The Kingdom of Liticea: The War in the Westland

Prologue

Snow fell heavily the previous night. A blanket of close to a foot lay covered the forest floor. Though deep, it was paltry compared to what the coming weeks had in store. The tiny cottage in the woods was one of the few shelters left undiscovered from the Morcar Horde. When they took the nearby town of Sarabath, they occupied many of the homes and businesses and turned them into into their living quarters. Only a few small cabins in the area remain unmolested. On the outside, the cottage may appear warm and homely to the naked eye, especially in this dreary scene of winter. But inside, it is a prison and a living hell for the poor young tavern girl Ayla.

She was spared the brunt of the Morcar's fury, when they first attacked. Her home and family were lost, but she survived. To the surprise of the survivors of Sarabath, after the initial carnage, the Morcars did not round up all the townsfolk and massacre them as they feared they would. They enforced martial law on the town, and forced many of its citizens to work for them for next to nothing, but the baths of blood and the mass murders and rapes did not happen, at least not on the scale as when they first arrived. There was a even a makeshift hospital for the wounded and sick to go and receive treatment. The Morcars were brutal conquerors, but the rule they enforced was not so much different then that of Horith Ryden.

For the next two months, the town served as a stopping point for the tens of thousands of Morcars pouring in from the west. In that time, Ayla was forced to work as a server and a washer. She was groped and hooted at, but none of the Morcar soldiers fully forced themselves on her. By keeping a low profile and doing her work to the satisfaction of her new Morcar masters, she survived without enduring much harm.

Now she was what she feared she would be when the horde emerged from the west. She was a slave of the worst variety. Forced to endure abuse day and night. It was however, not any Morcar that kept her as such.

It was a few weeks ago when she was washing dishes after an evening's meal when shouting was heard all over the camp. Men were emerging from the trees and slaughtering her Morcar captors. She did not run. Paralyzed from the shock and terror of the ordeal, she remained motionless until one the attacker caught sight of her and dragged her off.

At first she believed that these men were her way to freedom, but what she believed to be her salvation turned into her nightmare. These were not her countrymen, these were the worst of the scum from the east, the Bastard Brigade. They were everything she feared the Morcars would be.

When the Morcars counter-attacked, the Brigade disintegrated, but four men, those who raped her the most dragged her away and kept her until they found this cabin deep in the forest. They decided to hold up there for the winter and keep her to satisfy their animalistic urges.

At first, she screamed and fought, but that seemed to only encouraged them. Now she stayed silent and just thought of a boy she knew when she was younger. Maybe she would she him again.

Right now, she was in the cold, dark back room of the cabin. Her captors were enjoying a hot meal by the fire. A deer they killed likely. when they finished they would come for her. She studied their habits. Sure enough, after the sound of dishes dropping into a washing bucket, heavy footsteps came towards the backroom door and it opened. Trapped in the dark all day, the candlelight hurt her eyes for a brief moment before she saw the familiar face of her abuser. It was Brody. She learned from listening in on their conversations. He was a heavy-set man with a fur vest. His face was jeering and cruel and his eyes were full of sadistic lust.

"You gonna start screaming again?" he said as he untied his breeches.

"Just get it over with," she said turning away from him and bracing herself.

"You used to be so much fun," he said as he positioned himself behind her, "So full of fight, it was like trying to fuck a bucking horse."

She remained silent.

"But I suppose me and the boys need something to keep us warm this winter."

Before he could begin, there was a terrible sound. A high-pitched screech that seemed to be emanating from the walls themselves. It scared Ayla such that she clenched her fingers so quickly that her nails left deep marks on the wooden box she leaned on. The light behind the shut door went out, and the room went dark, save for the small candle Brody carried with him.

"What happened?" Brody cried, pulling a knife from his belt. There was no sound, except the soft hum of the wind.

"Losinger? Pitch? Answer me!"

Still only silence. Ayla crawled as far away from the door as possible, letting whatever was in the cabin take Brody and hopefully sparing her.

Brody held the knife and the candle in one hand, and reached for the door knob with the the other. It was trembling so hard that the tapping sound of his fingers against the knob sounded like a little song. It made a wrenched creaking sound, finally breaking the silence. 

"Losinger? Los... oh, God!" was the last thing Ayla heard him say before he fell to the ground. His mouth uttered a gargling sound before it went quiet. The candle went out and it was dark again. Ayla prayed that whatever took them would leave her be, but another sound appeared that dashed all hope. Footsteps were in the cabin. Though she could not see, she knew that they were just outside the door to the backroom, and she could tell when it stepped over Brody's body and entered the door. 

Ayla knew that it was coming for her. The steps, like a slow heartbeat got louder and louder, until it stopped and Ayla knew it was looking down at her.

 Before, Ayla might have screamed, but she had no voice left. She just closed her eyes, and hoped that whatever death she had to endure would be swift. 

But then there was a glimmer of light. Ayla opened her eyes and saw a tiny flame, not much bigger that a candle, sitting in what looked a like the palm of a hand. the flame grew and she saw the face of the phantom in the dark. It was the face of a beautiful woman, with long dark hair covered by a thin hood and mystical eyes that shown with ferocity yet kindness. 

"Don't be afraid," she said, as she held out her hand to Ayla.