📘 BLURB
Is it possible...to create a world where people will live forever? A world where you and I no longer fear death?
Zenvix Nighvicto, prince to the fallen nation of conquerors, knows the answer.
Beset by the loss of his homeland, he set...
THE BATTLE OF NOX RECOUNTED BY FRARTH, A TRAVELLING BARD
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Soaking in the blood-red sun, Prince Nighvicto and his small band of retainers veered near to the northern side of the besieged castle, trapped in a long-drawn battle. Burning projectiles left trails of blood and fire. Spears and arrows littered the place, strewn with corpses.
There lies Nox, our home, so Prince Nighvicto said to his men. In their hearts, they knew the odds of confronting the army of Bliaton; odds that dwarfed the defenders three to one. Yet they galloped towards the aggressors, the cantering of hooves echoed like the sound of war drums in the distance.
Their vigor was reflected within that very banner which flew high and victorious atop a soldier's sculpted frame as they rode downhill, picking up speed.
But was that enough?
The Prince looked up at the banner to size up courage. Emblazoned across it was the undying sigil. Cusped between an intersection of twin swords was a full moon, contrasted starkly against a background of pure onyx.
The Nighvictorian warriors, for nigh eternal worshipped the moon, which they called the kush'tar spirit. It was said that the spirit was the smallest star in the night sky. It was never noticed, never admired, never respected. Frail in size it might be, but weak in resolve it was not. What was once the most inglorious thing absorbed, nay, devoured its neighbouring stars and grew mightier with every victory, every assimilation, every conquest. As the eons passed, it finally took the prominent throne of the heavens, asserting its proud dominance in the night sky as what common folks would eventually call the moon. Despite the birth of further stars to come, none could match the kush'tar spirit in its tenacity and hunger for sovereignty; and they stand, tiny and insignificant, in its eternal presence.
That was the Nighvictorian belief, an ancient legend passed down proudly from generation to generation of their lineage; that by extension, they were the descendants of the kush'tar spirit - the conqueror of conquerors.
The spirit lives in every single one of you, the King of Nox had said.
The Prince believed. It had served him well in his past ordeals.
And it would serve him well this time. The Prince held to that thought...desperately.
Grasping the reins of his stallion tighter, he charged out across the verdant plains and into the now-ruined outer settlement of Nox with his most trusted lady-retainer seated behind him. Behind them still, his regiment of barely two hundred rode. The deep thump of war drums resounded, its resonance gaining clarity with every foot put behind them.
