Welcome, dear reader!
We’re walking into a bit of a scary one over here. It’ll be a good ride, but strap yourself in; it’s gonna be one adventurous and goosebump-inducing journey over here! Let’s get it cracking!
It was in the early light of the 19th century.
On a majestic island cradled by the sparkling azure of the sea, located somewhere in the center of the globe, stood the grandest of grand palaces. Many who bypassed it labelled it as ‘a marvel of artistry and opulence’. Its walls, carved from alabaster stone, shimmered under the warm embrace of the sun, while its towering spires were so high, they often appeared to kiss the heavens.
This palace was the home of Aric the Valiant, a legendary warrior of unmatched skill, whose name struck fear in the hearts of his enemies and inspired unshakable loyalty and confidence in the hearts of those who fought beside him. Trained from his infancy, he had fought in wars that shaped the destiny of nations.
From the Battle of the Crescent Fields, where he defeated a coalition of malicious marauders known as the Shadow Tide, to the Clash at Emberhollow, where an intense and gruelling battle between him and the fearsome warlord Kaelor the Crimson went in his favour, Aric’s exploits were well known. His strength and tactical wisdom were a crucial weapon in the armory of every army that sought his help, and were a source of despair for those he fought against.
Now that he had officially retired from the life of warfare, this was his abode of comfort. A sanctuary to enjoy a well-earned retirement.
Each day, the palace was alive with the simple joys of contentment. Even though Aric was a man of formidable strength and history, his time away from the throes of war had somehow transformed him into a figure of quiet grace. He walked among his people not as a master but as a benevolent host.
His servants and concubines, chosen for their loyalty and gifted by grateful kingdoms he had aided in the past, bustled happily through the halls, fulfilling their duties with glee and deference. To them, Aric was not merely a retired general but a protector who valued their well-being. He ensured they were treated with dignity, their work never burdensome but fulfilling.
***
That evening, Aric lounged comfortably on his favorite couch, a luxurious piece of furniture draped in richly embroidered fabric and adorned with soft velvet cushions. His legs were stretched out as he reveled in his state of complete ease. It was set to be another evening of enjoyment, as was every other evening.
A servant approached him silently, carrying a silver goblet filled with wine. He knelt beside Aric and offered the drink with both hands. Aric lifted himself up and accepted it with a nod of appreciation, taking a long, slow sip. As the sweetness of the wine stamped itself on his tongue, another servant appeared at the door, bowing respectfully before speaking.
“My lord, the concubines are nearly ready. They have prepared a new dance for you tonight,” he announced, a touch of excitement in his voice.
Aric smiled, his expression one of genuine pleasure. “Wonderful,” he nodded. “Their dances are always a joy to behold. You may tell them I look forward to it.”
The servants bowed and left the room.
Left alone for a moment, Aric leaned back further onto the cushions, closing his eyes and letting out a long sigh of satisfaction. He swirled the wine in his goblet thoughtfully before murmuring to himself, “How marvelous life has become. Truly, I am a fortunate man.”
He noticed another servant standing in the corner of the main palace. With a small wave of his hand, he summoned him to come.
“Bring me some grapes,” Aric ordered with a relaxed smile. “The sweetest ones you can find.”
“At once, my lord,” the servant replied, bowing low before hurrying off.
Aric took another sip of his wine, the corners of his lips curving upward. The evening was just beginning, and already it promised to be another perfect chapter in the life he had carefully built.
Moments later, the servant returned, carrying a polished silver platter piled high with glistening purple grapes, their deep purple skins revealing a high level of juiciness, just the way he loved them. He approached Aric carefully, presenting the platter with a deferential bow.
Aric reached out and plucked a grape, admiring its perfection. “Ahh, yes, just the way I like them,” he murmured. “Sweet and succulent.”
He brought it close to his lips…
And suddenly, the tranquility of the evening was turned upside down.
The grand doors of the palace hall burst open with a thunderous crash and hooded figures on horseback stormed into the room, armed with swords and spears.
The serenity of the palace was instantly replaced by chaos. Servants and concubines screamed and fled in all directions, recognizing the danger of this invasion.
Unfortunately, many were cut down before they could escape. The attackers moved with merciless precision, their weapons slicing through the air as they struck down anyone in their path.
Aric stayed frozen for a moment, disbelief rooting him to the spot.
Then instinct took over. He leapt up from the couch, reaching for a ceremonial sword mounted on the wall nearby. Though he was no longer the warrior he had once been, his muscles still remembered the movements well.
He swung at the nearest assailant, looking to inflict damage. However, the hooded figure parried his strike effortlessly before slashing his side with a wicked swipe of his blade.
A cry of agony escaped his lips as he staggered backward, clutching at the wound. Blood gushed out of it, staining his tunic as he fell back against the couch for support. His mind raced, trying to make sense of the ambush.
Who the hell is behind this? How did they find the palace? Which enemy plotted this?
While he wondered in agony, one masked rider approached him slowly. He moved with an air of cold cruelty and an intention to slay whoever was not with him. He pointed his spear at Aric, and in a low but dagger-sharp voice, uttered words of vengeance.
“This is for the countless lives you’ve taken, and for all the warriors you left to die. Did you think there would be no reckoning, Aric the Valiant?”
Before Aric could respond or lift himself up, the man hurled the spear with unerring accuracy. It spun through the air, its deadly tip aimed at the wounded warrior’s throat.
It did not miss.
***
Just as swiftly as they had come, the attackers vanished into the night, leaving absolute devastation in their wake.
The once-vibrant palace, filled with music and laughter just hours before, was now a scene of desolation. Blood stained the polished floors, shattered glass and splintered wood littered the halls, and bloodied corpses littered the floors.
Not a single soul remained alive. The surprise massacre had claimed everyone—servants, concubines, and guards alike.
A deafening silence had settled over the palace, a stark counterpoint to the chaos that had erupted mere moments ago.
As the echoes of violence faded, a new presence made itself known in the palace.
From the shadows of the devastated hall emerged a solitary figure, cloaked in darkness. The air around him seemed to ripple with an unnatural energy, indicating a most sinister aura.
The figure stepped over the lifeless bodies slowly, moving as though the sight before him was one to savour. His face remained obscured, but his eyes burned with cold, unrelenting wickedness.
It was clear this was no ordinary person. He was a sorcerer. One who wielded forbidden powers of evil.
Standing before the wreckage, the sorcerer smiled evilly, then extended a hand toward it, drawing unseen threads in the air. The temperature in the room seemed to drop, and an oppressive weight descended upon the palace.
And in a voice that carried pure malevolence, the sorcerer uttered these words into the air…
Zar’kuth ekor na’sh’ral,
K’ral’dar thar’din mal’kothar,
Fur’mal ekor shal’khan’eth,
Tha’keth vral’dar shan’ith.
“By the blood of the fallen,
By the echoes of despair,
Rise now, cursed fortress,
Bind those who dare to dare.”
Well, that was one spine-chilling event. A vicious revenge attack. That sets the tone for what’s going to happen…
