OOC 200 years have passed since the Church finished it's mission. It came in seven stages. Looking back on it, I guess the Christians were right all along. The first we knew of it was the war. The rebels and the Dominion. The rebels finally gained a foothold in the world. Fralax first, then they attacked Renelza, then on to Alxon. But Alxon was the final battleground. A billion people died that day, and to what extent? In the end, no one won. But of course, that was the second incidence. We never realised at the time, but the first was the Conquest, when the dominion took over the world. Next was the crash of civilisation. Market prices rocketed, it became too expensive for a lot to even survive. Disease ridden bodies littered the streets, rats re-evolved and became demonic monstrosities... This didn't last too long though, before the plague of death washed over the world. It took the children first, wiping out our next of kin. The women were close behind. Only the people in the most remote villages survived that. The men killed each other before the plague even affected them. Now, this is when things got interesting. First, the Church of the Manatech. All but the Tribunal, the highest three representatives, committed mass suicide upon the great altar in Alxon Cathedral. Non-church religions were close to follow, but no sacrifice was more impressive than the church's. Just a few days after the sacrifice, the event known as "Cataclysm" happened. Great earthquakes shook the land, supervolcanoes all erupted simultaneously, the moon itself turned a deep crimson red. Even the sun hid from this, becoming as black as the surrounding night. The last event? Well, that's a secret. Let's just say that should you ever come to understand it, this nightmare would finally be put into perspective. With that, Jeremy stopped writing, and put down his pen. It rolled off the table and snapped as it hit the floor. He flinched as the cold breeze passed over and through his bones. He was used to it by now though. The locals called it "Shroud". It meant that someone was going to die. He was one of just 2 million people still on Earth, yet, with no contact with the outside world, he may well have been one of 14. He stood up and sighed. The remaining foot or so of concrete wall did nothing to aid his happiness, but it did mean that at least his feet were sheltered. He stumbled over to the old pine dresser in the corner. It looked sad, lonely. A relic from a forgotten world. Lying on it was a single, crisp, white envelope. He folded the paper in his fragile hands, and slipped it inside, sealing the message with an elaborate pin. On the front, in fine, spidery writing, he wrote "To whomever it may concern". Then, with the last ounces of his strength, he put it in a small alcove in the cliff face. He collapsed against it, welcoming the icy yet gentle grip of death.