NationStates Jolt Archive

This is a story, passed down by the elders of Al-Tirzon from age to age.
OOC: it is very long (something like 8 pages in Word) and i don't even know if it will fit at once. please don't post if you don't bother to read it. thank you.

It was midday. At the top of the hill, Ashnod’s 5,000 Men and Elves readied their weapons. Longbows, short horsebows, swords, pikes, crossbows, war axes, and throwing javelins were readied.
One of the lookouts, Findan, spotted a man on horseback. “The scouts are returning, sir!” he shouted.
Ashnod ran over, “Where? Where are they?”
“There’s one to the east, see.”
“Ride out there on a fresh mount and trade horses with him.”
“Yes sir.” The man rode out and traded horses with the scout. The scout galloped up as quickly as possible.
“Sir, the enemy has tens of thousands of men. We don’t stand a chance!”
“How many?” Ashnod barked.
“At least 50,000.”
“Ten to one… we don’t have a chance!” remarked a man standing nearby.
“If you don’t want to fight, go home!” yelled Ashnod. “We’ve no room for cowards here. Do you want to fight or not? If you don’t go home now.”
“I’ll stay,” said the man, “I want to remove as many of these scum as possible.”
“That’s the spirit!” Ashnod exclaimed, “I’ll go down fighting, if I must.”
Suddenly, another scout came riding up. “Sir, I’ve gone to the palace. The emperor gives you this message: ‘I, Emperor Annod, King of Al-Tirzon, will be sending 10 legions of 12,000 troops each, to your aid, led by my trusted assistant, Felgon, son of Felgan. I wish you luck in battle, my son.’ He said the troops should arrive within 6 days, sire.”
“Six days! That is the fastest he can come? We’ll just have to hold out for that long.”
The fortifications on the hilltop were going beautifully. Walls of dirt, stone, and wood were being constructed. Trenches were being built. Rocks were placed at the edge of the hill, to be hurtled down on the enemy. Every man was issued a full week’s rations. “Men,” Ashnod said, “We probably won’t live. Any man that doesn’t want to die for their country can leave right now.” Not one man stood up to leave. “Good. We’re in this together. The construction is going well. We may be able to hold them off for six days. If we do, then reinforcements should arrive.”
Suddenly, a lookout shouted, “They’re coming, they’re coming!”
The enemy forces marched towards the hill, in orderly rows of 10, 10 deep. Enemy commanders ran up and down the line, yelling at the orcs to ready themselves. “I count 70 groups of 100,” Ashnod growled. “They outnumber us 14 to 1. This is going to be a tough fight.” He yelled commands to the men, “Spears behind the first wall, javeliniers behind the second. Archers, fire from where you can, then pick up your hand to hand weapons.” The orcs began to surround the men and Elves on the hilltop, readying themselves for the charge.
“Sir, do we have a chance?” asked one man.
“We have a chance, do not worry about that,” Ashnod replied. All the fighters looked at him. His sword point was pressed into the ground, and he had his hand on the hilt. His head was held high in the air, staring at the orcs. Suddenly, every man with him was filled with a sense of his majesty and power. Ashnod radiated confidence and strength. As he stood tall, majestic, his robe swaying in the wind, an arrow whistled through the air, hitting him in the shoulder. He ripped it out and yelled with a fury beyond all human anger, “No mere orc-arrow will slay me!”

Another man stepped up. “And I am Ashâdar, brother of Ashnod, also heir to the throne! I will cause your doom!” Ashnod and Ashâdar, side by side, and the men were filled with hope and love of their kings.
Suddenly, a great cry came from the orcs, for they had surrounded the hill. The Elves and Men steeled themselves for the charge. Arrows and crossbow bolts were let fly, as the orcs charged up the hill. The two Elven princes stood firm, firing and reloading their crossbows. Hundreds of Orcs were cut down in the first charge, but it did not stop them, as they stepped onto and over their fallen comrades, filled with their lust of death and destruction.
As the orcs reached the first wall of dirt and wood, they were surprised by a small group of 500 men, armed with short spears for close range stabbing. As the men were brutally cut down, a row of 500 more javeliniers stood, threw their weapons, and ducked again. They reloaded and continued to throw. As the orcs got closer, they each held onto their final javelin, to be used as a hand-to-hand weapon. Finally, the orcs broke through. Men and Elves, fighting for their lives, and the lives of their leaders, fought with a skill and precision never seen before.
The tide turned against the Alliance, then. Therefore, Ashnod, in the thick of battle, sensing that the line might break, thrust his sword into the air, and cried out. “Rally to me! Rally to my sword! For the glory of the alliance of Elves and Men!” And the Elves and Men rallied to him, destroying many orcs. After some time the battle began to fall apart for the Elves and Men, with many dead or injured, for even their spirit could not make up for the horrible odds. However, through it all, two Elves, Ashnod and Ashâdar flew through the battle, like whirling dervishes, mowing down orcs in their way, each fighting with the spirit of a hundred. And seeing these two gave heart to the warriors, turning the tide once again, and pushing back the orcs.
All of a sudden, an Orc-captain’s sword hit Ashnod in the chest, making the man gasp in pain. From his chest came a light, unlike any seen for scores of ages, the light of the trees of Valinor. He had not gasped from the pain of the sword wound; as he was unhurt by that. Ashnod gasped from the pain of the branding now upon his chest, a likeness of a white tree.
The men gasped in amazement. Filled with the light of the trees of Karamor, the Elves and men fought with strength never before felt. The Elven princes destroyed many orcs in that time, as the orcs fell back from the pure white light. The warriors followed and destroyed the orcish hordes completely.
They then returned to the hill to tend to the wounded. When the wounded had been cared for and the dead buried, the men asked of Ashnod, “What was that light? From where did it come? How are you not dead yet?”
And to them, his faithful followers, he replied, “That was the light of the trees of Karamor. It was given to me in a vial by the god Mokan. He told me that it would protect me someday from Tingaron’s evil power, and it has. I am forever grateful to Mokan for his protection.”
Then the legions of Felgon arrived, and when they saw the carnage they realized they had been to late. But Ashnod said unto them, “You have missed the first battle. You will not miss the second. We will go to the gates of Utlon, Tingaron’s stronghold.” He spoke with a fury of vengeance, anger at the death of his comrades, ready and willing to destroy his enemy once and for all. All of the others agreed that it would be prudent to destroy Tingaron once and for all. They sent a rider out, asking for reinforcements from the king, then began the long, slow march to Utlon.

Four months they spent on the road, until they finally arrived within sight of the gates. With them they had few siege weapons with which to break down the walls. However, their hearts were in that battle. The princes had in their army 10 legions of 12,000 each, plus the remaining 2,000 men from the small force that had gone out with them originally. With only 122,000 men, they were puny compared to the force that Tingaron could field. The princes decided to simply dig in and wait for reinforcements. There they waited, fighting small skirmishes against parties of orcs sent out by Tingaron. These resulted in small losses on both sides. At one point a troll was sent out to fight the Alliance, but the brothers filled him full of crossbow bolts in both eyes, killing him without much trouble.
One day, after 3 weeks of waiting, a man came riding in. Ashnod recognized him as the rider he had sent for reinforcements. “Sir, the king could not send any reinforcements. But he did send this message: ‘Attack now when the enemy is weak.’ He gave me no reason, but he seems to be certain that the enemy is weak.”
Ashnod was filled with a sense of dread at his words, for he felt he knew what his father had meant at that. Ashnod looked at his brother, and he looked at Ashnod. Ashnod could see in Ashâdar’s eyes that they were having the same thoughts. And Ashnod said to his brother, “He would wish us to destroy him once and for all.” Ashâdar simply nodded with a grim look on his face.
The Alliance began firing large rocks at the walls with the catapults. When they felt that the bombardment of one week was enough, they began a full-scale attack on the enemy fortress. The walls fell, the gate was destroyed, and men passed through the holes in the walls. All that was inside was a small garrisoning of Orcs, only about twenty thousand. All were destroyed with small loss. The princes moved down, into the depths of the castle, their only light Ashâdar’s amulet from Mokan. And as the Men and Elves moved, it grew darker around them, for the stench of Tingaron’s black smoke and death was ever stronger as they got nearer to his inner stronghold.
Suddenly the princes, running in front, heard a noise. A man walking down the hall, clad in chain mail armor appeared from the darkness. “Who will fight me?” asked an almost disembodied yet booming voice.
“I will,” Ashâdar responded. He drew his sword, and faced Tingaron. Tingaron sneered and drew his weapon of choice, a huge halberd nearly taller than himself. Ashâdar began the fight with a slash at Tingaron’s side. Tingaron parried the thrust easily, and countered with a thrust at his head. Just in time, Ashâdar brought up his shield arm. The force of the blow shattered the steel shield into hundreds of pieces. While he attempted to regain control of his arm, Tingaron slew him in a single blow across the neck.
Then Ashnod stepped forward. “That was a cheap shot, scum”
He sneered, “There are no cheap shots in war, Ashnod son of Annod. That was a battle for my life, and I won.”
“And now you shall fight another one,” Ashnod yelled, “I will avenge my brother!” Before Tingaron was fully ready, Ashnod slashed at him with his sword, narrowly missing. If Tingaron made a thrust at Ashnod’s chest, he parried. If Ashnod slashed at Tingaron’s neck, it was blocked. This went on for such time as the sun could take to go from its zenith to its setting. Ashnod finally smote the evil lord with a blow to his head, mortally wounding him.
He fell to the floor, bleeding from the enormous wound in his head. As he died, and the life ran out of him, Ashnod asked him one question, his face like that of stone, “Where is my father?”
“He… he’s… dead… my orcs… th-th-they k-killed hi-him” He managed a small laugh, shuddered, and died.
The Elves and Men, all hundred and twenty thousand headed back to their homes, victorious but saddened. All knew now of the death of Ashâdar and Annod, and the depression it had brought upon Ashnod. Within the space of half a year, the Alliance arrived back at their home city of Dol-Trungûr. There was evidence of destruction, with the white houses and towers scorched. A man came solemnly walking up to Ashnod.
“Are you Ashnod, son of Annod?” he asked.
“Yes, I am,” Ashnod responded.
“Our king has arrived!” shouted the man, “All this waiting has not been for nothing! The King! The King!” the crowd took up his shout.
“Then my father is dead?” Ashnod asked.
“Yes. He was slain in battle by orcs during a battle for the life of our kingdom,” he responded.
“My father, my father,” Ashnod began to weep.
“Do not be so sad. You are now ruler of a great realm,” replied the man
“This? You call this scorched earth a great realm?” Ashnod asked.
“Show yourselves, everybody!” the man shouted. Suddenly every hill as far as Ashnod could see was covered in men and women, cheering him. There were at his best guess, several million. “You are king of the great Kingdom of Al-Tirzon.”
“My first decree as king,” stated Ashnod, “is that we shall leave this area that holds only bad memories to us, and live here. For now and evermore, this area shall be known as Death Valley, where our kin were lost.” This caused much rejoicing among the populace of the Elves and Men, for the stench of death that prevailed after the death of their families and comrades was much for them to bear. Thus, Al-Anhktir, capital of Al-Tirzon was formed.


Thus is the story of the creation of Al-Tirzon, Empire of the mighty. It has grown, yet stayed small.

OOC: This nation is past tech, so don't bother attacking me with modern teck

edit: dp

I tell this story to you to show you that I, Alnod son of Ashnod son of Annod am the true heir to the throne. I command all!

we hope for peace and glory among men and elves or whatever else you may be.

MY GOD, thats long.

Fantastic.

keep going!

keep going!

question is this an ancient history thing or are you not modern at all.

btw: less the typos it was fan freakin tastic thumbs up! :D

OOC: this is history, and Al-tirzon is past-tech
IC: Are there any alliances to join?

bump?