A prologue to an unwritten book.
In times of old - the past was the present. In these times there was an enormous evacuation of all civilization to the southern tips of the mountainous range of Tutelage. No power had caused such a conflict for the common peoples before; although the kingdoms had been rearranged many times in past conflicts, no such flood of masses had ever ran away in sheer terror or in such ferocity to flee from pending pestilence. They ran from death. This death was less desirable than suicide, less desirable than killing your own parents. They ran from the destruction of magic.
A powerful wizard, Harbinger Necrosis, often called a warlock by his own trade, was the only human in all the lands who had foretold the destruction of magic. He was the only one who knew that all living things would die! Some listened - but few were they. Those of his followers were the first to flee south in Tutelage. They activated wards that were long ago placed upon the lands. These wards, placed upon the mother earth in preparation, covered miles upon miles of the surfaces of the land of Tutelage. It was to prevent the evil entity, the black hole of mankind, Love’s Bastille, from eradicating everything. By creating a barrier from the north and the south with the evasive wards, half of the world was saved, for now.
Love’s Bastille was the cancerous candy cane the soulless one used to destroy mankind. It took the entity of hatred, the body of an ancient relic, a scroll in the ancient language of the forefathers. These forefathers were those who had created the Earth, the first to walk upon its surface, the first to breathe the air’s windy shifts. They had powers over the elements. Though some used them for the bettering of all, the world, and love, there were others who used them for personal gain. One such zealous forefather was banished to the Dark. In the Dark he found more power, and created Love’s Bastille. His heart already broken by inner tortures and personal plague, this infernal and treacherous man, Bane Mitzvah, wanted to leave his curse upon the future. Enchanting the hide of his former slave, a scamp by the name of Drudge, he created Love’s Bastille. The only thing that he did not anticipate was that this relic would hold the soul of Drudge, forever being controlled by the agenda of a Scamp.