Sacking of sliver Skalitz

Silver skalitz 1403

The sky above Skalitz had been an ominous gray all morning, the clouds thick with the weight of an impending storm. Yet, no one in the village could have anticipated the true nature of the storm that was coming. Skalitz, a prosperous silver mining town nestled deep in the Bohemian hills, had long been a jewel of the kingdom. Its wealth attracted traders from far and wide, but it also garnered the attention of darker forces. The village, though well-fortified, could not have prepared for the brutality that was about to befall it.

The first sign of trouble came with the distant thrum of hooves. At first, the villagers paid little heed, assuming it was a group of traders or noblemen passing through. But as the sound grew louder, accompanied by the jarring clank of armor and the low hum of voices, panic began to ripple through the town. The gates of Skalitz, usually a symbol of protection, now seemed feeble against the oncoming threat.

A lone scout rode into town, his horse lathered in sweat and his face as pale as death itself. "They're coming!" he gasped, barely able to catch his breath. "Sigismund's army... they've come for the silver!" The words sent a shockwave through the town. Men scrambled to gather their families and weapons, while women and children rushed to seek shelter. The town bell rang out, warning everyone to brace for what was to come. But there was little time. Within minutes, the enemy was upon them.

Sigismund of Luxembourg, the ruthless king of Hungary, led the charge himself. His army, a brutal mix of mercenaries, Cuman warriors, and hardened soldiers, descended on Skalitz like a plague. They came not just for the silver but to make an example of the town. Fire and steel rained down upon the villagers, and soon the town that once glistened with wealth was being consumed by flames. The miners, used to digging deep into the earth, now found themselves digging graves for their loved ones.

Henry, the son of Skalitz's blacksmith, had never known war before this day. He had spent his life learning the craft of forging swords, but he had never imagined he would wield one in battle. His father had thrust a blade into his hand just before the gates were breached. "Stay alive, boy," his father had said, his voice firm but filled with fear. Now, Henry stood amidst the chaos, swinging wildly at the attackers, his mind clouded with desperation and terror.

Despite the villagers' valiant efforts, the town was quickly overrun. The Cumans, clad in their fearsome armor and bearing their distinctive curved swords, cut through the defenders with ruthless efficiency. Screams echoed through the burning streets as homes were torched and villagers were slaughtered. The air was thick with the stench of blood and smoke, and the cries of the dying filled the air. Skalitz, once vibrant and full of life, was being reduced to ashes.

Among the chaos, Henry found himself separated from his father and surrounded by enemies. His breath came in ragged gasps as he parried blow after blow. Just as he thought all was lost, a group of villagers surged forward, distracting the attackers long enough for Henry to flee. He ran through the burning streets, his heart pounding in his chest. Every corner he turned revealed another horror—friends and neighbors dead or dying, their lifeless bodies sprawled across the cobblestones.

Henry's escape led him to the outskirts of Skalitz, where the forest offered some semblance of refuge. He collapsed beneath the cover of the trees, his body shaking with exhaustion and grief. From his hiding place, he watched as Sigismund's army looted the town, carrying off whatever silver and treasures they could find. The fire raged on through the night, and by dawn, Skalitz was nothing more than smoldering ruins.

In the aftermath, Henry wandered back to what remained of his home. The blacksmith's forge, once a symbol of his family's pride and livelihood, was a charred husk. His father was nowhere to be found, likely among the many dead. Despair gripped Henry as he knelt amidst the rubble, but something else stirred within him too—rage. Sigismund had taken everything from him. His home, his family, and his future were all gone, but the desire for vengeance burned brightly in his chest.

As Henry left Skalitz behind, the once proud town now a graveyard, he swore an oath to himself. He would not rest until he had avenged the sacking of Silver Skalitz. The silver may have been stolen, and the town may have fallen, but Henry's spirit remained unbroken. His path was now clear—he would forge a new destiny, one shaped by steel and fire.