A village archivist finds an enigmatic red crystal at the shores of a nearby river. With it he discovered he could write the most exquisite red ink. This archivist also wrote various different stories that had met with some minor success. After he started to write with the crystal however, his stories began to reach far and wide. Even his reports to the mayor seem to have gained some flair. As time went on a sudden illness struck the village. People began to die of an unknown disease. The archivist meanwhile continued his work and was set on writing his best story yet, but before he could finish tragedy struck. The illness fell upon his own family. His parents, who worked the village mill, had become weak and sickly. Feeling an immense sadness the archivist could write no more of the story. A newfound goal was now his target, to uncover the secret of the illness. To do this, he had to leave the village to travel the world. Perhaps out there he could find a cure.

Months passed by in an instant. Soon a whole year was gone. Sadly, the archivist had learned nothing of the disease. Upon his return to the village he discovered that most of those still alive and sick had recovered. Happy to see his family healthy again, the archivist began his work anew. Merely a few weeks after his return, so did the disease. The small village was quick to gather and they surmised that it was this lone archivist’s fault. Despite not having any real proof of the matter, the villagers resolved to cast him out. His parents were devastated by the news. All they could do was prepare him for his journey. The archivist, his heart torn, lost his will to write. Using what few directions his parents provided, he figured he would travel around and perhaps discover his passion for writing once again.

As time went on he found other scattered villages. The remnants of a once powerful kingdom that collapsed under the pressure of a sickness much like the one that struck his own people. He passed the ruins of a great city, now home to nothing and to no one. A faded path west led him to a lighthouse. This towering structure lay seemingly at the edge of the world. In one of the windows an old lady watched as this traveler approached. When he arrived she received him with a warm welcome and offered him some tea. Waves crashed on the rocks below. Shielded from the cold winds that drifted up from the sea, the archivist let out a sigh of relief. He sat down and explained his situation to the old lady. As he did this, her eyes widened. She had been through something similar before. The archivist, knowing she might have some insight, pulled out a piece of parchment and the red crystal. Before he could write a single letter, the lady bid him to place down the crystal on the table. He did so, and also set aside the parchment.

Long ago, the old lady explained, she used to be an archivist herself. She would write down the great king’s decrees and record historical events. One day she discovered this same crystal. In the same way that the villagers fell ill, so did the citizens of the kingdom. Eventually very little was left of it. What few that survived scattered across the land. The king himself, stricken with grief over the loss of his people and his family, eventually hanged himself. Undaunted by the tragedies unfolding around her, the lady decided to research the crystal. Deep within the kingdom’s archive, she discovered the mention of a Bloodstone. Her discovery was shocking. She could not contain her sorrow and anger. So much so that in the last days of the kingdom, she fled to the lighthouse and threw the Bloodstone down into the rocks. Thinking that she would watch over this area, she decided to live here. She was to be a guardian of sorts. The archivist was stunned into silence. The villagers were not too far from the truth, he was ultimately the cause of the disease. The old lady told the young man to bring the crystal outside. There, at a rusted anvil, they could end this artifact’s vile corruption. Although the archivist hesitated for a moment, he knew that this suffering could not repeat itself. Placing the Bloodstone on the anvil the old lady took a swing of a large hammer she had as the archivist looked on. As soon as the hammer crushed the crystal, its shards flew every which way. Then, after a few seconds these shards scattered into the winds as dust. A wave of magical energy burst forth throwing these two onto the floor. Their souls ripped away, claimed by the ancient magics of the Bloodstone.