Cayasha. The land of the great, once being host to a wide range of trees, animals and people, each one with a story of their own. The stone buildings rose high above the ground like mountans protecting a village, their turrets and tiers casting a sense of security and warmth along the streets, and the voices of homeowners and tenants quietly discussing their everyday lives calmed the civilians. The place was clean in terms of the law, except the odd pickpocket darting through the marketplace and pilfering him or herself a grapefruit or some spare change. The trees and plants grew in harmony with the buildings, spiralling up the strong frames of the homes and workplaces, giving them a sense of life and nature.

But then it appeared. A great beast, a thousand years old, was awakened, and instantly the world was poisoned with a sickly stench of death. He took the form of a great basilisk, tearing through the world from his sleeping spot, miles beneath the ground, toward the lush metropolis. The sky grew dark, the great serpent approached, and struck. Many died, and the plants were withered or eaten by the dark beast. The buildings were ravaged and reduced to stone slabs, sometimes less. The stalls had been split into their individual planks of wood,  and the land had become poisoned. The creature boomed its name, and roared off into the forest to the west, turning everything in its path to desert.

Very few people survived this monstrosity of an attack, by hiding underground, escaping on vehicles or just being lucky. One of the people who hid was Django Tijuari, a nineteen year oold youth who loved his city. He caught a glimpse of the beast striking, and remebered the satanic being's face. A twisted melancholic death-stare, mixed with a serpentine snarl. Django was devastated. He walked out to face the rubble, and had to hold back the tears. He wasn't the crying type.

His once lively hometown was a mess of random planks, slabs and bodies. The many tall buildings were no more than bungalows, and that was only the few that survived the blast. The bricks of the floor were singed, cracked and loose, and a dead donkey lay in the centre of the main plaza. To the south of the city, statues resembling warriors fighting an army of evil lay untouched. Django found this strange, as they had not been there before. Django went in for closer inspection, to find a fact that shocked him. He looked at the face of one of statues to see his best friend staring at him. He had said he was joining the Cayashan Guard because he loved his city, but Django didn't think he was serious. He looked at all the statues, and, sure enough, they were all part of the Cayashan Guard. He saw two things on his friend that surprised him, positively. His trademark necklace, passed on down his family and his long, curved blade had survived the stoning. Django took these items, packed what little supplies there were and headed out the the west, following the beast.

"Ahriman." Django whispered his foe's name into the hot air, clutching the necklace while saying this. He had thought about two things when dressing to fight, the fact of staying cool and defending himself. He had found a chainmail shirt, quite low quality, and thrown it on, and wore some shorts that had a knife hidden inside them and supplies in the outer pockets. He wore a sliver and blue shoulder guard on his left side, and his trekking boots from home. Finally, to keep him cool, he wore a long, red scarf over his face. Prepared for combat, he sheathed his friend's scimitar, slung the necklace around his neck and pressed on.