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A Fictional Rendition of the Battle of Pompelus Written by Darkness

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Posted 17 October 2006 - 03:54 AM

This was written by Darkness. Keep in mind that not a whole lot is really known of the battle, and while many have attempted to piece together the evidence, there are many conflicting renditions of the event. The mythical orcs have never been seen by an Earthian, just as there really isn't any solid evidence of the Skyrite Blade or the Dimensional Storm, but it's up in the air what is really true. But enough of that, here's Darkness' tale...
QUOTE
The Dimensional Storm

Darkness consumed the world. A great, boiling black cloud crawled closer and closer over the flat, cool-climate, slightly hilled region of the land surrounding the great city of Pompelus, like a fog of death and destruction. It moved almost like a living thing, humongous tendrils reaching out and devouring the life of all it touched.

Before the cloud came disaster. Fire rained down from the heavens hundreds of yards before it, burning and destroying. Those in Pompelus, still miles away from the dark storm, already felt gravity pressing down on them as the forces of nature were defied. Some could barely walk as they were pressed downwards. Trees were downed, buildings collapsed as it reached its arms of death closer… And closer… And closer…

The air began to become heavy with a strange, suffocating mist that partially obscured vision.

Fire broke through the ground forming great chasms that yawned at people’s feet. Those who were unwary fell into the expanding cracks. The wall of the city broke as a chasm split straight through the center. Part of the grand palace of the king collapsed into it. Great columns of lava and fire began sprouting up from the holes, almost reaching the heavens.

And through all this, the shadow crept closer…

The storm was not the only thing that was coming. Just in front of the cloud, and obviously all beneath it, even though those in Pompelus could not yet see them, the forces of darkness rode ever closer. They rode on horses, they rode on chimaeras, and they rode on dragons. Those of the country folk who survived the effects of the dark storm up to the time that the armies reached them didn’t survive any longer. The dark soldiers were merciless, murdering all survivors. Neither the mist nor the gravity affected them in the least bit.

And at their head rode the Dark Lord himself. Who some called the God of Darkness, King of Evil, Master of the Undead, Lord Nemorok the Dark brought the armies of darkness at his heel. It was he who had conjured the dark storm, he who brought gravity down on his enemies.

He rode forth with his dark armies, and with them, he consumed the world.

The armies of light stayed in wait within the shattered walls of the city, waiting for Death to find them. They knew they would die that day before the sun set. The rivers would run red with their blood. But they waited in grim silence to defend their city, even though they knew they might not even survive to the beginning of the battle.

The cloud was just a few miles away. The armies of light moved out onto the hill that the city was built on. They could see the darkness from this vantage point, for the city had been built in such a way that any approaching enemy could be spotted, and they knew it would be just minutes, perhaps seconds before the battle – however short it may be – started.

From the watchtowers in Pompelus, men watched as the dark cloud raced with ease towards the city. It was almost to the base of the hill… Just a bit more before the great battle began…

The air grew more diluted. Men collapsed at the weight. Fire rained from the heavens. Chasms broke through the ground. Columns of fire reached for the clouds. Death glided onto the plateau. Darkness consumed the world.

For some, time seemed to slow as the armies of darkness came into view. Fifty yards away. They could feel their heartbeats as clear as they knew their death was coming. Forty. They were ready. Thirty. Weapons were hefted, words of magic were prepared. Twenty. The blood pounding in the ears of the army was so much that they were deaf. Only ten yards separated the two armies. Pikes were lowered to impale the first of the enemy’s ranks.

Time suddenly sped forward in rate, back to normal speed. A man slashed downwards with his sword at an orc, cleaving the beast cleanly in half, only to be beheaded by a passing dragon man who flew by. The dragon man found an arrow in his forehead a moment later, and the creature exploded through powerful magic enchanting him, killing friend and foe alike all around him.

The archer who had shot him reloaded his bow and took aim at a dragon rider who had taken notice of the explosion and now flew towards him. The arrow was discharged, but it hit the hard scales of the dragon and bounced harmlessly off. A moment later, the archer was burned to a crisp by the red dragon he had just attacked.

The dragon made a swift turn, only to be viciously attacked by one of Pompelus’s griffons. The griffon tore at its head, and a moment later the dragon plummeted to the ground below. The griffon landed a few seconds later on the ground to be mounted by an elf, only to feel the sharp scorpion’s tail of a chimaera cutting into its side. The poison soon took over, and the griffon fell dead to the side.

Just an hour later, the forces of light were almost depleted. The dark cloud had totally enveloped the city; Nemorok rode unchallenged through its streets, headed for the palace. The few defenders of the great city who still remained tried to regroup. Darkness had suffered greatly as well, and they would have lost, but Nemorok had called upon the dead, who tore through the hard ground and out of their stony graves to appease the will of their master.

It seemed Darkness had won. The Great City of Light had been enveloped and its defenders killed. But then, suddenly, a strange, white light cut through the darkness. It came from the palace of the king, and Nemorok stopped before it. Out of the ruined doorway stepped a man. He was clad in shining armor, and in his hand he held a legendary sword. It was the sword that emitted the light. The sword was the mythical Skyrite Blade.

He stepped forward, saying, “Nemorok, I banish you from this realm.”

Nemorok laughed, before replying, “You have no right to banish me. I am the most powerful warlock who ever lived! A mere mortal like yourself could never—.” He was cut off as the hero lunged forward.

He defeated the Lord of the Dark that day; he did what no one had ever done before. He had killed him. Or had he? His unmoving body had disappeared, disintegrated before the strange hero’s eyes. With his last dying breath, he had cursed Pompelus. For the first time in millennia, a heavy snow began to fall on the great city. It was not the sort of snow that the kingdom occasionally received in the winters, but a full-blown snowfall.

The hero was never seen again, nor was the legendary weapon he had wielded. There were few eyewitness accounts of the battle between the warlock and the hero, but the few who had seen it seemed not to have any memories of what the hero had done after. It seemed almost as if he had disappeared into thin air, vanishing from this world as quickly as he had come. Who knew where he went, or if he would return? Some speculation arose that he would appear again at the time of this world’s greatest need, that he would again wield that mythical sword.

Neither good nor evil had won the Battle of Pompelus. Both sides had suffered greatly, the good more than the evil. Already darkness had begun to rebuild, but it would take a long time before good would begin. Their shining city of light had been destroyed, the land now cursed to a frozen tomb. The ice and the snow would persist for many years, freezing the land for what seemed an eternity.

But there was still hope. In years to come, a new city of the light would be built. If ever the dark warlock reappeared, there were those who had sworn themselves to the paladin cause to send him back to the dark abyss he had been banished to.

Though whether that dark curse will ever be lifted or the great hero reappear, or if ever Nemorok threatens this world again, one thing is for sure. On that day, that day of fate and destiny, darkness was denied the world.

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