On the ancient Ayenee plains facing the capitol city the air wavered with powerful primal energy. The castle changed to a time past, in this other time night had fallen on the capitol city. A city besieged by three armies the Darkthornes, the queen of Ayenee's sister Rowan Cordova with her supporters, and The Black Blade a band of mercenaries known for their tenacity. Plumes of smoke rise up into the night sky the city streets were slick with blood, overturned carts, bodies, and burning embers rained down from the sky. Screams echoed up the high road to the castle walls above. The clang of metal and the roars of battle echoed up from the East gate. The capitol had been constructed in a way so that there were three city sections each with their own gates to the next section. It was constructed this way by Artemus Reinhart a skilled architect of his time. If defenders needed, they could retreat further into the city behind the additional gates. All the gates had failed in this surprise attack, three armies from three different sides East, West, and North all attacked in unison. Citizens had taken up arms in the streets fighting for their lives as the armies slaughtered all who came in their paths burning the city as they went.
The grim angels of death collected the souls of the dead unseen by the living. The alarm bells clanged again and again. Magical spells flickered to life floating through the city battlefield. The royal palace guard in their tabards of purple and gold, with their gleaming gold coated armor moved towards the castle gates. They clamored at the invaders, but to no avail. Darkthornes in their black armor poured from the North gates like blood from an open wound. They sowed death with each step few royal guards could spar against them for long. The West gates were being blasted by a Black Blade mage. The gates rattled on their hinges as the guards slid thick boards into the barricade brackets.
Malmora could see Sir Nigel Darrowmere fighting a hooded figure, a Darkthorne. The figure managed to get one of his daggers through the knight's parries. The blade bit deep into Sir Nigel's neck, a wave of frost spread from the blade across the man's skin. His eyes froze on the right side where the blade bit him. He staggered then fell to the ground, his face a permanent display of pain and terror. His death visage would haunt her for the rest of her days. His one blind frozen eye always starring at her. She froze in her flight paralyzed by fear. Her legs seemed to betray her, and her heart threatened to fly from her chest. The knight protecting her pushed against her back crushing her against the stone wall. She turned and saw the same frozen face on her defender as the fallen knight. The Darkthorne twirled two bloody blades, one hissed with cold and the other with burning heat. She was frozen in fear until the foe stabbed her in her side. It was then that the searing pain broke her from her fear. Her legs now having a mind of their own turn to run. Before the Darkthorne could finish her off his hand was pierced by an arrow. She looked up to the castle parapets where her mother Beatrice stood blood flowing from a wound in her side. Her mother drew two more arrows and fired again. These two arrows stabbed into the back of the Darkthorne's knees.
He screamed in pain and fell. She barely noticed the hand grasping her up onto the horse near her. The figure on the horse was not a defender of Ayenee. The whitethorne on the back of the white horse was a Matron. An order of female paladins devoted to their goddess the mother or in the thorne language Emil. The female paladin pulled her up on the horse and then drew one of her crescent shaped glaives. She cut the throat of an attacker and spurred her horse towards the Southern gate. The southern gates led to the docks and the sea. Two guards opened the gates. The horse trod through the mud kicking it up. Outside the gates an overturned cart burned bright in the darkness. The matron's horse jumped over it but a sudden collision with another horse sent Malmora and her protector flying. In midair the rider of the second horse took a swing with a scimitar at her protector who deflected it with a glaive and twisted herself landing on her feet. The second rider was a Darkthorne female whose face resembled that of the Darkthorne that tried to kill Malmora moments ago.
The two squared off with a clang of metal before the Darkthorne was pinned beneath a shelf that the matron pushed over on her foe. The matron held out her hand and spoke a strange word and a burst of concussive energy bombarded downward at the pinned foe. The head of the Darkthorne slammed back into the ground and she lay still, but not dead. The matron grabbed Malmora's head and regained her horse. The two once more fled on horseback towards the south. The burning city all around them threatening to consume them in its burning gullet. Flames roared through the city along with screams and shouts, explosions and crashes, it was loud and angry. The ocean salt hit her nose and never before was she happier to smell it than now. Suddenly the street before them was flooded with troops in black and gold, the colors of Cordova.
A loud burst of gun fire as bullets tore through both horse and rider. Malmora was thrown to the ground once more, a bullet tore through her shoulder and her body was bruised as the world swirled red and black before she dreamed. When she startled awake, they were outside the city, more than that, she was outside reality. The world shimmered before her and behind the illusion of her burning city was the image of another city much like her own. She couldn't explain how, but she had escaped both death and time itself. In her hand was a blue stone with the emblem of the matron mother on it. It glowed and seemed to pull her in the direction of the North.
The grim angels of death collected the souls of the dead unseen by the living. The alarm bells clanged again and again. Magical spells flickered to life floating through the city battlefield. The royal palace guard in their tabards of purple and gold, with their gleaming gold coated armor moved towards the castle gates. They clamored at the invaders, but to no avail. Darkthornes in their black armor poured from the North gates like blood from an open wound. They sowed death with each step few royal guards could spar against them for long. The West gates were being blasted by a Black Blade mage. The gates rattled on their hinges as the guards slid thick boards into the barricade brackets.
Malmora could see Sir Nigel Darrowmere fighting a hooded figure, a Darkthorne. The figure managed to get one of his daggers through the knight's parries. The blade bit deep into Sir Nigel's neck, a wave of frost spread from the blade across the man's skin. His eyes froze on the right side where the blade bit him. He staggered then fell to the ground, his face a permanent display of pain and terror. His death visage would haunt her for the rest of her days. His one blind frozen eye always starring at her. She froze in her flight paralyzed by fear. Her legs seemed to betray her, and her heart threatened to fly from her chest. The knight protecting her pushed against her back crushing her against the stone wall. She turned and saw the same frozen face on her defender as the fallen knight. The Darkthorne twirled two bloody blades, one hissed with cold and the other with burning heat. She was frozen in fear until the foe stabbed her in her side. It was then that the searing pain broke her from her fear. Her legs now having a mind of their own turn to run. Before the Darkthorne could finish her off his hand was pierced by an arrow. She looked up to the castle parapets where her mother Beatrice stood blood flowing from a wound in her side. Her mother drew two more arrows and fired again. These two arrows stabbed into the back of the Darkthorne's knees.
He screamed in pain and fell. She barely noticed the hand grasping her up onto the horse near her. The figure on the horse was not a defender of Ayenee. The whitethorne on the back of the white horse was a Matron. An order of female paladins devoted to their goddess the mother or in the thorne language Emil. The female paladin pulled her up on the horse and then drew one of her crescent shaped glaives. She cut the throat of an attacker and spurred her horse towards the Southern gate. The southern gates led to the docks and the sea. Two guards opened the gates. The horse trod through the mud kicking it up. Outside the gates an overturned cart burned bright in the darkness. The matron's horse jumped over it but a sudden collision with another horse sent Malmora and her protector flying. In midair the rider of the second horse took a swing with a scimitar at her protector who deflected it with a glaive and twisted herself landing on her feet. The second rider was a Darkthorne female whose face resembled that of the Darkthorne that tried to kill Malmora moments ago.
The two squared off with a clang of metal before the Darkthorne was pinned beneath a shelf that the matron pushed over on her foe. The matron held out her hand and spoke a strange word and a burst of concussive energy bombarded downward at the pinned foe. The head of the Darkthorne slammed back into the ground and she lay still, but not dead. The matron grabbed Malmora's head and regained her horse. The two once more fled on horseback towards the south. The burning city all around them threatening to consume them in its burning gullet. Flames roared through the city along with screams and shouts, explosions and crashes, it was loud and angry. The ocean salt hit her nose and never before was she happier to smell it than now. Suddenly the street before them was flooded with troops in black and gold, the colors of Cordova.
A loud burst of gun fire as bullets tore through both horse and rider. Malmora was thrown to the ground once more, a bullet tore through her shoulder and her body was bruised as the world swirled red and black before she dreamed. When she startled awake, they were outside the city, more than that, she was outside reality. The world shimmered before her and behind the illusion of her burning city was the image of another city much like her own. She couldn't explain how, but she had escaped both death and time itself. In her hand was a blue stone with the emblem of the matron mother on it. It glowed and seemed to pull her in the direction of the North.