Well i have had this book in my head for about as long as i can remember, along with about a hundered others, and i finally decided to get it out on paper. Its a very rough first draft, and i am sure it needs some work, but i wanted to get a general opinion of it before i went much futher. I posted it on a few writers workshops as well, but I figured i may as well post it here too.


Prologue

Year 1547 T.C

Time will be the judge of all things, and surly it will judge this days bloody work, but only time can tell the verdict.

He could still remember the day he first heard the news. War to the north, Ares was under attack. The news spread like wildfire, as only news of war and death can. It wasn’t long after that they saw the first of the armies, and entire legion of Ares light infantry on the march. He stood by in the field with his son at hand and watched as they passed. The woman remained indoor, afraid of what might become of them. The tail of the last column was scarce out of sight when the first of the rangers came. They were strong men, well armed, full of swagger and excitement. They were the legendary army of Ares, undefeated in a thousand wars. They held no fear, not then.

They came requesting food and supplies for the army, donations they called them. It was easy to be generous with the edge of a sword against your wife’s throat. They were visited twice more before winter came, and when the cold hit his family had it’s first causality. They couldn’t make it through the winter, not with the little food left to them. He had known it from the start. He expected nothing less really. After all he was Xandu. What difference did it make to an Ares if a pale skinned family or two, or a thousand for that matter, died, as long as there soldiers were well fed. It had ever been thus., and so it would always be. No, the only thing that surprised him really was that he wasn’t the first to go.

It was until the next day that he learnt the truth. His eldest, a strapping lad of 15, worth 2 men twice his size in the field, had been giving the others his share of the food. The fool boy hadn’t eaten in 2 weeks. That left him with only 5 living children, 3 of which were girls. They made it though the winter without any more loss, somehow.

Over the next two years he lost his other two boys. The second to a rattler bite, the first to a ranger when he tried to avenge his brother. Six years old he was, carrying a stick scare bigger than his leg. The ranger seemed to think he was a threat. These rangers didn’t seem quite so excited to be heading to war.

Five years, by the grace of the gods, his little family somehow managed to survive, and for five years the war raged on around them. Three, sometimes four times a year they would be visited by the rangers, and each time they were left with less and less. It was a wonder they had somehow managed to last that long.

Rumour had the war going badly to the north. The Arcadians were fierce, with there giant horses and revolutionary long bows that seemed to cut through the Ares shield walls. Worst still was the news of massive uprisings though-out the western colonies. Entire armies were turning against there masters, lead by Ares trained generals, fighting with Ares military strategies five hundred years old. Things seems grim indeed for the ancient Ares empire, and the rangers coming north seems to know
it.

He was in the field when they came, like he was every other time. With his boys gone it seems he lived his life in the field. These men were different, no rangers were these, but wearing the blue and gold none the less. Years later he was to learn that they were a group of solider released from the brig and sent north to die in the war. Just one group of many, so desperate were they for men At the time all he knew was he didn’t like the looks of them, and was relieved he had enough warning of there coming to hide the girls in the cellar. It did no good in the end. They searched his house from top to bottom, and the unspeakable things they did to the poor girls after they found them would haunt him to his grave. When they were done they hung them all.

His family wasn’t the first, nor the last. Ten thousand ex-soldiers were released from prisons all across Xandu and sent north to fight, and for every mile they crossed they left a hundred Xandu corpse. Even in the oldest of stores, known by the oldest of men, the Xandu were farmers and men of peace. When the Ares empire sent the first armies across the great peak to conquer a rich and lush land, they expect to face armies of men welding pitchforks and shears. What they found instead was men welcoming them with open arms. It was said the be the easiest conquest in recorded history. Hardly a drop of Ares blood was spilled.

Over the next thousand years Xandu became the farming nation of the Ares empire. The native people, known for there white skin, became willing slaves, and their bounty supplied the whole of Ares. And in that thousand years, not a single Xandu was said to have voiced a complain. By and large if they were left to there farming and there family, they were content. That all changed the day they raped and killed Zanier Althezuld’s family, and left him hanging on a noose from the great oak outside his house.

In the years since a thousand stories have spread on how he survived the hanging. Some say the gods came down and spared him, others that beaten and bloody, broken hands and all, the mean old son of a bitch grabbed the rope and pulled himself up to the branch. The truth was the branch broke, as simple as that. When he woke lying under the broken branch, the rope still around his neck, he discovered something new in himself. Something every Xandu had heard about in there secrete histories, but not something he had ever expected to feel. Yet here it was all consuming, all powerful. It was just as the Xandu legends claimed, everything and more. The Legends were wrong however. This was nothing to fear, nothing to hold in. This was his birthright, his truth, and nothing could be sweeter. Lying there broken and alone, looking up at his daughters feet swinging above him, he found himself filled with all encompassing rage.

Rage is a fire, and once you unleash fire, it spreads, and spreads, and stops only when there is nothing left to burn. He could remember standing there, looking down at the small gathering below him, come to hear him speak. They were lost. He was lost, before he found rage. It changed everything for him. It showed him the Truth. Now he would show these people the Truth, the Rage. They were oppressed, and had been for the last thousand years, but now that he had found rage again, they would set right the wrongs committed, and they would take back what was rightfully theirs.

They were the first group, and the smallest. Over the years that small group grew into a large group, that large group into a mob, and that mob into an army. The thought of the first battle still brought a smile to his face , though he could remember little of it. There must have been a thousand Xandu in the field that day, come to hear him speak, come to here him Rage. He guessed he must have caught someone’s attention, for they sent two hundred men against him. Two hundred well trained, well armed killing machines against a thousand farmers. They expected no resistance, and almost looked forward to the possibility that they might face some. Nothing like killing a couple of farmers to get the blood flowing. They were fools. It was not farmers they faced that day, but animals, lost, terrible, mindless killers deep inside the reddest rage.

They hunted the Ares the length and breadth of the Xandu, killing all they came across, and met the remaining Ares on the field outside Skelters Bay. Two legions of Ares infantry and a legion of heavy horse. They were slaughtered to the man. The general himself died laughing at his feet, and left a curse upon the Xandu with his dying breath. For the war in the north was over, a cease-fire had been drawn, and the rebels in the west destroyed. The entire might of the Ares Empire, he whispered, would be turned on Xandu. He laughed when he heard this, standing there covered in the blood of a thousand men. As if a curse held any power over the Rage.

The Xandu were no fools, despite what the Ares might like to believe. They had loved farming, and were the greatest farmers the world had ever known. Now there love was killing, or killing the Ares to be more specific. When they met the full might of the Ares at Huntington Ford, the north most point of Xandu, they were well armed, well trained, and deep within the rage. They had taken over the smithies and forges the Ares left behind and used them as though they were born for the task. He himself had poured over the left over military strategy books left behind until it almost seemed war as all he had ever known.

Two days ago they had arrived at the ford and met the Ares in battle. They were outnumber two to one, but they fought like the men possessed, and possessed they were, fuelled by the righteous rage of the just. Outnumbered two to one they may have been, but they killed four for every one who fell, and at the end of two days of fighting it was the Xandu, the farmers and slaves, who stood victorious. The remnants of the Ares army, now outnumbered two to one, looked beaten and bloodied. Many of them looked like they would be lucky to survive the march home. The general himself had assembled a party under the peace flag and came offer terms peace. He had read enough to realize what was expected of him, but this was no longer a Ares fiefdom, and Ares etiquette did not apply here. He sent the generals body back with the assembly, and kept his head on a pike outside of the command tent.

So here he stood, watching the last remnant of the greatest army in history crest the rise in the distance. He looked around him and realized everyone was looking at him. Always looking at him. Why was everyone looking at him? He shook his head. Because he was there leader. Was he? No, he was a farmer, not a leader. A face flashed in his eyes, a blue face, waxy, eyes popping out of the sockets, tongue protruding, flies swarming, his daughter as he last saw her, and no one was looking at him anymore, for everyone was red.

He screamed, and heard his scream echoed from tens of thousands of throats. He screamed again. The battle was over, that scream said, but the war was just starting. They would follow the Ares. Invade them, burn everything, destroy them all, kill until the great empire of Ares was no more than a memory. Nothing could stop them, that scream said, for they were the Rage, and the Rage was all consuming.

Another face flashed in his mind. Young, dark hair and blue eyes, what a strange combination. A smiling face, motioning his father over for a surprise. His son, who died so the others might eat. It was a face of peace, His eyes began to clear, and once again he looked around.. Everyone was looking at him again, he knew why now. They were waiting. Waiting for him to tell them what to do. He was a farmer, what did he know about leading. Suddenly the last years, the war, everything seemed so far away, so distant. The world wavered before his eyes, and suddenly he felt the last of his rage burn out and die. He had time for one final thought before the last of his strength followed his rage and he dropped to the
ground.

Time will be the judge of all things, and surly it will judge this days bloody work, but only time will tell the verdict.




Year 547 Az

Time will be the judge of all things, and surly it will judge this days bloody work, but only time can tell the verdict.

He could still remember the day he first heard the news. War to the north, Ares was under attack. The news spread like wildfire, as only news of war and death could. Arcadia to the north had fallen, and the Templar before that, even Distant Canadis was no more. No one knew where they came from, or what they were. Some kind of demons maybe, or some other dark creatures from the underworld. They looked almost human, but with blue skin, and there faces! They could be just about anything. All anyone knew for sure was that they were coming, and so far, nothing had been able to stop them.

For five hundred years the line of Althezuld had ruled Xandu, and for five hundred years the people lived in a golden peace. The people were well fed, the children were well educated, and the soldiers well armed and trained. An age of peace and prosperity was born, and Xandu became a hub of commerce and learning.

When Zanier Althezuld II was born the in the year 527 it had been over 30 years since the military had been called to arms. Rankish Pirates had become bolder and increased there raiding into Xandu controlled waters. Two years after the first raid the pirate King Depths hung from a noose by his mast and the pirate fleet was destroyed to the last ship, hunted to extinction by a coalition of Xandu, Ares, and Arcadia fleets. No army had dared the actual Xandu boarders since 220 when the Ares pride attempted to reclaim the Garland province from its rightful owners and were pushed back by an army one forth its own size.

It was two days after Zanier’s twentieth birthday, 6 months after his coronation, when the first news arrived. Canadis had fallen to demon invaders, and they were pushing north into the Templar. At the time it the news seemed even more distant than the war itself, confusion tales of giants and monsters killing and raping everything insight, burning homes and entire forests, and moving on.

He sent men north to investigate, and waited for news, believing that strife so distant could never touch them. Long before his men returned rumour came that the Templar had met the invaders in a mighty battle of iron and godly magic’s and had been over run. The demon army, hardly slowed, was making fast time to the arcadia boarder, destroying everything on the way.

His scouts returned to him, they had seen this army for themselves and indeed it was a vast host of terrifying demons, armies of the dead with blue skin and horrid faces that looked like skulls. Whatever they were one thing was certain, they weren’t human. Hot on there tail came the news that arcadia was being overrun. Rather than facing such an overwhelming army head on they had opted to try to harry the army, attacking them on the flanks and planning night raids, setting up traps and cutting off portions of there main army on well chosen ground, but it was no use. So large was the hoard, so overwhelming there numbers, that they could scarce slow them down. In short order they had ravaged the entire of Arcadia, leaving behind nothing but death and destruction.

It was around this time the first of the refuges started crossing the boarder, hoping to find somewhere safe from the demon hoard, bringing with them wild tales of the end of the world. In a lesser kingdom panic would have ensued, and rioters would run rampant in the streets. This was Xandu though, a different breed, and rather than fear they felt a strange resolve overcome them. Farmers began sharpening there scythes, merchants buying there guards extra swords. Professors, blacksmiths, shop keeps, all began looking for anything that could be used as a weapon. Even housewives began weighing there frying pans with heavy lead. If these inhuman murder bent demons wanted a fight, by god they would find one.

Then came the day a representative arrived from Ares with some real information. The invading hoard was indeed made up of humans. Where they came from he could not say, but they were wild and ruthless, painting there skin blue from head to toe, and far worse, mutilating there faces, cutting off there noses and lips and tattooing black around there to resemble a eyes human skull. Human they may be, but men they were not.

While this was good news for the Xandu , bad news was soon to follow. The Ares Empire had decided not to fight. They were going to gather all there people and whatever animals and supplies they could and hide in the vast cave system of eastern Genii. They would put up only token resistance in order to slow down the hoard enough for there people to flee. Homes could be rebuilt, and land regrown, but life could never be replace. Xandu, they told him, could expect the hoard to reach there boarders within the next 6 months.

An emergency meeting was called and all the lords and generals of Xandu gathered to discuss the oncoming army. Many things were discussed, and many tactics considered, but one thing that was never whispered even in the most remote corners was hiding as the Ares had done. This was Xandu, and no man, mutilated or not, would ravage this land while a single Xandu stood to fight against them.

So it was decided. They Xandu would stand and fight. He would muster there main force at Huntington ford and meet the demons head on. There would be no grand tactics, no retreating, no harrying or attempting to slow the hoard down. There would only be a battle, and if these so called demons wished to ravage Xandu, they would do so over the dead bodies of the legendary Xandu people.

It should have been a surprised him to find the entire adult population of Xandu waiting to fight beside him when he arrived at Huntington Ford with his legions, but it wasn’t. Infact it was planned on, although no call to the public was made to come and fight, he expected no less. Many refugees were left behind to care for the children, men and woman with no will left to fight. Those who could not find refugees left children as young as six at home to fend for themselves, knowing that if this war was lost there lives were forfeit anyway.

For six days and six nights the people of Xandu waited for the approaching hoard, and for six days and six nights Zanier spoke to his people. He knew of the rage, knew it well, for he had read the Legacy of Zanier the first, as had all kings before him. Five hundred years before, Zanier the first had ruled Xandu like a man with the golden touch, brining into place all the laws and strictures that governed the land to this day, and making the Xandu into the greatest land in the world. Before he had died, he wrote the Legacy. A book to be pasted on from father to son throughout the generations, that spoke of his exploits and his history, and acted as a guild to pass on all his knowledge of what a great king should be. Zanier had cherished that Legacy his entire life, as had his father before him, and he knew every passage, every word, by heart.

As he and his people waited for the oncoming hoard, he spoken often of the legacy, and read many a passage from it. More than anything else though, he spoke of the Rage. He couldn’t feel it, and knew his people couldn’t either, but he believe somewhere inside they must find it if they were to have any hope of winning the coming battle. So he spoke, he spoke of all he loved, and all he feared. He spoke of his family, his wife, the children they hoped to some day have, of his love for Xandu and all the people in it.

He spoke of how as a child he liked to climb the Tower of Hope and look out and the mountains, of how he used to dream of being able to fly like a bird and soar over the mountains, high over everything and look down upon the kingdom he so loved. Most of all he spoke of life, and love, and how great such things could be. He spoke of how hard it was to think of losing all of this, and when he though of it, for a brief instant, he believed he felt the first glimmer of Rage burning in his heart.

As the days went by and the hoard drew nearer, he came no closer to finding the Rage. Still he talked, and still his people listened, and as the last of the sun passed over the mountains for the last time before the demon-men would arrive, he knew that he would not find the Rage before they arrived. Strangely enough this did not bother him. He would find it and they would win, or he wouldn’t and they would die. Either way he knew his people would fight to the last. He could look around him and know in his heart that each and every person he set eyes on had lived a full and complete life, and if they were to die the next day, they would die content in knowing they had lived life to the fullest.

They slept well that night, the kingdom of Xandu, and when they awoke it was to a strange sight. Standing far to the north, on the same crest where a five hundred years before Zanier the first had seen the last of the Ares retreat before him, stood a demon. It was as they had said. Blue skin, cut face, and naked as they day he was born.

Looking out at him, Zanier could see how one might think him a demon. He was a fierce sight indeed. It was enough to instil terror into the heart of a man. What must it be like, to face such a monster in battle? Even from a distance the man looked huge. He must have been over seven feet tall, and wide as two men. He almost blocked out the sun. Looking out at him he felt a strange kind hunger. He wanted to fight this man, he realized. He wanted to tear him apart. He thought of this man walking in the Garden of Eden, at the heart of the palace. He though of his huge feet tramping on the prize roses Aunt Joann had worked so hard on each spring. He thought of this man killing Samson, the chief librarian, of taking his head in his giant hands and twisting until there was a loud pop, and then Samson was no more. Then he though of this giant raping his wife, of taking her from behind as she screamed and begged for mercy.

He began to smile, and burn. He looked around him and saw his people were red, and his smile grew wider. His legs twitched with desire. He wanted to run, to meet that giant head on, to show him what true power was, but he didn’t, not yet. He knew he had found the rage, he could feel it coursing thought him, out of him, out to his people. He also knew he would get to fight the giant on the hill to the north, as sure as he had ever known anything. He would let he battle come to him, and he would kill. He would kill and kill and kill, and he would hunt down that giant as he slaughtered his way through the hoard, and when he found him at least, that giant would be no more.

His people were up now, armed and ready to fight. He could feel them burning around him, burning like he himself was. They didn’t move, they scarce even breathed, but to a man they all smiled. They were in no rush, the battle would come to them, and when it did, there would be enough killing for all of them, for the hoard was numberless. What had the day before concerned them, now filled them with a strange ecstasy, for if this hoard was numberless, then they would not run out of men to kill this day, and their appetite would be filled.

Then the giant moved, and he began walking towards them. He could see it was just another intimidation tactic, like the paint, like the face. It was supposed to make his enemies afraid. This giant demon coming to meet the army alone, this fearless invincible creature. How could they ever stop him. Then the rest would come over the hill. It droves. In numbers beyond count they would come, and crush whatever small spirit was left in the opposing army. It made him want to laugh.

Sure enough, no sooner had he thought these things then the flood came. His heart soared, for there was as many and more than he had heard. The foolish victims, for that is what they were, victims to their Rage, came storming down the hill towards them. As they neared he could see there faces and he felt something touch him. He felt a moment of surprise as he realized that they were touched by Rage, but he laughed as he realized what a weak hold they had on it. It was as a rain drop to a ocean. He was wrong, they weren’t trying to intimated there enemies by cutting there faces open, they were trying to access the Rage. He couldn’t help but scoff at the idea.

He stepped forward, and meant to taunt them, but all that came out was a soundless scream, echoed by his people behind them. He began to run, and his people followed. He screamed again, and again, and his scream echoed out in front of him. As he neared the hoard he broke away , his people fell behind, unable to keep up. As he charged in alone against an army he finally found his voice, the voice of a true demon, the like of which these painted fool tried so hard but never could be. “You want Rage? You want Rage fools?” he screamed, he voice crashing over the would be invaders. “I will show you rage”. As his sword took the first life, and he felt the blood wash over him, he had time for one last thought before the red took all thought from him.

Time will be the judge of all things, and surly it will judge this days bloody work, but only time can tell the verdict.




Year 1020 AZ

Time will be the judge of all things, and surly it will judge this days bloody work, but only time can tell the verdict.

He could still remember the day he heard the news. War to the north. Rebels had seized The Brakkan provinces, and were mustering an army to overthrow him. The news spread like wildfire, as only news of war and death could. He couldn’t help but laugh at the foolishness of the greedy, though he could well understand it. Power was a great thing, to be sought and coveted, but unfortunately for the rebels, the power was his, and he had no intention of giving it up.

For a thousand years the line of Althezuld had ruled Xandu, and for a thousand years its people lived in peace. Since the days of Zanier his line had ruled unopposed, and as far as he was concerned his people should worship him for everything him and his line had done for him.

The thought of the upcoming battle brought to mind the Great war, as news of war always did. Five hundred years ago they were invaded by a great and mighty hoard of demons. The demons had swept all before them, and seemed all but unstoppable. Unstoppable that is, until they reached Xandu. Zanier Althezuld II met the invaders at Huntington ford and smashed there army, scattering the survivors to the wind.

The truth was it was a hopeless battle from the start. The Xandu army was outnumbered ten thousand to one, and had no hope of victory. No hope except Zanier. They say he fought like a demon himself that day, killing ten, twenty demons with a single swing of his sword. It’s said that alone and consumed with rage he fought his way deep into the demon lines, killing all he came across, screaming all the while.

Even those heroics would have proven to be hopeless, however, had he not stumbled across the demon king. Ten feet tall he was, with arms like tree trunks and legs like stone pillars. For all his size he moved like lighting, faster than the eye could see. None could stand against him, and it seemed he could destroy the entire Xandu army by himself and walked away unscathed.

Legend has it when Zanier finally met the Demon King in battle, so lost in rage was he that he threw down his arms and attacked the giant with his bare hands. For seven days and seven nights they battled, and all around them the fighting stopped as the warriors stared in awe at the spectacle before them. In the end Zanier used the Demon Kings own weapons to cut the living heart of the giant, and before the gathered armies ate it raw. Such was the demons horror at seeing this that they broke, and fled terror in every direction.

Without the Demon King to unite them the demons reverted to there old ways, and the various factions began fighting among themselves. Many fled back north to where they came, while even more began settling the lands they had already ravaged. The Ares army came out of hiding and drove the remainder out Ares in a generation long campaign.

Marshall Althezuld the current King of Xandu, liked to look in the mirror and imagine himself fighting the Demon King. He saw a lot of Zanier in himself, and thought they would have been great friends had they lived in the same time. In all his study of Zanier Althezuld II, he could only find one thing that he believed to be a mistake, and thankfully Zanier died just days before making that mistake, leaving him with a perfect, unblemished reign.

His mistake would have been a costly one indeed, for the main host of the demons, rather than fleeing back north, fled into Xandu. A thousand different factions set up camp throughout the and raided into nearby villages and towns, fighting among themselves as much as the natives. The Xandu army, unable to cope with so many bands of demons, were slowly being drained.

What Zanier did next was, in Marshall’s enlightened opinion, even greater than his battle with the demon king. He declared Marshall law, and confiscated all food and goods in the name of the kingdom. He set about fortifying every village and began a long term campaign to wipe out the demon threat for all of time. The campaign was a stunning success and the demons were all but driven out of Xandu, though the cost was high.

Then, on the eve of his 40 anniversary of his reign, Zanier put in place a plan to announce the end of Marshall law and the return to life as normal in the great kingdom of Xandu. Then, mere hours before the announcement, Zanier Althezuld II, slayer of the Demon King, Champion of the People, King of the legendary Xandu, die of a heart attack. Saving himself from making the biggest mistake of his life, or so Marshall Althezuld, 32nd king of Xandu, believed.

Mere days after the funeral, a small village near the eastern coastlands was raided by a band of demons. The new king, Bannock Althezuld, an untried youth anxious to prove himself, took it upon himself to protect the people from the demon threat. Convinced that the demons could not be entirely wiped out, he decided that rather than end Marshall law he increased the levies and tightened the restrictions on the people. By keeping the people under tight watch, he could ensure that they would remain safe.

In the ensuing generations, the kings that came to follow saw the wisdom in Bannocks plans, and while the demons were eventually destroyed, Xandu became a kingdom under tight military control. In order to protect the people from any threats in the future, the strict measures taken would be kept in place, and new measures would be taken with each ensuing king, eager to prove his place in the kingdom. Eventually all the schools, libraries, and museums were closed down to make room for military operations, and any form of art was outlawed as a waste of valuable resources.

And so things went, with the Kings exercising more and more power over the people until finally, during the reign of Marshall Althezuld, the people had enough. Led by a young nobleman by the name of Hakkar Bronzworth, and supported by the Knights of the Ancient Grace, they began what would become known and the Movement for the Inherent Rights. They started small, preaching on corners and petitioning local lords and magistrates, asking for chance, asking for a return to the old ways.

Marshall, upon hearing this, was furious, and sent an entire legion to burn out what he thought of as opposition to his rule. The legion ran rampant, burning entire villages, killing and raping woman, and performing all manner of inhuman acts in order to flush out the dissidents, all with the kings approval. Bannock, upon learning of his followers fate, took it to his heart to being down the fallen Althezuld line and burn from the memory of the kingdom the wickedness of the last 500 years, being back the golden age of which the legends spoke, From town to town, city to city he traveled, gaining support and dodging those hunting hi. He would tell tales of the old times, and remind the people what they were, and the people would listen.

Finally, after years of wandering and building support, even within the military, the rebellion came to a head. The rebel army and the Xandu legions met on the eve of winter solace at Huntington ford, for no better place could be found for such a battle, and after three days of fighting the rebel army was broken and sent fleeing,

Hakkar Bronzworth, broken and defeated, managed to escape the field and went into hiding. The battle may have been lost, but the war had just begun. Marshall Althezuld was too strong, to secure in his seat, to be ousted, no matter the support he could muster. But Marshall Althezuld was an old man, and his son was an untried youth, said to be weak and petty. One day Marshall Althezuld would fall to the inescapable reaper, and on that day, he vowed , the line of Althezuld would be no more. As he lay in bed on the night of his defeat, he had one last thought before sleep took him.

Time will be the judge of all things, and surly it will judge this days bloody work, but only time can tell the verdict.

hmm apparantly you have massive amounts of time on your hands to put all of that bullshitdown, I sit here smoking pondering why one would have so much time to post so much bullshit??? oh yeah maybe it's because shazm got banned from the server today for hacking it up and denying an ss. nice job getting banned and I guess it's true old habits die hard.
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An ounce of prevention is worth a pound of cured.

What does that have to do with my novel? Prehaps you misunderstood the purpose of this thread?

Lesson # 1: Learn how to spell
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Its good, interesting to read. I didn't read it all but give it some color and it can be done. I'm going in tomorrow to get this copyrighted.

The novel itself with be much more colorful, but hearing you call it grey makes me happy cause thats exatually what i was going for the prologue.

I'm no pro about this stuff but I like clam chouder and I think this book could be published and sold. I liked reading it.

Although, I dont think its well organized and its good to start off with dialog, all good books in my opinion introduce characters early on.

It would be better and more intersting for instance if you gave detail and info about the 3 sons that died at the start. Knowing the characters makes it more interesting.

you need to storyboard before you start writing... helps keep you from straying. pin up notecards on your wall or something where you can see the whole story front to back before you start drafting. then when you finish the draft of whatever's on your notecard, just take it off the wall and stack it neatly. you'll need them again for editing to help work on flow... just work on story though in the first draft. you'll end up having to rewrite every chapter at least once. could use some serious tidying in terms of grammar. its not really my type of literature so i can't really comment on the content or anything.

metallicaaaaaaaa
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http://sieni.us/?id=21

Shazm - it's not that bad actually. You used the word "Xandu" which I thought was pretty generic but it seems to work out ok for the story. I only read a couple of paragraphs but those pointed out something that you're lacking. Character development! Keep it up - I suggest reading some Robert Jordan books for inspiration. Ghostnuke can recommend a few books worth reading too.
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I don't think anyone has unlimited time, and that seems like a particularly strange conclusion to draw from about 20 minutes worth of posting on a message board. Hassan-i-Suckah

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Originally posted by SoCxHoP
you need to storyboard before you start writing... helps keep you from straying. pin up notecards on your wall or something where you can see the whole story front to back before you start drafting. then when you finish the draft of whatever's on your notecard, just take it off the wall and stack it neatly. you'll need them again for editing to help work on flow... just work on story though in the first draft. you'll end up having to rewrite every chapter at least once. could use some serious tidying in terms of grammar. its not really my type of literature so i can't really comment on the content or anything.

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Originally posted by isuck@PoS
when writing a story/book you typically don't have the whole thing mapped out before you begin. or you shouldn't anyway. it sort of develops as you write and get a feel for it, that's what makes it authentic.

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I'm sure it's good but you do need to spellcheck the shit out of your work.

exatually? is that a word formed between "exactly" and "actually" or did you just totally misspell it?

i couldn't get past the first line. might want to work on that.

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Time will be the judge of all things, and surly it will judge this day's bloody work.

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epic
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"<~KaNuKs~> Its just a game"

he titles all of his book king?
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Metallica will sue shazm if he calls it King Nothing

This particular story is more entertaining. I think the biggest problem you have though is that it is VERY hard to get past the numerous grammatical, and spelling errors and enjoy the actual story, or even get into it for that matter. Some of the grammar is so bad that I can't even understand what some sentences are trying to imply. Also, I think you should try and make the 3 years you briefly touched on appear as if someone is reading it from a history book. You may lose people in the prologue the way it's currently set up.
That's just a personal opinion though.
Anyways, fix your grammar mistakes and try and fix the majority of your spelling mistakes before you post another section and then I think you will get good feedback from the "community".

Check post date Kith...

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Originally posted by Axolotl
Check post date Kith...

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Originally posted by Kith-Kanin

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Originally posted by Axolotl
Check post date Kith...

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"oops, with digging up a 1yr and 4month old article, as they have in the past, im glad peeps care and remember enough in these forums to reminisce with the good times.

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Originally posted by Kith-Kanin

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Originally posted by Axolotl
Check post date Kith...

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I didn't think kids would be desperate enough to look through 5 years of forums anymore... but I guess some are.

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Fucking loved King Nothing on Load as a kid

Shazm why are you still writing epic fantasy books, why don't you get a job.
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lol

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Originally posted by Allstar
lol

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Originally posted by $hazm
Well i have had this book in my head for about as long as i can remember, along with about a hundered others, and i finally decided to get it out on paper. Its a very rough first draft, and i am sure it needs some work, but i wanted to get a general opinion of it before i went much futher. I posted it on a few writers workshops as well, but I figured i may as well post it here too.


Prologue

Year 1547 T.C

Time will be the judge of all things, and surly it will judge this days bloody work, but only time can tell the verdict.

He could still remember the day he first heard the news. War to the north, Ares was under attack. The news spread like wildfire, as only news of war and death can. It wasn’t long after that they saw the first of the armies, and entire legion of Ares light infantry on the march. He stood by in the field with his son at hand and watched as they passed. The woman remained indoor, afraid of what might become of them. The tail of the last column was scarce out of sight when the first of the rangers came. They were strong men, well armed, full of swagger and excitement. They were the legendary army of Ares, undefeated in a thousand wars. They held no fear, not then.

They came requesting food and supplies for the army, donations they called them. It was easy to be generous with the edge of a sword against your wife’s throat. They were visited twice more before winter came, and when the cold hit his family had it’s first causality. They couldn’t make it through the winter, not with the little food left to them. He had known it from the start. He expected nothing less really. After all he was Xandu. What difference did it make to an Ares if a pale skinned family or two, or a thousand for that matter, died, as long as there soldiers were well fed. It had ever been thus., and so it would always be. No, the only thing that surprised him really was that he wasn’t the first to go.

It was until the next day that he learnt the truth. His eldest, a strapping lad of 15, worth 2 men twice his size in the field, had been giving the others his share of the food. The fool boy hadn’t eaten in 2 weeks. That left him with only 5 living children, 3 of which were girls. They made it though the winter without any more loss, somehow.

Over the next two years he lost his other two boys. The second to a rattler bite, the first to a ranger when he tried to avenge his brother. Six years old he was, carrying a stick scare bigger than his leg. The ranger seemed to think he was a threat. These rangers didn’t seem quite so excited to be heading to war.

Five years, by the grace of the gods, his little family somehow managed to survive, and for five years the war raged on around them. Three, sometimes four times a year they would be visited by the rangers, and each time they were left with less and less. It was a wonder they had somehow managed to last that long.

Rumour had the war going badly to the north. The Arcadians were fierce, with there giant horses and revolutionary long bows that seemed to cut through the Ares shield walls. Worst still was the news of massive uprisings though-out the western colonies. Entire armies were turning against there masters, lead by Ares trained generals, fighting with Ares military strategies five hundred years old. Things seems grim indeed for the ancient Ares empire, and the rangers coming north seems to know
it.

He was in the field when they came, like he was every other time. With his boys gone it seems he lived his life in the field. These men were different, no rangers were these, but wearing the blue and gold none the less. Years later he was to learn that they were a group of solider released from the brig and sent north to die in the war. Just one group of many, so desperate were they for men At the time all he knew was he didn’t like the looks of them, and was relieved he had enough warning of there coming to hide the girls in the cellar. It did no good in the end. They searched his house from top to bottom, and the unspeakable things they did to the poor girls after they found them would haunt him to his grave. When they were done they hung them all.

His family wasn’t the first, nor the last. Ten thousand ex-soldiers were released from prisons all across Xandu and sent north to fight, and for every mile they crossed they left a hundred Xandu corpse. Even in the oldest of stores, known by the oldest of men, the Xandu were farmers and men of peace. When the Ares empire sent the first armies across the great peak to conquer a rich and lush land, they expect to face armies of men welding pitchforks and shears. What they found instead was men welcoming them with open arms. It was said the be the easiest conquest in recorded history. Hardly a drop of Ares blood was spilled.

Over the next thousand years Xandu became the farming nation of the Ares empire. The native people, known for there white skin, became willing slaves, and their bounty supplied the whole of Ares. And in that thousand years, not a single Xandu was said to have voiced a complain. By and large if they were left to there farming and there family, they were content. That all changed the day they raped and killed Zanier Althezuld’s family, and left him hanging on a noose from the great oak outside his house.

In the years since a thousand stories have spread on how he survived the hanging. Some say the gods came down and spared him, others that beaten and bloody, broken hands and all, the mean old son of a bitch grabbed the rope and pulled himself up to the branch. The truth was the branch broke, as simple as that. When he woke lying under the broken branch, the rope still around his neck, he discovered something new in himself. Something every Xandu had heard about in there secrete histories, but not something he had ever expected to feel. Yet here it was all consuming, all powerful. It was just as the Xandu legends claimed, everything and more. The Legends were wrong however. This was nothing to fear, nothing to hold in. This was his birthright, his truth, and nothing could be sweeter. Lying there broken and alone, looking up at his daughters feet swinging above him, he found himself filled with all encompassing rage.

Rage is a fire, and once you unleash fire, it spreads, and spreads, and stops only when there is nothing left to burn. He could remember standing there, looking down at the small gathering below him, come to hear him speak. They were lost. He was lost, before he found rage. It changed everything for him. It showed him the Truth. Now he would show these people the Truth, the Rage. They were oppressed, and had been for the last thousand years, but now that he had found rage again, they would set right the wrongs committed, and they would take back what was rightfully theirs.

They were the first group, and the smallest. Over the years that small group grew into a large group, that large group into a mob, and that mob into an army. The thought of the first battle still brought a smile to his face , though he could remember little of it. There must have been a thousand Xandu in the field that day, come to hear him speak, come to here him Rage. He guessed he must have caught someone’s attention, for they sent two hundred men against him. Two hundred well trained, well armed killing machines against a thousand farmers. They expected no resistance, and almost looked forward to the possibility that they might face some. Nothing like killing a couple of farmers to get the blood flowing. They were fools. It was not farmers they faced that day, but animals, lost, terrible, mindless killers deep inside the reddest rage.

They hunted the Ares the length and breadth of the Xandu, killing all they came across, and met the remaining Ares on the field outside Skelters Bay. Two legions of Ares infantry and a legion of heavy horse. They were slaughtered to the man. The general himself died laughing at his feet, and left a curse upon the Xandu with his dying breath. For the war in the north was over, a cease-fire had been drawn, and the rebels in the west destroyed. The entire might of the Ares Empire, he whispered, would be turned on Xandu. He laughed when he heard this, standing there covered in the blood of a thousand men. As if a curse held any power over the Rage.

The Xandu were no fools, despite what the Ares might like to believe. They had loved farming, and were the greatest farmers the world had ever known. Now there love was killing, or killing the Ares to be more specific. When they met the full might of the Ares at Huntington Ford, the north most point of Xandu, they were well armed, well trained, and deep within the rage. They had taken over the smithies and forges the Ares left behind and used them as though they were born for the task. He himself had poured over the left over military strategy books left behind until it almost seemed war as all he had ever known.

Two days ago they had arrived at the ford and met the Ares in battle. They were outnumber two to one, but they fought like the men possessed, and possessed they were, fuelled by the righteous rage of the just. Outnumbered two to one they may have been, but they killed four for every one who fell, and at the end of two days of fighting it was the Xandu, the farmers and slaves, who stood victorious. The remnants of the Ares army, now outnumbered two to one, looked beaten and bloodied. Many of them looked like they would be lucky to survive the march home. The general himself had assembled a party under the peace flag and came offer terms peace. He had read enough to realize what was expected of him, but this was no longer a Ares fiefdom, and Ares etiquette did not apply here. He sent the generals body back with the assembly, and kept his head on a pike outside of the command tent.

So here he stood, watching the last remnant of the greatest army in history crest the rise in the distance. He looked around him and realized everyone was looking at him. Always looking at him. Why was everyone looking at him? He shook his head. Because he was there leader. Was he? No, he was a farmer, not a leader. A face flashed in his eyes, a blue face, waxy, eyes popping out of the sockets, tongue protruding, flies swarming, his daughter as he last saw her, and no one was looking at him anymore, for everyone was red.

He screamed, and heard his scream echoed from tens of thousands of throats. He screamed again. The battle was over, that scream said, but the war was just starting. They would follow the Ares. Invade them, burn everything, destroy them all, kill until the great empire of Ares was no more than a memory. Nothing could stop them, that scream said, for they were the Rage, and the Rage was all consuming.

Another face flashed in his mind. Young, dark hair and blue eyes, what a strange combination. A smiling face, motioning his father over for a surprise. His son, who died so the others might eat. It was a face of peace, His eyes began to clear, and once again he looked around.. Everyone was looking at him again, he knew why now. They were waiting. Waiting for him to tell them what to do. He was a farmer, what did he know about leading. Suddenly the last years, the war, everything seemed so far away, so distant. The world wavered before his eyes, and suddenly he felt the last of his rage burn out and die. He had time for one final thought before the last of his strength followed his rage and he dropped to the
ground.

Time will be the judge of all things, and surly it will judge this days bloody work, but only time will tell the verdict.




Year 547 Az

Time will be the judge of all things, and surly it will judge this days bloody work, but only time can tell the verdict.

He could still remember the day he first heard the news. War to the north, Ares was under attack. The news spread like wildfire, as only news of war and death could. Arcadia to the north had fallen, and the Templar before that, even Distant Canadis was no more. No one knew where they came from, or what they were. Some kind of demons maybe, or some other dark creatures from the underworld. They looked almost human, but with blue skin, and there faces! They could be just about anything. All anyone knew for sure was that they were coming, and so far, nothing had been able to stop them.

For five hundred years the line of Althezuld had ruled Xandu, and for five hundred years the people lived in a golden peace. The people were well fed, the children were well educated, and the soldiers well armed and trained. An age of peace and prosperity was born, and Xandu became a hub of commerce and learning.

When Zanier Althezuld II was born the in the year 527 it had been over 30 years since the military had been called to arms. Rankish Pirates had become bolder and increased there raiding into Xandu controlled waters. Two years after the first raid the pirate King Depths hung from a noose by his mast and the pirate fleet was destroyed to the last ship, hunted to extinction by a coalition of Xandu, Ares, and Arcadia fleets. No army had dared the actual Xandu boarders since 220 when the Ares pride attempted to reclaim the Garland province from its rightful owners and were pushed back by an army one forth its own size.

It was two days after Zanier’s twentieth birthday, 6 months after his coronation, when the first news arrived. Canadis had fallen to demon invaders, and they were pushing north into the Templar. At the time it the news seemed even more distant than the war itself, confusion tales of giants and monsters killing and raping everything insight, burning homes and entire forests, and moving on.

He sent men north to investigate, and waited for news, believing that strife so distant could never touch them. Long before his men returned rumour came that the Templar had met the invaders in a mighty battle of iron and godly magic’s and had been over run. The demon army, hardly slowed, was making fast time to the arcadia boarder, destroying everything on the way.

His scouts returned to him, they had seen this army for themselves and indeed it was a vast host of terrifying demons, armies of the dead with blue skin and horrid faces that looked like skulls. Whatever they were one thing was certain, they weren’t human. Hot on there tail came the news that arcadia was being overrun. Rather than facing such an overwhelming army head on they had opted to try to harry the army, attacking them on the flanks and planning night raids, setting up traps and cutting off portions of there main army on well chosen ground, but it was no use. So large was the hoard, so overwhelming there numbers, that they could scarce slow them down. In short order they had ravaged the entire of Arcadia, leaving behind nothing but death and destruction.

It was around this time the first of the refuges started crossing the boarder, hoping to find somewhere safe from the demon hoard, bringing with them wild tales of the end of the world. In a lesser kingdom panic would have ensued, and rioters would run rampant in the streets. This was Xandu though, a different breed, and rather than fear they felt a strange resolve overcome them. Farmers began sharpening there scythes, merchants buying there guards extra swords. Professors, blacksmiths, shop keeps, all began looking for anything that could be used as a weapon. Even housewives began weighing there frying pans with heavy lead. If these inhuman murder bent demons wanted a fight, by god they would find one.

Then came the day a representative arrived from Ares with some real information. The invading hoard was indeed made up of humans. Where they came from he could not say, but they were wild and ruthless, painting there skin blue from head to toe, and far worse, mutilating there faces, cutting off there noses and lips and tattooing black around there to resemble a eyes human skull. Human they may be, but men they were not.

While this was good news for the Xandu , bad news was soon to follow. The Ares Empire had decided not to fight. They were going to gather all there people and whatever animals and supplies they could and hide in the vast cave system of eastern Genii. They would put up only token resistance in order to slow down the hoard enough for there people to flee. Homes could be rebuilt, and land regrown, but life could never be replace. Xandu, they told him, could expect the hoard to reach there boarders within the next 6 months.

An emergency meeting was called and all the lords and generals of Xandu gathered to discuss the oncoming army. Many things were discussed, and many tactics considered, but one thing that was never whispered even in the most remote corners was hiding as the Ares had done. This was Xandu, and no man, mutilated or not, would ravage this land while a single Xandu stood to fight against them.

So it was decided. They Xandu would stand and fight. He would muster there main force at Huntington ford and meet the demons head on. There would be no grand tactics, no retreating, no harrying or attempting to slow the hoard down. There would only be a battle, and if these so called demons wished to ravage Xandu, they would do so over the dead bodies of the legendary Xandu people.

It should have been a surprised him to find the entire adult population of Xandu waiting to fight beside him when he arrived at Huntington Ford with his legions, but it wasn’t. Infact it was planned on, although no call to the public was made to come and fight, he expected no less. Many refugees were left behind to care for the children, men and woman with no will left to fight. Those who could not find refugees left children as young as six at home to fend for themselves, knowing that if this war was lost there lives were forfeit anyway.

For six days and six nights the people of Xandu waited for the approaching hoard, and for six days and six nights Zanier spoke to his people. He knew of the rage, knew it well, for he had read the Legacy of Zanier the first, as had all kings before him. Five hundred years before, Zanier the first had ruled Xandu like a man with the golden touch, brining into place all the laws and strictures that governed the land to this day, and making the Xandu into the greatest land in the world. Before he had died, he wrote the Legacy. A book to be pasted on from father to son throughout the generations, that spoke of his exploits and his history, and acted as a guild to pass on all his knowledge of what a great king should be. Zanier had cherished that Legacy his entire life, as had his father before him, and he knew every passage, every word, by heart.

As he and his people waited for the oncoming hoard, he spoken often of the legacy, and read many a passage from it. More than anything else though, he spoke of the Rage. He couldn’t feel it, and knew his people couldn’t either, but he believe somewhere inside they must find it if they were to have any hope of winning the coming battle. So he spoke, he spoke of all he loved, and all he feared. He spoke of his family, his wife, the children they hoped to some day have, of his love for Xandu and all the people in it.

He spoke of how as a child he liked to climb the Tower of Hope and look out and the mountains, of how he used to dream of being able to fly like a bird and soar over the mountains, high over everything and look down upon the kingdom he so loved. Most of all he spoke of life, and love, and how great such things could be. He spoke of how hard it was to think of losing all of this, and when he though of it, for a brief instant, he believed he felt the first glimmer of Rage burning in his heart.

As the days went by and the hoard drew nearer, he came no closer to finding the Rage. Still he talked, and still his people listened, and as the last of the sun passed over the mountains for the last time before the demon-men would arrive, he knew that he would not find the Rage before they arrived. Strangely enough this did not bother him. He would find it and they would win, or he wouldn’t and they would die. Either way he knew his people would fight to the last. He could look around him and know in his heart that each and every person he set eyes on had lived a full and complete life, and if they were to die the next day, they would die content in knowing they had lived life to the fullest.

They slept well that night, the kingdom of Xandu, and when they awoke it was to a strange sight. Standing far to the north, on the same crest where a five hundred years before Zanier the first had seen the last of the Ares retreat before him, stood a demon. It was as they had said. Blue skin, cut face, and naked as they day he was born.

Looking out at him, Zanier could see how one might think him a demon. He was a fierce sight indeed. It was enough to instil terror into the heart of a man. What must it be like, to face such a monster in battle? Even from a distance the man looked huge. He must have been over seven feet tall, and wide as two men. He almost blocked out the sun. Looking out at him he felt a strange kind hunger. He wanted to fight this man, he realized. He wanted to tear him apart. He thought of this man walking in the Garden of Eden, at the heart of the palace. He though of his huge feet tramping on the prize roses Aunt Joann had worked so hard on each spring. He thought of this man killing Samson, the chief librarian, of taking his head in his giant hands and twisting until there was a loud pop, and then Samson was no more. Then he though of this giant raping his wife, of taking her from behind as she screamed and begged for mercy.

He began to smile, and burn. He looked around him and saw his people were red, and his smile grew wider. His legs twitched with desire. He wanted to run, to meet that giant head on, to show him what true power was, but he didn’t, not yet. He knew he had found the rage, he could feel it coursing thought him, out of him, out to his people. He also knew he would get to fight the giant on the hill to the north, as sure as he had ever known anything. He would let he battle come to him, and he would kill. He would kill and kill and kill, and he would hunt down that giant as he slaughtered his way through the hoard, and when he found him at least, that giant would be no more.

His people were up now, armed and ready to fight. He could feel them burning around him, burning like he himself was. They didn’t move, they scarce even breathed, but to a man they all smiled. They were in no rush, the battle would come to them, and when it did, there would be enough killing for all of them, for the hoard was numberless. What had the day before concerned them, now filled them with a strange ecstasy, for if this hoard was numberless, then they would not run out of men to kill this day, and their appetite would be filled.

Then the giant moved, and he began walking towards them. He could see it was just another intimidation tactic, like the paint, like the face. It was supposed to make his enemies afraid. This giant demon coming to meet the army alone, this fearless invincible creature. How could they ever stop him. Then the rest would come over the hill. It droves. In numbers beyond count they would come, and crush whatever small spirit was left in the opposing army. It made him want to laugh.

Sure enough, no sooner had he thought these things then the flood came. His heart soared, for there was as many and more than he had heard. The foolish victims, for that is what they were, victims to their Rage, came storming down the hill towards them. As they neared he could see there faces and he felt something touch him. He felt a moment of surprise as he realized that they were touched by Rage, but he laughed as he realized what a weak hold they had on it. It was as a rain drop to a ocean. He was wrong, they weren’t trying to intimated there enemies by cutting there faces open, they were trying to access the Rage. He couldn’t help but scoff at the idea.

He stepped forward, and meant to taunt them, but all that came out was a soundless scream, echoed by his people behind them. He began to run, and his people followed. He screamed again, and again, and his scream echoed out in front of him. As he neared the hoard he broke away , his people fell behind, unable to keep up. As he charged in alone against an army he finally found his voice, the voice of a true demon, the like of which these painted fool tried so hard but never could be. “You want Rage? You want Rage fools?” he screamed, he voice crashing over the would be invaders. “I will show you rage”. As his sword took the first life, and he felt the blood wash over him, he had time for one last thought before the red took all thought from him.

Time will be the judge of all things, and surly it will judge this days bloody work, but only time can tell the verdict.




Year 1020 AZ

Time will be the judge of all things, and surly it will judge this days bloody work, but only time can tell the verdict.

He could still remember the day he heard the news. War to the north. Rebels had seized The Brakkan provinces, and were mustering an army to overthrow him. The news spread like wildfire, as only news of war and death could. He couldn’t help but laugh at the foolishness of the greedy, though he could well understand it. Power was a great thing, to be sought and coveted, but unfortunately for the rebels, the power was his, and he had no intention of giving it up.

For a thousand years the line of Althezuld had ruled Xandu, and for a thousand years its people lived in peace. Since the days of Zanier his line had ruled unopposed, and as far as he was concerned his people should worship him for everything him and his line had done for him.

The thought of the upcoming battle brought to mind the Great war, as news of war always did. Five hundred years ago they were invaded by a great and mighty hoard of demons. The demons had swept all before them, and seemed all but unstoppable. Unstoppable that is, until they reached Xandu. Zanier Althezuld II met the invaders at Huntington ford and smashed there army, scattering the survivors to the wind.

The truth was it was a hopeless battle from the start. The Xandu army was outnumbered ten thousand to one, and had no hope of victory. No hope except Zanier. They say he fought like a demon himself that day, killing ten, twenty demons with a single swing of his sword. It’s said that alone and consumed with rage he fought his way deep into the demon lines, killing all he came across, screaming all the while.

Even those heroics would have proven to be hopeless, however, had he not stumbled across the demon king. Ten feet tall he was, with arms like tree trunks and legs like stone pillars. For all his size he moved like lighting, faster than the eye could see. None could stand against him, and it seemed he could destroy the entire Xandu army by himself and walked away unscathed.

Legend has it when Zanier finally met the Demon King in battle, so lost in rage was he that he threw down his arms and attacked the giant with his bare hands. For seven days and seven nights they battled, and all around them the fighting stopped as the warriors stared in awe at the spectacle before them. In the end Zanier used the Demon Kings own weapons to cut the living heart of the giant, and before the gathered armies ate it raw. Such was the demons horror at seeing this that they broke, and fled terror in every direction.

Without the Demon King to unite them the demons reverted to there old ways, and the various factions began fighting among themselves. Many fled back north to where they came, while even more began settling the lands they had already ravaged. The Ares army came out of hiding and drove the remainder out Ares in a generation long campaign.

Marshall Althezuld the current King of Xandu, liked to look in the mirror and imagine himself fighting the Demon King. He saw a lot of Zanier in himself, and thought they would have been great friends had they lived in the same time. In all his study of Zanier Althezuld II, he could only find one thing that he believed to be a mistake, and thankfully Zanier died just days before making that mistake, leaving him with a perfect, unblemished reign.

His mistake would have been a costly one indeed, for the main host of the demons, rather than fleeing back north, fled into Xandu. A thousand different factions set up camp throughout the and raided into nearby villages and towns, fighting among themselves as much as the natives. The Xandu army, unable to cope with so many bands of demons, were slowly being drained.

What Zanier did next was, in Marshall’s enlightened opinion, even greater than his battle with the demon king. He declared Marshall law, and confiscated all food and goods in the name of the kingdom. He set about fortifying every village and began a long term campaign to wipe out the demon threat for all of time. The campaign was a stunning success and the demons were all but driven out of Xandu, though the cost was high.

Then, on the eve of his 40 anniversary of his reign, Zanier put in place a plan to announce the end of Marshall law and the return to life as normal in the great kingdom of Xandu. Then, mere hours before the announcement, Zanier Althezuld II, slayer of the Demon King, Champion of the People, King of the legendary Xandu, die of a heart attack. Saving himself from making the biggest mistake of his life, or so Marshall Althezuld, 32nd king of Xandu, believed.

Mere days after the funeral, a small village near the eastern coastlands was raided by a band of demons. The new king, Bannock Althezuld, an untried youth anxious to prove himself, took it upon himself to protect the people from the demon threat. Convinced that the demons could not be entirely wiped out, he decided that rather than end Marshall law he increased the levies and tightened the restrictions on the people. By keeping the people under tight watch, he could ensure that they would remain safe.

In the ensuing generations, the kings that came to follow saw the wisdom in Bannocks plans, and while the demons were eventually destroyed, Xandu became a kingdom under tight military control. In order to protect the people from any threats in the future, the strict measures taken would be kept in place, and new measures would be taken with each ensuing king, eager to prove his place in the kingdom. Eventually all the schools, libraries, and museums were closed down to make room for military operations, and any form of art was outlawed as a waste of valuable resources.

And so things went, with the Kings exercising more and more power over the people until finally, during the reign of Marshall Althezuld, the people had enough. Led by a young nobleman by the name of Hakkar Bronzworth, and supported by the Knights of the Ancient Grace, they began what would become known and the Movement for the Inherent Rights. They started small, preaching on corners and petitioning local lords and magistrates, asking for chance, asking for a return to the old ways.

Marshall, upon hearing this, was furious, and sent an entire legion to burn out what he thought of as opposition to his rule. The legion ran rampant, burning entire villages, killing and raping woman, and performing all manner of inhuman acts in order to flush out the dissidents, all with the kings approval. Bannock, upon learning of his followers fate, took it to his heart to being down the fallen Althezuld line and burn from the memory of the kingdom the wickedness of the last 500 years, being back the golden age of which the legends spoke, From town to town, city to city he traveled, gaining support and dodging those hunting hi. He would tell tales of the old times, and remind the people what they were, and the people would listen.

Finally, after years of wandering and building support, even within the military, the rebellion came to a head. The rebel army and the Xandu legions met on the eve of winter solace at Huntington ford, for no better place could be found for such a battle, and after three days of fighting the rebel army was broken and sent fleeing,

Hakkar Bronzworth, broken and defeated, managed to escape the field and went into hiding. The battle may have been lost, but the war had just begun. Marshall Althezuld was too strong, to secure in his seat, to be ousted, no matter the support he could muster. But Marshall Althezuld was an old man, and his son was an untried youth, said to be weak and petty. One day Marshall Althezuld would fall to the inescapable reaper, and on that day, he vowed , the line of Althezuld would be no more. As he lay in bed on the night of his defeat, he had one last thought before sleep took him.

Time will be the judge of all things, and surly it will judge this days bloody work, but only time can tell the verdict.

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quote:

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Originally posted by turtleman
A normal person wouldn't say that in real life because it's ridiculous and insulting. Yet here you are spouting the most hateful garbage that your demons can muster out of your darkened soul. All because of the internet.

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Without the Demon King to unite them the demons reverted to there old ways,
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quote:

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Originally posted by turtleman
A normal person wouldn't say that in real life because it's ridiculous and insulting. Yet here you are spouting the most hateful garbage that your demons can muster out of your darkened soul. All because of the internet.

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its like he has no idea about the words "their" and "they're" everything is just there

Man that's such an awesome story. I am gonna turn that into a good book one day. It's inspired by King Nothing by metallica. It's got a wicked plot.

Edit - thats are far as I got in writing it out. I got busy and years later when I tried writing again it was on In the Hall of the Mountain King.

Last edited by $hazm on Thu Mar 25, 2010 10:29 am; edited 2 times in total

quote:

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Originally posted by $hazm
Man that's such an awesome story. I am gonna turn that into a good book one day. It's inspired by King Nothing by metallica. It's got a wicked plot.

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quote:

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Originally posted by turtleman
A normal person wouldn't say that in real life because it's ridiculous and insulting. Yet here you are spouting the most hateful garbage that your demons can muster out of your darkened soul. All because of the internet.

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