NationStates Jolt Archive

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Gregorin Town, 1,853 Years From The Present Day
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As he crested the hill, Lanar's grim eyes were like coals burning in the furnace of his bronze helmet. Anger and death emanated from them, fear and horror in their wake. Lanar was a man on a mission, a mission he revealed to no one, a mission which he hinted to no one, and was a fellow with no one. He was a dark, mysterious, sinister, and insidious person, a figure of revenance for his loyal men, a creature of torment for his enemies.

His grey stallion reared as he looked over the town, a small town of 700. It was under the control of the Gragarites, a band of uncouth and uncaring bandits who had originated from this place. He turned, spitting a ball of spittle in the direction of the town, his disdain for the ruffian rulers of the town showing through.

His army stretched out behind him, a sinewy snake of men, horses, oxen and spears. He surveyed them as they made their way to the point upon which he now watched them, a solitary position with the evening sky framed behind him. Not that Lanar cared much for the evening sky; beauty was an unknown term to him and his stone heart.

As the first of his men climbed the hill, ragged and weary from days of marching, Lanar nodded. He didn't recodnize the man; he never recodnized his men. He turned to the man, who stodd straighter as he did so. LAnar had no officers. He was the commander to which his men followed and he would not jepordize that in any way.

"Burn it." His men, now all gathered at the hill, gasped. "Burn it, and slay everyone there!"

Thus began a reign of terror for the country and the world, a reign of brutal slaying after brutal slaying, one where women and children died beside their husbands and one where the blood of peasants and lords mingled together in a grotesque display of cruelty. Lanar killed, and he did with reckless abandon, placing his name in the history books for infamous displays of his favorite sport: murder.

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Almarden, 362 Years From The Present Day
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He stood there, his face turned from the daylight. The sun crested above the hill, sending rays of honey across the early morning sky. The red of the sun reminded Chor of blood. The blood of his father, killed on a Skimmese raid. His eyes looked down in the pool of water at is feet, his reflection staring up at him, guilt fresh in those same eyes. When had his father been awake, still awake, here, at this spot.

Focusing only slightly was now a worrisome taks for him, focusing more, out of the question. He grabbed at his hair, ripping it in a frenzy of pain. If nails gouged traces of blood as he pulled them down to his skin but he stopped, a fit of tears overcoming him. He rolled onto the ground, anger and rage in his voice, which could not be heard in his tears.

Then a sound, behind him. He turned, his pain dulled by his sadness, his sadness dulled by his pain. It was a girl, his sister. He turned back to the pool. He didn't care now. Her voice came through his trance, a distraction that was niether wanted nor matter. "Chor, half-brother, come home, will you?" His eyes blazed with the fire of death and he didn't hear her screams as he lifted her up and through her into the pool. She never knew, she had never cared. She wasn't the blood of his father, so she wasn't his blood. He never saw her weighed dress pull her down into the pool.

It was days later as Chor wandered through the forest, lost and forgotten by all who had loved of cared about him, once a long time ago. Chor neither remembered, nor wanted to remember those days. His life was meaningless now, without the only person who had cared about him. His dear, kind, loving, father.

He stared into space as his horse plodded along, uncaring, unknowing. Then an arrow struck his back, piercing his dark clothes. He fell off of his horse, toppling to the ground. His last thought was ont of satisfacion, one that made him happy. He knew joy for the first time in his life, as he thought: I'll rejion his father.

He never knew that he was the latest victim of Lanar's line. He never knew that he would join thousands who had been killed by those maniacal demons who had been spawed by a ruthless murderer. He never knew that there would be more.