The sun set on the horizon, leaving after it the darkness. The stars appeared through slight mist, looking out for their worshippers. The air was filled with silence - unbreakable silence. The wind stopped its billowing and the mist began dying into the ground, leaving small patches of condensation on the hoary floor.

The distraught land wept continuous tears, deluging each day. No sun would emerge unaccompanied. Little life was apparent to the kingdom. Humans themselves had died out, warring over gold, their greed was their death. Ogres left the land untouched; even for them the land had an evil presence, one that even a gaunt finger would not dare touch, due to it would most likely meet it’s maker again.

The land cried to be loved, it needed good. That is how things used to function in the world of Curet. The kingdom was filled with love, passion and temples to the god of nature. But now; the land might as well be dead along with its rulers.

The land started to rumble, the sorrowful mourning began and the mist was released from the patches of condensation. Loud clutters of shields on swords approached. Stomps of powerful feet, and crushing of bones filled the silence, expanding it until no longer would it fit inside. The silence exploded with a bang of a drum.

A smell worse than death approached along with the noise; flames tore up the sides of banners picturing flames crossing over a skull. The smell of burning ogre gave way to the outburst of howling winds, sweeping dust clouds all over the terrain, creeping over the rivers, dispersing into the eyes of soldiers, whom were getting closer with every bang of the drum.

A single ruined farm building lay in the way of the army approaching and the sheer evil tore it from the land and swept it past the army. Any remaining plants of life died, shrivelled into the small pockets of the darkness.

The evil of the approaching army froze a path into the landscape. The path was made of ice and could only be touched by those wearing leather boots crafted at the edge of a volcano that had destroyed a whole city. Every part of the evil was made perfect, even the sneers of the individual soldiers made the air cry for help, howling like a wolf at midnight on a terror-stricken full moon.

The army drew a line of deceit from their feet, marking the ground for ever. They cared not of the lies they told, they cared not for the trouble they caused and they cared for nothing. They lived in deceit; they loved to dig new lies in already corrupt soil.