire Icewill— of Bulkale, District Rise, and I am the only scribe in the land of Zuumil despite being a rather old badger. Granted, I am simply the bookkeeper for trafficking goods all over Rise for my slave tasking, yet I secretly have been endorsing the concept of recording time and events. As for references, I study ancient manuscripts mostly, and I have stumbled across what appears to be the Prophecies of Old. Nothing I have read has a timeline nor have anything related to time. So, I am the first Keeper of Time—well, it is a self-proclaimed title naturally. While I have lived for so long as it is, I only started recording time half a dozen years ago although I am well-aware that our land is much older than that. However, today marks the introduction of the Year of 7 since I initiated with chronicling time. And this is a very significant event as seven is the number of completion and I remember that number is in correspondence to a myriad of the prophecies I have studied. One day… someday the number seven will change everything.”

In the darkened room illuminated by the flickering light of several candles and a fireplace, the old badger finished inscribing the final words into the book he had stitched together. The book was a detailed, chronological list of all the major events that have occurred within Zuumil within the past six recorded years, and now to begin the list of events for the Year of 7… well, the events he knew of or eavesdropped from the Nefarium slaver drivers, of course. Setting the quill back into the ink bottle, he closed the book and set it on the bookshelf in his bedroom, before he removed his bloodstained attire and went to examine the deep wounds in his back.

Although the physical wounds did not penetrate that far into his flesh, the emotional wounds ran deeper. Had he known what it had been like to live without a master to submit to unwillingly, it may have had a larger psychological effect on him. But this was life, as it was for everyone including those up in their years too; this was all they had ever known. And after eons of being subjected to the brutal system, most of the Arrant just learned to cope with it and accepted it as a natural part of life. The male beasts became impervious to the pain that ripped through their backs when a flogging whip was swung against it or the work that calloused their paws. In many ways, they were stronger than their persecutors and if they chose to rise against the wicked Nefarium, victory could be possible. However, in spite of outnumbering their enemy by two hundred to one, fear was the defining factor that prevented them from rebelling.

Gettaspire took a damp cloth and began to gently stroke the wounds in an attempt to clean them up before infection could take root. His pride in being one of the Arrant had nearly been fully diminished and he was often tempted with renouncing the Creator just to end his misery. This decision was always altered by remembering the special birthmark of the Arrant on his right wrist and how that signified that they were the beloved children of the Creator. At times like those, a belief in a supreme being seemed futile and for the simpleton. Yet, in the midst of all the anguish and strife, the badger had received a peace that even baffled the slavers. And a myriad of specific confirmations were enough evidence that their Creator had not left them to suffer at the hand of the Nefarium forever. In fact, a Champion would be raised. One day… someday.

Being naturally curious as he was, the old badger sought the wise counsel of Aidyn Thunderwind, one of the last Vaticinators alive. Aidyn revealed that the Creator promised the Champion to come out of the land of Siranek—the name of a valley running between the Icliky and Deception Mountain ranges in District Sierra— and that his coming was nigh. District Sierra? What good has ever come out that appalling region? Choosing to accept Aidyn’s words as truth, Gettaspire meditated long over what information he was given for the past few years since he acquired the wisdom of Aidyn Thunderwind. Still, Gettaspire pondered to himself, what would this deliverer look like? Would he be the Creator in the flesh and fur? Or could he very much be a different species altogether that had never been seen before? Were the suspicions of an angelic being like the warrior prince, Borindur, accurate? How would they know the Champion when he does enter the world?

While his master, Tregol, had granted him the acquiescence to return to his place of residence for the night, he had been noticing some very peculiar and intriguing behaviours about the other Nefarium who keep the village of Bulkale enslaved. Today, the first of the month of Vandari—the first day of the Year of 7—has seen their fearsome masters have been unusually brutal to the younglings and elders— himself included— bringing the sting of the leather whips to their bare backs although none were accused for any crime nor did they fail to complete their work on time. Well, the painful wounds were hardly of consideration to the old fellow as he was intrigued because he finally saw a newfound ideal within their eyes that he thought would never occur, yet there it was. Although they bellowed and maintained their ferocity and hatred, this time it was much different as each and every slave driver had fear embedded in their eyes.

Coincidence, perhaps? No. For every single Nefarium janissary within the village to be overcome with fear could not be probable as they knew no fear. Or did they simply claim that? If it was all over this village in particular, could it be widespread within the ranks of the despised beasts? Perchance it was some type of revelation that was quickly spread to all of them struck them and seized their darkened hearts with absolute terror. A psychological attack from someone who understands how the mind works, perhaps? Well, whatever the reason for it and cause of it, clearly this plan was working. Simply observing their actions and behaviours proved they were suffering a serious level of anxiety as if they were feeling watched. And if they are frightened of something, should everyone else be too? As much as Gettaspire held resentment in his heart for them, he could not help himself from pondering if they were seeking some help for this sudden mental anxiety. Hopefully, whatever it was, it could pass quickly.

Another curious thing he took notice of was the village elder, Theodren Winterstar, gave thanks openly to the Creator at morning, midday and evening spontaneously without any arranged ceremony. Perchance this sudden acknowledgment was enough to rile the slave drivers to the point where they were driven mad and sought to take out their anger upon the children and elders. As much as that would seem a good answer, it was not a very satisfying one and would only be welcoming ignorance in. Even the slavers from the other villages who journeyed over to assist, culminating in an abnormal increased presence of Nefarium, were overwhelmed with anxiety as if their world was on the brink of collapse at any moment. One thing remained a mystery: why were the Nefarium terrified?

Gettaspire rubbed his wounds with a few ointments from concoctions as prepared by Serena Whitefrost, the village healer, as he quietly pondered on these unusual events. He winced a bit as the medicine began cleaning out the wounds and then watched in amazement as the abrasions began closing up into scars. Now, he could think clearly. Retreating within the labyrinthine-like halls of his mind would help him process all of this, and he continued searching for an answer and trying to piece together the strange events. Sliding his night gown over his head after setting his torn, flea-infested pants aside, the old badger sat down onto his rather comfy bed, covering himself with the coarse sheets as he stared up at the ceiling above his head. And then he started to chuckle.

“By the Stars of Nirvana, of course!” he exclaimed, sitting upright, “Blessed be the Creator! The one to drive the Nefarium to the Immersion of Fire has entered our world! The Champion has been born!”