The Fall of Men

They marched.

Ever onwards, never exhausting, they marched.

Southwards, to the lands of the Free Men. An army of dark, twisted, evil beings, their minds and bodies warped by the black magic of the Black King. Their numbers engulfed the land, leaving behind them a scarred landscape, where nothing would ever grow again. Before them, they were lead by the Black Kings own knights, the Dark Ones. They eyes blood red, they hungered for one thing: the death of King Evan.

Among their numbers there were also the Orcs, a race who hungered for war, and had within them a deep hatred for Man. A tall, green skinned race, their teeth were sharpened to points, and their hands could crush boulders. Also, there were the Fallen Men, kingdoms of Men that had sworn fealty to the Black King, in exchange for wealth and power. The other beings that the Black King commanded were a mixture of Wraiths, Undead, Warlocks, Witches, Goblins, Imps, Trolls and Giants. Races that hungered for blood.

from within his keep, deep in the mountains of the Northern border, the Black King smiled. Victory was assured. He would claim the lands of Men for himself. Then nothing could stop him. All of Goordon would be his.

(TO BE CONTINUED)