"Ideology... power... war... death... Mishtonheim will never be a haven; its soil is tainted with blood, plants grow upon the rotting corpses of young soldiers, and the law is only enforced against the weak. The youth... brainwashed and manipulated by the powerful to be used as pawns in their schemes, died for their leader's belief, and worse... pride.
Mishtonheim is a land filled with gifted men and beasts alike. The mages and wizards are aspirants who devoted themselves to learning the art of magic and mana manipulation. The warriors are trained from youth to overpower any foe they face. The archers are nurtured to have the sight of an eagle, the swiftness of the wind, and steady hands like a tree. Nobles are smart people who come from noble families and are destined to lead and bring order among men. The supernaturals, life beyond the understanding of men, were created to protect the creation of the gods. The demi-humans are hybrid people, often the offspring of two different species.
All of them work together in harmony to fill each other's weaknesses. Each man does what he does best; inventions come to help with tasks and quests, and techniques are developed to push the body beyond the capabilities of average men. Deepened understanding of magic and new ideas are discovered day by day.
But this peace... won't last forever. The wizards... attacked the other kinds; they've become so smart that they feel superior to other men, a god. They've begun to question the morality of man, doubt the validity of the rules set out by the nobles, and are disgusted by values. They blur the line between right and wrong, and soon they begin to take over Mishtonheim, little by little. They have created spells to cause harm to other men, and the use of dark magic, which is prohibited according to the order of the gods.
Soon, chaos took over, and the other kinds didn't know how to counter or fight against magic, nor did they have the will to fight other kinds at all. The state of Mishtonheim crumbled, and it got worse when the wizards convinced the nobles to ally. They spread ideologies, new ways of living that defy the rules of nature itself. Brainwashed to sacrifice their lives to something useless, now some fighters want to be archers, and some archers want to be mages, driven by propaganda to show how powerful their kind is. Connections between the kinds fall to pieces, and the madness caused divisions between beliefs. Some are fighting their own kind over different visions and perspectives, which created factions among them, and the land of Mishtonheim is dissected into territories that people of "the same kind" protect. Even the wizards become divided. Everyone despised one another, and diversity became a crime.
When the wizards attempted to attack the warriors, it sparked a flame of discord between the factions, which soon turned into a scorching fire of battle. Everyone charged at one another: warriors broke bones, archers put holes in skulls, nobles sent out battalions of soldiers. They fought until the river was red and the soil had blood; the battlefields became wastelands, and flowers only bloomed over the decomposed bodies of soldiers who fought over the land that everyone used to own.
But then something happened: wizards developed a curse so evil that everyone collectively agreed to burn any grimoire with its trace. It is called the Curse of the Shadow. The Curse of the Shadow is a curse rarely used by any mages or wizards. Once it is cast, the one who cast it may no longer be able to use any spell that consumes mana, but such a trade-off is just a small sacrifice for the greater power they will manipulate. The one who receives the spell will be forever cursed with powers that could kill the god among gods. The grimoire says, "He who felt the embrace of the shadows is no longer worthy to be called 'GOD'S CREATION'; he who felt the kiss of darkness will no longer have a soul. They will walk in dirt and dust with only strings of their master, and one who feels the whisper of the abyss will have no purpose but to bring havoc to the beings that their master hates. One's existence is only dictated by these two rules: 'Rule one: Failed completion of murder to an individual who the caster holds a grudge against will result in losing sanity and becoming a mindless beast'; 'Rule two: Constant use of shadows will make you lose control over your mind,'" it is written by the unnamed creators of the spell.
To explain it further: once cursed, they immediately become a slave of the caster. The veins in their body will start to swell and move, forming the names of people their master despises. They ought to eliminate these people to keep the humans left inside the cursed. Once killed by them, those souls are now bound to the soul of the cursed, and are transformed into shadows that the curse can manipulate however the caster likes. There is no definite answer to what the cursed can do with the shadows, but using their power in any way drains their humanity, so failure to kill the names that appear in their body is catastrophic. If the body of the cursed is wounded, it is regenerated by shadows, but it also means utilizing the shadows.
Insanity will enable the shadows to consume you, turning you into nothing but a shell meant to kill for someone. If a cursed individual loses his sanity, the body still moves to kill the names that form by the veins, but they will no longer be conscious of what they are doing.
The purpose of this curse is to create mindless soldiers who will kill without hesitation.
Yet there is one man who approached me for my help. Due to the effects of the curse, he can't remember his name or where he came from, and he is unable to talk because he has forgotten how to speak. I tried to communicate with him through writing, but he forgot most of the words' spellings, which caused me to mistake his words for something else. He talks by pointing to words from books he brought himself; he points at them one by one to form a coherent sentence. It is time-consuming: a single sentence takes minutes, and a single topic in a conversation takes us hours.
This man calls himself "Dire" for whatever reason; he is a tall man with a rugged brown coat. He wears a pair of clean white gloves and a clean white mask that fits his head perfectly; the fabric of the gloves and the mask seems the same. At one glance, you can tell that he's a noble: you can tell by the way he moves—his gestures and body language look so calm and confident.
I was surprised to learn that he is sane, quite intelligent in my opinion, and he heard of my craft from where he came from and wanted to ask for custom gear, paying a handsome amount of gold for me to agree to his absurd requests. He asked for an unbreakable coat and a hat big enough to cover half of his face.
I asked him if he maintained control over his mind, and he told me that whenever he kills, he never uses his shadow and uses raw strength to murder his targets, and he also covered his body, for a mere splinter can trigger his shadow. Whenever a new name appears on his body, he can sense their location even if those people are utter strangers to him, but he can never detect where his master is. He explained that there is only one way to break the curse: through years of his research, which shows that the only way is to kill their master, where he would also die in the process, but his and his victim's souls will be free. He wanted to track down his master by asking about a possible wizard acquaintance before he ended their lives, which I think is clever.
After I heard his story, I decided to give him something better than the gear he asked for. I gave him a pitch-black long coat, enchanted so it can store magic energy, which includes his shadow, to lighten his feelings a little bit, and I made him a tricorne hat. We had a little argument about the size of the hat. I changed its size several times during the process of crafting it, and we ended up with a comically huge, weirdly shaped tricorne hat that fits him very well. The hat is also enchanted, so it can also store his shadows.
By the time we would part ways, I asked him where he was going next. I didn't get a straight answer, but he mentioned a mind-reading pauper of a mage in the East Rain Valley, and a traveling priest. I told him he can always stop by my laboratory whenever he needs something. He acknowledged me with a slight nod and strode toward the east as he vanished into the sunset.
I feel a different feeling about him, Dire. I can sense that we will make a great difference in Mishtonheim, but who am I to say that?" A burned handwritten page of Jack Fox's memoir, recovered by an unknown warrior in an extinguished fire pit.
"East Rain Valley, huh?" He smirked, "I'll make sure that will be your last destination."