His Majesty’s Service #2 Prologue end

It was still a warm sunlit day when the council of seven convened and agreed, to the delight and the cheer of Kasille, to a singular purpose at last.  The great schism was over–and the great cloud of darkness that hung over those of the age was lifted– in the hopes of a united destiny once more.

The seven lords would then secure the souls, the very essence of Kasille’s power and purpose against the great foe, Ket. The twelve guardians, with their united mission, would secure the six, and the six would secure the highest among them, The Great Mother. Through the darkening, in the light of their own making, would they make the greatest of journeys. She, The Great Mother, would be their guide, and in her divine compassion would they be as one.  As the light is to a flame, was Kasille now to the seven great lords.

With twilight upon the world once more, together they opened the path. And the great sanctuaries, in seven great citadels, were readied by the seven lords.

This was the moment an entire age had sacrificed for, had built for, had dreamed of, and hoped for. A path to a destination that kept safe the souls of the age. And to this was their great genius made evident.

For another journey was beginning, where and when theirs would end–the elsewhere, the elsewhen.

And the great mother, heralded by the voices of her people, was before the path, her radiance absolute, she ushered the six, before their arks, in their citadels towards their destiny.

In the glow of their great sanctuary, there was no there, there was no before, and there was no after. There was only the now and the elsewhen—the here and the elsewhere. The mighty guardians had done their great work. A journey begun, was a journey at it’s end.

The path of light awaited them, all.


In ritual ordained, the seven, stepped onto the path. And when the light of their journey faded, three had gone, but the four were not with them.  Left behind, the arks now closed to them, the four had been deceived by the three, and by Ket.

Thus was the greatest betrayal of mankind, and thus was Ket’s great scheme complete.

Kasille’s work was for naught.  The darkening had come. Their sanctuary was gone, the four had but few choices, and none were without dread. And what they chose was to diminish, once more. For they knew that in that choice, would  the seed of Kasille be kept safe.

In ignorance. In slavery. Guarded over in the darkness. They might emerge anew, and take their place in the light once more, to try again.

.And so the great lords would return to the great multitude, a sacrifice beyond measure. And in many tribes of folk, it is recorded still that the gods created man, because man was made from them. Yet, in few is it told that the gods were of man as well.

And so the hero, who was duty bound, set his weapon on the ground.  He would rise anew in each of the people. Great courage would be theirs.

The dying god would now bleed, and search for knowledge needed. And in all the multitude did he now reside. For sacrifice and patience was theirs as well.

The trickster’s tool would be the spark, in each of those who hid in the darkness. A hooded visage dwelt within, and mankind’s zeal and diligence was theirs.

The great mother knew her enemies, fearing a noble heart, had too but one choice to make. For all, her blood would play a part. Compassion took hold in the will of the people. Compassion that would keep warm the memories of the past, even when they themselves could not keep warm, nor remember.

And on the last day of the Kasillian age, as the great clawing nightmares of Erebus emerged from their crags and fissures, and the great lords of Ket walked among the ash-strewn lands once more, the great harvest began, as it always had. Unimpeded, without mercy—the people bereft of their lords in those end days, were prey to the predators.

The age of Kasille was gone.

And yet, in no less than one place, and no more than a few, sat the remnants of the people, inside of each a remnant of the four, huddled around a small, soft, glowing flame—guarded.

A tiny seed of Kasille, a grain of hope, lay waiting. Special in nothing more than their memories of a time now gone by, and who they were in spirit.



It was a sunlit day when the three fated gods of Kasille watched the arks close behind them. There, on the other side of their journey, they stood and looked upon a paradise. And that is when their triumph became self-evident, for this paradise was theirs, and so were those who would dwell there.  As had been promised by the Lords of Ket, the seed of Kasille had been kept through the darkness. To their great delight, these were mere children of men, moldable, ignorant, bereft of their senses, for such was the manner in which Ket left those for the slaughter.

It was then a time to sow for the lords of darkness. But to the three, to their great pride, and gluttony, and lust, they would reap long before Ket stirred.

But they soon found that they could not! For they were no longer a flame unto the light of the people. They were now of the darkness as well. And this new seed was not of them either, a truth that Ket had known all along!

What is a god, without it’s worshippers? Not a god at all. The three were left bereft of power. The betrayers had been thus betrayed as well.

And then the guardians stirred, those twelve created for that purpose. And some joined the three, for that was their duty to do so. Thus were these corrupted with shadow like their masters.

But the others remained separate, for they were of the four, and the four now dwelt in the last small hope that they had kept safe in the darkness.

And then, a great battle was waged for the souls that now dwelt in the sunlight once more. Those of the four, of compassion and courage, of diligence and charity did wage a war for the people alongside their guardians—while those of the three, of gluttony, and pride, of lust did battle alongside the three.

And although the three were more powerful, the four were of the people, and thus the four would rise anew! The battle for the hearts, and minds, and souls of a new age had come. And the four would have the high ground again. A righteous vengeance would bring the seven flames of mankind together once more!

And the three knew then, that their great betrayal, and their great schemes were spoiled. Their demise had come. Or had it?

The three found that they could not take their power from their followers now, but they could give it away unto them still. In the same way as the four, but for a far more sinister intent, did each diminish themselves back onto the multitude. For that which is taken away, can also be given.  And so those of the new age, were now filled with the pride, the greed and the lust of the three, and so too did a shadow dwell in them now–a shadow that turned compassion into envy, courage into cowardice, diligence into sloth, and patience into wrath.

And on that mighty day, did the guardians know why the path had failed for some, and not for others. For the seven would never become whole again. Mankind’s betrayal had been committed thrice. Failed in their purpose, the guardians now watched from afar, or intervened in mankind’s affairs as they deemed fit. They grew old, now ancient and long past the time and purpose for which they were created.

And the multitudes spread out into the land, building great monuments, and serving those leaders that made manifest that which all were made of, but these were not as they were before.

Some led by courage, and some by pride. Others led by discipline, and some led by rage. The darkest of those from which these new lords were now of had been made darker by their followers. Deformed, defiled, cruel.  In them, was a greater shadow.

And even in the most heroic of those—a wickedness now dwelt in the soul of man—none were spared that might remain pure, as the flame was once to it’s light.

A wickedness now was of the four, and of the three– that would never be whole again.


And the lands prospered. And those of the guardians who had not been corrupted slept, for they had failed in their purpose to begin a journey at the journey’s end. Seven lights would never be made whole.  Those great wyrms aligned with their traitorous lords, busied themselves in the affairs of mankind, mimicking their lords’ work. Preparing their work.

All knew that the hopes and ambitions of a ruined dream were dashed upon their ancient stones, buried deeper and deeper under the soil, under the accumulation of lost time.

And as so often does, time turned truth into myth, and myth into rumor, and rumor became mere superstition. The three faded into the grey shadows of dream, Ket became a nightmare for children. The great achievements of Kasille lay buried in mud and sometimes lies. Great civilizations rose. Man believed himself to be the master.

And Ket, who had been far stronger than any of the lords above had known, slept. Patiently, they waited for their time to come. A harvest was being prepared for them. A feast immense and fruitful–the time was coming, when they would take their fill.

And the once mighty legacy–the story of Kasille, the story of the seven and the guardians—those would be taken too.


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