Saple Castle sits at the top of its hill, with a gradual mile-long road leading down from the front gates and a steeper quarter-mile road leading from the back gates. Shining black steel surrounds the Castle grounds, with guards armed with compact yet powerful crossbows standing dressed in black armor with gleaming swords at their hips. In the past, many foreign armies have launched invasions on the country of Skela. Few have come within two miles of the base of the hill. Of those few, only once has any army ever reached the gates.

When these invaders found themselves at the gates, they were ragged, bloodied, and sparse. They were not fought, nor were they negotiated with. They were invited inside, met by the king and queen in full suits of armor, and they were fed. After the foreigners were full and tired, the king and queen commended them for their feat. Their army had been many, and now they were half a dozen. The fair-haired and pale-skinned queen had calmly pointed out this fact, and contemplated the precarious situation this left them in after the attack. Would they return and fear a counterattack, would they attempt to claim the throne for their own? As the guests began to shift nervously, the queen brandished her personal dagger, a small thing with a gilded hilt fitted perfectly for her slender hands. Then, the king leaned forward, narrowing his sky-blue eyes, and spoke for the first time that night.

"How many remain at your village?" He asked this simply to know if they would be honest, for the monarchs knew only ten remained, four elderly wisewomen, three injured men, a pregnant mother, and two children too young to fight.

The first to answer was a young man, clearly confident in himself. "There are thirty waiting for us to return," he said, lifting his chin in an effort to sound convincing.

Several silent moments went by, before there was a quick flash of movement and the man fell backwards out of his chair. The queen's dagger was sunk into his forehead all the way to the hilt, and the queen spread her now-empty hands as though there was nothing more to it. The woman beside the body leapt to her feet, screaming. An arrow pierced her throat from behind, and she slumped to the floor, dying within a minute over the corpse of her love.

The king's hard gaze swept over the four remaining fighters. "How many are there?"

Now, it was the man who was obviously their chief who spoke. "Ten. There are ten." When the woman beside him opened her mouth to speak, he set a hand lightly on her shoulder and shook his head.

The queen smiled and nodded. "We know. Five women, three men, two children. And now, the problem of what to do with you." She clucked lightly, the sound of a disapproving mother. "Do we release you to them, trusting you will not waste an entire army to be stopped here once again? Do we have you bring them here and take control of your people? Do we end you here and leave them be?" She turned her eyes to her husband, awaiting his answer.

He shook his head slowly, eyeing each of the people before him. The two plain warriors began to cough and sputter, looking at each other in confusion. "Yes, you both have been poisoned. The wine you received was overly sweet to hide the Talberry. Moving along. You, chief, will be brought into Skela, as will this woman who is carrying what I assume is your child." At this, the pair exchanged an anxious look. "You will be charged with crimes against Skela's people, and as punishment will be required to remedy the destruction your army has caused." By now the two men had died, slumped onto the table. "The remaining people will be brought in Skela as well. They will not be charged in my court, but will be expected to act as upstanding citizens. Any land you held previously from henceforth belongs to the Crown. You will both stay in the Castle, as it is already too dark to travel. Tomorrow at dawn, you will be escorted to you village, then back with the rest of your people in tow. Now, a servant will show you to your room." The king raised a single hand and a dark-skinned boy rushed forward to escort the guests to a room.

In all his cleverness, the king had overlooked the servant and his loyalties. After the monarchs had retired to their suite, the boy led the chief and his wife to a room, shutting the door behind them. He quickly ushered them to the furthest wall, rushing the man to push aside the large dresser to reveal a small hole in the wall. The boy led them through the hole and into a narrow but tall walkway. They walked for several minutes before the boy stopped at a square that let colored light through. They stopped to listen for another minute, then the boy gestured for the man and woman to squeeze past him and past the square, which they discovered to be a massive painting of the castle. On the other side of the square hole, they found the king and queen sleeping in their grand bed. The man sidled up to the king and the woman came behind the queen, who slept facing her husband. The pair pulled small, jagged daggers from their boots, brought them in front of the king and queen's throats, and slit them quickly and cleanly, making deep and precise cuts. Blood soaked the sheets quickly and within a minute the king and queen had stopped writhing and sputtering.

The boy had emerged from the hidden passage and was kneeling before the man and woman. "All hail the Vor'das Tribe." At the sound of his voice, several armed guards stormed into the room. They rushed towards the scene at the bed with swords drawn, but halted when they saw the already dead bodies. After a moment of silence and shifting, they all sunk to their knees, as their honor and laws dictated when no heirs are left, the victor is the leader. Such was the case, and the Crown was placed on the man's head. The Vor'das had done the unthinkable, dethroned the Saples after generations, and effectively pushed us that much closer to wa-