The fall of Auloria

There was once a kingdom, a kingdom so great it thought itself eternal, a kingdom called the Golden Heart of the realms, a land of beauty, with marble domes of white, that gleamed in sunlight like the stars of the heavens, streets of well laid stones, filled with laughter, songs, festivals, the royal banner, fluttering, a sign of the greatness of Auloria. For three hundred years, not a sword has been raised against Auloria, not a single battle stained it's fields of crops and flowers, once warriors, for their ancestors had fought and conquered, but now the old wars have long being forgotten, the weapons and machines of war, all now sealed beneath the palace vaults, the royal house ruled without a steel glove but with velvet gloves, perfumed with poetry and music.
But under all that peace, lives rot, while the palace and noble class drowned themselves in indulgence of plenty, the poor of the outer districts of the great city, we're kept hungry, they sold their tools of craft, sold their little properties, sold fields and even daughters and sons, for as the city glimmered from above, it staved its people.
Then came the Evrak, the warrior tribe of the fractured kingdoms of the northern kingdoms also called the "veil of cold flame", a tribe that evokes fear in the hearts of those who have heard of their ancestors but unlike Auloria, they never abandoned themselves to indulgence, but carried with them the words of their ancestors, for they had once being victims of the sword of the ancestors of Auloria and they have promised vengeance, and in the shadows they waited, for they will strike, not through war but through sabotage, they would rot the kingdom from within and when it is breaking inside, they would raise the sword and Auloria will cease to exist.
And so begins the tale about the fall of a great kingdom.