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The fall of a Nation
Topic Started: 12 Jun 2008, 06:44 AM (323 Views)
Flailing-Axes
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The island rolled out before her, the grassy plains and forests stretching out towards the glistening ocean beyond. The great city spires stroked the delicate skies; birds dancing on the roofs and singing harmonies throughout the realm of Ulthuan. Angles were born here; the land was touched by their presence: the blades of grass dancing in the wind, bathed in gold by the light of the sun; the high mountains and their snow white tips, loving parents standing guard over the land. She stood upon a balcony, her slender arms resting upon the ledge as the wind played in her hair. Her skin was a pale white, a polished pearl in the glow of the morning sun. Her lips were perfect curves, cherry red and moist, guilty of kissing the land she ruled over. Her pointed ears, elegant and perfect, her diamond teeth, sparkling with light. She was perfect, as her land was perfect; she was beautiful, as her land was beautiful. They call her eternal beauty, the everqueen, the loving mother. Her hands had written this lands history, and it would be her nib that wrote its final page. Legends have been told of her power and her ferocity, of how whole armies have fled at the mention of her name. But that is not what the everqueen is, what she truly is as a mortal perception. Her heart beats with that of the earth, her song echoes along far off shores, she is all the things good in this world: a daisy, an ocean, rolled into one. Words cannot describe her love of the world, and words cannot tell of her pain when the lands are in pain.

And when the sunset dawns; when the darkness descends, she takes herself to her palace and prays, prays that the world may, for just one more time, come out upon the other side of eternal night. But what happens when her prayers are not answered? What would happen should she fall, and the night ruled over day? Angels would cry, and the oceans would tremor. The world would succumb, and chaos would reign. The queen turned away, a tear flowing down her curved lashes. She smiled as her servant stepped forward, and spoke to her gently, her voice soft and kind, yet with the same hint as a mother saying goodbye to her child. “Go home, Sakura, today is your last chance for bliss and happiness.” She sniffed “For tonight, this world may take its final breath, and I don’t know if any of us will make it through to the other side.”

The word was whispered throughout the elven home, the everqueen’s message echoed throughout every household. Within hours, an army assembled before her palace, ready to die for the one who had protected them. She told them to turn, to simply run away and flee, abandon this land to go and find another, but it was no use. This would be the final sundown of her elven kin; the thousands of souls who had been too stubborn to leave, now lost to the ages. She did not walk amongst the men, offered no words of solace in this gravely hour. Instead she stands where she always stands, gazing upon the plains of her beloved country and watching as the sun dies down. A single bird circled overhead, feathers like daggers in its side, its cry splitting the heart and piercing every soul. The sun slowly descended over the distant hills, a great red halo ready to crown the dead race of the high elves. Only a single tear rolled down her cheek, a glistening bead that streaked a line down to her rounded chest. She took in a single breath as a shadow covered her eyes, the last glimpse of the sun disappearing over the horizon. The sky darkened and clouds merged as the shadow stretched over the land, engulfing the villages and towns that lay scattered across it. The darkness is absolute and for a few seconds all is still, not even a hair lifting on the back of a neck. On the crest of the farthest hill, a faint glint upon his armour, lay the herald of the high elves doom: Malekith.

Words fail in comparison to what happens when a man turns against his bother. Can you imagine what happens when thousands turn upon one another? I will tell you: The sky is split with streaks of lightening, the ground is stained with the blood of the fallen. The skies howl and the rain storms, towers fall and cities burn, flocks of carrion birds fall from the air and feast on the ocean of dead that litters the floor. And above it all, cradling herself in her tower lies the everqueen, weeping as her land is thrown to ruin and her family’s legacy is turned to dust. She wants to turn away, but she can’t, she must watch as her kindred falls, pray for the hour that the gods show mercy. Hundreds die as she blinks, thousands when she turns to the skies. No stars are seen on this night, no light cast by the gods to show her the way. The only light comes from the great spheres high above; the twin chaos moons bare witness to the carnage they have caused. Hours passed and the dark elves pressed on, slaughtering village after village as they plundered the proud elves of their land and women. Screams filled the night and corpses covered the blood soaked ground. Still the enemy poured down from the hills, chanting manic war chants and grinding the elves that had defended their home deep into the barren soil. No life would flourish here for centuries, not until the rivers flowed with water instead of blood. The proud civilisation was bought to its knees, and a nation fell. Tzeench smiled as his work was accomplished: elf fought elf and brother fought brother. Such is the twisted nature of chaos.
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