Councilwoman Kalia stood tall at the edge of the tower, the wind tousling her dark hair as she surveyed the city. What remained of Tygoth was a ghost of its former glory. The streets were barren, save for the occasional hurried citizen scavenging through the rubble, and the once-great buildings now sat in crumbled ruin. With a furrowed brow, she turned her gaze toward the rows of cages lining the wall, each holding a restless messenger bird, feathers sleek and black as night.
She had overseen this plan from the start. With the Council's focus on repairing the city and helping the people, Kalia had proposed sending pleas for aid to neighboring towns and villages, hoping for supplies, reinforcements, and anything that could help Tygoth rise from its ashes.
"Are the birds ready?" she asked one of the messengers.
"Yes, Councilwoman," the messenger replied, holding a small scroll tied with a thin piece of twine. The message had been carefully written, each word a desperate plea to their neighbors.
"To the leaders of the neighboring towns and villages,
Tygoth has fallen victim to an unthinkable attack by the pillagers from Zaxn. Our walls are shattered, our homes destroyed, and our people displaced. We humbly ask for your assistance in our time of need. Supplies, skilled workers, and any form of aid you can provide would be greatly appreciated. Together, we can rebuild what has been lost and stand strong once again.
We await your kind response.
With gratitude,
The Tygothian Council.""Send them now," Kalia ordered, and with a series of whistles, the birds took flight, their wings slicing through the air as they headed toward the horizon.
She watched them disappear, a heavy weight settling in her chest. The city could not survive on hope alone. They needed real help. And soon.
---
Meanwhile, down in one of the temporary camps set up for the displaced townspeople, a group of survivors huddled together near a small, crackling fire. The flames flickered weakly, offering little warmth in the cold night. Among them was a man named Hargis, his clothes tattered and his face marked by grime and soot. His once-proud demeanor had long faded, replaced by anger and bitterness. He stared into the fire with cold, determined eyes as the others muttered quietly about their future.
"Everything's gone," one of the survivors whispered, his voice trembling. "Our homes, our families... what's left for us now?"
Another nodded, her hands clasped together. "The Council's trying their best, I heard. They're sending out messages for help. Maybe they'll manage to rebuild."
Hargis scoffed, his voice low but filled with venom. "The Council," he spat, shaking his head. "They should've been prepared. This isn't something that just happens overnight. They failed us. All of them. Kalia, Darith, Soren-they're all the same. Too concerned with politics to see the storm coming."
The group fell silent, eyes turning toward him. Some nodded slowly, as if agreeing with his words but too afraid to say anything. Others looked away, uncomfortable with his anger.
"They're trying, Hargis," a woman said softly, her voice uncertain. "They're trying to make things right."
"Trying isn't enough," Hargis shot back, standing abruptly. "They let our city burn. They let our homes crumble. And now we're supposed to trust them to fix everything? No. It's time we take things into our own hands."
There was a murmur of confusion as Hargis clenched his fists, his face a mask of determination. "The Council needs to go," he said, his voice hard as stone. "They've had their chance, and they failed. It's time for a new order-one where the people, the real people of Tygoth, make the decisions. Not these bureaucrats who sit behind their walls, pretending to care."
"But what can we do?" someone asked, hesitant.
"We fight back," Hargis replied, his eyes burning with resolve. "We create something stronger than the Council-something that represents us. A clan. A force that can challenge their authority and take control of Tygoth's future. Anyone who's tired of waiting for scraps, of being ignored, should join me."
The group exchanged uneasy glances, but Hargis's words stirred something within them. A few nodded, some more eager than others. One by one, they stood up, moving closer to him.
"And what do we call ourselves?" asked a younger man, his face full of uncertainty, but his spirit now aligned with Hargis.
Hargis smiled grimly, the firelight casting shadows across his face. "We'll call ourselves the Iron Fangs. And we'll show the Council just how strong the people of Tygoth can be."
YOU ARE READING
The Story of Tygoth
FantasyIn a world where magic weaves through every corner, the city of Tygoth stands as a symbol of resilience. But when an army of pillagers from the East shatters its defenses, the city's people are thrust into chaos. War, betrayal, and the relentless ma...