Chapter 1
he attack came at the breaking of the dawn, the sky was turning from
a pitch black shroud into a shimmering canopy of red and orange, the
clouds were just hinting at the night's final death knell. The howling,
screaming and ravaging hordes of demons broke upon the sheltered
farmstead like a black rushing river. Claws and teeth savaging the
inhabitants as they tried vainly to defend themselves - blood was let in
such ferocity that neither children nor mothers were spared. It was a
terrible cull; for they saw them as such vermin, to be butchered as they
slept, with none to spare.
These creatures were not born of
nature's soft hand, but of the darker powers and arts known to wizards -
these mostly exiled spell casters had waited so long for their revenge
it was a palpable taste in their mouths. Like the blood that their demon
hordes had spilled uncontrollably earlier - but they did not care, they
did not wish to lift a finger, for in the past; around thirty years ago
to be exact they saw the death of their grand leader at the hands of the
man known as Duke Hark Ferol. They had plotted, planned and waited for
such a time that they could unleash their vengeance upon the Kingdom and
those who held life dear.
But
the destruction of the farmlands and the outlying villages only served
to give those children of the Duke time to prepare their forces in
Rivertown. As the wizards and their demonic allies had been delayed by
several turns of night into day and day into night. The allies were not
expecting to face such magical power or monsters as those on an open
plain, so they trusted their skills to a much more daring plan - a
battle in the very town itself. Of course they also had to worry about
the Lord of Chaos,a terrible a destructive force that could tear
through most armies like kindling being consumed by a raging bonfire -
some said that it was a Phantom, but none really knew for sure.
The sky now was as dark as sackcloth
and pinpricks of light shone through as the stars burned brightly in the
heavens above. It was the longest day of the year and seemed to be the
most ominous; fear began to burn in the hearts of those who waited in
Rivertown...fear and apprehension. It began as a soft rumble and then a
wicked clamour as the army of darkness arrived at the gate of the town,
the posts shaking with the force of amassed wickedness, demons, wizards
and the Chaos Lord all arrayed in eager anticipation of a vicious
battle. But all was silent, as the demonic hordes sniffed the air for
their prey...nothing stirred, cautiously they advanced. But caution is
so rare in war and soon they began to feel as though no one remained to
oppose them, so caution was replaced by frank arrogance and in they
marched as though they had conquered it already.
They were not aware that high above
them, on roof and gable sat the noble defenders - the rooftops giving
them a scant but needed advantage over the army. A cry went up at the
same time as the defenders drove pots of oil on fire from the high
places above them, many were caught and set on fire and then came the
rain of arrows, flying like angry wasps and hissing like snakes from the
bows of dozens of archers - each arrow was tipped with a virulent
poison. The battle began anew and the army of demons and mages responded
with a wave of spells and fire bolts that drove the archers back into
the safety of the shadows; man, demon and wizard fell in the first
assault. But the actions of these brave souls were naught to the power
of this army and they were forced to flee, to regroup.
But war does not happen over night, nor
does it happen in just one moment's heart beat of blood and thunder,
it's a living breathing entity that draws the very life and soul out of
those who dare to practise the art. So it was that the mages dark army
harried and hunted the brave souls that chose to stand against them, so
it was that they were forced to respond with terror tactics against a
much more superior foe. Over these next four months a deadly game of cat
and mouse commenced as the wizards blasted homes and houses into nothing
in search of their enemies, and the valiant defenders were forced to
band into small packs to avoid the stalking demons that hunted them like
game animals.
These packs learned quickly the value
of knowing your enemies' weaknesses, demon and wizard alike, and they
used this knowledge to even the odds. For every single victory they
gained, the wizards armies were made to pay in blood and pain; as the
allies slit their throats in the deep veil of night, or drove the shafts
of arrows through their twisted and black hearts. The wizards began to
be known as the Damned by the allies and the packs grew into bands that
would skirmish through the ruins, as fast as they were removed from one
area - they would simply return to another. The armies of darkness were
losing their patience and slowly the Damned were being whittled down
since they could not receive any further help or reinforcements. It was
time to act, and so the Lord of Chaos in all his spectral glory stalked
the battlefields and drove the allies before him, they could not kill
this being directly, nor by stealth - it began to soon seem hopeless.
Little by little and inch by tentative inch he directed the course of
the battle as he saw fit, the allies were soon driven into his ambushes
and they were in danger of being beaten...
The fourth month of the war saw a
drastic turn of events and the allies were driven from Rivertown, beaten
and bedraggled, fleeing heavily wounded and broken to the relative
safety of another bastion of hope - The mothers and their children
(those that remained) had fled much earlier and were surviving in the
surrounding forests. While the allies turned towards the cold stone of
the castle known as Stormfist, the fear in their hearts was that they
were finished, they had lost - but they knew that as long as they stood;
their families had time to escape into the safety of their allies
lands...it was all they could do to protect them now. They knew as they
arrayed in the courtyard of the castle that they had one hope to hold
it, the gatehouse, if that fell then the armies of the wizards and the
Chaos Lord would swarm in like flies around a corpse and it would all
end there. They had enough supplies to withstand a long siege but morale
was low; many muttered about dying and many waited for death to come
claim them at last.
Those who did not suffer from apathy
and fear were praying to the Seven Good Gods, with great fervour. They
placed barrels of oil around the castle in strategic places; the Damned
would win naught but the broken husk of a once proud fortress, when they
had finished defiling it. Ochre skies once more heralded their arrival
and once more they appeared like the conquerors they were, but at their
lead was the mighty Lord of Chaos, he tore down the gatehouse like
rotted wood and the demons and Damned followed in his wake, like
lapdogs...all the while the Chaos being laughed a terrible and
unsettling laugh, it drove shivers down the spines of those who heard
it. It seemed like nothing could deter his advances or initially slow
his dark fury...they were doomed, until at that moment as they moved to
defend; closing ranks - he stopped as if frozen and snarled ferally.
Whipping back around eyes blazing like hell fires, for there were the
Dwarven people, their armies were chewing through his spawn as they
bellowed battle cry after battle cry. In falling anger, their axes and
hammers were dispatching foe after foe, demon and Damned alike.
The sky turned into a black cloud, an
abyssal morass as the Chaos Lord became enraged, but for all his bile
and anger he could not stop the Stone-hackers in their advances, now the
tide of battle had turned in their favour the doomed allies flew
together with the Dwarves; it was a bloody and victorious rout as Dwarf
and man drove the bestial foe from the castle, those that were not cut
down by the veteran soldiers of the Dwarves, those who could handle hell
spawn in their sleep...were set to flight by the Chaos Lord to save them
from the fate that should have befallen their foul selves. The allies
defeated most of the Damned, the mages panicked and fled to the skies
with the aid again of their Lord - those that could not be brought down
by arrows were able to escape, perhaps to return once more? A great
cheer was heard as the armies finally put the last of the demons to the
sword, and they warmly greeted the Dwarves with much elation and
pride...under the clearing skies it started to rain, washing the blood
into rivers of pale crimson.
Read on in Part 2