The blazing sun settled in the far west, as hope itself followed behind.

Dusk approached quickly, and fear consumed every human's mind, as they watched

the horizons both east and west.  They knew, for that night "Death" herself

was walking among the plains.  Men, as well as those that had families, took

arms and prepared for combat.  Families hid in closets, praying nothing would

happen to their founders.

        Dark clouds filtered the air, as the air lowered until hairs could be frozen.

Now with heavy cloaks for warmth and fires burning within their town, they

wished that this never had been.        A man named Trelen, who was a Necromancer,

threatened the towns very existence.  When they fell, he would raise their

corpses, and do whatever he chose. 

        He wore a heavy robe, which matched the night sky perfectly, that it was too

challenging to see him when night draped over.  His eye's pupils were just

like a cat's, and his voice rang out in terror, shaking the ground (he only

did this when he wanted to be dreaded).

        Again the guardsmen watched the scene, still fearing, and hoping all would

change, but their hopes were nothing.  They tightened their grips on their

spears, holding for their life, if it could help.

        A heavy fog swept across the town, hiding their homes.  Still being there,

the men could not see them.

        A bright light flickered throughout the mist.  Warning them, they quickly

readied themselves.  After a moment that one light grew to be another, then

another, and another.

        "They come!" yelled one guardsman before he was taken by a dead wyvern, and

ripped him to shreds a certain distance away.

        A legion of zombies entered view, which were followed by a swarm of Death

Knight's.  Marching, the Death Knight's held their bitter swords in their

hands.  Even their eyes were on fire, burning with the sensation of the

passing soul.

        Stepping back a few feet, the so called warriors drifted back inside their

town, closing the gate.

        Secured, they were relieved, and thought if it were victory, or not.  It

wasn't.

        One of the Death Knights clutched the gate tightly, and the iron bars froze,

and with a single push, it broke.

        The knight was a woman, which was unusual to Death knights, since all of them

were usually males.  Her hair shone just like the absent moon's light, and her

eyes burned even brighter than the others.

        She laughed, a foreboding laugh, and pulled her sword out from her scabbard.

The Death Knights, as well the dead, trailed behind her as she entered.

        Since this knight and her minions, had an advantage (even so at the

beginning).  They fell back, holding their weapons even higher.

        At long last the fog dissipated, and the wooden homes now unfolded, but being

as they were, they had collapsed on themselves.

        Angered because they had nothing any longer.  The men charged, holding onto

their anger as if it were their only weapon.  Most ran, leaving the town to

find other matters to attend to.

        The ones that did fight, yelled and screamed, piercing the Death Knights'

armor, but with little damage.

        The chill touches of the dead, formed their weapons as ice.  Their weapons

couldn't support its own wait, and so it shattered.

        Now dead, the Death Knights searched about the town, looking for anything

that was still alive.  No one survived.

        Another figure, who was dressed in a black robe, rode on the back of a black

horse.  He held a staff, which illuminated a dim light at the top of it. 

        Stepping off from his horse, the figure waved his staff across the dead

bodies.  The staff glowed ever brighter, and the once fallen men stood on

their feet.

                                                ....Not the end.....

created by Robert Fuhriman(Lethium@aol.com)