Valharan's hand strayed absently to the hilt of his sword, where it gripped the worn leather of the pommel tight enough to crack the prominent knuckles on the hand of the last King of Paladeron. The sword had been an heirloom of the monarch's office since the forging of the nation, handed down from father to son in a line unbroken since Maeharan the Great had first stepped foot upon the Isle of Mist. The sword, being neither beautiful nor ornate- had served as a reminder of Paladeron's humble beginnings; off the backs of common labourers, had been built a nation of kings. Today however was a reminder that for as many inroads there may be to greatness, the roads down to obscurity were just as numerous; the very thought made Valharan lick his lips with contempt and bitterness.
Squaring his shoulders and hardening himself mentally, with a slow inhalation of air which lacked its normal cool crispness, he turned from the scene of devastation that lay beneath him and walked from the balcony in to the Throne Room. Inside the view was equally as chaotic however; royal guards hastily barricaded the doors with every article to hand, whilst councillors huddled in groups vainly clutching swords their aged hands had long forgotten the use of. Seated on her throne sat his beautiful wife, Azaisha, their newborn son clutched to her chest; her face was set with grim determination, though her eyes were brimming with fear and worry. The heart of Valharan went to her, even in the face of death- she stubbornly stood her ground; he had always loved that wilfulness about her. He knew what needed to be done, and no part of him could be swayed from the path he must take. Though his reign be ended, his nation destroyed and his people slain- the line must continue, and any sacrifice was worth paying.
"Silence!" the Raven King bellowed,
Instantly the room fell still, all eyes swivelled to him- filled with fear, hope, trust and awe; he would not fail them.
"The Battle is lost and the War is over, the Raven flies no longer. It is time for the end of all things here on Paladeron; but not the end of all things entirely. The line must continue, the Prince must be taken to safety! This leaves us with one choice- I must bow to the demands of this- Black Avatar."
Cries of indignation and horror suddenly filled the room, but none more so than those of Azaisha- who stalked towards him, her eyes flashing.
"I do sincerely hope you do not think you will be facing this monster alone! You may be sending the Prince away, but I am going nowhere! My rightful place is beside you, to the death I swore!" she hissed brandishing her ring,
Taking her by the shoulders gently he leant forward to kiss her forehead softly, before bowing to do the same to his sleeping son; the King smiled disbelievingly, the destruction of the greatest realm on Kardalorn was taking place about him, but still the babe found sleep.
"You know I include you in the charge to ensure the bloodline continues, who better to care for the Prince than his mother? I do not doubt your courage, my wife, I know you would have stood with me until the very end. But I dare say the horrors are not over, and your courage will stand you in good stead for the journey that lies ahead."
The Queen's eyes filled with tears, and desperately she sprang forward and clasped her husband in a rough embrace.
"I love you, Valharan. I will see you in the next life, wait for me at the gates. I shall not outlive you long I fear." she muttered into his neck,
All too suddenly she was pushing herself away and wiping her tears, quickly ordering the Captain of the Guard to assembly his men and plan an escape route from the palace to the harbour. Valharan hastily organised the councillors in some semblance of discipline, providing orders for them to assist the guards in the protection of the Prince. They had sworn their lives before his, their blood before his- and now they would be accounted of the few who had ever received such an honour. Before long the men had been organised and a strategy devised, they would head for the nearby nation for the Halfling's port home- and from there on to the court of the Emperor of Xarasha.
"Good men of Paladeron, I beg you to undertake this last command of your King- to take the Prince and his mother, the Queen, to safety. The fulfilment of this task marks the end of your service and the undying respect and love of your lord. Go now, may your swords sing and the wind fly swift beneath your wings." Valharan intoned deeply,
The guards repeated the benediction with a salute, and with one last glance to his wife- the King turned to the main doors of the Throne Room, whilst the Prince's entourage escaped through the back exit. Two men remained in the room with him, the Blood Guards, they had sword with blood to protect him when they had been barely tall enough to peer into his cot- he walked towards them and clasped them on the shoulders in a friendly fashion. Asking them to leave would like asking his limbs to fall off, their eyes held no fear and they smiled back at him confidently.
"Are we ready to die, my brothers?" the King asked returning their smiles,
"We've been dying every day since birth, Valharan, it's about bloody time we got the whole experience over with!" broad-faced Mallarek guffawed,
"I've been looking forward to getting a good look at this Lord Avatar since he first set his mangy pack of Heaven-forsaken fiends on my island!" wiry-limbed Saltharen muttered angrily,
Suddenly the sounds of fighting which had been drifting in from the open balcony windows intensified, and Valharan surmised the Prince's entourage had just encountered some resistance. Instantly the King was reawakened to the fact that the air was thick with the smell of blood, both human and non-human, and the memories of the last few weeks crashed over in his mind once again. They had come like a black wave, crashing over the mountainous walls of the island from every direction. In days they had overwhelmed the outlying villages- unprotected and unprepared for an assault that had not come in over a thousand years. The world was at peace, until suddenly the armies of the Black Avatar had come to conquer the Isle of Mist. Emissaries had arrived at first, promising a cease to hostilities in return for the submission of the King to the Avatar. But Valharan had been blinded by indignation, pride and disbelief- had a sorcerer truly become so consumed by magick-lust and power hunger that he believed himself divine?
Eventually the emissaries had ceased proffering their messages of peace, the outlying villages had been destroyed, the port was silent and the capital stood alone. The King and his unprepared armies had bolstered the city gates, manned the walls and rationed the food. For two weeks silence surrounded the capital as thick as the mists from the mountains, then suddenly in the depths of night- the sky had lit up and flames had rained down on the city, and thus the siege begun. For another two weeks, the capital had held- until this very morning the Western Gate had failed, and the black hordes had flooded through overwhelming the surviving defences. The city air was filled with the clanging of swords, the shattering of shields, the battlecries of soldiers, the death throes of fallen comrades and the shrieks of slain women and children. The corners of Valharan's eyes crinkled, and deep furrows spread across his forehead as he frowned; the time for thought was over, the time for action at hand. Hefting his sword, he saluted his Blood Guards and intoned the benediction. And as one they strode towards the Throne Room doors.
After having removed the barricades and stepped outside, they were greeted by a tall emissary of the Avatar- who stood at his leisure not ten paces away from the doors themselves. Immediately he fixed the King with a smile, bowed mockingly and retrieved a parchment from which he read.
"Lord Valaharan, King of Paladeron, Lord of the Isle of Mists- the great and gracious Zaretheran, the Black Avatar on Kardalorn to the Holy Brothers, does request you to attend audience at the summit of the High Tower post haste." the emissary spat,
Sharing an uneasy glance with his Blood Guards, Valharan cast an eye over the fiend. Tall and lithe, the creature's shape was humanoid- but as if twisted somehow, like a projection of man warped with an implacable animalistic quality. Its hair was short, black and bristly and covered nearly the entirety of its small head- save for its face, with was sharp, beset with two shiny black spheres for eyes and a small mouth of broken, yet sharp-looking teeth. It was garbed in light mail of a crimson hue, which offset the vivid green of its skin to an eye wrenching degree, whilst in an almost perversion of its humanoid form- it wore tight fitting breeches and soft leather boots. These fiends had appeared less in number than its black-skinned brethren, who wear larger and more muscular- yet these creatures seemed endowed with some greater capacity for intellect than their fellow soldiers. Glarands they hand declared themselves to be when question at previous encounters, the name tickled at the back of Valharan's mind- it was Ancient Tongue he was sure, but what it stood for escaped him.
"We will attend Lord Zaretheran currently." Valharan replied calmly,
"Most excellent, at long last the Raven King knows prudence." the glarand responded impudently,
Arrogantly, and without a care to their swords, the glarand turned his back to the King and his Guard and begun a swift passage down the corridor towards the direction of the High Tower at the heart of the palace. With Mallarek and Saltharen flanking him, Valharan followed the creature. Through the palace they marched, the corridors a testament to the hard times recently bestowed upon the Raven nation. Once a grand palace of great renown and beauty, the halls were bare and ramshackle- with signs of battle readily apparent, as bodies of Paladeronians and the invaders littering the marble floors. Tapestries hung burnt and the walls smeared with blood, often disgusting profanities had been scrawled on the wooden panels by the glarands and their brutish comrades- who had Valharan had heard named themselves olaraks. Valharan himself had fought alongside his men in the earlier scuffles on the lower levels of the palace, before the captains and counsellors had advised his retreat to the Throne Room. Valharan's heart sank and rose in a painful dance of despair and defiance, and stolidly he squared his shoulders for the unknown that lay ahead.
From doorways and corners, the Raven King felt the punishing caress of eyes- though he refused to turn his head and inspect as to their owners. In spite of this feeling, noone alive crossed their path or was seen- only the dead dotted the floor, their eyes glazed and their faces contorted in pain. Finally, after an age it seemed of marching through now silent corridors, they reached the foot of the staircase which lead to the High Tower. Ordinarily, none save the monarch, his closest advisors and visiting dignitaries would enter ascend the Tower itself- no blade was ever taken within its walls –but today was not a day of ancient custom observance. Today was the break down of an ancient order, and so the King, his Guard and the emissary entered and climbed the many steps to the summit.
The emissary paused before the doors, and with one swift glance and disdainful twist of its thin lips, pushed open the doors to the council chamber.
"Presenting the man, Valharan, fallen King and failed battle-lord." the glarand announced contemptuously,
Mallarek roared suddenly, before leaping forward to remove the head of the glarand in one swift slash of his blade. The fiends head tumbled from its body and rolled backwards towards the centre of the chamber, where it lay on its side- its eyes fixed on Mallarek, a smile frozen to its lips.
"I apologise, my King, but it was a vile creature without proper respect." Mallarek murmured angrily,
Valharan however failed to hear Mallarek's apology, for his attention was immediately drawn to the shadowy figure who had just stooped to retrieve head with long bony fingers. The Black Avatar was a tall and bony figure of a man; that fact was bastardry in itself, for people the world over knew that the Avatars were all female. Zaretheran was shrouded in a black cloak, the hem and cuff of which was embroided in silver with various magickal symbols and sigils. In his free hand he held his staff of office, a long and untarnished staff of a dark, nameless metal; topped with a perfect orb of a black so deep it seemed to absorb light itself, twisting and wrenching the eye in a way Valharan could not fathom. The face of the Avatar was long and thin, yet with air of strength and self-assurance about it. Narrow, dark eyes peered down at the glarands head above high, angular cheek bones; presently his long thin nose wrinkled, and with a snarling curl to his thin lips he tossed the head aside and locked eyes with the Raven King.
"Your men told stories of the insurmountable honour of their liege-lord, and yet he comes into the presence of the divine both armed and guarded against attack. Folly indeed!" the Avatar boomed,
Suddenly Zaretheran outstretched his free hand towards the King, palm forward- and from it flew three electric-blue, wrist-thick tendrils of magick which seized the three men by the neck and hoisted them off their feet into the air. Drawn swords fell to the floor with a clang, as the three Paladeronian's clutched at the vines of magick which threatened to cut of their air supply. Valaharan kicked in vain as the Avatar chuckled coldly at their vain struggles.
"Forgive me, that is no way to treat royalty." he drawled,
Quite instantly the magick holding Valharan faded, and he fell some short distance onto the carpeted floor, crumpling in a heap of coughing and spluttering.
"Your Blood Guard however, are of little import." the Avatar continued,
And with that he raised his staff, the dark orb glowing with a faint red hue for an instant- before a sudden explosion of heat and light washed over the huddled form of the Raven King, searing his eyes to near blindness. Blinking away purple spots, Valharan looked up and was frozen in horror by what he saw- suspended in the air either side of him was little more than the charred bones of his Blood Guard, which then dropped to the ground and disintegrated into a fine dust. Swivelling his head to the Avatar, the King stood once more to face death.
"Enough!" he screamed,
"Enough? So willing to die already? No! You will know your folly!"
The electric-blue tendrils seized Valaharan by the shoulders, whilst a suddenly sudden suffusion of blood-red light and a loud explosion destroyed part of the chambers roof. The blue cords hoisted Valharan out through that hole and into the twilight above, the sun was setting on his defeated kingdom and about him lay its corpse. The streets of his capital were a mass of black and green shapes moving seemingly without purpose, save to cause destruction. Houses, shops and taverns were afire- great plumes of black smoke climbing high into grey skies. The air here was as thick with the smell of burning and blood, the occasional shriek pierced the gloom however- and Valharan winced as each one was cut to silence almost as instant as it sounded.
A golden light coiled itself about the King's body, the Avatar's magick humming with power in his ears. It penetrated every pore of Valharan's body, and seeped into every fibre of his being; and images began to pile into his mind's eye- horrific disgusting images of brutal death, horrific rape and mindless violence. Moreover, the King felt as every blow was landed, every blade found flesh and every burn seared muscle and bone. Valaharan was reliving the death of every citizen of his fallen kingdom, feeling their every pain, screaming their every wail and crying their every tear. Unbidden Valaharan threw back his head and roared in agony, as blood began to pour from his mouth- painfully he raised his hand and dug them into his eye sockets, trying to tear away the horrific images before him.
"You had the choice to kneel before me, the chance to be raised upon all your forefathers and reign over the greatest world power since the Architect first birthed Kardalorn. Instead, in your vanity you opposed me and now your line is ended and your rule brought to nought. You are not special, Raven King, you are but the first in a line stretching before me that will know the foolishness of opposing my dominion. Farewell, Lord Valharan- return to your people!"
The images ceased, though the King no longer had eyes to see with or a tongue with which to sound his relief. The golden light turned a violent red, and the Raven King knew pain- as slowly, oh so excruciatingly slowly, his body was torn apart into a hundred thousand fragments and scattered across the winds atop the High Tower to rain down over the capital. As the soul of the fallen King began its journey to the Nine Heavens, it held itself together with one last hope, a single word: Balan.