Some still make pilgrimages to those old goliaths, though they seldom return.
Before this fateful day, only four of the Great Kingdoms still stood. All the rest lay in ruin, their desecrated corpses like monoliths on the horizon. The once-grand castles now shattered, their impenetrable walls toppled like sand. The golden fields of old are now blackened and bare.
Annwn. That is the name of this dark and decaying land.
The Outerlands are still plagued by eldritch abominations, those unnatural monsters whose origin is still debated.
Now four kingdoms have become three, and humanity another step closer to destruction.
The banners of three nations stood tattered on the silent battlefield. Corpses stood in piles, the bodies of millions of soldiers, officers, and generals alike strewn across the once grassy plains. Unnatural, silence is. Especially on the battlefield, noise is most welcome.
Suddenly, the silence was broken by the soft clinking of armor, muffled by what was once a golden cloak, now torn and frayed, a shadow of its former glory.
A lone soldier stopped beside the body of a fallen comrade and kneeled, placing a hand on the dead man's chest with his head bowed. It was clear how he had died, a savage blow to the torso had caved in their armor, and their smashed ribs must've punctured a lung.
The weary knight clenched his fist tightly, and his faintly glowing golden eyes were bloodshot.
The lone soldier wasn't looking much better. His once gleaming armor was now stained with the blood of hundreds of thousands and full of cuts and notches. Arrows punctured his body in multiple places, and several heavy blows had almost cracked the signature mask-helm of the Kingdom of Vrea in places. The breastplate and most of his armor were in a similar situation. His torn cloak draped over his broken body, covering him like he was a specter.
His shield was nearly useless, having been splintered after one of the lesser Giant's hurled a boulder at him. He had shattered his glaive countless times; he'd had to scrounge a new weapon from his fallen brothers and sisters, of which there was no shortage.
Sparks of blue mana flew from the half-destroyed enchantments on his armor, despite all of the abuse they still held on desperately.
The only sign he was still alive was the intermittent golden glow that flickered and fainted where his eyes were.
He covered his fallen brother's face with the cloak. It simply felt right.
He grieved, but not for the dead.
The warrior tried as hard as he could, but he could remember very little of the events leading up to the battle. Everything before the battle was a blank slate, and he couldn't even remember his own name. He could remember the names of his comrades only a moment before, but now it was as if they were withering away.
The man knew he was a Vrean, a legendary Knight of the Sun Guard, warriors of the Sun God. That much was certain to him. He knew his enemies and what they looked like. He couldn't kill them if he couldn't remember them. He grasped those facts like they were a lifeline, refusing to let them go.
He looked towards the banners of his dead enemies. One was black and held countless stars, and the other was purple, filled with rain and lightning bolts. The magic that once animated them was long gone, and they hung limply from broken poles.
'The Krodian Empire, and the Adal Sultanate. Damn those Krodians and the Adalian traitors!' He repeated in his mind, for he could not afford to forget.
The man sighed and then coughed blood as his wounds worsened.
He stood up, his golden eyes scanning the silent battlefield.
They narrowed as he caught a glimmer of light before his head snapped back from the impact of an arrow that bounced away.
It had struck his eye hole and would've killed him if not for the fading enchantment on the mask.
The sun warrior took cover behind a pile of bodies, trying to remember where it had come from.
He peaked his head up, an arrow screaming overhead as he quickly retreated.
'This borrowed strength is quickly fleeing... I must finish this quickly and escape!' The knight thought as he grasped his glaive tightly.
The golden light flared as he locked into the archer's position, a faintly flickering aura of divine light covering his body.
He exploded from behind the pile of corpses, dashing in zigzags as he tried to throw off the archer's aim.
The sun knight could see his enemy now, the pitch-black armor that was the signature of the Krodian Empire that looked almost draconic, the hands more claws than fingers.
The archer loosed two arrows, the first grazing his leg, and the second the sun knight caught and broke in his grasp.
Then the golden knight was upon him, and the archer had no time to react as his chest was ripped open by the knight's glaive.
The golden aura faded away, and pain erupted from deep within his body, like his blood was on fire.
He groaned in pain. The more he used this power, the more his destroyed mana circuits screamed in agony.
As the aura disappeared, his eyes glowed brighter for a second, and he could feel them burning faintly, remembering faces. An aged man with streaks of white in his hair. Two crooked smiles of young men that seemed identical. He felt warmth at the strange memories and rage and grief. The face of a stern-looking young woman, whose grin made his heart clench and his gut burn with unquenchable rage.
The knight fell to his knees, desperately trying to grasp the new memories for anything more than ambiguous faces and feelings. Nothing came.
"I can't even remember their names," He whispered.
He felt his strength quickly sapping away when warmth filled him and returned his stamina. His eyes glowed, tingling once again. The pain in his body faded away as if it was nothing more than a bad memory.
The warmth soothed his mind, and the nagging that he had forgotten something important silenced at the back of his mind. He had no idea where this strength came from when he suddenly felt an urge.
He quickly focused on the journey ahead. From the confusing depths of his ailing mind, he thought of a name, Redvale. A direction, east.
He needed to leave, he felt it deep within his bones, and he needed to escape the battlefield that seemingly left only him alive. He didn't know how he had lived, his memories were a blur, but he had a new purpose now. He was sure of it, though he could not remember it.
The warrior stood up and scanned the battlefield for more enemies, on guard for archers now.
When he saw nothing, he began to walk with his back to the setting sun.
He did not know how long he walked or how many he killed on his way out of those lone and level fields. The warmth fueled his body as he seemingly walked for eternity, becoming weaker and weaker as he did. The bodies disappeared, and the green grass began to turn yellow. The days turned into nights and the blue sky into a twisted gray.
The divine power grew weaker and weaker, and before he knew it, he walked for two weeks without stopping.