Swords of Orlandia: The Khaz'Radan Prophecy Times for dissent, and those who would commit it, were never tougher. If you dared raise your voice in opposition to Corvidious, the foul king and Emperor of all Orlandia, you would quickly and brutally be silenced. Well, what is that you ask? Why yes...the Emperor had indeed revealed his name to all the land. He'd decided that so many secrets had fallen over the preceding months he did not want to remain a figure of imposing mystery, but one who had a name. And that name made all who uttered, or even thought of it, tremble. Corvidious had secluded himself for days following the theft of his iconic staff. This moral defeat weighed heavily upon him and the pressure of the loss forced anger heretofore unseen from every pore on his blackened face. The scuttlebutt amongst the people was that he was embarrassed. Songs were sung to celebrate this fact but the mounting pile of bodies with slit throats did much to keep those songs few and far between.
Another new fact of life in Orlandia was the daily appearances of the Emperor to announce his omnipotence and make an example of whomever had been forced into confession the night before. Corvidious would emerge and address the assembled throngs of townsfolk and remind them of the pain of death they were all subject to if any should act or even dare speak against his administration. Today a decrepit and frightened man was thrown harshly at his feet. "Unfaithful!" the Emperor hissed and pointed a long talon like finger at the man's quivering forehead. "No, no, no Sire! No, no, no..." and his voice trailed off as Corvidious bellowed "Then you deny having a scroll hanging in your tavern with the very words from those damnable rocks? You would display those lies? You would show support for the Anarchs?" The old man sat in terrified silence. A few cloaked figures in the crowd held their tongues, and swords, in check even as the pitiful citizen had the life choked from his frail body. As he crumpled at the Emperor's feet Corvidious bellowed "This...is your reminder! I let you live only as long as it pleases me and never long once I am displeased!" As harsh as this was the worst was still to come...
Shadowfowl, under direct order of the Emperor, took flight from site to site destroying anyone who even thought about going against the establishment. Those who dared stand against the might of the unholy Emperor even in jest were subject to death or at best the branding, henceforth relegated to "Anarch" status with a crimson "A" carved or scorched into their flesh of their left palm. The Fae folk were not immune to the whims of Corvidious, either, as they too were slaughtered; mayhap treated worse than the humans. All citizens cowered. Every creature trembled. Feared was the law of the land. And the law was terrifying.
Yet in this darkness the glint of hope still grew. The Anarchs, moving largely unseen, were steadily gathering the Sacred Ten. Their scarred palms a sign of freedom. Corvidious so loved his "reminders" and what he had felt would be a step towards ultimate subjugation, the eternal marking of any who opposed him, was now worn as a badge of honor by hundreds...maybe thousands. Orlandia was vast, as were Her secrets. No one knew for sure how many Anarchs there really were as day by day scores grew tired of living on their knees. Orlandia was awakening...but was it too late?
Aurelion stood at the parapet of a small sanctuary deep in the Evershyde Forest and his brow furrowed as the scouting party returned. Returned with far fewer members than it had left with. He stared out past watery eyes into his beloved countryside. The Monster still breaths and with every breath more poison into the hearts and lives of us all. Are we too far gone? He mused it seemed the weight of every lost life was bearing down with such weight that even his great shoulders quivered.
"Sire?" came a ragged voice from behind. Commander Verk came to stand at his side. Thick blood stuck to his hairline like a grim crown and his left arm hung oddly at his waist as he spoke with determined effort. "Nitesdown, Merrytook, Quarthmar, Pillsher and Bolkenfirth are all gone." "Survivors?" inquired Aurelion though he already knew the answer. "Sire, all the men, all the women and children and every beast in the field and...everything...it's just gone. Ash is all that remains." With this Verk's voice cracked and he fell silent, overcome with emotion both anger and despair. Despite a few small victories here and there Aurelion and his forces had suffered much more than they had gained. And yet still they fought. Aurelion placed a reassuring hand upon his commander's back, "Freedom, the promise of an unfettered life, demands no less a sacrifice. And to the last man we are willing to pay that price." "Indeed Sire," replied Verk as his composure returned "and tonight that bravery has brought us one step closer to victory." And with that he pulled a simple stein from his cloak. Aurelion's eyes widened and he bellowed "General Sigmund's Tankard!" It seemed unreal but there it was in their possession. Another of the Sacred 10 had been claimed by the Anarchs. The news quickly spread through the camp and over the coming days a sense of impending destiny began looming in everyone's eyes. Everyone saw it. So close now to having the 10, so close now to saving everything, so close now to a hope that knew no fear...indeed the coming of Kahz'radan drew nigh!
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