AN EMPIRE FALLS:
Or, Yet Another Evening At The Table:
The command went forth: "Hold your ground at all costs!" For the war had been raging for year after year, and now, slowly but perceptibly, the empire was crumbling.
The lizardmen of the south, their scaly green coats covered with slime -- they were the first to invade, bright spears and mirror shields coming out of the very waters around us, surrounding us on all sides. Our soldiers were strong and brave, but what could we do against the encroaching horde? It was all we could do simply to cut our way through. Retreating to a stronghold, we gathered supplies and prayed that they would not break through.
Of course, in the face of this terrible threat, our allies to the east came to our rescue! Prince Azule, Leader of Hosts, came to aid us with his tall, proud warships, filled with mighty men. Or so we thought...
Treachery was afoot. The Blue Prince was not come to aid us -- he was come to destroy us. Slaughtering the royal welcome, the eastern invading force fell upon our flank and crushed it.
We fled for our lives.
But this is history now. All we have left is this small piece of land -- there is no more room to retreat. With our backs to the western sea, we fight only to hold the coastline, nothing more. If we lose it, we are lost.
The battle lines were drawn up, lizardmen and false eastern allies together, facing our small, sorry force. The trumpet call to charge went out from their lines, and the huge army lumbered forward to engage us. Each of our soldiers readied weapons, and prepared to meet the charge.
All of a sudden, the charge stopped -- the massive army halted in its tracks. We stared - had we been given a reprieve? Had peace talks been going on without our knowledge?
Puzzled, we looked around for some clue to explain. No other armies were in view, neither allied reinforcements coming to our rescue, nor even more soldiers come to join our enemies.
Then we looked behind us, and stopped, horrified. Black ships with black sails filled the ocean. Mishar of Sable, Emperor of the Western Sea -- our ancient enemy -- only he had such ships. Hope sank within us. Trapped between forces, we broke and fled.
That was yesterday. Today, our empire is no more, only a broken dream, a half-formed thought that might never have been.
The command went forth: "Hold your ground at all costs!" For the war had been raging for year after year, and now, slowly but perceptibly, the empire was crumbling.
The lizardmen of the south, their scaly green coats covered with slime -- they were the first to invade, bright spears and mirror shields coming out of the very waters around us, surrounding us on all sides. Our soldiers were strong and brave, but what could we do against the encroaching horde? It was all we could do simply to cut our way through. Retreating to a stronghold, we gathered supplies and prayed that they would not break through.
Of course, in the face of this terrible threat, our allies to the east came to our rescue! Prince Azule, Leader of Hosts, came to aid us with his tall, proud warships, filled with mighty men. Or so we thought...
Treachery was afoot. The Blue Prince was not come to aid us -- he was come to destroy us. Slaughtering the royal welcome, the eastern invading force fell upon our flank and crushed it.
We fled for our lives.
But this is history now. All we have left is this small piece of land -- there is no more room to retreat. With our backs to the western sea, we fight only to hold the coastline, nothing more. If we lose it, we are lost.
The battle lines were drawn up, lizardmen and false eastern allies together, facing our small, sorry force. The trumpet call to charge went out from their lines, and the huge army lumbered forward to engage us. Each of our soldiers readied weapons, and prepared to meet the charge.
All of a sudden, the charge stopped -- the massive army halted in its tracks. We stared - had we been given a reprieve? Had peace talks been going on without our knowledge?
Puzzled, we looked around for some clue to explain. No other armies were in view, neither allied reinforcements coming to our rescue, nor even more soldiers come to join our enemies.
Then we looked behind us, and stopped, horrified. Black ships with black sails filled the ocean. Mishar of Sable, Emperor of the Western Sea -- our ancient enemy -- only he had such ships. Hope sank within us. Trapped between forces, we broke and fled.
That was yesterday. Today, our empire is no more, only a broken dream, a half-formed thought that might never have been.
posted by Fallen from Grace | Saturday, May 06, 2006
1 Comments:
Would you be willing to tell me why it is that this sobering entry bears such a stunning and undeniable resemblance to the unfortunate events of our recently enacted, particularly forceful and ill-fated encounter with RISK 2210; as it was enjoyed by several of our own listed contributors, during which we each sought to devastate and brutalize the others?
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