Empire Chronicles

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Part One

The Nizoma Conflict

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The wind howled with ever growing force, and trees swung their mighty branches,

deeply wrapped up in the motion of the breeze, as a square shaped fortress of some

kind lie back in the distance, on the heartlands of the empire, Taloe. Warriors, or

guards, heavily armored, stood abrupt upon the walls, overlooking the dark country

that was theirs for the moment.... A figure draped in red silk, and white over

dressings paced the wall, feverishly rambling....

"I have heard of a possible attack..." proclaimed the figure in red. "Upon who,

m'lord?" questioned a warrior, in a state of nervous feeling. "The Nizomians have

been growing quite jealous of our prosperity, and feeling it is their duty to stop

this, they may attack within the next few moons...." hesitantly declared the figure.

At the moment, the wind was nothing but a mere whistle, right up until a sharp

scream portrayed the air like thousands of pin needles. The glare of the entire

fleet among the wall shifted toward the eastern lookout, where another armored

figure toppled toward the ground, blood seeping down his armor, like a stream,

flowing forever, only to meet its match at a dam.

"Bows ready!?" shouted the figure, commanding the rest. The entire fleet

kneeled amongst the hard wall, aiming their bows east, almost as if searching

for invisible prey. "Where are they?!?" thought the figure, aimlessly scanning

the land. From the west, flung by an evil bow, flew a long, fire tipped

arrow, shooting over the fleet's heads, and so, the fleet turned toward

the opposite direction, but it had been too late. Now, about thirty thousand

arrows were pelting against the fleets armor, as shreaks of terror rang out

in the village below. "Hold steady! Do not let down your guard!" commanded

the figure, ducking upon a small security wall, which rested among the

larger, more efficient wall. More arrows shot from the west, and pierced

the fleet, as waves of blood splashed amongst them. On the west wall,

picks were being thrown over the crown, and dark, malevolent figures,

armed with five foot kitana blades were sliding down the rope, into the

village, itself.

One by one, the dark forces sliced at the villagers, and even the young

ones. The houses burnt in agony, as the red, cloaked, figure prayed to himself,

trying to ignore the battle, in which his fleet was being abolished.... The sounds

of a large man's footsteps smacked atop the wall that the figure was kneeling

down upon. A large, dark man, with long, thick black hair, and hundreds of

layers of chain mail armor wrapped tightly around his body. The large man

thrusted his way toward the safety wall, leaned down, and picked up the now

frozen in fear figure by his red, silk collar. The large man then pulled out

a giant butchering sword....

Eventually, after admiring his accomplishment of taking over the

Capital City of Taloe, he raised the sword, and quick, cleanly, and hastily

removed the figure's head manually. This now headless figure was none

other than the king of Taloe, himself. Pulling away the bloody sword, and

giving it a swift swipe of his tongue, to taste his greatest foe's blood, he

returned it to its sheath, and laughed at the burning city... a cold, hard,

cruel laugh of pure evil....

TO BE CONTINUED IN...

Part 2: A Reborn Taloe