The hills stained with blood; as the cries of the damned echo through misty peaks. The stone recalls the scorch of the fires of war. The birds remember their war drums well. And though we've forgotten their stained. Though we've ignored the calamity of their coming. History repeats itself; and so as it was once before....So shall it be again. It is not a question of if; rather when? Long ago; before the recording of time. There was silence. A void and formless world which simply was. Upon the darkness of the waters God and the Devil convened. They conjured a plan to test which influence was greater. This gave birth to the seed of man which descended from the tree of life. The scales of justice were in place. Judging men and either liberating them or condemning. Those which have done more good then evil, belonged to the lord. Those which traversed the opposite spectrum...were forever trapped in the devils snare. However there were those which died at birth; or a few unlucky souls which broke even. Beings who either did no good or evil; or those which somehow balanced out. Having no place anymore with the living, our world rejected them. And since the scales and system in place knew not what to do with them. God and the devil saw fit to cast them into the void which was. A space between space, a plane between ethereal planes. Here they were left to die; to simply fade away. But life has a way of adapting and overcoming travesty. In a realm of hopelessness; the souls congregated into one. One mass; one intelligence, one hive mind bent on a single purpose. To dismantle the system and bring an end to all those which rejected them. Once they tried to take the gates of heaven and hell. But failed due to their few numbers. Arrogantly assuming they were all dead; God and the devil turned a blind eye to this fault in the system. As thousands of years passed; their numbers grew and so did their power. Too prideful to admit error or to acknowledge such rejects as a threat. The powers which be continued their game of chess. But deep within the misty mountains. A tribe of mortals sensed the coming storm. Blessed with a potent third eye and impressive abilities they prepared for the war. At first they cried wolf; but none did listen. Their leader Julissa queen of the barbarians and gypsies prepares now for the coming era of winter. This is their story... The fog decorated the frosty peaks; obscuring them from distant eyes. For within the grip of ice and rock they remained isolated from the world. Here they knew the delusion of peace. Serenity which would soon dissipate as quickly as morning dew from blades of grass. The merry song of harps, lutes and flutes resonated within the lifeless woodlands. Fresh fires with pots filled with morning stew decorated the camp as many of her people attempted to enjoy their final days. Within her tent their queen rose from her slumber. Her breath hanging in the air as she watched it's influence fade. With haste she would rise from her bed; putting on her royal attire. Which compared to most societies appeared to be nothing more then a set of mildly decorated leather armor. However for a people with so little in the ways of wealth and resources it was quite lavish. Casually Julissa would push the flap of her tent to the side as she peered at her people. The heavy burden she inherited now barreling down on her. For she could sense the time was nigh for their return. And like most of the world...they were not ready. With sword strapped to her back, the ebony warmaiden stepped beyond the mouth of her abode. Her boots leaving their mark on the moisten earth. as she noted that the morning birds became deafen from their joyous songs which engulfed the region. With eyes narrowing she would shield her sensitive honey orbs from the morning sun. Using her dominant right hand as she closed the distance between her and her soldiers. Her people were tribals; barbarians in most eyes. Which lived off the land and took the land of lesser tribes or villages as supplies dwindled. Adsorbing the survivors into their flock to boost their military stature. However never involuntarily. But of late they had begun to become more self sufficient; due to the influence of wandering scholars and historians who had begun to teach them how to farm and raise livestock. However still in their core they were a military society. Softly Julissa would nest on an empty log; grasping a bowl of soup. Allowing it's warmth to stimulate her hands. Her long brown hair would blow in the hand as she dipped some dried bread into the soup. Allowing it to soak up the broth before using it like a spoon. A common way to eat soup in lesser developed cultures some might deduce. After having her fill Julissa would separate from her people. Wandering a bit of the ways off as she sat under the shelter of a tall and dying tree. Gazing out toward the vast and seamlessly infinite woodlands save for a few small villages and town sprinkled throughout the region. All of which tolerated her people presence. Some out of fear others out of respect. With blade piercing into the earth; Julissa would lean her back against it. Meditating to herself as if she were seeking some type of enlightenment or prayer to be answered. However in truth this was a way to exercise the mind and spirit. In her culture this was as important as physical fitness and labor. For a week spirit and weak mind gets just as much people killed as a frail exterior.