THE BATTLE OF NOX RECOUNTED BY FRARTH, A TRAVELLING BARD

Soaking in the blood-red sun, Prince Nighvicto and his small band of retainers veered near to the northern side of the besieged castle, trapped in a long-drawn battle. Burning projectiles left trails of blood and fire. Spears and arrows littered the place, strewn with corpses.

There lies Nox, our home, so Prince Nighvicto said to his men. In their hearts, they knew the odds of confronting the army of Bliaton; odds that dwarfed the defenders three to one. Yet they galloped towards the aggressors, the cantering of hooves echoed like the sound of war drums in the distance.

Their vigor was reflected within that very banner which flew high and victorious atop a soldier's sculpted frame as they rode downhill, picking up speed.

But was that enough?

The Prince looked up at the banner to size up courage. Emblazoned across it was the undying sigil. Cusped between an intersection of twin swords was a full moon, contrasted starkly against a background of pure onyx.

The Nighvictorian warriors, for nigh eternal worshipped the moon, which they called the kush'tar spirit. It was said that the spirit was the smallest star in the night sky. It was never noticed, never admired, never respected. Frail in size it might be, but weak in resolve it was not. What was once the most inglorious thing absorbed, nay, devoured its neighbouring stars and grew mightier with every victory, every assimilation, every conquest. As the eons passed, it finally took the prominent throne of the heavens, asserting its proud dominance in the night sky as what common folks would eventually call the moon. Despite the birth of further stars to come, none could match the kush'tar spirit in its tenacity and hunger for sovereignty; and they stand, tiny and insignificant, in its eternal presence.

That was the Nighvictorian belief, an ancient legend passed down proudly from generation to generation of their lineage; that by extension, they were the descendants of the kush'tar spirit - the conqueror of conquerors.

The spirit lives in every single one of you, the King of Nox had said.

The Prince believed. It had served him well in his past ordeals.

And it would serve him well this time. The Prince held to that thought...desperately.

Grasping the reins of his stallion tighter, he charged out across the verdant plains and into the now-ruined outer settlement of Nox with his most trusted lady-retainer seated behind him. Behind them still, his regiment of barely two hundred rode. The deep thump of war drums resounded, its resonance gaining clarity with every foot put behind them.

They approached Nox. Their homeland.

The clash of steel on steel became audible first, interspersed with cries of anguish and valor, of fear and the dying. Shouts of command and screams of pleading words lost their meaning behind a screen of bloodlust and warlike clangor that hung thick upon the air. Odours of old sweat, blood and smoke assailed the Prince's nose.

The smell of death.

He drew his blade, as a war horn sounded behind, its long deep bluster heralding the return of the Prince.

BUWooooooOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!

"For Nox!" A knight called Kelios had howled, raising his sword in defiance as knights and soldiers all around followed suit with similar war cries.

A heartbeat later, the Noxarian Prince's returning force crashed into the rear of the invaders.

"Push for the gate!" Another knight boomed, as he cut down a Bliaton foot soldier aiming for his midriff.

The Prince felt the familiar presence behind him vanish and dispensed with a back look; she was more than capable of handling herself in battle. Among Nox's enemies, some called her Blood of the Valkyrie for her prowess, but none knew her real name. Ten metres beside him, a Noxarian knight sized up his immediate vicinity, his horse dead where it laid.

Pivoting his foot, he slammed his bastard sword against the helmeted head of a Bliaton pikeman, sending him reeling towards the ground. From the wall, the deep bluster of a responding warhorn sounded, but the Prince was hard of hearing as he dodged an arrow sailing for his right shoulder.

The fatal melody of war enveloped all.

"Crush the Nighvictorian scum!" A maceman hollered.

The Prince batted aside the soldier's weapon as it came and sunk his sword through, skewering the man's neck. Dying gurgles from the soldier still resounded, albeit weakly...his eyes emptied of all but the most maniacal passion to slaughter.

"Rip them..pulverise them..dissect...kill...."

The Prince's eyes widened.

What....madness is this?

He must have thought.

A madness that the Prince could not fathom, even as he watched Nox's defenders give way, corpse by corpse, before the fanatical zeal of their invaders. Hell-spawn berserkers, they were.

Tireless, without pain, and cruel to the bone.

For every blow they received, they responded with greater blood lust.

For every man they fell, they finished with utter butchery.

Monsters, no less.

A defender tripped, having lost his footing from a nemesis's onslaught. In the blink of an eye, his gaping mouth was perforated by an enemy sword.

Lying amidst dying gurgles of blood, what the defender last saw was a blade. Repeatedly withdrawn, repeatedly impaled through his own neck. A world of pain, before the sweet blackness of death took him.

A horrifying spectacle, amongst many.

Try as they might to remain stoic, the Noxarian soldiers were capitulating. The sheer brutality of these monsters...it had tainted their hearts with fear.

Cursing under her breath, the one they called Blood of the Valkyrie sunk her gauntleted fist into an enemy knight's face. Despite the man's helmet visor, it did little to resist the raw impact of her gauntlet, propelled with prodigious strength. He was knocked out cold.

"There are too many of them - the thrice-damned savages," she muttered.

Deflecting a sword strike with her gauntlets, the lady's honed battle instincts came into play. She lept deftly behind her assailant, and with a swift twist of her hands, broke the man's neck.

Up on the wall that seperated Nox from the war-torn plains beyond, arrows flew down in volleys from the defenders. Siege ladders were propped up, only for some to be pushed down by the Noxarian sentinels, the invaders falling to their deaths on the corpse-strewn grounds below. Yet many more were already fighting the beleaguered defenders on the outer wall parapets, having scaled up or made their ways through secret passages.

The Prince knew that his retainers could not last much longer. They had to reconvene with the defenders within the city, but how could they? The main gate could not open for them to enter, not without giving a free pass to the invaders.

His charge was foolhardy, was it not?

The Prince's mind buzzed incessantly; anger and grief surging beneath a fierce tirade of thoughts.

How in seven hells did it come to this?

Oh, the Nighvictorian Prince knew nothing, nothing at all.

He gritted his teeth in frustration, as he and his regiment fought their way closer to the gate. It must be connected, somehow.

An orchestration. A sinister ploy to fell Nox.

But...to what end?

The gates of Nox flew open, as a sudden cantering of hooves was heard.

A gruff and forceful roar boomed over the discord of colliding weapons and traumatic screams. It was one which froze some Bliatoners in their tracks.

From the gates, a hulking man in plate armour entered the battlefield atop a handsome grey stallion of unusual proportions. He sported salt-and-pepper hair and eyes as sharp as a preying eagle. His presence alone seemed to revitalise many of the worn-out soldiers who defended Nox on the battlefield.

But none saw that the man, who went by the name Lord-Commander Michas, was battle-weary and wounded.

Behind the commander, a small regiment of elite knights and soldiers followed, cutting a swath through to reunite with the Prince and his forces. They were the last of the defenders' very best.

Michas's weather worn face looked grimer as he regarded the younger man before him.

"You must get away. The southern gate had been overrun. Many of our people had fled. And the king is dead." That was all Michas said, who was there to reopen an escape route for the Prince. It would be his final stand.

In that short exchange, the Prince knew. He came too late. The fate of his homeland had been sealed, along with those of his father and Michas. From the expedition back home to the brave charge, it was all...for naught.

Their veteran commander Michas still perished; the prince, his lady-retainer and state magician Lyvia went missing ever since.

The scar-faced Frath paused at this point, his bulbous eyes surveying the enthralled audience staring at him.

"This is the End of Nox, the beginning of a new era for Western Elaria."