As the sun slowly fades below the horizon, the air is filled
with the terrible sounds of death. A black shroud slowly descends to cloak the
blood soaked meadow where thousands of bodies lie in a chaotic tangle. Moans
and groans are the only sounds audible from these bodies, though the myriad
birds feasting upon still warm flesh assault the ears with a cacophony of
raucous calls.
Staring blankly at the carnage from the edge of a once
peaceful meadow, a haggard survivor struggles to keep his composure as his mind
fails to process such horrible devastation. Slowly turning a slim profile to
view the warriors resting behind him, he utters soft orders. “Teratha, let’s
get the wounded moving and give Last Peace to those who can’t survive the
trip.” Turning from the black haired priestess, he then addresses a wounded
soldier resolutely standing at his side. “Lyet, we have to get back and tell the Emperor. He
needs to know that all is lost and we must sound a retreat”. The soldier’s eyes
widen at hearing that; he is not surprised by the fact as it a truth that they
have all come to recognize, but he is more surprised at hearing his superior
actually admit it out loud.
As the small band of wound soldiers slowly gathers
themselves and prepares for an arduous trek, the leader turns one last look at
the ghastly battlefield. “To think, the entire might of the Arkhold people will
soon be spread amongst the carrion birds. May history never know the truth of
this defeat.” With that he reaches down to pick up his equipment, a battered
shield and a well-used battle-axe. A moment of reflection is spent gazing at
these few pieces of metal that have so defined his entire adult life. No longer
is his visage keenly reflected on the polished edges of the shield, nor does
his axe bear the shimmering marks of the marvelous Adante metalworking. Instead
they appear worn and torn, almost as if some ancient tribe had buried and lost
these artifacts several centuries in the past. Realizing that his life now
would be very different than it has been in the past, he actually drops the
shield in the dirt and almost drops his axe before Lyet reaches over to stop
him. “Hold, my lord Baratel,” mutters the young brunette, “We still have need
of your strength in arms should we meet more barbarians on our trip to the
Emperor.”
Baratel hearkens to the words of his junior officer, though he nearly demands to know what point there is in fighting the barbarians. Grudgingly, the small group forges onward through the branches of the forest and sets their sights to a distant point in the east. Hours blend into days and then weeks as they journey south, each day appearing to rise only to give them less reason to carry on. The air hangs heavy with smoke, laden with the horrifying stench of burnt flesh. Countless villages appear on the edge of the path they travel, but all are ransacked and destroyed; little remains of the vast Empire which once gracefully spread across the plains and mountains. Instead they face only reminders of their great failure, evidence that the time of the Arkhold Empire has come to a close.
Baratel hearkens to the words of his junior officer, though he nearly demands to know what point there is in fighting the barbarians. Grudgingly, the small group forges onward through the branches of the forest and sets their sights to a distant point in the east. Hours blend into days and then weeks as they journey south, each day appearing to rise only to give them less reason to carry on. The air hangs heavy with smoke, laden with the horrifying stench of burnt flesh. Countless villages appear on the edge of the path they travel, but all are ransacked and destroyed; little remains of the vast Empire which once gracefully spread across the plains and mountains. Instead they face only reminders of their great failure, evidence that the time of the Arkhold Empire has come to a close.
Gripping his battle-axe with bitter fierceness, Baratel
mentally swears to protect the last remnant of his people until they can
recover from this travesty and once again fill this world with true
civilization. Gentle golden rays of sunlight caress his face for a last brief
moment before the sun sets, almost as if abandoning the Arkholdian people
entirely. As gloom settles, it matches the feeling in the heart of all civilization,
and the question is left hanging against the flickering glower of the moon. “What
will become of the Arkhold Empire and its people? Will history ever know that
they existed?”
