the clouds overhead open up
for the wicked and just all the same.
It rains, the day Neskoria falls.
It had been a dry summer, so far. The country's best water elementals were spread thin keeping the crops alive. The people were growing restless, but the High Priests had been doing all they could to assure the populace everything would be fine. Rain would come. They were in Gyezen's hands after all.
How ironic, that when they finally received the blessing of rain, it was on the eve of their destruction.
The screams are unholy as the palace burns; the fires are undeterred by the water falling in sheets from the sky. A pyromancer's work, then.
"Your majesty -"
"Did they get out?"
"Yes. Yes, they d-did, your majesty."
The king turns his head. Wringing his hands and shaking like a leaf, the page is pale as a sheet of parchment. But his eyes hold a strength. A good man.
"Enough of that," the king murmurs, turning back to watch the fires. "We're about to die together. At least call me by my name."
"Your majesty -"
"Almos."
There's a pause. "King Almos."
He sighs. Close enough. Just then there's a crash down the corridor. Another scream. The page jumps, and scrambles back a few steps. The door to his chambers is barricaded, and guarded by fifteen men at least. Almos doubts it will hold them for more than a few moments.
He turns to the page. Mamer, he thinks his name is. "You said they got out."
"Y-Yes, you- Almos."
"How many were with them?"
The screams get louder. Closer. The clashing of swords joins them.
"A-At least thirty sir."
"Good," Almos murmurs. The clashing of swords ceases. And then the banging starts. The barricade of furniture in front of the door shudders. "Let's just hope Kirisnoti will accept them."
By the gods, Almos wished he could say that Neskoria put up a fight the day Vabros came knocking. But the truth of the matter is, even if they had an inkling of what was to come, they would not have been able to stop it.
The barricade shudders. A few chairs fall off the top.
"Get behind me, Mamer," Almos says, drawing his sword. The page scrambles behind his back, pressed against the window. Behind them, the fires rage.
The barricade falls, and the door swings open. Almos's hand does not shake. Even as he knows that the country falls with him.
Almos raises his chin. "By Gyezen's hands," he says, and then he raises his sword.
Please, Almos thinks.
Do not hold my faults against them.
Neskoria falls, and still, it rains.
---
On the other side of the continent, Midsummer preparations are in full swing. It isn't to be just any Midsummer this year, however. It's also the wedding, the wedding of a king.
Chief Kirisnoti, the Chief of all Chiefs, king by all rights, sits at the table with his family, laughing. The door opens behind him, and there's a servant at his side, whispering in his ear. The table watches in growing concern as his smile freezes and then falls from his face.
He stands so harshly his chair falls back, and he sweeps from the room.
If the impenetrable kingdom of Neskoria has fallen, then the Outlands are next.
i'm definitely 
