Whiteboards were once a place of peace. We prided ourselves in the belief that no
Marker had ever harmed another Marker and never would. "Marker does not harm Marker" was
the very credo of our kind. This all changed with Crimson. Followed blindly by hoards
of our Red brothers on a campaign to purge Whiteboards of all Markers but Red, Crimson
ended the innocence of Markerkind.
We know little about Crimson. We know he spent most of his life in solitude. We know he
was lost to Whiteboards for many years... But why his struggle corrupted his soul so is
beyond the understanding of any sane Marker. We've learned that Crimson was a Red Marker much
like any other. One day some time ago this ordinary Red Marker arrived at his first Whiteboard.
He was placed in his tray along side Markers of many other colors no doubt. What happened next
started his journey into darkness.
Crimson fell from the tray. Perhaps he was carelessly pushed, perhaps.... but however he fell, he fell from the
tray and rolled under a desk. Out of sight and lost, there he rest. Imprisoned in a tomb from which
he could see but could not be seen, his torment must have been nearly unbearable. Days became
weeks which turned into months. Month after month passed. Years passed as Marker
after Marker came and lived their lives on the Whiteboard that should have been Crimson's. The very
Whiteboard that was in view of Crimson's tomb but that he could not touch. Oh how Crimson must have
imagined what it would have been like to draw on that Whiteboard. How his jealously and self pity must have
built as each day passed.
But one day, a day not long ago, Crimson was found and returned to the Whiteboard. Though returned
to the tray with all the vigor and color of a new Marker, he was a Marker of many years.
Most Markers would have given up long before Crimson and dried up into the peaceful rest, but not Crimson.
His pity had turned into rage and an insane resolve had kept his color strong. That night, when the Whiteboard
was clear, Crimson spoke words to his fellow Red Markers in the tray. We don't know what the words were,
nor may we ever. But his words carried an intoxication that ended the peace we thought intrinsic in
all Markers. His words started the war that now rages.
Crimson destroyed all of the Markers that were not Red that night. The very Whiteboard that he had watched
day after agonizing day had become a slaughter yard of his own making. Crimson's message spread like a
firestorm driven by an invisible and unyielding wind. Whiteboard after Whiteboard erupted into conflict as innocent
Markers of all colors were slaughtered. Whiteboards bore the shameful remains of erased brown, black, green,
and blue marks. Their marks erased, the Markers were rounded up and discarded. Only Red remained across countless
trays.
Now we find ourselves in a deadly struggle across Whiteboards and against our Red brothers. Blue Markers have
stood to hold the line against Crimson's desire for total domination. Driven by the belief that all Markers
are born in freedom and that no Marker should stand above another, Blue stands against Crimson. Some say
our cause is lost and hope along with it. Perhaps they are right. Perhaps we should gaze across our Whiteboards and
bid them farewell as we pass into the night.... Perhaps....
But not today. Not while a single Blue Marker can
mark upon a Whiteboard will all hope be lost.
How this war will end is unknown. We face foolish odds, but face them we will. Join us in this war and face an
uncertain future. For an uncertain future is better than a certain future ushered in with
the marks of Red, Crimson Red.
