It has been mere months since disaster struck our home of Arcana. The Guardians challenged their power and with barely a thought to the consequences of his actions, our greatly feared and beloved Guardian Osyrus doomed us all. Lashing himself to his brother Sendri--who was his opposite in all things--he fed our flesh to the scalding pyre of Censura Volcano. As unwilling tributes to his dark and devastating designs, there was little we could do aside from scream as our flesh fused to bone before crumbling away. With his dark magic worked and the entire populace of Darkseid and Kaza'rhun fed to the unquenchable thirst of the behemoth blaze, he anticipated becoming a god; not unlike his mother and our beloved creator Cardea.
This was not to be and as fast as the magic had flared to life like the strike of a match; it died out and smoldered like a dying ember. In his eagerness to ascend to godhood, Osyrus had ignored the warnings that had been issued to him when he had first concocted this unholy plan. "Continue with what you believe in, and your life shall end up as those you are about to condemn."
The voodoo woman had hissed as he revealed his plan unto her. Her word was true and as the ashes of those who had followed him to their deaths began to cool, the mighty guardian of war and death felt the cold chill of mortality creeping through his very bones. A pained glance toward where he'd ensnared his brother Sendri gave truth to his fears. As before him--where his brother had stood only moments before in all his burning glory--there hovered a dimly glowing crystal; all that remained of the once formidable Sendri.
It was then that the "god" of souls, finally perished.
With the essence of the two most powerful of them all, the rest of our beloved Guardians turned to stone as well. Once the last had breathed her last, the crystals vanished. You see, in our foolishness we blindly followed the will of an unyielding master, and in doing so we condemned those which we cherished the most. Those poor souls that burned and died in that fire, well, they're still here. They roam our lands forever feeling that burn that they felt at the last moments of their breath. They're not alive anymore...so there's no reason to feel bad for them. The moaning is what keeps me and my brothers awake at night though... They look like skeletons walking the land with bits of fire in their dark hallow eyes. My mother told me their called Animus, because of their souls that were lost in the magic.
I worry that they will not rest until we can once again call the Guardians to our aid, and to do that we must seek out their crystals and reunite them. Their loss is felt desperately throughout Arcana since the days of the Fall. It is something that should have never occurred but there is nothing that can be done for it now. May Cardea save us all from our vanity and sins...