Entity 51 1

I was not always so unsightly, for I was once beautiful like my progenitors before me. I was born of a muse and an angel, of an artist and a creator. I had tremendous potential as all others did.

All had a purpose, all were moving in harmony. Everything was one in tranquility, and all things were perfect as they should be.

But everything I had known changed when a streak of crimson cut through my parents — a warmongering force whom I once called uncle. He and my father clashed in single combat, a cataclysm that brought forth each other’s demise. My dear mother, so stricken with grief, soon followed in her lamentation, and I had never felt more alone in all my existence, the course of my destiny altered forever. The tears I would shed that day were the first and last.

In the form of a miraculous curse, my mother, my father, and my uncle arose from the dead as husks, shadows of their former selves. Glory faded to cling to a remnant tale, a corrupted form of life. I could not bear to witness the shells whom I once called “mother” and “father” with the identical familiarity and closeness I felt for them eons ago. But in my “uncle”, I saw a flash of morbid intention. An opportunity to exact my boiling vindication for what he committed against me, and to bury him in his grave once more – for good.

Thus, like my progenitors before me, I too embraced the empowering corruption. It consumed the shallowest to the deepest parts of my being, permeating and weaving roots into my very soul. And I found strength unparalleled, darkness absolute, in its essence. No longer was I made of an artist nor a creator, neither muse or angel, for I had become the ultimate instrument of catastrophic destruction. In my wake stood naught but ruinous darkness. Shadow of Shadows, Murderer of Light, I am the Inheritor of Rust, a great Baron of the Alldark. My word boils worlds in scorching sulphur and my breath brings forth an eternal burning darkness. Even the very realms themselves shiver to utter my searing true name:


For centuries, my uncle and I have engaged in a deadly dance, one which may only end alongside one of us. However, it has proceeded to my presence that he, the Red Knight, has sired squires, champions, to spread his warmongering ways throughout the realms. And thus, I have chosen champions of my own.

My beautiful warriors.

Bear witness to my magnificent works, ye of rotting flesh. They were but lost children when I found them, much like I was on the death of my progenitors, but now. Now they are perfect. Molded by burning will to my design, for I, after all, still have the hands of an artist and the mind of a creator as my birthright. My warriors of rust will do their duty how I see fit. They shall roam these realms and remind them, mortals all, of why they fear.

At last, the warriors of red shall be slain and my word will be delivered unto him, Claudius, my ignoble uncle. When all is done and they are but ashes, I will incur upon them all my smoldering wrath. Look on my works, First of Knights, and despair! My heralds of rust, find the warriors of red, annihilate their very souls, destroy their will! Bear your fangs of a thousand inferno and manifest true strength!

May all fall to rust in the end.

Unless otherwise stated, the content of this page is licensed under Creative Commons Attribution-ShareAlike 3.0 License