Definition of Peace…
Prologue

Bodies littered the floor of the Grand Castle of Kerthan. The once majestic limestone walls now glistening with a uneven coats of drying blood. Torn tapestries depicted glorious battles unlike the one that racked the halls not even a moment ago. Some of the bodies were missing limbs, some looked like they were sleeping. Others were obscured by armor, But most frightful were the ones that moved or cried for mercy, for the End. Paladin Gerald Helm fought the urge to end their misery, but a battle still raged ahead, nearing the King’s chambers, and the king.
He was a sight, although not a pretty one. A bruise ran across his face where a helmet had been torn off violently. Brown and crimson blood stole the silver sheen of his once splendid armor, and dent in his breastplate marked where a sword had removed the head of his sigil, a charging boar. Long blonde hair tied in a tail streamed behind his short, muscular frame as he charged blindly through the corridors with an axe held in his left hand.
Pray I am not too late. The king was in danger. So was the Wise Council, but their importance was little next to that of Desmond the XIII’th. More corpses only served to hinder his progress, the living pleaded to him, and he ignored them… Oh, how much that hurt! He offered a silent prayer for their souls.
Soon, he found himself in the Feasting Hall, only a room away from the Royal Chambers. The sight sickened him. There was no sound  save that of his clinking greaves and gauntlets. An even greater number of bodies piled in front of the doors to the Royal Hall where the knights had made their last stand.
He crawled over them. Men he had once shared wine with, men he had taught and been taught by, men he had known since childhood and men he had known since his youth. They were nothing more than an unwanted staircase now. Emotion tried to push it’s way toward the front of his mind, but no. There was still work to be done for the living.
Two great doors gilded with scrolls of silver and gold stood to hold against invasion, yet a great dent in the center where one of the tables had been used as battering ram. He began to push the right door open, bringing his axe up near his shoulder. A mighty shove left him stumbling into the most horrible carnage yet…
Bodies were everywhere. Often not even a foot from one another. Several had been struck by something unearthly. Armor melted through skin, steel shaved through like butter, limbs gone entirely leaving nothing but charred stumps. The sweet smell of cooked meat filled his nose, and the great horror at what must have happened filled his mind. He forced himself to truly study the room.
“There you are,” A voice said. “I thought it would take you longer!” Gerald forced himself to look at the figure in the center of the room. In front of the throne stood Beryth in a simple brown librarian’s robe. The king’s advisor, and the head magician. Most importantly, he was Gerald’s best friend. He looked up.
“Beryth, what happened?” Gerald asked.
“The bodies? I killed them. They would have killed each other anyway, and I couldn’t have any witnesses.” Beryth replied. His tone… It was as if he didn’t care. His bright green eyes held a touch of the most horrible insanity in them.
It was then that Gerald noticed the crimson glyph on the floor. A great eight pointed star painted with blood. A smaller glyph rested inside each point. Worse, it slowly revolved, the blood repainting itself on the ground as it turned. Beryth stood in the center.
“Where is the king?”
“The king is dead, a martyr to his kingdom.” The circle continued to revolve, a little faster now. A point passed in front of Gerald as the horrible news sank in. Lyroshe, water glyph of the first hell. He thought.
“The Council?” he whispered. Another point passed, faster now. Tyral, earth glyph of the second hell.
“The same.” The star revolved.
Gryn’ tai, wind glyph of the third hell. Sal’ tai, lightning glyph of the fourth hell.
“They were in the way,” continued Beryth. Even faster now.
Beryl’ tai, ice glyph of the fifth hell. Feryl’ tai, fire glyph of the sixth hell. Stell, light and darkness glyph of the seventh hell.
“The world will be a better place for what I have done today.” The final point passed Gerald.
Death, life stealing glyph of the eighth hell. Gerald froze. Everything went cold. The eighth hell…
“You have doomed the world…” He whispered. It was far too late to stop the summoning now.
“The world doomed itself!” Beryth said heatedly, “If anything, I have saved it!”
Gerald shot a glare at Beryth.
“How do you propose to save the world by destroying it?!” Gerald yelled. He wanted to kill him. Beryth, his greatest friend. Together, they could have done anything. Beryth, who was even shorter. Beryth who planned the greatest pranks the castle had ever seen from it’s youth. Beryth, too small to effectively wield a sword, yet smart enough to plan a war. Beryth, who had almost killed himself healing the wounded with his magicks.
“Why, it isn’t even touched yet!” the insanity left his eyes as he talked, “I have a task for you.” Beryth turned away, but Gerald still heard the next words as if they had been yelled in his ears.
“God forgive me…”