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Rated: 13+ · Sample · Fantasy · #1826208
A story I started when I was 16. I found it today and thought of actually finishing it.
It was his alliance with the fairies of the Northern Woods that gave Prince Alexander his first true look at dark magics. For twenty-one years he had lived in fear of the chaos unfolding around his kingdom, and watch helplessly as he lost acre by acre to the combined forces of the Western kingdom of Fivail and the Eastern kingdom of Enosha. Orphaned at birth, his mother and father had both fallen ill when a disease of an unparalleled scale swept their lands. Twelve thousand men, women, and children were taken by the unnamed sickness. Alone, in his palace he grew to know the world as a vile, wicked place. Around every corner was a new threat, with each passing year his throne and his lands were threatened by the impressive forces of the neighboring kingdoms who sought to claim the Well of Knowledge and Youth which lay deep in the catacombs of the palace. The door to which could only be opened by one of immense magical skill.



Alexander, who had tried to speak of peace, who had sent diplomats and treasures to his enemies had thus far found no signs of a treaty. His last and only hope, a blood pact with the fairy master Mordell, was in his mind the only way to protect his dying kingdom. The prince’s powers came at a great price, a price which many are unaware he paid. The blood he shed in the Blue Fires of the Northern Woods permanently bound his bloodline to the fairy lord. However, the staff carved of the stone of the Other Realm adorned with the Onyx Orb of Revya, the fairy kingdom imbued Prince Alexander with spectacular abilities.



Though the warning of Mordell, the fairy king was clear; “The road to mastering the Black Arts is perilous. No one has ever traveled it unscathed”, Alexander climbed atop his black steed and rode off to his kingdom.



Proclaiming himself the greatest sorcerer in all of Ilindad, he swore the end of his enemies would be brutal and bloody, that for their arrogance and wickedness towards his kingdom, the Kingdom of Dimerre, they would pay tenfold. That night, after returning to his palace, Prince Alexander stood on his balcony overlooking the desolate world below him. The hills besmirched by rotting grasses, dilapidated homes and his poverty-stricken subjects scrapping for food, for warmth and he held his staff high above his head.



“Undo this darkness, forces of sorcery. Undo the evils Dimerre has suffered.”



Immediately the orb began to glow a deep purple as smoke rose from it and to the sky. Thunder broke the silence of the world around him and lighting scattered through the clouds as serpents. The grasses soon after turned green, the dried rivers flowed, the homes were restored and the entirety of Dimerre’s former grace was reinstated. Livestock filled the hillsides and farms, plants blossomed, mothers became rich with milk for their infants and the men were strong once more. Prince Alexander stood looking upon a kingdom of elegance and beauty, bright colors and laughter. Pleased with the spell, he pointed his scepter towards the Sapphire Mountains in the distance.



“From shadows you wake, beings of the mountains, rise up and swear your allegiance to your king.” Alexander’s words were met with a bright crackling of light that illuminated his staff’s orb. The lushes mountain side trembled as the soft dirt broke open and from the depths of the forests came trolls and giants, grey-skinned elves and animals whose inner-consciousness the spell awoke. To the hillsides they marched, lining up by race, facing the Ivory Palace. “Army weakened by the years, I gift you with strength and skill beyond the comprehension of your enemies. Multiply and join my forces in the hillsides.” Alexander said, and so it was.



An army whose number was greater than the eastern and western armies combined stood in attention to their king as he spoke one last command. His voice amplified by his power, everyone within the borders of Dimerre heard their ruler unmistakably.



“Today we reclaim our dignity, our kingdom. My people, my army, we end the reign of hatred and terror upon Dimerre. I give you strength and love, your king, is a gracious ruler who will no longer allow your lives to be tormented by threats of starvation and conquering lands. Rise up citizens of Dimerre as I, King Alexander lay waste to our enemies.”



It is said that upon his short speech, the cheers of the people of Dimerre reached the palaces of Fivail and Enosha.



Dimerre’s armies marched that night and first took the kingdom of Enosha by storm. Alexander, who flew above his army in a black mist, took the lives of hundreds of Enoshian soldiers with a glance. There was no war, for there was no chance that Enosha could withstand the king’s might. There was death and pillaging, a kingdom destroyed. Upon reaching the palace of Enosha, Alexander called his forces to stop as he alone entered the structure known as “Nine Towers”. As he passed by the most elite of the king’s forces, The Black Swordsmen, they either combusted or turned to ash. Their shining suites of black and silver were dust. Five hundred palace guards perished in Alexander’s wake as he made his way to the throne room. The great arched doors that led to the throne room had for centuries protected it with a spell engraved throughout the silver and ruby handles. Alexander saw nothing but vengeance, and the doors as well as the walls holding them, melted in his presence. The throne room, holding the only two beasts with any chance of defending their king, was amassing in terror. Thirteen people coward by the throne as Alexander pointed to the Griffins charging him, and instead of attacking him, they bowed to his power.



“Foolish king.” Alexander moved his staff from left to right, stealing the breath of everyone in the room, but King Victor.



“My family.” Victor said, devastated as even his young children were dead before him.



“You are a shadow of a ruler. For the years of wickedness, for the blood and the tears, and the unrelenting evils of Enosha, I claim your life and your throne.” Alexander held his staff up and as the orb began to flicker with burning red sparks, Victor’s face began to tear along the lines of his face. Each wrinkle, each scar bled out as the once great king screamed in agony. Alexander’s face lightened, the joy he gained from this moment was incomprehensible. For two hours he set aside to torture and kill his enemy, Alexander had never felt such happiness. By the end of the night, as dawn came on, he walked to the balcony of the throne room and held up the skull of the King Victor. His army, who had patiently waited for their master, cheered and clapped.



“Today we celebrate the end of Enosha’s wickedness and the birth of my empire, whose might has until this day been but a dream of kings. I, King Alexander, claim Enosha in the name of Dimerre!” This time, Alexander’s words were harder to hear as he addressed those loyal to him. The screams of the celebration beneath him carried up into the sky, as none had ever seen such a victory take place. Whispering into the orb of his staff, Alexander summoned a mighty wind that cleaned up the ruins of his new kingdom and prepared great tables filled with feasts for his men in the city streets. 

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