A shatter of white on an emerald-green field, above which sky of azure painted a promising morning, reciprocated the warmth of heaven's eye with brilliant smiles. Into the distant, the dandelions robustly stretched across Grassland of Prontera, snaked through the riverbank and nimbly crossed the water by dwelling on an aged decrepit wooden bridge. On the other side of the bridge, the undergrowth faltered. Greenery began to die out into a borderless desert, with occasionally conspicuous cacti sighted from the horizon. Dead with stagnated air, Sograt Desert, a land so remote to the citizens of Rune Midgard....
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Inside the sanctuary of Prontera Metropolis, a hurtling footfalls echoed through the aisle. At the end of the passageway, it was the room of Father Bamph. The High Priest, looked as if he had anticipated the visitor, put down the parchment he was reading and stood up. Approaching the door swiftly, he could hear someone puffing and panting outside. He then unlocked the door, revealing an acolyte who was about to knock on it. The acolyte looked apprehensive as she stared into the Father's eyes, for her clenched fist was only a hair breadth away from hitting on the High Priest's head.
Spotting the uneasy and fearful countenance of the acolyte, Father Bamph waved his hand to stop her from rigmarole of apology. There was something more important and urgent he had been expecting from her. He then eyed on the letter grasped in the acolyte's hand, and said: '' So, the King has replied my request, hasn't he? Hand over the letter.''
The acolyte nodded in a grotsque way, and her breath began to intensify, as if she were being strangled from behind. Tears started to roll off her cheek and her body was shuddering violently. Father Bamph began to acknowledge something was not right, not to say the atmosphere in the aisle began to turn freezing cold. Suddenly, with a surge of wind whizzed in from the other end of the passage, the lights on the wall were doused, one by one, no sooner than a swooshing sound that emerged from the darkening end of corridor. The acolyte let out a shriek (''Run. Father!''), at the instant a dash of bloods rained upon the Father's face. Startled, the Father's eyes were fixed upon a silver seven-bladed Katar that cruelly jabbed through the feeble body of his follower.
Father Bamph stood there, with a solemn register in his face , narrowed his eyes as he inspected the surrounding: '' Though countless bloods of innocents you have shed, Iruga, you should have taken mine on the very first thought you entered this sanctuary. My follower should be spared, at least, for letting you in. Now, now, the King has decided, my request is answered, and my life is wholly in your hand....''
A voice, barely a whisper, yet Father Bamph caught every single word, filled the chilly air: Haha... I am not paying even a speck of my concern into the letter's answer.You are right. What I want is you, Father. Your life would, certainly, worth more than just the content of a royal parchment and... Ahh! bits of your nosiness. For once I take it away, I shall fail the Order you've been planning. The King is too foolish to have put faith in you and you know what ensues your death, Father. Any last word? I guess not.''
Abruptly, a brilliant flash of red light wedged through the blinding darkness, followed by a faint hoarse wail, then everything was back to silence again. Under the shaft of sunlight that fell gently from the wall, a blood-stained letter was illuminated on the hand of an old man with a wide tear in the middle. A line of words was revealed above a crimson sealing wax: ...hereby consent the establishment of the Ymir Order...''
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