Part 19

My mother... Queen Leene.




A long time ago, there were Gods. A civilization of beauty and wonder that had graced the world for no man knows how long before we came. Another vapor of mystery that blew about our idols was their absence. Why did they leave? What did they take with them and why did they leave what they did? Will they come back? Some rouge scholars speculated that they and the terrors that we vanquished in the tales of our infancy were one and the same, but they were all quickly silenced as heretics.


All that we knew of their glory came from the ruins that dotted the land, and whatever artifacts that could be salvaged by adventurers.


We learned of the time of Gods from the efforts of the time of Heros. All of our stories of valiant knights with honor ever present in their minds, swashbuckling treasure hunters who courted unmatched beauties, and bounty hunters with dark vendettas and darker pasts came from the adventures into the mausoleums of Gods.

From these glowing legends we also learned the truth of the Gods' light.


That it had faded. They hadn't left, they wouldn't return, they had died, and worst of all some hadn't. What was found was a disgrace, like a lone tree in the dead of winter the gods that had turned their faces away from death were withered and pathetic. All of their art, their marks upon the world, all of their glory was for naught, for we knew. They would no longer be remembered as Gods, but as an old civilization that had traded their legacy for time wasted.

It was decided.
This would not happen to us.


A ritual was performed and a tradition was established. Fueled by the blood of those who decide the fate of mankind an artifact of our own age was forged that would do the same. A Bell, a Bell bathed in Queen's blood that would toll for humanity and save it from itself, save it from shame.








Alright guys, does she

Refuse
Accept

The outcome might not be shown in the next update, just to warn you guys. Expect the next update to come at a time, all I can specify is that it won't be in the past and probably not the present.