[b][u]Prologue[/u][/b]

Terrubane. It was the pinnacle of human civilization. Originally the home of refugees of the mighty empire that reigned under Conuence's banners, it has now become the beacon of everything that is advancing. It was the capital of the technological revolution, with a few inventors realizing that steam, or to a few individuals mana crystals, could be used as a driving force for things that would ease their way of life. The young capital had everything going for it; a few buildings that were more than a couple of storeys high and had mechanical gizmos that allowed people to choose which storey that they wanted to go to, methods of transportation that was at the same pace as a horse and many more that are coming out. While it was only the rich that were able to run the technology, it certainly was a sight to behold for every living being that walks through its gates. Even a few people from the rival capital, Conuence, watched in wonder at the marvel, while being fearful that these new inventions could mean that the world of magic was about to collapse. For many scholars, however, magic will have many more years before the contraptions would rival the basis of civilization.

However, all of that wonder was brought crashing down when the army of an unknown man, going only by the name of Lord Sacremento. Men from the town of Chaldon had long dwelled on the thought of Terrubane being reduced to rubble, so when this man had rallied them under his name and determination to do what they had wanted to do, they were more than happy to oblige. In return for this service, the lord had struck a pact with the nightmarish creatures that lived in the neighbouring mountains to rally under him and swore an oath that they will no longer plague the city with death. Werepyres. Whoever had thought about the unnatural union of two children of the night, vampires and lycanthropes, had accomplished their wish. They had produced monsters that stood over 7 feet tall on average, their bipedal canine's muscles growing so much that they could, theoretically, rip trees out of the ground and throw them to speeds of a runaway train. What also gave these beasts a ghastly sight was the leathery, bat-like wings that expanded at least twice their own length so not only could they spread terror on the ground, but from the skies above.

With this army, Terrubane was reduced to a shell of what it was. Soldiers, warriors of the nearby villages, even the mercenaries that had been hired from as far away as Galbeez & Silvæa were being swept aside by this massive force. Weeks went by and all of the city had been turned to ruins, rubble lying on the ground. However, those that had survived the initial attack had started to drive them back. Magisters from Silvæa and Conuence were brought in, as well as people who were able to use ranged weapons, to aid those that had still survived and drive Sacremento's army back. While it had been a lot of hard work and a lot of strategic planning, but this ad-hoc army had managed to drive them back and, with any luck on their side, this day to be the last fight of the Destruction of Terrubane.

~~~

On the outskirts of Terrubane, a sight of broken bodies was scattered. Many had been left rotting because of the two armies being unable to collect their dead. However, for the living, the struggle carries on. Soldiers fighting for the city began to charge, swords, spears and any usable weapon lunging out in front of them. There was only one line of the enemy left, but they were consisting of nothing but Werepyres. All of their human counterparts, consisting of cut-throats, murderers and thieves, had retreated from the sudden surge of their enemies. Even so, these large beasts were something to be feared, needing at least 10 men to bring down just one Werepyre. Still, the humans charged, using every last bit of strength and morale to push this army of darkness away from their beloved city. For what seemed like an eternity, they finally clashed, both man and beast raining down their deadly attacks. One man was ripped into two by the claws of one beast while another was brought down by slashes, one of them cutting through its leg. All the meanwhile, magisters and marksmen were raining down their deadly trade, fireballs, arrows and bullets ripping through the large beasts.

For the few minutes, it seemed that the men of the ruined city were on the verge of winning. However, the beasts from the mountains started to fight back, their deadly claws and vicious fangs finally having a footing in the battlefield. Things went from bad to worse in minutes for the city's army, but there was some hope left. Out there in the battlefield, one man had managed to cut himself through two of the monsters and was keeping the morale high for those who were left. While there were still commanders out there, they were few and far in between, so he had decided to take up the reins of keeping everyone together. The man, while fighting like any experienced warrior, wasn't even in his late 20s or early 30s, hardened with decades of experience that should have come with his fighting style. He knew in his mind that the near-decade old training was tested to the full, often having to improvise counter attacks that were not in his mind. His ash blond hair, completely caked in the blood of man and beast, flowed as he moved through the battlefield, falling in ragged angles every time he stood still from the lack of days of recuperation. His armour had been cut and battered, but it was still holding onto whatever threads that were woven in the leather and metal pieces, all covering the chainmail underneath that was in the same condition, albeit more rusted from a long time of it being used. His sabatons were drenched in the bloodied soil, but they were still able to grip, steadying his weary/muddied legs. All the meanwhile, his hardened, scarred, hawk-like face was scouring the battle in front of him, his deep blue eyes picking out his targets and keeping check on the line that they had created, making sure that no one from the opposing side breached it and started their charge towards the marksmen and magisters.

One werepyre, smaller than average, started to charge towards him, claws outstretched and ready to cut the acting commander down and start its blood-thirsty rampage. For the young mercenary, however, his weapon was already poised, ready to fend and strike the beast down. Despite the rain and dark clouds above, which had darkened the battlefield, his claymore shone out into the darkness, its icy-blue edge acting as a beacon of hope for everyone that was around him. The golden runes, despite it being in an ancient language, had been roughly translated as 'Silver Moon', probably named after one of the gifts from an unknown deity. The aura that came off the blade reflected off the gold hilt, the yellow sheen matching nicely with the blade itself. The beast had finally cut the distance that was between them and was nearly upon the warrior. In one swift move, the man had pirouetted around the beast, cleaving its arm in an up stroke. Without skipping a beat, he whipped the blade back down again, the wicked edge slicing through flesh and bone of the werepyre's back, crippling the beast of its legs. Leaving the dying beast to be dealt with by anyone wanting to kill something since this battle had begun, he began to scan the area again. At first, it seemed as if nothing was happening, but someone shouted over the noise for him.

“Auroreon!” Pinpointing where the shout had come from, the mercenary Auroreon was moving through the people, trying to get as quickly as he could to where the sound had come from. “Auroreon!” Tried as he might, his progress through the thick of battle was slow, people and the soggy mud slowing him down to a crawl. As he progressed through the battlefield, the more he learned that the line was faltering elsewhere, with the beasts starting to whittle the numbers down. The dead and the dying were numerous in this area, more so for the army that he was fighting for. Finally, after a long time fighting through the manic crowd, he reached the person that was calling his name, a man of a smaller stature than him, his face and brown hair coated with mud. “Auroreon!” the man had started, his voice heavy with fatigue and the weakened morale. “We can't hold this line! Their attacks are too strong and are almost through to reach the magisters and marksmen!”

Before he could respond, Auroreon only watched as a werepyre came from behind and lifted the man high into the air, claws digging through their sides. With a show of brute strength, the man's agonizing cries and a sickening pop, the beast tore the man in half, throwing the two halves in either direction. Before the beast had the chance of converging his attacks against the mercenary, a bullet ripped through the beast's shoulder, followed by the crashing might of 5 fireballs into the beast's chest, sending it flying through the air and into a standing standard bearer, the spearhead stabbing through its chest. The huge carcass of the werepyre collapsed, crushing the two guarding the standard under the huge weight. With the situation dire, their line on the point of breaking, Auroreon stabbed Silver Moon into the ground. “Men, to me!” he roared, his voice carrying out throughout the battlefield for the ears of the people that sill have energy to come to his call.