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A Fall: Damascus

PostPosted: Sun Jan 20, 2013 7:03 am
by InfernalAngel
Prologue

Not a single vendor lined the streets of the once-great Damascus. Its sprawling houses, guild halls, forgeries, and towers, beaten down and eroded. It's once beautiful gardens and monuments of great people, forgotten. What had once been the home to almost 600,000 now half lied in a smoldering cloud of ash that had just begun to settle. The army that had once defended her, Damascus, jewel of the South, now lied on her streets, in her alleys, and in her broken towers; forgotten. Where the shrieks of delighted children, and the cries of vendors displaying their goods had once been heard, there was now only the crackling of smoldering wood, and the sound of the wind tossing ashes about. For the few that still lived, they were either being choked out by the ash, or lying where their comrades had left them.

However, small group still lived. High King Marcus Galicus laid on his knees, hunched over, crying as he watched what was left of his city burn. His royal guards held the door to his upper chambers, firing arrows down the staircase, not knowing how many of the enemy pursued them now.

"My lord, we must leave! We cannot stay here. If we do, we shall die. But as you know, I would gladly die here, fighting at your side. But in order for that to happen, my king, you must get off your knees!" Screamed the Captain of the guard, Arthur Hacksblade

And with that, the Crusader and High-King of Damascus got off his knees, and commanded in a voice that had tangible power,

"My sword, Arthur."