Chapter I
Fire leapt into the night sky, licking and protruding towards the stars. The City of Nomads, Khazaj-i-Turgah, burning like a small beacon within the dark valley. Khazaj-i-Turgah with its once green hanging gardens surrounded by palm trees encompassing majestic palaces built of leather and strung up by rope, now was slowly crumbling to ash. Once beautiful gardens surrounded by thousands upon thousands of tents now burned as a dark horde of marauders, foreign in appearance, clad in black armour and chain mail, poured into its tiny cobble-stone streets, killing and murdering those Samibians that chose to stay and hold off the enemy. It was a true bloodbath. The Samibians stood not a chance against these soldiers, for the steppe people, infamous for there horse-riding and archery, were not accustomed to this kind of warfare.
On a small cliff above the valley stood a child, his cloth tunic stained with mud and dirt, his helmet, obviously too big for his small head, was cracked and torn. This child, his name being Teherah-i-Avakar, was not the only one on this cliff-top. Around him sat thousands of his people, in a similar state of terror and worry at what was befalling their city below. Next to Teherah stood his father Turmurkhad-i-Avakar, Grand Turgan of the Samib, the Federation of the Tribes. Tumurkhad put his hand on his distressed child’s shoulder, as he himself held back his tears. But the Turgan of the tribe must never show weakness, but only strength in times even as dark as these.
The Simab, the Federation of Samibians, once numbered 500,000. Eight tribes unified under a single despot, the Turgan, with each tribe represented by their own chief on the council of Chaganatai. For six generations the Samib Federation had been ruled by the Avakars ever since the Wars of Unification. But now all seemed lost as the survivors stood upon the cliff overlooking the Valley they had, for as long as they could remember, called home.
The City of the Nomads was no more, the Samib was defeated. Each tribe huddled together in the cold, terrified and tired. They were the survivors. The ones who lived. Screams of agony and bloodlust echoed out of the valley as the Mursurgh plundered and murdered their way through the golden city of tents.
On the headland, women and children cried as they watched their livelihood, their lives destroyed by these barbarians from the East.
These barbarians, the Musurgh, had first appeared on the steppe only months before marching and plundering their way along the eastern fringes of the Samib Steppes. As dark as the night sky, these men, stronger than the Samibians and lighter in complextion had massed in the lands of the Urghuz Tribe and continued to spread across the entire steppe until they reached the Valley. A three day battle ensued at the mouth of the depression. Hundreds died. In a desperate last effort Turgan Tumurkhad ordered all women, children and noblemen to leave the valley and abandon the condemned city. All who could easily run made for the stone stairs embedded into the cliff-face that ran the length of the enclosed valley. Now the Federation was nothing but a nation of refugees. Turgan Tumurkhad hoped with all his heart that the Mursurgh would believe that the tribe had splintered and broken.
The tribe sat for hours like silent statues perched upon the small patch of bush traversing over the cliff. Teherah had not moved and continued sit overlooking the village as one by one the different districts of the city lit up with fire and the smell of burnt cloth and wood wafted up into the sky. His blue eyes did not move away from the scene unfolding below for one moment. They seemed to glow in the darkness. One could always tell when a Samibian was from the Avakar tribe. Since the time of migrations the Avakars had had blue eyes, having traced descent to the Far West beyond the steppe. Each tribe of the Federation had their own traits. The Urghuz had their dark hair and finely shaped eyes which they darkened with paint, the Elai were shorter and wore cloaks rather than tunics and had large parts of their hair shaved in odd fashions, the Khatans banded their childrens heads on birth to give them a flat almost ramp-like forehead and so forth. All Eight tribes had their own traditions and homelands within the Samib Federation. Now in the space of a few weeks these ancient customs and traditions had been wiped away by the Musurgh. Why they had come, none knew. In all honesty, the Steppes of the Samibians was not a place of value, nor was it known for its beauty, as it was a mountainous land divided between frozen plateaus and barren wastelands. The Elai had been predicting a change in the patterns of lore for years, yet none listened and hundreds of the Elai traveled west across Great Mountains, the Tarrak-sur-Nui, for the Elai were a prophetic folk that believed in the following of lore predicted in the wind patterns.
Six hours passed as the City of Nomads descended into flame and ash. The Hanging Gardens were burnt, the Tower of Mazshai was toppled and the Grand Tent of the Turgan was burnt. The city was burnt to the ground and the Mursurgh continued on out of the valley singing dark songs in foreign tongues.
Once day broke, Turmurkhad stood from his position overlooking the city and trekked over to Kazarik-i-Urghuz, Chief of the Urghaz, whose survivors continued to watch from the eastern ridge of the valley.
“Chief Kazarik, have you encountered any survivors trying to get up the slope?” inquired Tumurkhad, his voice cracked and weary.
“None my Turgan, just as I said, we should of stayed and fought the invaders, not retreated into the highland. Even the Urghuz women would of fought at the frontline!” said Kazarik in a venoumous tongue.
“You must see it, as it is Kazarik, there is no chance that we would of survived. If we had not lead the nobles, women and children out we would all be slaves for Urugog and Mursurgh” Turmurkhad continued.
With that Kazarik turned his eyes back to the burnt city below cursing under his breath.
“It was a worthy sacrifice, you will soon see it. I have decided for the time being that we move the tribe to the Olbian River from their I will call a council of Samib and we shall discuss our next course of action” ordered Tumurkhad.
“And how do we get to the Oblia before the Mursurgh?”
“It is Mursurgh custom to take a day of rest after a successful sacking, also I am preparing a raiding party to go down and salvage for carts and horses from the wreckage” replied Tumurkhad.
Kazarik grunted unsatisfied with the Turgan’s choice and Tumurkhad departed and continued to traverse the ridges above the valley, giving orders to all the tribes taking shelter. The Samib was on the move.
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Hey guys you seem like a really great forum for younger writers like myself. This the first story I am going to post here. Generally there is alot of underlying elements and organizations that will be explained later on such as Samib (The Federation of the 8 Tribes), the points of authority between the Turgan (Chieftain of the Federation) and each Chief (Leaders of the actual tribes) will be explained further on particularly in the next few chapter. Be tough I want this to be absolutely perfect
. Also the "Books" setup that I am using doesn't mean separate novels. It is more-or-less in the same sense as each "book" in the Lord of the Rings if you have read. It is actually going to be one novel 
