The grand city of Dourado, built in white stone and adorned with gold was under catastrophic siege. Flames raged along the rooftops and along the edges of the great Igrexa that stood in the centre of Dourado– its massive domes and towering speres gleamed faintly beneath layers of ask and smoke. Flames licked up the sides of towers and bursts from windows. The golden domes reflected the firelight, creating a haunting contrast between beauty and devastation. Thick plumes of black smoke coil into the sky, blotting out much of the light and from above, fiery projectiles streak downward leaving trails of flames and smoke as they arc toward the city. Broken stone, shattered arches, and collapsed building litter the ground. The once-grand archway that led into the city stands partially intact, its structure cracked and crumbling, framing the destruction beyond like a grim monument to what has been lost. Splintered wood, fallen masonry and torn banners cover the street which leads toward the arch. Small human figures in the distance flee amidst the destruction as fires burn in multiple spots across the ground, as the city is overwhelmed from all sides.
Under the once grand archway, several Golden knights lay, their once golden armour, now stained by ash and dust. Among them is a lone knight, kneeling amid the shattered remains. The knight’s once pristine white and gold armour, intricately engraved with ornate patterns– floral motifs and filigree etched into the metal– is now dulled, scratched and smeared with dirt and blood. The gold accents still catch faint light, but they contrast starkly with the grime and damage. His shoulder plates are broad and sculpted, and a pale, weathered cloak drapes from them, pooling around him on the rubble-strewn ground. His long, blond hair fall in loose strands around his face, slightly dirty from the ash and rubble. His pale face is marked with smudges of soot, faint cuts and bruises. He is on his knees; his amber eyes fixed on his sword laying forgotten on the floor amongst the rubble in front of him. The swords ornate and gold hilt matched his armour. The blade stained with fresh, dark red blood, streaking unevenly along its length.
A man approaches the kneeling knight, his heavy, predominantly back armour clinks as he approaches. The knight’s amber eyes roam upward from the rubble covered ground, noting the deep red accents in the dark knight’s armour and the dark chainmail underlayer visible under his neck. As soon as golden knight saw his face, he knew who he was, Mestre Escuro. Mestre had a stern, intense expression accompanied by his sharp, angular structured face, defined cheekbones and slightly furrowed brow. His skin was pale, contrasted by subtle shadows that deepened the contours of his face. His unnaturally red glowing eyes seemed to emit their own light as he stared down at the kneeling golden knight. His cold unblinking gaze suggested power and menace. His long, slightly unkept, black hair, fell past his shoulders in damp-looking strands, framing his face unevenly.
Behind him stood a short, hunched man, his posture bent forward in a predatory, almost animalistic way. “Should we kill him, Mestre Escuro?” he asked and stepped forward eagerly. His face was skeletal, with deeply sunken cheeks and sharp, exaggerated bone structure. His skin looked sickly yellow, mottled and uneven and his expression was sinister– lips pulled back into a crooked, unsettling grin that reveals worn, uneven teeth. His eyes were dark, slightly shadowed, giving him an almost feral gaze that was directed toward the kneeling golden knight. His hair was thin and stringy, clinging in greasy strands to his scalp. “Not yet, Salvaxe.” Mestre Escuro said and held up his right hand. Salvaxe was wearing a dark brown tattered cloak that made him look out of place among the others who wore armour. On his right arm was a network of blackened veins spreading beneath the skin. These veins were thick, branching and unnatural, clearly visible from his upper arm down to his hand.
The kneeling knight’s gaze fixed on the black veins, having seen them before during battle and on the soldiers that attacked the city. Those with the black veins were called the Corrompido, men and women corrupted by the darkness of Mestre Escuro. “Perhaps our fallen knight would like an opportunity to safe what remains of Dourado?” Mestre Escuro said and watched the knights face intently. The golden knight slowly rose from the ground, not bothering to pick up his sword. “You mean, you will leave? Just like that?” he asked with a shaky voice. “No, not just like that,” Mestre Escuro says slightly irritated. “In exchange for a sacrifice. What is your name?” The golden knight cleared his dry throat and then said, “Luz.” He shifted on his tired feet. “What kind of sacrifice?” Mestre Escuro smirked and said, “Become one of the Corrompidos. Sacrifice yourself and your innocence.” Luz hesitated and took a small step back. An image of a young girl flashed in his mind, her bright smile and red hair. “I will do it,” he says with a deep voice and looks directly into Mestre Escuro red eyes. Mestre smirks more widely. “Good,” he says maleficently.
