City of the Damned

The City of the Damned

The goblin nation, Agradon was a peaceful kingdom, they helped supply others with stones and ores necessary for their kingdoms to live and thrive. They didn't have enemies, at least that's what they thought at first. This belief was proven wrong on the coldest night of the year. They slipped in without detection, through the cracks like vermin. It wasn't until the first horror filled scream pierced the night sky that anyone knew what was happening but by then it was too late, the sky was lit by fire like a sun-kissed horizon.

Houses bright with the unforgivable blaze taking its victims without remorse, howls of pain and torture haunted the nation. Into the streets the citizens scrambled to put out the inferno that swallowed up the houses and shops along the streets and alleys of the city. Soldiers ran to fight against the ever-growing army of invaders. Battle cries of rage and sorrow echoed through the night further staining the once happy and peaceful air. Suddenly the loud sound of galloping coming from horses clattered through the night. The king had arrived from his fortress of a palace, wielding his long sword, looking around in shock he couldn't believe the carnage that had befallen his once charming and tranquil kingdom. He finally caught sight of one of the invaders and froze in horror and devastation.

The elves were the last people that anyone would have thought to betray the goblin nation, they were the closest and one of their most trusted allies. The kingdoms themselves had a long and bright history; their ancestors had always been close. The goblins helped defend and rebuild the elf's nation, Nefeli when they were attacked by the centaurs, they housed refugees when houses collapsed in an earthquake, and they stuck by them when they went to war. No preparing or planning could've gotten Agrador ready for the betrayal of a lifetime that happened on this cold, harsh night.

Breaking out of his stupor the king charged into battle on his horse swiping through elves left and right ploughing through the invaders and tormentors of his kingdom, looking around past the casualties of both Agrador and Nefeli, on top of the field that used to belong to their crops now was littered with bodies and at the top looking down in malicious glee stood the king of the elven empire, suddenly like he could sense the stare he turned around, eyes boring into the goblin kings, he smiled eerily as if it were all a game. Slowly he walked down, killing any apposing soldier he came across. Seeing this the goblin king commanded his horse into a gallop, raising his sword when suddenly he was thrown forward off his steed and onto the ground that was bathed in the blood of his people and enemies. Quickly looking around he saw his horse laying there dead only metres away. An arrow buried deep into its eye, blood rushing from the open wound. He jumped up and scrambled to collect his weapon before the elven king could get to him.

Steadying himself on his rigid frame he held his sword firmly in one hand, collecting a shield from a soldier lying dead at his feet, looking to see where the elven king was, only to see no sign of him. Spinning around in panic he froze when he heard a demented laughter coming from behind him. Slowly turning round, he caught a glimpse of the traitorous king still with his grin on his face like his people weren't dying and that everything was okay. Looking into his eyes all the goblin saw was darkness and a pool of vindictiveness. Quickly he raised his shield, just in time before an arrow pierced it. He ignored the ache in his joints and rushed towards the elf with his shield raised, ready to protect himself and fight for his nation. He raised his sword and brought it down, meeting with his enemy's sword with a loud clang. He stumbled back but quickly righted his stance not ready to give up until his last dying breath.

In a blurry of movement, the two kings attacked each other both not willing to die by the others sword. Surprising the elvish king the goblin used his shield to knock into him gaining the upper hand. On the floor panting for breath the elven king slowly looked up looking into the goblin's eyes with a void of emptiness, he lifted his head predicting the next blow, closing his eyes with a serene smile.
"Do it." is all he could say. And with a shout of rage the goblin king did just that, raising his sword to the side and bringing it down sharply, there was a gasp and then a thud. The elven kings head rolled down to the goblins feet with its eyes rolled up never to see again. His body collapses onto the field, to join the soldiers the battle had taken, blood slowly leaking out further watering the soil with the history of the night. The king bends down and slowly grabs the head of the dead king by the hair holding it up and screaming out his victory for all to hear.

No one would forget this night, not the people or the city that was bathed in blood, it would haunt the buildings and streets. Never letting the civilians forget the night that changed everything forever. Even after years the city would feel tainted, the wood of the houses and shops holding in the screams and begging of the people damned in the fire that took too many, or the field that even now you can hear the laughter of the crazed king that died on the hill.