March of Doom.
Long ago when Alternia was new, There once was a place where all blood castes lived together in peace.
The Empire had not been established nor was the systematic destruction that were subjuggulators. This place was an expansive garden, Populated by its horned denizens. Where the sky was always bright and wonderful, It never rained for all the water they could need was supplied by a massive fountain directly in the middle.
And eleven spokes branched off of it, organizing a place for every color aligned with its zodiac sign. While everyone dined solely upon fruit, which was also in abundance of this paradise.
They all lived in a state of uninterrupted bliss, but in order to keep this place perfect. Every sweep the fountain would go dry for a day, and every caste would make an offering of blood.
Filling a section of the stone wheel within it, No one knew what would happen if one section was over filled. And so it stayed this way for centuries until…
One day when the offering of sanguine was to be given, an indigo blood cut himself a bit to deeply and the icor that slithered through its veins to this day. Spilled over into both the Navy and Violet spokes.
But it blended in rather well and so was unnoticed until….The other castes noticed a distinct change in their attitude over the next few sweeps as the incident repeated itself. They mysteriously seemed to double in size and ferocity.
Even at the youngest stage they seemed to be threatening enough to where they simply kept among themselves. And with the rule of the first form of government…The First Grand Highblood ascended to the throne through a vicious fight which lasted ten days, leaving a few of their number dead or grievously wounded.
Thus was the rise, of the house of Makara.
When His First Lordship, had been admitted to being their god. They grew still for several days disturbing not the sanctity of others around them...But their hunger grew so much that in fact, they set upon the caste nearest to them. The Navy bloods, whose own great strength was generally useful rather than feared...But they...were unarmed.
…..The beginning brigade of Subjuggulator's came at them with blunt spiked objects carved haphazardly from trees and stone, though the Sagittarius fought bravely many of them were felled like mighty oaks during a wind storm.
But Indigo kind fed not upon the fruit which still flourished in their section, no...They fed upon the corpses, ripping and tearing away at flesh to sedated the savage hunger.
….It still grew, they pined for more and turned blood-shot eyes upon all ten remaining sections. All of which were extremely wary of the clown-like warriors now.
For several sweeps they raged war upon all other sections, only to be beaten back by seadwellers, whom had prepared for this day. Though instead of eradicating the leader then and there, A Fushian blooded woman came forth and proposed a truce. They established a hemospectrum which finally broke the balance.
The gods which had created them, could stand it no longer. The garden now lay in scorched and destroyed misery, those who survived outside the circle of three were dying and unable to save themselves.
They sent forth, a twelfth member of Their Paradise Lost. A being cloaked in charcoal gray, to bring it back to order. Its body held within it bright red blood, the missing color. But it was ignored by Established rule, and unjustly struck down for preaching against their ways.
These deities could no longer watch as their children tore each other apart, so each caste was banished one after another to a new corner of their world and Out of the paradise which lay barren and charred due to the war fare.
Though Indigo-kind did not escape unscathed for destroying the others, and the god's chosen. When they were banished, a curse was placed upon them. Forever would they be restless, unable to differentiate reality from their own insanity-riddled minds.
No longer could they be of The Truest Deities' bond, but Capricorns were given new gods to worship. Mirthful and demented in their depictions Harlequin-esque in every sense. No bards were these hell-born demons though...
But a punishment which they would blindly follow regardless of life&limb lost.
Upon their eyes, they set red rings around pupil. To their limbs, no longer would flesh adorn their bloodied hands. Naught but the bone remained, sharpened to points so that acts of great care would be practically impossible.
Worst of all, with the splintering of all that was good within them. Was troll kind forever damned to forget this place, and be plagued with nightmares of the Armageddon which their cultist brothers brought upon them...
Forever now do they walk the gray-scorched ground of this planet.
Alone and hate-filled, to tear one another to shreds out of their creators sight.
Wondering, fearing...Doubting, the existence of mercy.