Fall Of Alstion

Fall of Alstion is a work written by the Undead Fyrste, regarding the attack and destruction of the Oren town Alstion by the Undead.

Text

In the winding halls of the Drauchriem library, a new, fresh book lies loosely from the other texts adorning the bookcases. Bound in new leather, as black and dark as obsidian, the book bears the golden insignia of the Undead Fyrste. Written with a vial of blood sapped from the victims, the book bears the title

A septentrione secundum Tempestas, roughly translated to "A Tempest in the North.

Written on Joma, 27th of the First Seed, 1314.

After the rest of the arcane scripture is continued in a golden text

This battle's origins stemmed from a minor feud between the peoples of Alstion and the followers of the Black Hand. The peoples of Alstion, furious that such people would assume one of their former structures as a stronghold for followers of Iblees, were enraged to the point that a attack of such fierce blood-lust seemed the only possible solution. The Black Hand stood defiant in the wake of news of a possible attack, and refused to vacate their positions. Tensions grew, and the shining of swords in the distance slowly marched towards the base of operations, glinting in the crisp morning light in the snowy North. Men marched to their deaths.

It was terribly in-fortuitous that I, Fyrste, happened to be passing through that particular morning. With the stench of man flesh in the air growing closer, I stayed, in the hope of killing mortals and watching them catch ablaze. When the attack came, Fyrste and the followers of the Black Hand were ready, and swiftly many people of Alstion were already feeling the swift and sure retribution of my lightning. With the gates of the Back Hand breached, I fled for a while, looking to observe the Black Hand in the hope they would show their true worth to me. I was disappointed. They allowed foul mortals to breach their walls and run amok in their base. I was filled with such anger and fury that I wished Alstion gone, wiped from the face of Aegis and razed to the ground, for their arrows were fired upon me and their swords were swung towards me. Alstion would fall this night.

And so I lead the remains of the Black Hand from the small skirmish, under cover of night, through the rear, vulnerable entrances into Alstion. The shadows concealed our presence and the blustery northern gales quieted our voices. We would be upon them before they even realised it, they would have no time to react. I summoned my Undead brothers soon before the fight, and they came willingly, they too wished for this town under a mongrel banner to be wiped from the face of Aegis. And with such will for this to happen, truly, the outcome of the battle and fate of Alstion was predetermined. Bound to be the victors, the Undead swarmed upon the town with such swift and unrelenting terror, the vermin were immobilized in the wake of such power.

Upon towers of dread and terror, the Undead rained all Nether upon the foul inhabitants of Alstion. Not even those wise enough to flee were spared. And those foolhardy enough to stay and fight were remorselessly cut down or set ablaze. For hours the fury, fear and flesh were set upon the town. It's innards were torn, ground and spat out again until all that was left were the skeletal remains of what was once seen as a bastion of the North, the last resistance against the terrifying Undead hordes that swept across the snowy landscape. Under a veil of flame and fire, the North was drowning.

Bodies lay on the ground. The life sapped from their eyes until they lay grey, stony and lifeless. The festering stench of rotting corpses hung thick in the air. What was once a bustling town full of life and residents reduced to a town populated by corpses and flaming buildings.

But it was not to lie in utter ruins forever. A violent storm occurred in the Northern wastes, it lasted for weeks on end, so violent and tumultuous no man of any strength could venture through it. When the storm subsided, nothing was left of Alstion. It was restored to how it was before industrialization of the Humans, nothing was left, not a single skeletal remain. The citizens of Aegis saw this as a terrible tempest summoned by a being far more powerful and mysterious than one could imagine. A God, perhaps. This tempest was seen to wash the past away and to start afresh. This was what they hoped to be.

There is something we can all learn from this merciless slaughter of those unworthy. The power to kill is the only power that matters. The power to kill and destroy. And if you can't, then you will always be subject to those who can. The power to destroy something is the absolute control over it. You cannot deny we possess that power. We are not here to compromise or negotiate. We are here to destroy them. And they will cooperate, or suffer the immediate consequences.

Et terror vester, Fyrste.