Magus Cow was the chief of the Hall Tribe on the outskirts of the Buffkin Plains.

Life was simple. His people tilled soil, ploughed fields, sowed seeds, and harvested the finest Tubers in the Northern Runiverse. The sun would come and go, and the days would repeat like the slow turning of a water wheel. The Runiverse continued revolving, wars were fought, runes discovered, civilizations progressed, yet life on the Buffkin plains remained steadfast.

It was a life where the callouses of hands did the talking, and the mind never wandered, never wanted for more, never lusted for the great unknown, content in the peaceful rhythm of a shovel meeting dirt.

Magus helped where he could. Though he had long forsaken his training, he couldn’t deny the power a few simple runes could do. Speeding up a crop cycle, a conjured beast of burden, healing wounds, a warding from harsh weather and insect plagues. They were small things, but not insignificant to the people, his people.

Then, the day that Magus feared, came.

The sun, that great fireball of death and life, bared down on the plains. It did not move; it did not relent. How quickly the giver of life turned to merciless destruction.

It ravaged the fields, without end. For months it stayed there, night never again rearing its relieving head. Light without darkness was deafening, blinding, unyielding.

Wells dried up, crops spoiled, people died.

Magus knew the Sun waited on him and would destroy all he loved if he did not answer the call. All he wanted was to live in obscurity, in blissful ignorance of this cruel world, for once in his life be unequivocally selfish. But the Order of the Sun had different plans.

He began his pilgrimage, retracing his footsteps of old. The summit of Honor Mountain awaited him. For days he climbed. The air was fresh, the melting snow crunched under his foot.

And all the while the sun glared at him.

There at the top, stood the Sun Temple. Memories poured in unbiddenly. The hours of prayer, the long lectures, the incantations, the magic, and his fellow Sun Templars. Then the other memories came. The ones of war, of death and blood, of burning skin and howling beasts of the night. He shook his head, trying feebly to displace the trauma. He took a breath and went inside.

Magus gasped, heart pounding. Inside, the Templars lay slaughtered in a mess of blood and bodies. His old life, his friends, teachers, his family. He rushed to the zenith, the very top of the Runiverse. He began his dawnchant, humming vibrations of nature, calling to the sun.

NIGHT CONTROLS ME, FORBIDS MY DIVINE PATH.

IT SHROUDS MOST OF THE RUNIVERSE.

WEREBEASTS AND LYCANTHROPES RUN AMOK.

I NEED YOUR POWER MAGUS.

Magus thought about his blood oath. Never again would he cast an offensive spell. Never again would he take another’s life. But at what cost? Would he fight for the people of Hall Tribe?

LIGHT AND DARK MUST REMAIN IN BALANCE. ALL ELSE BEFALLS DEATH ON ALL OF THE RUNIVERSE.

Magus thought about his peaceful life on the Buffkin Plains. He thought about his people. For them, he would fight, but in his own way.

YOU CANNOT DO THIS MAGUS. YOU ARE MY STRONGEST, BUT NO ONE IS CAPABLE OF THIS.

Magus took a deep breath. He walked back down to the main chamber of the temple. He could no longer be a pawn of war, but he could still fight for the Runiverse, for the Hall Tribe. Two large ribbons of sun lounged in the chamber, hanging like clouds in the sky. He grabbed both. The heat branded his hands in a sizzle of steam, and with a murmur of dawnchant, they did his bidding. With his friends of old watching, he gasped as an intense surge of heat rippled through him. He immediately felt the immensity of the sun weighing on him. His bare feet cracked the concrete underneath; the temple nearly split in two. His body almost gave way right then and there. But he gritted his teeth, tensed his muscles, and centred himself.

Those sodden bastards and their damn delicious tubers. They’ll have to live without me, but I’m sure they won’t miss one old ox.

He took a deep breath and slammed his first foot down. Then the next.

The war between the Sun and the Night King has continued since the very inception of time and the Runiverse. For the first time, Night has the upper hand.

Yet these days, the sun still comes and goes, and life remains in balance. Wars are fought, runes are discovered, civilization progresses, and life on the Buffkin Plains plods along.

And occasionally, in a Tavern where the liquor is flowing, in whispers amongst friends, or garish legends from wanderers, or bellowed from the top of the lungs of a bard, tales of a powerful Canaanite surface, burned brown from the sun, one with two ribbons of light streaking behind him, seemingly pulling the entirety of the sun with all his might, thunder clapping with each step, and a heat so intense it would burn your eyebrows off. He’s been spotted in all corners of the globe, circumnavigating the Runiverse. Never stopping, never taking a back step, a simple ox pulling the farmer’s plow. Others say it’s an illusion of the heat.

Entered by: 0xc1d0…1834