First Part of "The Mystique Amulet Society"

Only the rough draft, but I still wanted to submit this for others to see.  More coming soon!

I have now edited it, completely forget what you have seen before this.

                       A smell of burning wood filled the air, but this was no campfire.  Houses and shacks burned, or at least what was left of them burned.  The crisp, black flakes of house shingles and broken doorways wafted around, so gently and gracefully.

                        Something horrible had happened.  Anyone could see this.  What was once a multitude of villages had been reduced to a few huts whose roofs had caved in, windows broken, doors busted, and the screams of normal people still echoing all around.

A goblin runs past a smoldering pile of rubble.  He pauses, looking up into the sky.  It was full of smoke and ash, the sun barely penetrating the un-natural dark clouds.  Even with the sun blotted out, the hidden sky could be seen where the clouds stopped.  Off in the distance, a blood red sky caused the goblin to rejoice.  He makes a low, excited snarl, and continues his trek towards the only standing building left:  a tall, foreboding tower.

The goblin picks up pace, running even faster when out of nowhere an old man jumps with surprising agility and speed, thrusting his long sword blade into the gut of the hideous creature.  He slides his sword back into its scabbard slowly, as if he had all the time in the world.  If only he did.

The old man was once the greatest Lord known to man and beast alike.  He had once been ruler of a grand city, which was now gone, burning under his feet.  He wore a dark purple robe, which covered most of his body.  His red cape was once a magnificent white, now stained with the blood of his enemies.  The Lord walked gracefully towards a building, made of stone and not wood, unlike the others.  It had once stood as a building of great hope and joy, but sometimes it would also deliver the bad news.

The Lord climbed a short set of stairs, gazing upon all of the beds that once held all of the old and the sick, remembering that his mother and father had both once lain in one of these beds.  He then climbed a latter leading onto the roof, half of it collapsed, as it had been made of wood.

The Lord stood on the remaining roof.  He smiled a sad smile, looking at his burning kingdom.  The purple robing and cape lightly fluttered in the breeze for the last time.  Then, turning around, he finds a tall, dark man watching him.

            “Kill me if you must,” began the Lord, “but you are too late.  My servant has escaped with my son.”

            “Your son is being dealt with at this very moment.  He will not live to see another day, and neither will you.”

            The tall, dark man draws a sword of which could be described as merely a shadow, and yet its presence, combined with the mans, seemed to amplify the very meaning of evil and menacing.

            As the man raised his sword above his head to strike, the Lord drew his silver sword, blocking the man’s sword has he brings down above his head.  The true fight began as they would strike, the other always there to block it.  The fight could have gone on for days until the man stumbled on a piece of rubble, causing him to drop his sword in order to regain balance.

            “You have beaten me in a sword fight for the last time!” cried the man, raising his hands over his head.  A pure shadow is drawn from within the man himself, collecting around his hands.  The man thrusts his arms forward, throwing the shadow at the king.  The king flies backwards, barely managing to grab hold of the edge of the roof.

            “Goodbye, once almighty powerful Lord of the North,” whispers the man as he stomps hard onto the roof.  It gives way, embers flying into the air.  The man simply steps back as that section of the roof crumbles.  The Lord falls into the fire, saying not a word.  The man smiles menacingly, then turns and walks away.  The black cloak of which he wears wavers behind him as he walks, as if though hesitant to be attached to someone so horrible.

            And so the rain of the King of Shadows begins.