Dynasty

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Fires flickered in the cold winter day as crows soared overhead. Trumpets blared, and drum beats resonated through the air. Banners adorned with a burning eagle fluttered, guiding soldiers on horseback and on foot. Clad in gleaming armour with spears aglow in the radiant sun, in unison they marched, their mechanical footsteps echoing through the city. Commonfolk lined the cobbled streets, witnessing the spectacle with a mix of shock, and awe as the soldiers paraded under the Golden sun.

To a Castle they marched. On a hill overlooking the sea, its formidable silhouette dominated the landscape. Constructed from ancient stones weathered by time, the fortress stood proud. Towering turrets adorned with weathered banners reached toward the sky, while imposing walls, adorned with intricate carvings and fortified with time-worn battlements, encircled the stronghold. 

The sea breeze carried the scent of salt, blending with the faint echoes of crashing waves below. The gates, though massive and imposing, bore signs of wear and the passage of countless years. At the entrance, a drawbridge crossed over a deep chasm, connecting the world to the fortresses heart.

At the gate, bathed in the soft glow of sunlight and framed against the sea, the King stood, arms outstretched as though extending an embrace to a friend. His brown hair, kissed by the sun's rays, shone with a natural lustre, cascading in regal waves that mirrored the warmth of his presence. His pale blue eyes, a serene reflection of the cloudless sky, exuded an aura of carefree benevolence.

Dressed in regal blue attire, the King's garments flowed elegantly, catching the breeze off the sea. His gaze carried a genuine kindness and understanding. And, as he stood against the breathtaking backdrop of the sea, the rhythmic waves below seemed to echo the aura emanating from him.

Opposite the King was a man cloaked in silver, he moved with an air of arrogance, his every step resonating with confidence. The glittering armour adorned with intricate details spoke of wealth and entitlement. His eyes, devoid of warmth, were filled with determination. As He walked forward, each step grew heavier until eventually he was face to face with the King.

In joy, the King embraced the man. And for a moment, a look of pain and regret came upon his face, a momentary crack in his facade, before he abruptly pushed the King away and withdrew a concealed dagger.

The dagger was thrust into the King, and his once-warm eyes widened in shock, a silent plea for understanding etched on his face. The King collapsed to the cold ground, leaving the cobbled surface stained with blood. As the man turned around, a grim satisfaction marred his features, and the weight of his actions lingered in the air.

And so, through this single action a Nation burned.

On the third day, in the third week of the third month, in the land west of the free cities, the Kingdom of Triare, the last bastion of the Great empire in the west, crumbled. And, from its bloodied carcass, the Commonwealth of Nos Triare emerged. 

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