Jenrak
17-10-2005, 00:21
OOC: Olde Earth members only.
Narrative of the Imps
Dereth Eren was a normally calm and peaceful place, the imps going about their training, their teachings, and most naturally, their warmongering. With legions upon legions of loyal soldiers, trained and tipped with skill to the brim of their jagged horn decorated skulls, the Impish siege machines rolled like horses amongst their roads, the soldiers like civilians within the cities of Kath Impur. Of these massive monuments of war, none of the Impish cities were as large and as dangerous as the city of Dereth Eren, the finger of destruction. It’s walls sticking out of the sandy ground like an erect statue, the carved stone structure of the fortress of Dreth Eren. It seemed to be like a spaceship, crashed into it’s dusty void, or a massive bliss of wind smashing unto it’s surface, etching a large nail of rock out of the ground. This, was where it all began.
From it’s fallowed halls, the twisting tower, and the winding staircase unto the top floors, the Imps maintained their lives or barbarity and strength into war in here, connecting the other identical cities with complete tandem. The floor dipping into the waters beneath, it was apparent they were construction on fresh wells of water, and sometimes, even geysers that spewed forth steam. For they were the small, cunning, swift and crooked of all creatures, the sneaky and the quick-tongued. Atop the tower of war, however, in the chamber of candles, Ereth Yhall, laid their leader, gasping on his stone throne; Kath. A smart Imp, the most cunning of his species, Kath was one of the first Imps to have been able to survive the genocide of human races, and he had fled to the desert, where they did not have his endurance and his will to survive, using his skills to stay alive. For years, Kath had fed off the strength and the will of his hosts, cheating traders who had taken his way, killing animals that wandered by. However, he longed to re-forge the kingdom of old, the last of the great Impish strongholds. While all of it’s inhabitants slaughtered, the humans were none too bright to get past all of their traps and defences, and Kath had finally placed Kath Impur in his wrinkly grasp. Now, he was suffering from a great sickness; a typhoid given to him from an animal he so dearly loved, now dead in it’s earthen wake. He was dying, his last wishes to be seen that Kath Impur’s borders stretch from the Western Seas to the Eastern, that they no longer live in great royalty as kings of sand. They wished to conquer, raze, and rebuild the world to see Impish magnificence. That, was his wish to his people.
And that, his people promised, would be what happened, as they began to hire a large mercenary army, and together with their own forces, expanded their borders, even greater into the depths of the mysterious lands of the unknown, where rumours of dragons still slept like children. They crawled carefully into enemy lands, and would only watch their villages, look carefully and study, but never attack. Their movement would come soon, and the Imps will be remembered, for they have made sure the world shall enjoy it’s imminent utopia. They know that they most definitely would.
On the crack of dawn, in the fifth day of the new year, the sun rose to the scream of a small orchard village, on the edge of unknown borders, as arrow fire splintered and darkened the skies, the women screaming as they clutched their children into the safety of their homes, the men firing back. From the overtop of the hills, cycling along by packs of vicious wolves, a large ballista fired off a flaming steel arrow as it pierced into the manor of the hamlet, the people crying desperation. Catapults and siege engines geared over the hills, and surveyors followed their whim. In a glistening instance, the fires flickered and burned the village, the flames engulfing all life in their path. Some were taken alive, others were killed in the eyes of their families and friends. And yet, a few were fed to the ravenous wolves that still licked greedily of human flesh.
It was a bright and sunny day, but the blood still burned with flames of hell, the wooden beauties of the homes lit alight in the swift scourge, the people screaming as the cracking of the occasional whip filling the air, the torments and the cries all that was heard. Sill Ithin, would be all that was heard from the warmasters, brandishing their whips, the soldiers pushing the captured along, their claw-like hatchets held at their necks. Kath Impur had reached it’s hands out, and grabbed unclaimed sects of land, and when the desert of the Imps slowly crept out into grasslands, they knew that they would not be fighting and simply raiding and enslaving villages; they would instead, fight foes who would fight back.
They would raze the world, as a last wish of a sadistic leader.
Narrative of the Imps
Dereth Eren was a normally calm and peaceful place, the imps going about their training, their teachings, and most naturally, their warmongering. With legions upon legions of loyal soldiers, trained and tipped with skill to the brim of their jagged horn decorated skulls, the Impish siege machines rolled like horses amongst their roads, the soldiers like civilians within the cities of Kath Impur. Of these massive monuments of war, none of the Impish cities were as large and as dangerous as the city of Dereth Eren, the finger of destruction. It’s walls sticking out of the sandy ground like an erect statue, the carved stone structure of the fortress of Dreth Eren. It seemed to be like a spaceship, crashed into it’s dusty void, or a massive bliss of wind smashing unto it’s surface, etching a large nail of rock out of the ground. This, was where it all began.
From it’s fallowed halls, the twisting tower, and the winding staircase unto the top floors, the Imps maintained their lives or barbarity and strength into war in here, connecting the other identical cities with complete tandem. The floor dipping into the waters beneath, it was apparent they were construction on fresh wells of water, and sometimes, even geysers that spewed forth steam. For they were the small, cunning, swift and crooked of all creatures, the sneaky and the quick-tongued. Atop the tower of war, however, in the chamber of candles, Ereth Yhall, laid their leader, gasping on his stone throne; Kath. A smart Imp, the most cunning of his species, Kath was one of the first Imps to have been able to survive the genocide of human races, and he had fled to the desert, where they did not have his endurance and his will to survive, using his skills to stay alive. For years, Kath had fed off the strength and the will of his hosts, cheating traders who had taken his way, killing animals that wandered by. However, he longed to re-forge the kingdom of old, the last of the great Impish strongholds. While all of it’s inhabitants slaughtered, the humans were none too bright to get past all of their traps and defences, and Kath had finally placed Kath Impur in his wrinkly grasp. Now, he was suffering from a great sickness; a typhoid given to him from an animal he so dearly loved, now dead in it’s earthen wake. He was dying, his last wishes to be seen that Kath Impur’s borders stretch from the Western Seas to the Eastern, that they no longer live in great royalty as kings of sand. They wished to conquer, raze, and rebuild the world to see Impish magnificence. That, was his wish to his people.
And that, his people promised, would be what happened, as they began to hire a large mercenary army, and together with their own forces, expanded their borders, even greater into the depths of the mysterious lands of the unknown, where rumours of dragons still slept like children. They crawled carefully into enemy lands, and would only watch their villages, look carefully and study, but never attack. Their movement would come soon, and the Imps will be remembered, for they have made sure the world shall enjoy it’s imminent utopia. They know that they most definitely would.
On the crack of dawn, in the fifth day of the new year, the sun rose to the scream of a small orchard village, on the edge of unknown borders, as arrow fire splintered and darkened the skies, the women screaming as they clutched their children into the safety of their homes, the men firing back. From the overtop of the hills, cycling along by packs of vicious wolves, a large ballista fired off a flaming steel arrow as it pierced into the manor of the hamlet, the people crying desperation. Catapults and siege engines geared over the hills, and surveyors followed their whim. In a glistening instance, the fires flickered and burned the village, the flames engulfing all life in their path. Some were taken alive, others were killed in the eyes of their families and friends. And yet, a few were fed to the ravenous wolves that still licked greedily of human flesh.
It was a bright and sunny day, but the blood still burned with flames of hell, the wooden beauties of the homes lit alight in the swift scourge, the people screaming as the cracking of the occasional whip filling the air, the torments and the cries all that was heard. Sill Ithin, would be all that was heard from the warmasters, brandishing their whips, the soldiers pushing the captured along, their claw-like hatchets held at their necks. Kath Impur had reached it’s hands out, and grabbed unclaimed sects of land, and when the desert of the Imps slowly crept out into grasslands, they knew that they would not be fighting and simply raiding and enslaving villages; they would instead, fight foes who would fight back.
They would raze the world, as a last wish of a sadistic leader.