The Legion of Karabor

Prologue

A figure stood upon a tall peak overlooking the once proud lands of Northern Karabor. From his vantage point, he could see hundreds of fires burning in the north. The fires cut a swath in the land, leaving a blanket of smoke, which left a foul odor in the air. The smell of dead bodies was unmistakable; Karabor was being invaded.

The man watched on.

He was tall and powerfully built with colossal muscles; he stood motionless upon the mountaintop, his piercing blue eyes studying the scene before him. His black hair fluttered in the wind and his light beard hid a stern, chiseled face. The air of leadership surrounded him and the sun beat down as if to honor him with blinding light that caused his armor to shine a silver hue.

He had seen all that he could bear. He knew what had to be done in order to buy the time needed for the people to rally behind a new leader. He would likely die in his endeavor but that was a risk he knew he had to take.

He raised the Greatsword Callidus and with a salute to the heavens, rode forth to meet the dark army sweeping down from their bastion of Twilight’s Keep. The warhorse underneath him, as if sensing the great battle ahead, rushed forward into the burning lands of the north.

Not far from the peak, the dark armies were pillaging and burning everything in their path. The smell of death and decay further excited the dark hearts of the invaders. While they enjoyed the work of destruction, their goal was simple: conquest of the lands that had expelled their dark master.

The army moved from village to village, slaughtering all in their path. At the last small hamlet, a young woman in tight leather was finishing up the meager resistance on her own.

She stood over the bodies of her recent work, admiring the handiwork of her skill.

The last defender then rushed from his hiding place. Brandishing a pitchfork, he charged at the woman with tears streaming down his face. His run was short-lived as a small blade buried itself to the hilt in his chest. A large shadow materialized over the woman, who looked up and grinned wickedly at her master.

“It’s done, my lord,” she said, wiping the blood from her blade on a slain victim. “Those who still live are fleeing from the area and heading south to the Legion’s citadel.”

“Good,” said the shadowy figure, spying the silver gleam upon the distant peak in the south.

“I see my friend is coming this way,” he said. “Let’s’ give him a welcoming that he’ll never forget.”

Drawing his massive blade, he gave a loud bellow, which was served as a rallying cry to the dark army all along the border. The dark army then began the move toward the light.

The tide of darkness was moving.

As the light came closer, it was apparent that it belonged not to one but twenty figures on horseback. Each figure glowed with a holy light, as if the gods themselves were uplifting them, but it was apparent they were riding to their death.

The shadowy figure, with a dark gleam in his eyes, merely smiled.