HOME | DD

Description
Strangeworld

Prologue: A Xyx fairy Tale.

They say that in a world before anyone that still lives now, there was no death. Everyone lived forever and ever. Mana, the life force of the universe, ran plenty through everyone.  Among the immortal people were three friends.  They had grown up together in a small village near a large lake.

Amid the lake was a tall tower on a small island. It was barley big enough for the tower itself. One bright day, the three friends decided to swim out to it. No one had ever thought to do it. They always thought they would have time later. Everyone thought they would have eternity, but that didn't stop the three. It took them an hour until they could pull themselves up onto the sandy shore. They took some time to dry off, but a dreadful storm started in. The friends forced their way into the tower.

They kept themselves out of trouble for a while, but found the urge to powerful when the three stumbled upon a library. They started to wonder who lived there as they scanned the thousands of books… hallways upon hallways lined with books. They followed along until they came to a large room filled with more books. It was a dead end, but something seemed different about this room. It was large, tall, and circular. And in the center was what seemed to be a throne. In it sat what none of them had ever seen before.  A skeleton, of a dead man.

From behind the throne came a man who you could see almost right through. His skin was blue, his hair was white. The three boys approached him and spoke silently, but their voices carried and echoed in the room. "Who are you?" the first boy asked.

"I am Jarvis" he answered, his voice silent. They had heard stories about the famed Jarvis, the user of the arcane arts. That he had locked himself in the tower many years ago to learn the secrets of Arcanism, and hot its magic could change the world. He explained that in the process had sucked him dry of all his mana, all of his life. But in death, he had brought himself so close to the powerful mana source of the universe that he no longer needed to care for such things.

They knew the one rule of the legend of Jarvis; if you were to find him he would grant you one wish. The three found him, they got three wishes. They deliberated for hours upon hours so that they would not waste wishes, or try to one up each other.

They approached the spirit of the Arcanist and made their wished together.  The largest of the three friends came forward and spoke in his commanding voice, "We would like swords of magic."  They knew that this was a simple task for the old man. He nodded and told them to come back in three weeks. At this command, the three friends left and promised to return.

Three weeks had passed and they swam back to the tower. They climbed the stairs of the tower and entered the room where the spirit stood over a table, three swords laying, shining in the light. One white, one gold, and one black as night. The three boys walked up to the ones they wanted and Jarvis leaned into each of them. He spoke silently, as so that not even the shadows in the rooms would hear.

"You will all complete a task for me, and you can keep the swords," he whispered to them, "all of their powers will live with you as will the deeds you do."

The three's eyes glowed with a passion not seen before. It wasn't of love, or of happiness, it was of something evil. It was something unnatural to beings before. It was Greed.  Jarvis took the first friend, with his sword of white, aside and spoke to him of his deed.

"This blade that you have chosen," The spirit started, "Is the Sword of Hatred. It has the power to kill in the name Evil. You will kill everyone of your kind, all over this world you live in, and their blood will stain it red. If you do this, you will get to keep the sword and live for eternity."

He bowed, thanked the spirit and left. Jarvis then came to the second of the trio, who had chosen a blade of gold, and whispered to him, "You have chosen the Sword of the Hero, and its powers allow you to strike and kill evil in the name of justice."

The young man looked up and ask "And what is my task?" he asked.

"You shall go to the mountains and train until you feel you are ready to face any evil, and then," the spirit explained, "return, face your enemy, and kill him. If you do this, you may keep the sword and all of its powers."

He bowed, thanked the spirit and left. Jarvis then went to the third of the friends, who had waited ever so patiently for his task. He and the spirit sat down, per the request of the ghost. They took a good long look at each other as the spirit started to speak again.

"You know what is coming, do you not?" He asked, the spirit could see right through the boy. They both knew that he was intelligent; they both knew what was next. "You chose… definitely the most interesting of the swords.  This is the Blade of the Reaper." They both knew what his task was. He was to welcome and guard all the newly dead souls. He was the one to kill in the name of life, to kill in the name of balance. He was now the reaper.

Days passed, as did weeks and months, eventually leading to years and decades. The three friends had gone spate ways, to complete their tasks. It happened slowly as first. The evil one had taken his time at the beginning, starting with small town. But he grew insatiable as his blade grew red.

As he moved closer to large populations, people started to wonder where was the hero who was to challenge this dark man. He started to parade through the blood caked streets, asking the same question. He would scream it at the tops of his lungs as he killed.

"WHERE IS HE?" he would scream, as the people asked who he searched for. "NO, IT IS NOT ME WHO SEARCHES, IT SHOULD BE YOU! I DO NOT ASK FOR SOMEONE, I SIMPLY ASK WHERE IS HE" He would sound in reply, "WHERE IS YOUR HERO!"

The day did come, though, where the hero left the mountains, feeling confident in his skills enough to defeat any evil to cross his path. He returned to civilization to realize that… there was no civilization left. He had been gone so long that his old friend had nearly completed his task. He was the one lone man who still stood. He followed the bloody tracks left by the evil down to a lake, in the middle of which stood an island. He swam out to see the ruins of what once stood as a tall tower. His friend screaming at the heavens to grant him the power he had earned.

"You have not completed your task yet, I hail from this land, as do you. As long as I am still on two feet I shall oppose you," The hero yelled. He knew one must die there today. The battle raged between them for what seemed like days, until their swords clashed at one point where their magic was sparked. The swords shot away from the duel, and a blinding light shone. In this moment, they realized what had truly happened.

"I don't want to kill you," the evil one said, "You were one of my greatest friends." He looked around in shame. He had brought evil into the world. He had killed anyone he had once cared about. And he was ashamed of himself.

"I don't wish to kill your either," said the hero, "You were one of my greatest friends." He looked around in shame as well. He had been away far too long. He never thought he was ready for evil, but it mattered not anymore. There was nobody left to protect from the evil.

They shared a long pause, neither wanted to speak. This went one for as long as the fight had before. Until the hero looked up to his old friend and started to speak
"One of us must die here."

They agreed, but they didn't know how. As long as they were in possession of the swords, they could not die unless struck down by the other. They sat in wonderment of how to do this without on be labeled a "Loser" and one labeled a "Killer". They could not figure it out until out from the water rose a figure cloaked in a material that appeared to be crafted from the shadows themselves. He lowered himself onto the makeshift arena and proposed an idea of his own

"I will kill you both, as my mission is to keep the balance," he suggested. The three agreed, this was the only way they could fairly do it. And so the two friends shared a hug that reminded them of their youth, of their innocence, and of their friendship. The reaper took one quick slash, and that reminded himself of one thing. He was alone. Out of his friend's bones, he crafted a large gate. And through this gate he travelled to find a universe full of life. He swore that he would keep the balance here, and never let what happened to his world happen again.

And thus, Strangeworld was born. For things that tip the balance, things that are not normal. This is where they belong now. And the reaper made sure of this. His mission from the spirit Jarvis was to keep the balance, and he will forever do just that.

Description
Strangeworld

Prologue: A Xyx fairy Tale.

They say that in a world before anyone that still lives now, there was no death. Everyone lived forever and ever. Mana, the life force of the universe, ran plenty through everyone.  Among the immortal people were three friends.  They had grown up together in a small village near a large lake.

Amid the lake was a tall tower on a small island. It was barley big enough for the tower itself. One bright day, the three friends decided to swim out to it. No one had ever thought to do it. They always thought they would have time later. Everyone thought they would have eternity, but that didn't stop the three. It took them an hour until they could pull themselves up onto the sandy shore. They took some time to dry off, but a dreadful storm started in. The friends forced their way into the tower.

They kept themselves out of trouble for a while, but found the urge to powerful when the three stumbled upon a library. They started to wonder who lived there as they scanned the thousands of books… hallways upon hallways lined with books. They followed along until they came to a large room filled with more books. It was a dead end, but something seemed different about this room. It was large, tall, and circular. And in the center was what seemed to be a throne. In it sat what none of them had ever seen before.  A skeleton, of a dead man.

From behind the throne came a man who you could see almost right through. His skin was blue, his hair was white. The three boys approached him and spoke silently, but their voices carried and echoed in the room. "Who are you?" the first boy asked.

"I am Jarvis" he answered, his voice silent. They had heard stories about the famed Jarvis, the user of the arcane arts. That he had locked himself in the tower many years ago to learn the secrets of Arcanism, and hot its magic could change the world. He explained that in the process had sucked him dry of all his mana, all of his life. But in death, he had brought himself so close to the powerful mana source of the universe that he no longer needed to care for such things.

They knew the one rule of the legend of Jarvis; if you were to find him he would grant you one wish. The three found him, they got three wishes. They deliberated for hours upon hours so that they would not waste wishes, or try to one up each other.

They approached the spirit of the Arcanist and made their wished together.  The largest of the three friends came forward and spoke in his commanding voice, "We would like swords of magic."  They knew that this was a simple task for the old man. He nodded and told them to come back in three weeks. At this command, the three friends left and promised to return.

Three weeks had passed and they swam back to the tower. They climbed the stairs of the tower and entered the room where the spirit stood over a table, three swords laying, shining in the light. One white, one gold, and one black as night. The three boys walked up to the ones they wanted and Jarvis leaned into each of them. He spoke silently, as so that not even the shadows in the rooms would hear.

"You will all complete a task for me, and you can keep the swords," he whispered to them, "all of their powers will live with you as will the deeds you do."

The three's eyes glowed with a passion not seen before. It wasn't of love, or of happiness, it was of something evil. It was something unnatural to beings before. It was Greed.  Jarvis took the first friend, with his sword of white, aside and spoke to him of his deed.

"This blade that you have chosen," The spirit started, "Is the Sword of Hatred. It has the power to kill in the name Evil. You will kill everyone of your kind, all over this world you live in, and their blood will stain it red. If you do this, you will get to keep the sword and live for eternity."

He bowed, thanked the spirit and left. Jarvis then came to the second of the trio, who had chosen a blade of gold, and whispered to him, "You have chosen the Sword of the Hero, and its powers allow you to strike and kill evil in the name of justice."

The young man looked up and ask "And what is my task?" he asked.

"You shall go to the mountains and train until you feel you are ready to face any evil, and then," the spirit explained, "return, face your enemy, and kill him. If you do this, you may keep the sword and all of its powers."

He bowed, thanked the spirit and left. Jarvis then went to the third of the friends, who had waited ever so patiently for his task. He and the spirit sat down, per the request of the ghost. They took a good long look at each other as the spirit started to speak again.

"You know what is coming, do you not?" He asked, the spirit could see right through the boy. They both knew that he was intelligent; they both knew what was next. "You chose… definitely the most interesting of the swords.  This is the Blade of the Reaper." They both knew what his task was. He was to welcome and guard all the newly dead souls. He was the one to kill in the name of life, to kill in the name of balance. He was now the reaper.

Days passed, as did weeks and months, eventually leading to years and decades. The three friends had gone spate ways, to complete their tasks. It happened slowly as first. The evil one had taken his time at the beginning, starting with small town. But he grew insatiable as his blade grew red.

As he moved closer to large populations, people started to wonder where was the hero who was to challenge this dark man. He started to parade through the blood caked streets, asking the same question. He would scream it at the tops of his lungs as he killed.

"WHERE IS HE?" he would scream, as the people asked who he searched for. "NO, IT IS NOT ME WHO SEARCHES, IT SHOULD BE YOU! I DO NOT ASK FOR SOMEONE, I SIMPLY ASK WHERE IS HE" He would sound in reply, "WHERE IS YOUR HERO!"

The day did come, though, where the hero left the mountains, feeling confident in his skills enough to defeat any evil to cross his path. He returned to civilization to realize that… there was no civilization left. He had been gone so long that his old friend had nearly completed his task. He was the one lone man who still stood. He followed the bloody tracks left by the evil down to a lake, in the middle of which stood an island. He swam out to see the ruins of what once stood as a tall tower. His friend screaming at the heavens to grant him the power he had earned.

"You have not completed your task yet, I hail from this land, as do you. As long as I am still on two feet I shall oppose you," The hero yelled. He knew one must die there today. The battle raged between them for what seemed like days, until their swords clashed at one point where their magic was sparked. The swords shot away from the duel, and a blinding light shone. In this moment, they realized what had truly happened.

"I don't want to kill you," the evil one said, "You were one of my greatest friends." He looked around in shame. He had brought evil into the world. He had killed anyone he had once cared about. And he was ashamed of himself.

"I don't wish to kill your either," said the hero, "You were one of my greatest friends." He looked around in shame as well. He had been away far too long. He never thought he was ready for evil, but it mattered not anymore. There was nobody left to protect from the evil.

They shared a long pause, neither wanted to speak. This went one for as long as the fight had before. Until the hero looked up to his old friend and started to speak
"One of us must die here."

They agreed, but they didn't know how. As long as they were in possession of the swords, they could not die unless struck down by the other. They sat in wonderment of how to do this without on be labeled a "Loser" and one labeled a "Killer". They could not figure it out until out from the water rose a figure cloaked in a material that appeared to be crafted from the shadows themselves. He lowered himself onto the makeshift arena and proposed an idea of his own

"I will kill you both, as my mission is to keep the balance," he suggested. The three agreed, this was the only way they could fairly do it. And so the two friends shared a hug that reminded them of their youth, of their innocence, and of their friendship. The reaper took one quick slash, and that reminded himself of one thing. He was alone. Out of his friend's bones, he crafted a large gate. And through this gate he travelled to find a universe full of life. He swore that he would keep the balance here, and never let what happened to his world happen again.

And thus, Strangeworld was born. For things that tip the balance, things that are not normal. This is where they belong now. And the reaper made sure of this. His mission from the spirit Jarvis was to keep the balance, and he will forever do just that.