Chapter One
A Storm of Sand and Steel
The second Moonsong expedition has landed upon the south-western shores of Everstrine unhindered, apparently ignored by Gargth's agents, or missed by his spells of wide-reaching observation. Though the seas carried them mercifully - unlike those that came before - the expedition will have a rough time of it from here on in.
Everstrine is not a gigantic island. It has a human population of half a million, which is less than most of the Alliance's major cities. However, what it lacks in size, it makes up for in geographical diversity. Thick and ancient woodland cover its western and northern faces, though these are divided by humid bogs. To the east, a cracked and broken grey scale landscape assails the observer with its jagged teeth, fissures and numerous pits. In the centre of the landmass itself, you'd find the great and treacherous Spirandor Mountains, where snow blasts their peaks from winter to winter, and from summer to summer.
Our journey starts with neither of these however; indeed, it starts with what is arguably the most treacherous stretch of the Everstrine landscape. It is a desert all to itself, and they call it The Great Dunes. Many speculate that it once belonged to the sea, but over the progression of years, the water has retreated to leave behind a barren and empty plain of sand. Nothing grows here, and the land would hold little value were it not for the salt-reserves found in the region.
It was for the salt that colonists established Sandbrick over three hundred years ago. An old town, but by no means ancient, it is a sturdy and blunt fixture built by the hands of mortal men who had little access to building materials beyond sand and water. Its buildings are robust and strong, crafted from sandstone and cement. Its wall, a mighty construction that circles the entire settlement, is likewise made, and thus the town appears to almost to be rising out of the desert itself.
And it is here that the expedition, on their third day, are drawing close to. Having moved in from the west, departing their ships in favour of a tiresome march under the blazing sun, they have come within scouting range and have thus begun to explore Sandbrick's situation. This is where our story begins.
Sandbrick burned.
Pillars of black smoke rose from the town to blot the sky, and the vibrant glow of raging fires glittered in the afternoon sun. Even from the back of his swan, and half a league above, Emperor Rainald XII could hear the din of a desperate battle waged far below.
His men, three hundred of them, cluttered the air above the city. They circled in force, but none descended - though Captain Gregnar pined frequently to do just that. The Emperor spotted his little spirit-pet easily; the swan he rode flapped its wings as if in a frenzy, and its long neck danced about like a length of loose string in the wind. This stood in stark contrast to those flown by the Moon Guard, who used measured movements and paced flaps of their wings.
The Swan Riders had flown ahead of the host, to scout Sandbrick and to see if it still stood. There were certainly other alternatives available beyond being physically present; no doubt some of the expidition's leaders had access to the power of far-sight. However, the aging Emperor didn't trust much in magic; in fact, he didn't trust in much.
Captain Gregnar passed him close, causing the Emperor's swan to rear and hiss in annoyance.
"We going down there or not, ya Lordship?" Gregnar called cheerfully.
"We are, my good Captain," the Emperor's voice was heavy, like rusted iron, and sounded just as worn. "Let us see what this game has in store for us."
The Captain beat the air with a mailed first, "that's more like it. I was getting bored!"
"Well I wouldn't want that," the Emperor replied with a hoarse shout. His words carried more truth than all the clairvoyance in the world.
It is time. This city falls. Today. This minute.
"Yes," Gargth agreed, his words sounding wet. "This has gone on for longer than planned. Time is scarce, is it not?"
You have no idea, mortal. Your insubordination threatens everything. There will be no more of that.
Gargth's head rocked back, and he let out a blood curdling laugh, gritty and sodden with corruption. "You did not enjoy the gift of fifty thousand souls?"
You almost killed yourself with our power. You are not as smart as you think, mortal. You would do well to remember this.
The Fallen wizard waved a hand, "I've not time to hear your prattle. Leave me. I've a city to fell."
Raising his arms skywards, Gargth opened his mental channel to the Shadow Realm instantly, and by thought alone. He reached deep into its dark bowels, and drunk deeply of its power. Within in an instant an intense energy surged through him, burning, threatening to rip the skin from his bones. At the same time, a cold feeling, colder than ice, racked his chest.
"By the Pact created, I shall see my will be done!" he yelled, bringing his arms down so that his open palms faced the city. He quickly rattled out some long forgotten bastard tongue, and the energy poured out of him, forming into a vibrant purple ball between his outstretched hands.
In a moment, he would release that ball, hurl it towards the town, and the Count's brave yet foolish defenders would fall beneath an explosion. Sandbrick and its people would be reduced to one giant crater. Such power had not been wielded since before the beginning of time, when Gods still walked the mortal realms.
You are not alone. Someone watches.
Gargth's eyes widened suddenly, and he looked skywards. Just then, dozens of great white birds came into view from across the horizon, and the fallen wizard watched them curiously. As they came closer and closer, he soon saw that they bore men in armour.
"What have we here?" Gargth asked, amused. With an intricate gesture, he dissipated the ball of energy and dismissed it back to the Shadow Realm. "Giant birds and knights?"
Throwing his own arcane reserves into use, Gargth used his power of far-sight, and brought the image of the aerial warriors close. Their shields and emblems left little secret as to who they were, or why they were here.
Survivors. You incompetent mortal. None were supposed to live!
"Not survivors. These men look fresh. The Alliance hasn't taken long to send another wave of their foolishness," Gargth said bitterly. "Open your gates, for I shall bring more souls shortly."
The Fallen Wizard was surrounded by ten thousand of his Shadow Warriors. Each of them made from the sand beneath his feet, and they stood in rigid square formations before Sandbrick, looking on without emotion or idle movement. They were finely detailed, as if crafted by the delicate hands of artists, and bore an uncanny resemblance to mortal man. However, they were far from it. Gargth had moulded their forms to be as such, using the resources of the locale, and had thrown the corrupted inhabitants of the Shadow Realm into their grainy bosoms. To say they were alive was not accurate; to say they were dead did them an injustice.
The swan riders made a sudden dive, driving through the air and towards Gargth and his army. The wizard merely smiled. He threw out some more of his arcane words, and his eyes saw beyond Sandbrick, past the swans, and to the west. There he saw an entire army; thousands strong. How it had evaded his senses, or his own agents, baffled him. Then again, he hadn't been expecting the Alliance to respond so quickly. He cursed his own complacency.
As the swans drew into arrow range, Gargth and the ten thousand heads of his minions looked up at once, and in a flash, they collapsed to the sands from whence they had come, leaving nothing but a vast cloud of dust in their wake.
And then Gargth was in the middle of them. This army. This pitiful army. He looked around him, seeing columns of troops marching this way and that, navigating the dunes. Some had stopped after spotting him, giving him a bemused look. A man had suddenly appeared in the very centre of the entire formation, divided though it was into the various regiments composing it, and only those with a sense for the arcane would have realised exactly who it was.
Gargth the Fallen, as he appears currently.
Using his arcane might to carry his voice for a league in all directions, he laughed - nay - he cackled. The sound shot across the desert, causing those closest to him to cover their ears.
"Tremble, warriors of the Alliance. Doom has come, and it has come swiftly." His terrible voice echoed across the dunes, causing parts the landscape to crack open. Some dunes even collapsed, threatening to bury those nearby.
He raised his hands skywards, and immediately thick grey clouds stormed across the sky, bringing with them rain and lightning. The sun lost itself behind this unnatural weather formation, and darkness fell across The Great Dunes.
Several bolts of lightning smashed into the ground, striking randomly into the army. In an instant, hundreds were diving for cover or protecting themselves from the bolts of energy that steadily melted sand into glass.
"You want a war?" his continued. "Then it is yours to have!"
Where the bolts had struck, beings began to emerge from the sand. First there were dozens of them, and then there were hundreds. They looked like men - almost life like - but they were made entirely of sand, and bore grim expressions of evil intent. They surged towards their nearest foe with elongated claws for fingers, and wailed like banshees as they did so.
The warriors of the second expedition rallied themselves, as Gargth's deranged cackle filled their ears.
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