Thunder Horse Negaverse
The Dragon from the West
Soldiers crowd the city to the bursting point. The atmosphere in the city is tense, the threat of war fraying the nerves of the soldiers and citizens. Every day more soldiers arrive, long columns of men marching across dirt tracks towards the border towns. The space within the walls has long since filled, and so the tents sprawl around the city, fields of white and gray slowly engulfing the surrounding farmland. The farmers grumble as they see their harvest trampled inch by inch. They will endure, as their grandfathers had when their fathers went to war. Now, their sons go to war, and victory shall come.
Their honor demands it. The prophecy foretells it. It was on everyone's lips these days, recounted by every priest and orator. The Dragon of the West was coming. The Dragon company hsd marched towards the border, their general among them. The priests said she was a cripple, her body brought down by the sheer amount of blood curses the Thunder Horse had sworn against her in the last war. The hate still ran deep, and the warriors hsd seethed when they first heard their chance at vengeance was so close. But the priests pled with the King to wait, and he agreed. The prophecy must be followed. It was the only way.
When the sun set, and the Dragon fell, only then would they strike.
Today, the day of the fall, a mild summer breeze blows through the fields. It is a nice day. The farmers work their animals, the workmen ply their craft, merchants heckle goods and the soldiers train at arms. If not for the latter, it would be a perfectly ordinary day. Even so, the war appeared far away. Just like the weeks before, the scouts had reported no movement among the Ymarin forces on the river. They were still there, still watchful, just waiting. The King is getting impatient, and the soldiers restless. Humor helps them pass the time . Perhaps, one jokes, the Ymarin are waiting for their General to take the first step. Perhaps, another replies, they daree not leave the forest for fear the sky will fall upon their heads.
As the soldiers joke and the King debated by his priest, the sun slowly sets behind the distant mountains. Beneath a blood red sky, citizens and soldiers alike are slowly returning to their homes and tents. Suddenly, a single cry interrupts this ordinary. The Western sky, red like blood, is glowing. The air feels hot, like a sweltering summers day. As the glow brightens, more and more people stop to observe this clearly divine sign. When the light becomes blinding, they avert their eyes. Some take of clothes to deal with the now suffocating heat.
And then the screams start. People flee from the now burning light, stumble halfblinded, looking for shelter where they can find it. The priests take refuge in the Temple, the citizens in their houses, the soldiers in their tents.Others hide in ditches or behind walls, doing everything not to get caught by the burning light.
Then, suddenly, the sky ruptures and the Gods themselves wipe clean the land. With one big sweep they reap the fields, flatten the smouldering tents and tear down the houses of the city. No single house, not even the Temple, is spared. Thousands die, crushed by the ruins of their homes. Those who remain are wounded or unconcious. They do not escape when the fire engulfs the city.
