The motto was just a lie
It says, "Home is where your heart is"
But what a shame
'Cause everyone's heart doesn't beat the same
City of the Dead.

-Greenday, Jesus of suburbia, City of the Damned.

Sitting in the ruins of a burned and blackened house, a little girl weeps. Her brother lies beside her, his face half torn away and covered in a veil of flies; his death-shroud. Mercifully hidden behind the crumbling wall lie the girl's mother and father, both dead, ripped almost to shreds. This is the destruction and the horror caused by Judgment, or so they call themselves. Unheard by any, a little girl weeps.

Pull back, out into the clear blue skies. In a circle reaching the western horizon, as far as the eyes can see, is the legacy of Judgment. Fires still flicker their lifeless dance upon the corpses of those who hindered Judgment, all around hangs the stink of death. Only the barest life remains in the wake of Judgment. Without a backwards glance, the leader of the dead village fell into step with the rest of Judgment, the newest member of the scourge that ravaged the continent of Korshai. Built on betrayal was the emerging race known as Judgment.

Here comes the rain again
Falling from the stars
Drenched in my pain again.

-Greenday, Wake me up when September ends.

The night is dry but the frost sweeps cruelly across the land. In a small cave gouged out of a cliff, a little girl sleeps, haunted by dreams of blood and killing. The cold seizes her small body and tears at her skin with fingers like knives, but she sleeps on, locked in her visions of slaughter so recently committed.

Rising reluctantly over the burning horizon, the suns warmth slowly begins to eat away at the searing cold that holds the child frozen in its deadly embrace. As the dawning rays brush her young face, the girl awakes and for the first time takes in where she is. After the devastation she had seen wreaked on her innocent home, the girl had grabbed her meager possessions and run frantically north, until exhaustion and terror had overwhelmed her and she had crawled shivering violently into the cave. Only now were the barest vestiges of sanity returning.

A quick glance around reveals to the girl that she is far away from her home and also that she has run so far that she is almost at the banks of the Nethyes River, the border of Dar'Feisha, home of the Sand Dwellers. Looking over her tiny amount of food, the child decides to risk entering the Sand Home; if she attempts to journey in any other direction, she will run out of food and water before reaching safety.

Bare hours after setting out for Dar'Fei, the child is taken by Desert Scouts who guard Sand Home. She has not been saved from death, only death by the hands of Judgment. Tears pour down her face as she thinks of her family left unavenged whom she will meet again soon. The clouds as if to lament her pain, open and pour out their own sorrows onto the ever shifting sands of Dar'Fei.

I have seen you.
I know you.
Are you the one?

Words whispered in the dark. Questions, always questions until she thought they might drive her insane.

Who are you . . . are you . . .are you?
Do you know . . . know . . . know?
Why do you wait . . . wait . . . wait?
We love you . . .

Closing her eyes, the little girl finally released the emotions she had bottled up since her parent's deaths. The tears burned her face and cut smooth winding tracks through the soot and dust that still covered her. Sobs wracked her body until her breath came in gasps and her lungs burned. Still the violence of her tears continued, until everything overwhelmed her and she fell, spiraling into blackness. Her last thought was incoherent but was directed at the voices that plagued her. 'How will you remember Aeris? Will I be nothing but a name? Will I be lost?'


You saw me mourning my love for you
And touched my hand.
I knew you loved me then.

-Evanescence, Imaginary.

Hands locked to the arms of his throne, the leader of the people of Dar'Feila, people of the south desert, stared silently down on the ceremony proceeding below his dais. It was midday, almost time for the ritual executions of Outlanders who had dared to trespass onto the deserts of the Dar'Fei.

Of all his ancestors, the current leader was the only one to ever question the traditions of his forbears and the coming deaths sickened him to his stomach. Yet even as a leader of the Dar'Fei, he was reluctant to change the ancient traditions that governed the lives of his people. He leant back in his carved wooden throne and gazed at the statue that dominated the massive Cavern of Death. It was the likeness of the current Goddess of his people, incarnated every ten thousand years to guide and protect the Dar'Fei. In the past the Goddess had offered him counsel in matters of custom and change, but more then that, the Goddess known now, as Mistress had been his lover and almost his wife before being chosen as the Protector. Now she was silent. The matter was left to his judgment.

Smoothing his silky long black hair off his forehead, Vincent focused his red-tinted eyes again on the platform of execution, trying to hide his growing unease at the barbarity of his people's customs. Change came seldom to the People of the Sand and any change to the ancient traditions was almost unheard of in the history of the Desert. Even the leader himself did not know how to bring change to what had always been.

The drums tolled a constant heavy beat. Torches flickered on the walls of the cave doing little to illuminate the deep gloom. Vincent sat up straighter as into the Cavern came the high priest of Korgoth, Condemner of Souls.

Korgoth was the most feared god of the all the pantheon that watched the Dar'Fei and for good reason. Of all the gods he was the only one to demand human sacrifice.

The high priest paced the length of the Cavern like a king condescending to visit his subjects. Dressed in a robe woven of human hair and adorned with skulls of human babies, the priest was an imposing and fearful figure. His face was painted with red ochre like blood to emphasize his God's affinity with death and his pale blue eyes gleamed out of his haunting face.

Vincent stood as Korgoth's emissary on earth approached his dais, and they exchanged perfunctory bows, calculated to show respect but not subservience to the other. Hesat down again and motioned for the priest to begin the ritual of sentencing for the prisoners.