~Prologue~

An occasional glimpse of the sun shone through the clouds that filled the skies.  The enormous white giants rolled over the jungle mountain.  A slight smell of rain trickled through the air.  The trees softly swayed, weaving their arms of amber into the strands of wind, sending shadows flickering across the rooted grounds.  Shadow was embarking upon the land, engulfing every inch of soil and rock that covered the forest.

The faint sound of tinkering bells filled the air, accompanied by the quiet sounds of a village.  Woman’s voices were heard, calling their children in for the night.  Men’s voices sounded throughout the trees, as they said their goodbyes to their fellow workmen.  Heard too, were children’s voices emanating through the forest, weaving in and out of every tree, as they made their way home. 

But far off in the distance, a noise echoed deep into a canyon of red stone.  The noise did not travel far enough for the people of the village to hear.  Heard within the noise was the sound of sword against metal, spear against rock, and boot against dust.  The sound was of an army, swiftly approaching the small village that lay hidden in the mountains.

The army was clothed in red, a symbolic color of death.  Inscribed on their breastplates was an evil tongue, known only to a few.  And in their hands, they carried large weapons… weapons that surpassed all swords and spears… weapons made of a rock harder than steel… weapons, belonging to an evil one, who knew no end to his power.  The army was infinitely armed, and ready for battle. 

The sounds of the village died out as its people retired for the night.  Woman tucked their children into bed.  Men hung up their work clothes and washed their faces.  Women finished cleaning, and then bathed before bed.  All was calm and quiet, all was beginning to rest.  Night had come, and day had gone.         

As the tiny village went to bed, far above on the mountain's peaks, the king of the land overlooked his empire. The mountain was one of the Eikläthnä Dúdŧĥor.  It was the third largest of all seven. 

Looking down with a content face was the king. He took all this detail of his vast empire in and was proud of himself. He had built a strong and mighty nation. None had ever conquered him. None had ever won against his armies. And none had ever considered fighting him again after three bloody, and brutal wars.

The wind blew softly, his long, brunet hair flapped in the wind along with two flags on his right. The castle guards leisurely leaned against their spears. They were all tired, but too restless to sleep. The king felt especially restless. His tan skin rippled with goose bumps as a cold breeze blew through the balcony he stood upon.

As the breeze drifted near his nostrils, he smelled a tainted smell. The scent was absolutely awful. It smelled of dead lambs, and rotten meat. It was revolting and reminded the king of an old enemy. He thought in the quietness of dark. He pondered the scent that had just passed him.

Thinking deep back into his memories, he remembered the smell. The smell brought only fear to his heart, the smell brought only pain, and last of all, the smell told him that his long lost enemy, was approaching. He turned around to examine the looming canyon behind him.

As the last thread of his robes twirled to a stop, a battle cry rang out of the darkness. A spear fallowed that, striking the hard, marble, stone floor, cracking it. The king looked about and saw a wave of arrows flying towards him. "Dalphèdors!" he screamed as he finally concluded that they were under attack by the ogre-like Dalphèdors.  They were evil and had no heart. They were the unwanted beasts of the land. They followed no command, except for someone who's heart was the blackest that ever thumped.

As the king finished his alert cry, the guards were awoken with a start and armed themselves. Holding their shields up high, they dodged the arrows that rained down upon them. After the arrows, calmness followed. The guards stood their ground, waiting for the next attack.

After a long pause of quiet, a small whistling sound filled the air. The king looked up, as well as the guards, and saw a dark object, flying towards them. "Take cover!" a guard yelled off in the distance as the assumed bolder hurled forward.  It came crashing down with a large crumbing sound.  

The guards scattered to arm themselves and commanders were sent out to the battlefield. The castle was in an uproar now. Warlords were plotting, servants were waking everyone of importance, and the Imperial Family was being rushed to safety, but the king stood his ground, as another warlord and chief commander.

A group of commanders came up to the king and said, "King Azle! What action should we carry out?!" The old men awaited his command.

"Tell the servants to escort my family to safely immediately!" the king said.

"The Imperial Family are being taken down into the tunnels as we speak," the commander stated.

"Then sound the alarms, alert the people in the villages bellow," he said.  “Let everyone now of the attack!”

"Yes sir," responded the commander, he yelled something to a group of soldiers.  He then turned back to the king, and after a long pause, asked, "What's the matter my lord?  You seem much more afraid for an attack by mere Dalphèdors."

The king glanced at them. He calmly but nervously said, "This may be the last time we see the stars... and the ones we love."  

(Written by TheOnlyShasta)