The Wailing Plains

The Wailing Plains

Men speak of the Wailing Plains as a dreary land, wrought with agony and torment. Barren, rolling hills that were once lush with life, now teeming with death and decay that seemingly seeps from the very pores of the earth. The sun, ever a beacon of renewal and redemption, can find no home in these parts.

Atop the mightiest of the plains lies the broken castle of Hiron. The once-proud bastion of humanity now forced on its knees in a posture of eternal defeat. The elders claim that if one were to walk through the ruined gates, the sounds of battle would fill the air: shouting, metal clashing and dying. Among the resonance of war, they claim, one distinctly blood-curdling scream rises above all others, followed by the flat sound of pavement.

The only thing more hideous than the Wailing Plains is the story of its creation. The kings of the remaining city-states of the Eiradon Republic do not speak of it, for they all know what once resided in those lands: the former city-state of Jorneth.

The deity Felgorn, looking to eliminate his rival, Andor, released a plague amongst the race he created: the elves. The elves had long coexisted peacefully with humans, in which Andor was their creator and caretaker. The plague, however, began to dement the elves, inflaming their minds and warping their features. The drow - dark elves as they became known, began their march westward towards the human city-states.

The easternmost city-state of Jorneth was the first under siege. The drow caught its inhabitants unguarded, laying waste to dozens of villages in their path. The stalwart King Feralis, leader of Jorneth and a founding member of the Republic, met with the other kings to plead his case for military aid. Despite his beseeching, the other kings had turned him away, believing that the elves were attacking mistakenly and that only diplomatic solutions were needed to resolve the conflict; King Feralis was left to defend his city-state alone.

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"We've not heard from Saox village for some time, King Feralis." said the soldier.

King Feralis slouched on his throne, massaging his heavy eyelids. "What you are trying to tell me, then, is that the drow have taken over?" he said wearily.

"I….I guess that would be the assumption, sire." he hesitated before adding, "King Feralis, why do you remain certain that the other armies of Eiradon will come to aid us? You heard what they said; they still believe that diplomacy is the only answer!"

There was a prolonged silence as the king twiddled the hilt of his sword, the blade leaning against the marble floor. The king strained and groaned as he forced himself to sit up straight. "The other kings will do the right thing and assist us. Surely, they can not continue to believe that these maddened elves will pay heed to mere words!"

The wooden double doors to the chamber were flung open, slamming the adjacent walls. A stocky, bearded man entered, panting furiously. "King Feralis! You must come with me to the parapets!"

The king walked hastily with the bearded man down the corridors to the upper parapets. “Commander, what could possibly be of such urgency?" asked the king. The commander did not speak, but his right hand, wielding his broadsword, shook violently.

Arriving to the parapets, the commander gestured out towards the plains. The king peered over the rolling plains and loosened his jaw. A great distance away, a vast army marched on towards the castle, their standard not amongst those of the city-states of Eiradon.

"Drow…." gasped the king. After some moments, King Feralis regained his composure. "Commander," he said in a bellowing voice, "prepare the soldiers for siege defense. We need only to safeguard ourselves long enough for the other city-states to arrive to our aid." The Commander opened his mouth in retort, but refrained from speaking, choosing only to nod and carry out the orders.

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Storm clouds seemed to follow the invaders, who now stood mere feet away from the castle walls. Flashes of lightning briefly revealed their faces: deep lavender with ghastly yellow eyes.

The dreary rain matched the emotions of the castle soldiers. King Feralis turned away from the parapets to face his men; the increasingly frigid temperature made it difficult to avoid quivering as he spoke.

"Do not be frightened men, for we will not fight alone. I have no reason to doubt that the other city-states have armies on the way. The Eiradon Republic is united and strong; the other kings will not allow Jorneth to fall!"

The king's strong words did not seem to affect the soldiers: all remained quiet, as if viewing the situation in a different reality. King Feralis simply turned around to face the parapets - too riled up to notice.

The king stared out to the western plains, confident that he would see an allied standard, but saw none. "It is time for defense. The men of Eiradon will come from the west to our assistance." he murmured.

"Prepare to volley!" he yelled. Dozens of archers, positioned along the northern parapets and towers of the castle, stretched back the strings of their longbows. "Release!" cried the king, motioning his hand forward.

In near unison, the hail of arrows rained down on the drow invaders. Several of them collapsed, enraging the rest. The drow began snarling and beating sword against shield and spear against ground in rhythm.

The air became filled with whirring sounds as the drow returned fire. "Take cover!" the Commander warned. Soldiers scrambled frantically to find shielding, but some could not avoid the incoming volley.

"My King, they are besieging the gates!" cried the Commander. King Feralis watched in horror as a number of drow, wielding great axes, began hacking away at the wooden gates.

The king gestured toward a few of the archers nearby. "Head to the gates and help the others."

Peering outward, the king could see some sort of contraption far off, but could make nothing of it. "Breach!" yelled a soldier from below. The king watched as drow began pouring in through a large opening in the gates. The soldiers engaged the invaders, generally holding them off and preventing more from entering.

King Feralis looked hastily to the west, but no there was no sight of aid. The king's lower jaw began to quiver. "Do not let them advance!" he deplored to the soldiers at the gate. Another volley of drow arrows plummeted to the castle, adding to the casualties.

"Sire, look!" pleaded one of the archers nearby. The king once again observed the far off contraption. A lever, balanced on a base, swung forward, hurling a massive boulder across the sky. "Watch out!" wailing the king, his voice beginning to strain.

The enormous rock collided against the castle wall, just a few feet away from where the king was standing. A large section of the wall gave way and collapsed - a few archers plummeting with it.

The drow began flooding through the newly created opening; the castle soldiers were slowing losing ground. King Feralis looked to the west once more and lamented, "Treacherous kings of Eiradon, you have left me here to die! All these years I have shown undying fealty, only to be ignored in my time of need?!"

The king unsheathed his sword and wielded it with the blade downward. "This Republic is a failure and I shall have no part of it!" The king thrust the sword into his own chest, descending off the parapets; a blood-curdling scream followed his path down to the castle grounds.