In the days of old, things were simpler, kinder. All out war was but simple distrust, the corruption plaguing the world had yet to break out, and the Angels and the Fae dwelt amongst the mortal people of the world.
  One such Faerie was named Faelen. A younger Faerie, without the wisdom of her elders, but with great potential to use the power their God, Celran, had gifted them. A perfect target, he thought, watching her from the trees.
  She had been collecting berries at the time. Celran had smiled on them recently, the weather had been well and the fruit were rich and juicy. She was sampling one particular bush; it had appeared unripe at first but upon closer inspection, most were fit for eating, when she noticed the human looking at her.
  Faelen gasped and took to the air, beating her small wings vigorously.
  "Please wait!" he called out, dropping his things and running to her.
  She paused, then lowered herself to be eye level with him. "It is not common to see a human in these parts."
  "Forgive me, I had heard one could find a Faerie around here, and I had heard the Fae are beings of true beauty. Had I known my expectations would be so well met, I might have braced myself more," he smiled, looking over her. Hovering before him, her feet barely reached his elbows; slightly short for a Faerie, but that was merely because of her age. Her silky black hair that shimmered in the sun barely reached her shoulders, her skin shone with the inner light of a Faerie, conveniently masking her most private areas (a trick, he knew, that they performed for the humans' sake; the Fae have no shame), and her cheeks were flushed with the embarrassment at the compliment.
  "Please sir, I am no more special than any other," she responded, looking in turn at him. He was not tall for a human, although still far taller than she. He had brown hair, cut fairly short and kept well groomed, and wore the robes of an acolyte of the Spirits, although she saw no emblem to discern which. In his left hand, he held some rolled sheets of parchment, and when she looked into his eyes, she saw a look of clear intelligence and something unusual, yet familiar. She had seen that look before, but could not place where.
  "I imagine you must be busy," he nodded at her satchel of berries. "I apologise for disrupting you and robbing you of your time, madam Faerie."
  "Not at all, I was almost finished. And please, call me Faelen,"
  "Faelen," he sampled the name on his tongue. "A name as beautiful as yourself. Call me Arthur."
  Faelen blushed again. "I thank you, Arthur, meeting you has been a pleasure. Please, accept this gift. It's nothing special, but I would ask you to take it," she poured a handful of berries into his right hand.
  "I thank you, Faelen. May the Spirits watch over you,"
  "And may Celran light your path," she replied in turn.
  Celran? He thought, walking away with a grin. Hardly.

  At the edge of what is now known as the Dark Forest, there once stood a shrine. It was not elaborate nor grand, instead it was small, containing only three chambers. The design was simple and it stood out of the way, near only a cluster of small farming communities.
  But things are never entirely as they seem, for this shrine was to one of the most powerful of the Spirits, a being of great might and cunning.
  Shayde, the Spirit of Darkness.
  It was to this shrine that the man who had called himself Arthur went, to visit the Dark Spirit in his lair.
  Shayde's magic had made the shrine nearly impossible to notice, unless you knew where it was and were trying to find it. Not that it stopped the man as he pushed open the front doors to the shrine.
  The main chambers were somewhat plain, especially for the dwellings of a Spirit. A handful of relics lined each wall and a painting of a long dead priest hung on the back wall behind an altar. The back wall had two doors, one was opening as the High Priest emerged, and the other was where the man headed.
  "Good day, sir," the High Priest greeted him, "how may I hel--- wait, you can't just go in there!"
  The man held up a hand to stop the Priest and stepped inside the room.

  "You are late," High King Mercos remarked as Faelen landed before him.
  "I apologise, my liege," she bowed. "I was ... distracted."
  "How so?"
  "I met a human. It was nothing, really,"
  The Faerie King cocked an eyebrow. "Have you not been warned to avoid mankind?"
  "I understand, but are they not also the Children of Celran?"
  "And they have been tainted by Syaroun and His Spirits, to the extent that most of them now openly follow Him," Mercos sighed. "But that is not important. I trust you have your tithe?"
  Faelen nodded and poured a fraction of her berries into a bowl. "Celran shine upon you, High King."
  "And you, my child," he bowed.
  The whole issue made little sense to her, she thought as she flew away. Were Celran and Syaroun not twins? Both beings of the Light, both creators of this world? Why must they fight?

  The chamber was dark: no windows to let in sunlight, there was but a torch that shone dimly in one corner to illuminate the chamber. Against the far wall sat a grand throne, the emblem of Darkness, a bat, inscribed on it. On the throne sat what appeared to be a man, although that was merely a guise, a form he took. He was tall, over seven feet, although not of large build. His skin was dark, like the men of the south, and his hair was very short but for a ponytail at the back.
  He did not move as the man who called himself Arthur entered his chamber. He simply asked, "What is the meaning of this?"
  "My lord," the man knelt before the Dark Spirit. "I have come to offer my services to you."
  "And why should I care? Who are you?"
  "Because I can be of great use to you."
  Shayde laughed. "Can you now? Do you know whose presence you are in?"
  "The Lord of the night, the Spirit of Darkness, Shayde, also called Nanjor by the followers of Celran," the man bowed low.
  "I see flattery is one of your gifts. I would hope you bring more to offer, mindless praise is a talent I have no desire, nor patience for," Shayde remarked.
  "Of course not," the man grinned, rising to his feet. "I will bring you a gift, my lord. I will deliver to you the Faerie people."