CHAPTER 1
-Obsidian City-
It is an early evening hour in the core of the Grari power, the one remaining empire in the known world of Memad, and home to the racial queen of the grarim race and her Obsidian Palace.
The market's bustle has died down, and pairs of various races walk the streets, some within it's walls, others in it's outskirts.
A lone figure can be seen from some of the towers, standing quietly in a hill overlooking the city.
With many colorful birds still chirping overhead, grasshoppers beginning to make their presence known, and wolves howling to the three moons from nearby woodland, a small anthro wearing imperial uniform rushes past the city gates, leaving behind an atmosphere of calm, as if he were never there.
-Obsidian Palace, Throne Room-
A single piece of china falling and breaking was enough to warrant only a moment of stunned silence in the grarim audience chamber, doubling today as a ball room, which really was more of a party room at the point.
With remains of aged wine and exotic foods littering the round oak tables, several maids trying their best to replace the quickly emptying plates of food, and one little greenscale, probably no older than ten, making a futile attempt at removing the caviar stain from the polished blue obsidian floor, this was one of the new queen's more successful parties.
For some reason many would fail to understand, this white-furred woman, which appeared to be some sort of hybrid between a lisk and a shilton, appeared to appreciate the sight of drunk, happy aristocrats making fools of themselves all around her.
Her green, catlike eyes slowly moved from side to side, like some metronome, as she admired the scene she had created, until one of the patron's would once again get her attention. Having no muzzle, her black anthro nose and lips looked like some sort of curious stain on her otherwise snow-white face, her pointy canine ears standing at attention as she listens patiently to that one count again as he complains about the scarcity of fish.
No one dared assume that the short, uniformed ruko running into the room would be of any significance. Some took offense when the queen rejected the drunk barons in favor of lending the little soldier her ear, and while many decided to ignore her when she left the room, few failed to notice her sweet, enticing aroma grow scarce.
The previously festive party fell to whispers.
-Obsidian Palace, War Room-
The queen shook her head, not sure what to say or do, leaving a worried-looking ruko to stare at her in anticipation.
The Obsidian Castle's War Room has seen no use whatsoever since the days of the previous-previous queen-empress, but has been kept in pristine shape by the slave-maids, leaving it completely lacking in the dust department, which, for some reason, irritated the queen, who frowned at her reflection on the polished glass table dominating most of the room's floor.
“So... Until my generals show up...” the queen sat down on one of the chairs facing both the table and the way out “...What exactly are we expecting?”
The ruko's ears perked up.
“Well, your highness, like I told you earlier, a large group has been spotted heading towards the capital as we speak. They will most likely arrive tonight, from the south. We estimate it to be roughly a hundred men, most of which are slaves armed with farming tools. I can't imagine them getting past the walls...”
The ruko tried very hard not to snicker. He wasn't looking at the queen, but rather at the large banner adorning the wall – deep blue, with silver vertical stripes at the sides, and a silver circle within a silver diamond in the middle.
His efforts weren't required, apparently, as the queen didn't seem to notice, instead drifting off into her own thoughts.
“I don't understand – why would anyone want to rebel anyway?” she asked herself, out loud “It's not like we're treating the slaves badly-”
“For freedom, your highness” the lowly ruko cut the queen off, leaving her blinking at him with an expression of shock has he smiled far too innocently for a soldier and wagged his tail.
“...Well, I-” the queen began saying something, but was interrupted by the doors swinging open.
All four of her generals stood at the doorway, clad in their armor, prepared as always. Or, at least, that seemed to be the case. Most of the stranagrari military has not seen actual combat, so their experience stemmed from drills developed and documented several generations earlier.
“...Ah, my warriors are here.” the queen settled in her chair and smacked her hands against the table “Please be seated, we have much to discuss!”
A loud bang sounded across the castle, the sudden tremor causing nearly everyone to jerk in surprise.
“...And little time.” the queen added, horror dawning on her.
-Hill overlooking Obsidian City, Southeast-
Kigar gazed at the obsidian city.
Ironic he thought, to be named after obsidian but have simple stone walls, his old, ancestral cape fluttering in the wind.
An old shilton bandit knelt behind him, his chipped axe laying aside, beyond which stood the combined forces of most of the east's bandit gangs.
“Please, allow me to apologize again.” the bandit muttered in a gruff, hoarse voice with a hint of a heavy smoker “I didn't realize you are of-”
“Forget it.” Kigar interrupted him “The dragon empire is long since vanished, the land it occupied is long since vanished, and with those, any meaning to the respect you offer me.”
The bandit stood up, adjusting the padded leather he wore.
“I grew up constantly remind by my father how great our people used to be...” the bandit spat aside, gazing at the bright orange light of the setting sun “To see us reduced to mere slaves of those damn...”
He was about to say furries. Kigar knew this. But this one old bandit was smart enough not to – he had lisks and rukos among the bandits who answered to him.
“...Well, either way.” the bandit continued, narrowing his bright green eyes “I feel it is us, and by extension, you and your kin – who should be the ones doing the ruling! I mean, the very thought makes me...!”
The old bandit pulled at his thick, graying blue beard in frustration, but Kigar only sighed in response.
“There is no need to be concerned.” Kigar finally turned to look at the old man who finally opted to pick up his axe “Though our past is no longer of any meaning, our future is still ahead of us. Look-”
He pointed towards a woodland west of the city. Numerous armed folk – appeared to be mostly composed of well equipped farmers – have began to emerge... Followed by rams and catapults.
“There is no way those slaves could've assembled this alone.” Kigar smiled “They've had some sort of benefactor. So, what say you, Raven?”
The old man, identified by Kigar as “Raven”, scratched his balding head, not sure what the djuni meant. So Kigar decided to spell it out for him.
“Shall we join the party?”
'Raven' narrowed his eyes, but grinned, showing several missing teeth.
A roar and a wave of his axe followed, and the outlaws charged.
Kigar stood by, leaning on a tree, chuckling.
“The Shadow...” he muttered “...The fire, and the storm, eh...?”
Old man 'Raven' had already left, leaving Kigar to stand alone as bandits charge by him. He thought the visage was beautiful.
With a deep breath, and few words of self-assurance, Kigar joined the charge.
