PANGERATH

 

Well, below is how I first imagined my book, so take a look and compare to what I have on main page.  I will leave it here so I can judge for myself the differences.

So cool how much has changed

The Prophecy Born?

 

 

(Just a couple of pages while I edit the rest)

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The story of Pangerath actually begins thousands of years ago in Upper Egypt, but that is a different story, for another time.  The story I am to impart upon you takes place thousands of years after the origins of Pangerath and its compelled isolation from the mother land.  It is an inspirational story of how the love of true friends, faced with unimaginable tragedy and overwhelming odds can stand together and persevere through the darkest of times. This…is their story.

     Pangerath, a strange and curious land, hidden in the oceans of the world, unseen by the technologies of modern man, save for the few who unknowingly happen to cross its path. Since the time of the pharaohs forces unknown have preserved the lands, protecting and hiding its secrets from the outside world, while keeping those that live here from leaving its mystical borders.

     Tales and stories of its existence have circulated for millennia.  Some who have caught a glimpse of this mysterious land mistakenly called it the lost continent of Atlantis.  Some who were in its proximity have disappeared, leading to the notions of the Bermuda triangle or the lost lands of Lemuria in the Indian oceans, as well as the submerged continent of Zealandia.

     All can be true of Pangerath. Its beauty rivals Plato’s accounts of Atlantis, its secrets more perplexing than that of the Bermuda triangle. Make no mistake there is only one Pangerath, a magical world within a world.

     The inhabitants of Pangerath believe that their land is the only land, which includes an archipelago of islands that surround and shift with Pangerath. Evolving at a much slower pace than that of modern man, who, at this moment are at the dawn of the twenty first century and living across the great waters to the south. 

     It is Pangeraths dark ages, a time of tested friendships and loyalties.  An age of good and evil, goblins, wizards, witches, Orcs, Ogres, dragons and heroic knights, as well as various other strange and magical creations walk this land.

     Rolling hills with harmoniously flowing green grass lay paths through strong and sturdy oaks as well as giant redwoods.  There hidden within the mighty trees is the magical forest which runs along the south west side of the island all the way up to the north where it vanishes into Lake Tyrn.

     Lake Tyrn, separated by the valley of twin lakes, empties into the grand oceans to its east and west. Ice cold pure drinking waters from Hellwyn Mountains supply Lake Tyrn’s western repository by way of two massive, beautiful waterfalls that free fall into Lake Tyrn’s mouth which rests at the foot of Hellwyn distributing its life giving waters as it drains south into a medley of slow moving streams that run through not only the magical forest but villages and towns throughout the west until finally reaching the southern cliffs of Pangerath where it dives a hundred feet or so into the great ocean.

     Lake Tyrn’s eastern bay, which rests upon a hilltop, also accepts a waterfall from Hellwyn but on a less grandiose scale.  The eastern bay has a small waterfall that drains down into the great Lake Windemere.

     Lake Windemere is the receiver and the giver of life sustaining waters for all of eastern, central, west and southern Pangerath, its spidery network of converging streams, rivers and wetlands runs from its position in the north east to the west where it meets up with its sister and the western slow moving stream. Also flowing southward until it finally flushes into the great ocean off the southern cliff, mirroring its sister in the east. Waters that help supply relief to all of Pangerath, its crops and vegetation, livestock and grasslands as well as all of Pangerath’s marvelous and diverse population.

     The lands from north to south and east to west are divided by three kingdoms each with their respective boundaries proclaimed by flags or banners displaying their crests and mounted on poles at various locations. There is Bubastis in the southern hemisphere with its Golden banners and black falcon with open wings as its emblem, then there is the hub and center for all activities, Tanis in middle Pangerath with its banner of red with a coiled black serpent displaying its fangs. Finally in the north the tranquil Piramesses with its white banner and beautiful blue eye of Horus at its center. Each location has its own tall fortified guard towers that ring out on sight of advancing danger. They are at peace, for now.

     The royalty write the laws by which the villagers residing inside their borders must abide by, garrisons of knights protect these borders and the villages and towns upholding these laws.

     All three monarchs are content to rule their respective lands with little to no war, only minor skirmishes and border disputes that are usually resolved peacefully.  But for how long they can hold onto their land, is about to be challenged after so many years of peace.

     The breath of free air entitled to all is about to be suppressed by the foul stench of submission.

Unopposed; one cruel, immoral and malevolent wizard who revels in the fear he inspires in others, will alone try to bring death and destruction to them all.  

     In the past few years’ rumors abound throughout the villages of Bubastis and Tanis of children going missing with no clues or reason, many believing him the primary suspect.

No longer content to remain isolated in his small area south in the kingdom of Bubastis attacking small villages, stealing children to slavery and fighting for scraps in order to survive.

He has long waited his opportunity, building his beastly armies in the south and hiding then in the deep, manually carved out caves of the underworld.  Now with his vast army fully stocked he feels it is time, time for his rule of Pangerath, to enforce his will, to take what he wants and to not abide by the meanderings of silver-spooned Kings that he deems are not his equal.  The engine of war stands ready, fueled by his obsession.

     His name is Malus.  A maleficent pale looking man with a clean complexion, save for a small but thick scar at the top corner of his left eye, delivered there by the ring of his father when he was only seven years old. Standing six foot or so with shoulder length light brown wavy hair and green, blue sometimes grey eyes all dependent upon his mood.  When mad turning full pure black and wild, absent pupils. Wearing a black leather shirt and pants tucked inside black leather boots, with black leather forearm bands that stretch from the elbow down to cover his knuckles held in place by metal framed finger holes.  A black hooded cloak that nearly touches the ground about his neck, supported by way of red pinned gems below each shoulder, carved in the shape of a serpent.

     His inclination to go to war stems from his upbringing in the deep south of Pangerath and of not to ever again bow to the demands of another, to take what he desires, when he so desires, with no regard of the consequences of his actions.

     Raised by a hard, iron-fisted and disciplined father some forty plus seasons ago, he was taught early on the art of magic’s by his father, who was in-turn taught by his father. His mother having died at his child birth restricted love from his father. Not an onerous young lad, but a censured un-loving upbringing by his dominant father aided in corrupting the innocence of the malleable young boy into his current demeanor and non compliance to another’s rule.  Malus’s only desire as a child was the approval of his father, and he absorbed the abuse at his hand owing it to his own insubordination and death of his mother upon his birth.  At the tender age of seven or so Malus had started to realize his father absence from their home on many a night.  And even though his father afflicted him, he still desired his father’s attentions and yearned for his company, he was all the family he had.

     One chilly night he followed his father on one of his outings, hiding in the nearby woods of the magical forest he spied his father and a woman, a white witch in fact. His heart torn that his father’s love so easily given to another but not him, he ran home teary-eyed to await his father’s return, confronting him when he arrived.  Not one to be questioned least of all by a child, his father flew into a rage once again, this time striking Malus in the face with his right hand, a hand that supported a black and red stoned golden ring, tearing the flesh from the top corner of his left eye. A permanent reminder that to this day remains a scar, and the ring used in this deformity now rests on the hand of the abused a memento that no man shall ever strike him again.

     This was the start of Malus’s unwavering fortitude, to never again back down, never again be abused by another, and most of all his overwhelming hatred of the white witches and what he considered the destruction of the family he so yearned for, but was so freely given to one of them.

     He stands a sorcerer of sorcerers; his knowledge of the arcane arts is unequalled. Many who have tested his power are no longer, as he, like his father, has become the abuser. 

Some, admiring or maybe fearing the rage of this power, stand by his side, serving his lust, among them four elemental harbingers of death, high priests and masters of their respective magical arts.

     A storm of death is brewing in lower Pangerath in a village that rests on the outskirts of King Jyl’s castle in the kingdom of Bubastis. Screams from newly awoken and terrified villagers occupied the silent night as fires erupted throughout the village, sending flames to shower the night sky with smoldering embers floating upwards to dance along the wind, like fire-flies flickering a bright brilliant glow one moment then gone the next, as they are carried higher.

     The alarm bell rung out warning all to abandon their homes for safety, the smoke and smell of burning wooden cottages scented the air as it circulated over and above the castle walls, erecting the soldiers on guard to stand firm and hastily look about. The panic-struck villagers, some barely dressed, scattered. Confused and frightened they ran to the moat that confines the castle, demanding entrance and safety inside.  Others took to running towards the forest in the west or straight north towards Tanis.

     The Kings castle, stood alone in the darkness and cold of night, surrounded by tall stone curtain walls, a deep, wide moat of about 30 feet across ran around the land that encircled the castle keep and temples inside. A drawbridge imbedded between two gatehouses to the south, served as the only entry point inside. It slowly opened, allowing the frightened citizens entry. 

     Massive watch towers on each corner around the castle held archers as did the walkways that connected them, which are being flooded with more archers, bringing more arrows along with them, as well as half asleep, un-armored soldiers who joined the fray atop the walkways. Standing at the embrasures they anxiously looked on to see what brought about the alarm.

     The ramparts were lit by huge black cauldrons of hot oil that sat at each corner at the base of the towers. Oil, that when in need could be poured and lit to stream through the narrow trenches that ran along the intersection between the walkway and battlements, eventually emptying through small holes located every few inches, causing a shower of fire to rain down onto unsuspecting armies below, should they try to breach the high walls.

     Troops scrambled to suit up, mount their horses, or run with sword and shield over the draw bridge to form their respective ranks, with barded horse soldiers at the vanguard, followed by infantry. The first two rows of infantry knelt, brandishing long double edged spears to deter any cavalry charge, followed by armored infantry with sword and shield.  All stood guard at the forefront of the moat that surrounded the castle walls.

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     The royal guard advised the king and his family of the armies forming near their southern gate.  Then escorted them to the royal throne room where they could be better defended behind thick, heavy stone carved doors and the royal guardsmen within, who would willingly relinquish their lives for the safety of the royal family.

     Dark clouds that twisted in the night sky began to slow as if they wished to witness what is to happen below.  They broke slightly, opening to a full moon, a hunter’s moon, lighting the battlefield below and revealing the intruding army of black armored knights mounted on their armor laden warhorses; holding long black serrated lances.

      Behind them stood goblins, goblins… greenish wiry creatures wearing sweat-stenched old putrid and torn clothing. Mischievous runts with a hatred of humans, their mouths opened wide, displaying hundreds of blackened and decayed thorn like teeth. Hunched over, huffing heavily and creating chunky fowl smelling drool. A long bony narrow nose curved downwards to a point just above their upper lip, as well as large pointed ears with black wax at its core, added to their grotesque look. At a height of only 4 feet holding small swords, and or knives, their love of war echoed in there black eyes. 

     Towering above the humans and goblins alike, eight to ten feet tall with protruding tusks on each side of their lower lip, with small pointed ears, and little to no hair, as well as a constant snarl, made their demeanor devilish and unsightly. 

     Standing side by side are the Orc’s, towering above the humans and goblins alike, eight to ten feet tall with protruding tusks on each side of their lower lip, with small pointed ears, and little to no hair, as well as a constant snarl, made their demeanor devilish and unsightly. 

The huge muscle ridden fair skinned orcs, some haven definitely eaten in excess, as displayed by their plump, dumpy bellies and mirrored hanging chins, while others are the complete opposite of their fattened brethren, flaunting hulking muscles of immense proportions.

Battle scars canvas most of their bodies. Most have huge black boils spread out across their backs and chest, no doubt from the polluted wastes they sleep in, in the dank underground.

Thick loin cloths are worn around their waists with spiked leather armor straddled their shoulders, wrists and shins.

Some have taken to hanging skulls and strung together teeth of their victims, flashed across their necks and shoulders, flaunting their prowess in battle.

Devoid of footwear their huge dirty blackened feet and nails support their mammoth body. 

Their weapon of choice that rested on their massive shoulders were large war hammers of thick wooden shafts imbedded in massive stones of varying shapes and sizes.  With a hatred of man and a love of war, they waited, grunting heavily at the fight to come. They are all here because of their desire for war and carnage, or maybe for fear of Malus’s retaliation should they not heed his call. Make no mistake the blood of humans and thrill of victory topped with the spoils of war and lamentations of their enemies, would provide them sufficient compensation.

     Malus installed himself atop a hill in the distance overlooking his army and the poorly defended and outnumbered castle ahead.  With the hood of his cloak drawn, shadowing his face inside for none to see. Rested loosely in the palm of his right hand is the head of a long black crystal staff adorned with an open mouthed silver serpent with ruby eyes and ivory teeth.

     As the two armies remained idle, the heavily pounded hearts of man, horse and beast released warm exhaust into the air that gently misted the battlefield before them. Soldiers held back reins, jostling with their impatient neighing horses upon which they sat. The clang of metal legs banging against each other can be heard coming from both sides. 

King Jyl’s war horses were draped with caparisons of gold and black falcons that covered their flan-chards and croupiers. Segmented plated criniers protected their necks while horned chafrons embellished their heads where only the white of the horses bulging, unnerved eye can be seen, creating an ominous threatening look. The men on horse, strapped in armor of silver, crested with the falcon on their chest, pulled down their visors. Fighting their wanting horses, the mounted warriors held their golden lance in their left hand while the base of the stock is tucked deep between their arm and metal stomach. Attached to their right forearm by leather straps is a small circular metal shield of not much weight, more for deflection then actual defense.  Hanging from their right, their sheathed long swords affixed length-wise to the saddle, the grip and pummel facing the neck of their horse.

Without a word Malus stretched out his left arm high into night sky, gripped hard his black crystal staff beneath his right hand then slammed the staff into the earth, creating a tremendous sound of rolling thunder beneath the surface that rumbled before him. His army below acknowledged then commenced their assault on King Jyl’s castle.

     The king’s ground defenses stood nervous but ready their eyes showed the horror of what may be their last battle, for they have not seen war and are not battle tested, but this is their home and their way of life is being assaulted; so they await the approaching galloping riders as per command.

     The captain tried to ease his men and breathe fire to their nerves by standing high in his saddle and shouting out

     ”Men our time has come to show these unprovoked, un-honorable things before you, that a man defending his home and family, is of an dragon. Hold strong our ethos our spirit and let them hear our roar, and comprehend what they have awoken this day, their last of days. Raaaaaaaaaaaaaaa!, Raaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa!.”

     The whole of men roared hard and angered, along with their captain who dismounted to stand at their center to fight alongside his men.

The captain, seeing the enemy is within archer range dropped his right arm signaling to the towers that house the archers to grab their oil doused arrows. Dipping them into the containers of flame hidden behind the wall at their feet, raising their bows and drawing back their flaming arrows they released, sending a steel toothed shroud of flame through the air, shadowing the moon above, while lighting the ground below.

     Screams of anguish broke the silence, as arms, legs, heads and torso of man, beast and horse are pierced by the burning metal tipped serrated arrows, setting some targets clothing ablaze. A chaotic scene of shrieking creatures engulfed in flames erupted as the un-armored orcs and goblins scurry to rid themselves of the clothes melting to their skin.  Malus gave the command, having them retreat to the safety of distance.

After the flurry of arrows have found their mark, the sound of the enemies’ horse can be heard neighing and breathing heavily, echoing through the air, followed by the intense gallop of heavy mounts that vibrated the ground before them as they sped towards the castle wanting to avoid any arrows that may find them.

     The captain ordered the Bubastis knights on horse to ride forward to meet the opposing cavalry, while commanding foot soldiers to hold their ground and await the outcome before them. Archers ceased their onslaught once the horsemen neared the center of the battlefield as the moons-light became hidden behind a cloud, shrouding their knighted comrades in darkness.

     The armor and chain mail clad soldiers on the front lines pulled down their metal visors, still on one knee, raised their bronze tipped spears under their right arms. In their left forearms they gripped tight a leather strap on the inside of their body length, bronze, rectangular shields. Shields that not only display the crest of Bubastis, but also a protruding metal spike. Side by side the soldiers created a wall of metal spiked shields. Resting the shield on the ground before them they clashed the bottom of their spears to shield creating a thunderous sound of metal on metal as they continued to roar ever –loud, trying to cover their cavalry’s gallop and limited numbers, as well as intimidate their foes.

Bubastis’s knighted horse numbered about one hundred one third that of Malus’s black knights. They tore hard earth beneath their shoed heavy horse as they approached the fast moving black knights. Lowering their lances to mid-level they clashed in a tumultuous sound of lance on lance, lance on metal, all of which shattered to sounds of pain as men were flung from their horse to fall on their metal backs, sparking the ground as they hit.  Un-mounted horses fled the crime scene to run where they may. They may be the only survivors of the ensued onslaught. The remaining felled, horsed knights of Bubastis, equipped themselves with their long swords trying to hold their own, but the lance of the enemy easily found its prey, turning red the silver armor, a bloodbath ensued.

The heavily outnumbered knights succumbed to the superior numbers and superior skills of the black knights, who not only removed man from horse, but trampled the fallen under horse-foot gouging armor to body, crushing visor to face.

Hearing the screams of his men, the captain tightened his jaw, screamed out

     “FOR OUR BROTHERS, FOR OUR HOME….MARCH!”.    

     Hurriedly they marched forward, finally meeting the advancing black knights with Orcs and goblins at their rear, it has begun again.

The lance of the dark knights was easily longer than that of the spear thrusting soldiers, making short work of the valiant foot soldiers. King Jyl’s men are no match for the pure strength and fortitude of this army, the abominations before them have no regard for life so they fear not, nor care not, as they slash and swing there massive weapons at the fear ridden opponents in front of them, at times even killing their allies in the process . Screams of agonizing death shattered the once peaceful lands, as soldiers and knights, fell helplessly to Malus’s army

The foul smell of blood mixed with sweat and dirt from horse and troops could be tasted through their panting mouths. The land before them, once pure and green is now blanketed with corpses. Feet soaked with the blood of the fallen march onward to death or glory which ever may come first. 

The whole of the dark knight’s horse is drenched and dripping with the blood of the dyeing and dead, flung up upon their gallop, even their chins drip as a beard drenched red.  

Orc's rip arms from torso, goblins slice and bite off pieces of the opponents exposed flesh, veiling their faces in mans blood, of which they voraciously lick clean.

 

With not even a thought of the fallen friend or foe in front of them, Malus’s army they stepped on or over the bodies as they advanced towards the castle, followed closely behind by Malus and his four powerful harbingers.

 

The harbingers stand about seven foot. Wizards with tattoos of the elements they represent covered their bald heads, as well as other cryptic, hieroglyphic symbols marking every inch of their bodies.

Wearing colored leather clothing from neck to bottom, their only armor, for they require mobility rather than heavy armor, relying on their magic’s for protection as well as attack.  Peto the water high priest wore white hooded leather. Sakkara the fire priest wore red leather, Setna the air priest in blue and Herihor the earth priest, dark brown.

Each wielding colored wooden staffs that support small animated crystal balls of their respective discipline. 

 

After the captain and his men are butchered the advancing army is commanded to stop. Water bearers extinguish the dry mouthed and panting, over-fought beasts of Malus’ horde. Only the whites of eyes were seen beneath the painted in blood skin of orc and goblin alike.

 

As the troops replenished the harbingers advanced forward and began their own assault. Summoning their magic’s, words mumbled beneath their breath, their staffs held straight out, trained on the archers high above, atop the castle walls enveloping the unsuspecting archers to death by flame and ice.

Setna the wind harbinger spoke, summoning a powerful wind that transformed the dark clouds above into a large forceful hand, grasping the archer’s from their stone walkways, violently slamming them to their deaths below, or crushing them into the solid stone castle, of which they stood to protect.  

 

After only an hour or so of magical fighting, Malus and his army stood victorious at the oak drawbridge. Only puzzles of men remain as flesh and blood fall and hang from the stone walls. Where once stood man on ramparts now limbs are hung, convulsing and twisted, ripped from their bodies by the harbingers.

 

The night still young, yet tainted with the sounds of the fallen, deafening and desolate moans of anguish reflected the slaughter they were submitted to as goblin and orc take their pleasure on the defeated souls that beg for instant death, denied, only to be tortured evermore.

 

Malus pointed his black staff at the drawbridge then yelled out “Incendia,” an enormous ball of flame gathered in front of his staff then darted towards the castle gate, incinerating the wooden obstacle. Smoke and flame ridden splinters of debris is all that remained, where once a sturdy drawbridge resided.

 

Herihor the earth harbinger lowered his staff to touch the ground before him “Pontis” he shouted The ground rumbled beneath and in front of his feet then rose to produce a land bridge from where they stood, over the moat into the castle grounds past the once held drawbridge, to the innards of the helpless castle and their sure-to-be victory inside.  It is all but over now. Malus’s army entered the walls killing the remaining, unarmed residents without prejudice. Young and old, man, woman and child alike, he had no regard for life, only his twisted, un-quenched, nefarious desire to control and create pandemonium, and to see the resolve of his army in action.

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Onto the royal palace they marched.  The sound of metal bending and buckling echoed as the massive doors to the great keep were flung open by a simple wave of Malus’s staff.

The royal guards of twenty of so were quickly dealt with by fire that melted their armor to their screaming flesh as wind that drew inward crushed metal and the bones within. Ice magic froze men to their place as the earth harbinger cracked ceiling to fell debris, smashing the newly formed ice statues beneath it weight..

The vast room, surrounded with large, tall, tainted windows showcased great unconfirmed battles of knight and horse, portraying in a false light, a heroic king.  

Swinging at the center of the room was a large golden chandelier of lit candles that sent shadows dancing throughout the room.

Beautiful floors of marble painted with the landscape of the lands spanned the large room. A once pristine floor now assaulted with the blood of the royal guard, mixed with the mud of Malus and his harbingers.

 

Two huge white columns at the rear of the room opened to two thrones, the larger of which is gold while the other smaller is of silver, both adorned with falcons atop its back. They rest on a platform of red carpet atop ten stairs. The thrones where King Jyl and his wife ruled so proudly are now all that stands between the king, his family and Malus.

The gentle altruistic and just king of twilight years, his wife and two sons the tender age of not more than ten all only clothed in their sleep-wear long roped closed robes, trembled at the rear of the thrones, huddled together in fear they await Malus’s judgment.

Fearful but needing to defend his family as well as his honor, King Jyl's trembled hand on sword pointed at Malus “Why Malus? WHY?” the kind demanded. “What have we ever done to deserve such effrontery?” he screamed again at the marching forward, cocky and confident Malus.

Slamming staff to marbled floor Malus responded with such vigor”You and your kind sit upon your throne so high and mighty not knowing or caring for the people below your high seat.  My Father”  “Your father was mad!” the king interrupted.

“MY! Father was not given a throne or the luxuries that come with such an un-earned position.  He tried…as I now do… placing you in judgment, in contempt for your blood line and its auspicious upbringing,” Snarled Malus.  “Why should you remain in rule and I squander in dirt? When it is I who is the stronger and more worthy ruler, where my father failed I will surely succeed, as you can now, clearly see.”

King Jyl stood forward placed his family at his back as his sword drew straight. “I did not ask to rule, it was my birthright given to me by my father who earned it as his father before him earned it. I have taken nothing from you?”  screamed the angered king.

“You! Have not earned it and now this…BIRTHRIGHT! Ends here, ends now, as does your bloodline.” asserted Malus.

The king looked back at his terrified wife and children “Take me, but I beg, spare my family and all shall be yours Malus” Begged the kneed king.

With a sinister, arrogant laugh “All is mine, once feign king," bellowed Malus.  With a burned rage in his eyes, with no recourse the king lunged forward to strike just as Malus tilted his head back then abruptly forward, commanding as he stared intensely at the king “Frendo” the king is halted as he and his family are risen up by an unseen force. Their air and animation is being stolen from them while they are suspended, the air surrounding the family seems to withdraw in-on-itself crushing each of the family within its unseen grasp. Their very breath, their essence is being drained out of them, taken with each gasped labored and tried breath. They’re inward unheard screams stopped only when the once proud family fell bereft of air and deboned on the red carpet. Where once there was life now only masks of skin remained, no skeleton only the vessel which housed it, where once there were eyes now only black apertures abided. The castle and surrounding lands once ruled by a just and peaceful man are now in the hands of his opposite… Malus.  

 

Turning to the harbingers with a look of arrogance twisted upon his face, Malus commanded “Leave no stone unturned, no lives shall be spared save for what woman or children remain, send them to Seta, let this be a testament to my power,  my resolve, and a warning to all who have thoughts to oppose me. No pretended king shall rule of me and their judgment shall to come to pass.”

He turned and walked away with his head held confidently and imperiously high, his staff held in his right hand matching each step of his right foot and hit the floor with authority he continued  “Destroy it all,” my fortress shall replace this pathetic castle.”  Then he looked back at the corpses “Leave the bones as they lay, we will build upon their flesh.”

The harbingers bowed as he walked by ‘It shall be done my lord’.