A Medieval Fantasy

Prologue: 7067 A.D

Prologue: 7067 A.D

The battle raged on. The Stormcloaks were showing no mercy to the city of Azgoth, or any of it's inhabitants. Lord Pierto commanded the Stormcloaks forward, even though all of Azgoths army, the Bloodcloaks, were retreating. By now, the peaceful city of Azgoth was in ruins, houses were going up in flames, the rivers were both filled with local blood, and their once powerful king, lay face down on the ground, a rapier through his back, piercing his chest, until his heart pumped no more blood. "Don't stop until there are no survivors!". Lord Piertos army,  consisting of Wizards, aswell as elves and humans, had destroyed Azgoth, in an attack directed at their king. The king spoke many bad things about Lord Pierto, saying he was a coward, and didn't know how to look after Delucia. The final few members of the bloodcloak army were killed. Not a  single warrior or citizen spared. Lord Pierto let out a loud triumphant laugh. The Stormcloaks walked the 16 miles back to their home of Delucia and celbrated with pint after pint of ale. But what they didn't know, is that they didn't kill everyone in Azgoth. They didn't leave no survivors. Prince Favian reached up, out of the rubble. He looked around, seeing hundreds, if not thousends of dead bodies. Then, when he saw his father, laying dead with a rapier through his back, Prince Favian grew a crooked smile. He had a plan, a plan  for revenge, but what quite was that plan?