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PostPosted: October 27th, 2017, 4:46 am 
King

Joined: May 30th, 2015, 7:48 pm
Posts: 42
597: The night was young. A full moon rising across a clear sky set the tone for construction as many labored on into the hours of darkness. A crisp sea breeze drifted over the port-side plains upon which the capital of Khabranth was situated. As the last night before the 4 day celebration for Athun'lag, patron deity of prosperity, wealth and victory, many hurried on. They eagerly wished to finish the first quarter of the massive walls of Khalinar, a vision just now being put into effect that had existed for hundreds of years. However what motivated many was not a deep sense of honor and commitment towards Khabranth, rather, it was the deep coin pouches of Khalinar's grand treasury. This was not uncommon, as many workers were hired foreigners or drifters, cheap help in the eyes of the Council. However, tonight was not the night for such thoughts of inequality to linger in their minds, all that had place there was that of wenches and spirits, of sweet festival food and celebration. With that, they continued to toil evermore in the darkness.

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Vahn Zavaric was a soldier, that much was evident from his chain-mail vest, heavy leather garb and dented metal helm. The sharpened broadsword that hung at his waist was freshly sharpened, as was the heavy oak spear upon which most of his weight rested. Dutifully the newer soldier, having only 1 year of service under his belt, watched the Eastern plains with a deep, piercing gaze. A dock skirmish with smugglers being the most action he had seen yet, this watch duty was deeply exciting. Vahn was never a man of high stature, being born to a lowly whore, he trained and worked his way up through the ranks of the city guard. Although barely better trained than the average commoner, Zavaric had aspirations to one day serve the council as a member of the Old Iron Guard. Zavaric had shown promise though, at least his superiors thought, as he slowly but steadily kept rising through the ranks. This in turn helped Zavaric to support his family, including his ailing mother who was being watched by his wife back at their modest living quarters. However, once again, this persons thoughts were not occupied by such trivial matters as he continued to scan his surroundings.

As almost if on queue, a sudden flurry of movement alerted him. It looked like a soldier had fallen down 3 towers along the lookout wall. Zavaric passed it off as a drunken solider getting ready for the festival. He turned his gaze back towards the lowland forest. Now again something caught his attention, a curious sound. A sound that was almost like phtuu- as he was thinking about this an arrow buried itself inches above his left shoulder. Zavaric cursed as he hit the deck of the tower. "AMBBUUUUSHHH." The call rang out across the wooden palisades. Suddenly thousands of arrows poured down upon the walls, leaving them almost with a look of feathers. Zavaric could not look he up. "Damnit," he said thought to himself, "Why in the damned hells did the shite have to happen tonight." Finally hoisting into a crack he peered out across the Eastern plains. "Bandits, has to be goddamn bandits trying to loot the outer storerooms." Zavaric thought to himself while adjusting his view. But what came into view was not bandits. No, no.. to compare his view to bandits would do it no justice. What Zavaric saw did not bring him any comfort as the sight of a small band of bandits would. It only brought him terror. The terror of a small animal or bug whose existence was about to be snuffed out. Indeed what the poor man saw was a legions of troops. Thousands one could estimate. Orc, Troll, Human and from look of it, even tribals. Many heavily armored and armed to the teeth. But what perhaps shook its' heart to the very core was the figure at the head. A ghastly, monstrous silhouette slightly out of view. But as the army ventured closer and closer, the figure came into view. A hulking mass of iron, with ghoulish figures of skulls and eldritch monsters carved into it. Wielding an inhuman axe, the fiend continued, marching in pace with knights who were on horseback.

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Zavaric was trying his hardest not to loose the content of his stomach into his pants. But alas, Zavaric needed to think no longer of such thoughts, as the tower he was standing on collapsed. He had no time to think as he hit the ground. Within seconds, horses trampled through the gap in the wall and continued on in malicious pace towards Khalinar. Zavaric was crushed, ribs broken, arms and legs bent out of place but for godforsaken reason he continued to live. "Why," he wondered in his mind. The reason came into view very quickly. The hulking behemoth looking even more twisted and inhuman towered over him. And alas, the last vision poor Vahn Zavaric saw was a massive spiked book hurtling towards his head, as it popped with a slight crunch like a small walnut.

---

Sahrag wiped his heavy boot off on the puny guardsmen tunic. "Such worthless meat," he grunted out. "Not even worth a proper warrior's death." He turned his gaze towards Khalinar, the damned city of the plains. Home to slaves, rituals of dark origins deep within the city, and of those thousands of sacrifices. Dead either from labor or by ritual, all but forgotten beneath the city. He could smell the stench of death, decay and mass graves. Smells all but forgotten by now to the citizens of Khalinar as they were buried with time. It only continued his drive, his vision of Khabranth regaining the honor and glory of past ages. Upon finishing his reminiscing, Sahrag continued forward, at a pace that seemed impossible for such a colossal. Forward towards screams, fires, and the city which was beginning to be purified. Forward... to Khalinar.


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