The Crimson Court

You trudge on towards a crumbling city, wondering if this is where your life will end. The dismal cracked buildings around you reflect your visage: worn, hopeless, and forsaken. The looming city may well be your last sight. You are lost, starving, and about to fall to your knees from weariness. An appropriate place for the forgotten to die: this city of grey and neglect.

But we are all lost things here, broken wind-up toys that through some combination of fortune, fate, and entropy have ended up in these halls. Whoever you are, wherever you come from, this grey, fading city might just become your home.

Happiness is not promised, but acceptance is guaranteed.

## Overview

Many, many cycles ago, there was a small kingdom deep within the domain of Valyeria.

It was a beautiful place, full of wonder, with gleaming golden towers and grand, lavishly decorated terraces. But surrounding it, rocky, desolate expanses as far as the eyes could see. The patch of fertile beauty was vied for zealously until a group of great warriors wielding dragon-forged blades finally drove their foes to the ground.

In this small kingdom, the tightly knit community of crimson nobles lived in perfect luxury - safe from outside danger. They had weapons of unbelievable power and trained warriors of unrivalled skill, they had nothing to fear but each other.

They grew complacent and proud, and then they grew indifferent and cold and cruel.

And then, something happened. Nobody dared to speak of it, nobody dared to write it down. Was it a wizard who did it? A great weapon of unspeakable power? A natural disaster? Did they bring it upon themselves or was it simply bad luck?

Whatever it was, it obliterated the little kingdom until only charred ruins and charred bones remained, scattering the few survivors across the entire planet. The secrets to forging their legendaries weapons were lost. What remained wandered in desolation without their enchanted steel and old, proud traditions.

Few survived the ordeal, but sometimes you can still see crimson knights roaming the lands, far from the home of their ancestors, with nothing to show for their noble heritage but ancient stories.

## Chapter 1 - Touching Darkness

In the beginning, there was nothing.

Then, everything.

From chaos, came creation. From discord, came life.

Within the disorder of Valyeria, came a secret order...

The beginning foreshadows the end. All things are born of chaos and all things will end in chaos. We embrace this inconstant constant.

Kindness is a dream of mortal-kind. A beautiful illusion, a plea to the world. However much you bargain with reality, death will not heed you. It shall come for you regardless. Given enough time, all will fade away, and the world will be silent and still.

We accept the truth. It is a harsh world we live in. As such, Crimson Court only houses creatures born of the battlefield. With sharp blades capable of rending flesh and bone. We are birds of prey, wrapped in slick feathers, bringing death in a flash of red.

It's kill, or be killed. Eat, or be eaten. Master, or be mastered. It is the law of the wild, and so it is the law of the Court. And we obey.

Darkness lives in our souls, and we choose to touch it, to love it. To us, death is not the enemy; it is the way.

Here we reside at world's end, where the land itself is tempered, sharpened and scarred. Do you really expect us to invite you in? The walls that surround our territory are honed to be as dangerous as the points of our swords.

We scorn the cowardly ways of other Courts. When we fight, we get up close and personal. Sword against sword, with nowhere for our enemies to flee.

Face to face. It is better this way. More honest.

The Crimson Court is founded on warriors and the most ruthless of hunters. The thirst for the hunt and thrill of the kill is embedded within each of us. We utilise precise, killing blows to end our foes. Swiftly and silently.

While other Courts are content to hide behind diplomacy and trickery, we do not compromise. Those that do not bend, we break.

We waste no time rallying our warriors with promises of glory, they know what is expected of them, and they will deliver. Win or die. There is no alternative.

Our children are raised on the battlefield, wild and free. They start training as soon as they can hold a sword. They taste blood before they taste a meal. For they have to kill if they wish to eat at all. The Court needs warriors, not more soft mouths to feed.

Aspiring leaders for our exalted Court must challenge another for their spot, and fight to the death. No spells, no trickery. Just man against man, sword against sword. Only a good brawl carry the weight of destiny. Should they succeed, their rewards are great. Power, privilege, recognition. All that is structured will decay into randomness, and as way diverges into way, no matter what comes, no matter what challenges we face, the power of the Court will always be behind us, even when we hunt alone.

Go now, leave us to train amongst our crimson robes and razor-sharp blades, and pray we never meet on opposite sides...

## Chapter 2 - The Butterfly Effect

All things end in chaos.

And, like all things, the Court bows to this fundamental law.

In a world where nature itself is constantly trying to destroy the very life it has created, there is no room for internal conflict. The hungry monstrosities that prowl the rocky sands are as harsh and merciless as their homeland.

We had grown too complacent, too comfortable in our victories. The passing years brought us something new. Something dark and terrible and unreal. Some unknown horror ghosted within our walls, leaving rivers of blood in their wake. So much magical energies encased our city that the sky darkened for days, and warped reality itself.

Each of us fled for our lives. Calls for help were ignored and children's cries went unanswered.

Strange things happened to the fallen. Grievously wounded warriors did not die, and yet the perfectly healthy suddenly never woke up again. Some swore that they saw their dead friends get up again only to turn against the living...

It was magic. We were certain. A perverse aberration of the natural order. We had scorned it for being weak, cowardly, but suddenly we were helpless against it, our great warriors, great works, scattered to the winds.

The Court has fallen.

But give us a blank slate, and we start anew.

This, now, is a new world. We have tasted defeat, and it will not be soon forgotten. The headstrong and rash who only knew how to fight steel to steel gave way to something much more shrewd and cunning than their predecessor.

And as iron sharpens iron, we hold out hope that the Court shall thrive once more.

We will find magic, and learn the secrets behind their mysterious power. Then we will claim it for ourselves.

Enchanted by this new power in our reach, we sent scouts far through the universe and into the arcane worlds originally considered weak and inferior. It seemed to now hold possibility.

Something beautiful was found in those worlds. Mages that wielded the elements like gossamer flashes of colour. They were born to it, as we were born to kill.

It has been said that something as small as the flutter of a butterfly’s wing can ultimately cause a typhoon halfway around the world. Butterflies are proof of transformation. Like the butterfly, we must shed the cage that restrains us, find the potential within and emerge.

After all, being of the Crimson Court is to be the butterfly; our lives are fleet but fleeting, small but glorious to behold.

We are made of Crimson. We will never die. We will journey across the stars until the Crimson Court reigns supreme once more.