Play this in background: http://www.youtuberepeat.com/watch?v=fS0k1LbIvDU
[RP] Prologue : Chaotic times
(beginning of round 5)
The land of Calradia, a rusty old continent which have seen countless souls walks its path.
In a time long forgotten, warring nomads came from the East to this forsaken place, settled down in clans, which turned into states, which turned into empires...
Monarchs claimed the riches of the land, their unshackled greed had turned them fat, lazy and soft.
They had forgotten whence they came, they had forgotten their grandfather's names and heritage, they had forgotten their way...
The way of the warrior.
Time will teach them anew.
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The towns, the castles, the villages, were all bustling with shops and inns: trade had become a virtue, while the sword was abandonned.
In their cities of silk and sin, the temples were full of cunning priestlings, selling paradise for simple coins...
The population did not see through the veil of this everyday blindness that they called reality.
Incapable of remembering their past twinkling fame, they were equally powerless to defend their home from the incoming wild tribes.
As a horde, they came from the East, as their forefathers did before them, a blight to the land, they ravaged everything.
Crowns won by heritage, were now won with blood, and they would not have sold them, even for promises of valleys filled with gold.
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First, the unfortified villages were overrun, and its denizens massacred, with a select few being enslaved in the dreadful armies.
The once prosperous and peaceful grasslands were now burnt to the ground, the countryside was ripe with crime, plunder and war cries.
The devious warlords appeared as if they came from nowhere, and had invaded the whole known territory in a matter of days.
Then, refugees and survivors from the slaughters came to the gates of the surrounding walled castles and cities.
Here they would make their stand.
Here they would die in even bigger heaps.
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loginHastily formed, untrained militia can only do so much against hardened warriors: resistance is weak, even futile.
Except for a handful of besieged fortifications and other dominions that still resisted the unrelenting assaults of the warring tribes, every city states had crumbled.
The war of civilization against barbarianism had undergo a full turn of the clock in a matter of weeks, and barbarians had once again triumphed.
Did they knew they were a part of the never-ending cycle of history? Let philosophers brood over this question.
They had invaded, they had conquered, they were still alive, while their foes were dead: and they were content.
Some of them were so content, that they already started to settle down, to build new walls on top of the broken ones, to drink the wine of life, one gulp at a time...
Others were not of this opinion, their way of life could not be changed, they would die as they were born, restrained by no bounds, be them bounds of chains, or bounds of laws.
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Some of them were not content and had plans of their own, and one of those people was Buba, the Vagabond...
To be continued...
Next chapter: soon