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Broken Wings fell. From the empty, dead world of the suffering. From the empty dead suffering, the tendrils of shadow crept across the land and wound themselves tightly upon the fabric of the equines existance. Whatever equines prevailed and lived, they were wrought with the eternity of living alone. With the disappearance of so many equines, the few left were given a choice; perish, or fight to live. Those who were leftover began a new life. The shadows receeded, and everything was empty. There was no one about. The few equines who survived came back, but things were different now. Through some twisted force of evolution came a bent and twisted race of equines; those who had wings, some who could control elements, the weather, some with horns, blades, and other cruel things. Not all were menacing, but some were dark and twisted. The land looked exactly the same as it had been before, and despite the sudden change in some of the equines appearances, perhaps Broken Wings would rise and ascend back to what it was before any proposed war, where the darks and lights lived in harmony.
Enter the Land of Broken Wings
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