It was a tipping point. An edge. Long wafting shadows and then... and then nothing. Nothing to see, nothing to hear, nothing to even imagine. Nothing and no one. It was like a silent black succubus engulfed the village. For a village it was.

A wonderfully warm, glanderous village, in a careworn valley. Pralascar Valley. A clearing in an ocean of forest of Arethea Plateau. Where the fauna was aplenty and the game was wide for the hunters to amuse themselves thinking they did one over on mother nature. Fools and make no mistake, for fools they were. Alas I digress. It is a tangent that forms our story, but not yet... not Yet.

Everything was as it should be. As it always were, a shout here, a hearty laugh in the alley and all were merry. Then came the night. This night. A night as empty as the nested blackthorn.

As the last vestiges of people left the village center, leaving it a desolate land of nothing and everything, the fire that was in the sky began to wane. The edge was near, they could feel it. It was their domain. Their hunting ground. Their holy land of nothingness;

For they were The Derelicts. Abandoned. Forgotten. A motley crew of barely thirteen. They were fearless - since they had nothing to lose, Savage - as the world made them so, and empty - since they were hollow.

Then a bark broke the silence. And they took a step, and another... and another. All could be heard then was the march of the derelicts. They divided. A group went west another to the east. As the first house came to sight. The grins on the savages were hungry, bloodthirsty... frightening. A night lamp was hung on the door, burning yet flickering, as if it knew they had come. As the savages looked past the cowering lamp, they saw two people, having supper. The smiles on the faces of these people were like the fuel that burned within the hollows of the derelicts. Then came the hate. The loathing. The Damnation of the living.

Two of the crew went to the back. They were meticulous, scrupulously moving in a way to capture their prey. Spying a chance, they bolted. For a moment all was silent. Everything as white as ivory. And then there was a scream, a gurgling from a blood choked throat and then the gasp as he clung to the last vestiges of his life. They saw as he attempted to touch her wife's hand one last time. A savage ruthelesly crushed it beneath his heel. The world didn't give him any mercy, why would he reply with anything less than what he got.

But not everything was consummate in that house. There lay a girl, a girl with brown tresses, a heart shaped face, shimmering emerald eyes cowering under the cot, crying silently, weeping for what she saw.

Her Mum, her Da, they spared no one. Not even her big brother Roran. she watched as they thrusted a dagger in his eyes. His beautiful blue eyes. Eyes that used to shine with unending warmth when he looked at her. Eyes that she knew smiled like only she could see.

'Oh! Roran. Not him! Not him, you bastards! Nooooo...Roraaan !!!

Why did they have to take you too ?'. she screamed mentally.

A choking sob escaped her. And that was her undoing. A hand grabbed her ankle. A burning sensation on her temple and she knew no more.

Timeskip 6 years

A guffawing man could be heard laughing with his partner as they discussed their latest endeavours. There were noises all around. Some laughing, some shouting, some just being there as was their purpose, their only domain, where they knew they belonged.

There were women roaming around filling goblets with Meade, offering refreshments and laughing with the men. One Woman was standing besides the table with men around it, watching, as the two renegades tested their strength. She was to go to the victor and the wide smile on her face showed she wouldn't be opposed to go to either of them. She was happy. She was loved. She was where she belonged.

As the contest ended and the victor came near her. She heard him say 'Bonnie las, what say yeh. be my hen ?'. As if waiting for just this moment she pulled herself on his body and brought her lips to his in a hungry and devouring kiss. As they pulled apart he could see himself in her emerald eyes, as they shined with madness, a madness he knew were in all of them. He saw her brown hair fell wildly on her shoulders. She was his now, as she should be. The was the law of hall. The woman could and would not be shared until she wishes to be, and they always did come around.

This place was the settlement of Driganard. There were three gullets made of dry husk, hay and stones. There was a main hall where tables lay haphazardly allowing the men to lounge at their pleasure. The hall was decorated with the skins of the game caught by their hunters. Two doors on the opposite sides of the hall could be seen standing like the guards to a new world.

The east door with its rough fillary of archaic designs was as silent as the grave. Although it was an ornate door no one was looking past it. It was as ordinary to them as their own two hands. Nobody showed any signs of distress or recognition when the door hollered like a fright. It was as it should be. It was as they made it be. A shallow scream was heard from within and with it came a cheer of men. Every scream every wait was answered with a chug of Meade.

Then there was the door to the west. It had a scripture on it. It was an odd writing. But odd was them. Yes, odd. They could be defined as odd. In reality they could only be called as odds. The odd holes of the society. And the scripture said :

Once 'one' were we

Then world broke thee

They gave us up with glee

Now we take and you flee.

This is Driganard.

Here there are no coflicts

For this is the home of

The Derelicts.