Okay, I have a lot of fictional worlds, but this one is my favorite. It's nowhere near done (This is a draft), but here's the Hazeltree World's story, starting with the prologue.
[Note: words in Hazaliahn have a
translation in the glossary at the end of the book]
Kylo
raced up the ornately carved stone stairs of Grahck’n Tahle, the greatest
fortress in Hazeltree. The dense smoke settled around him in a grey blanket as
the luminescent orange and red flames grew closer to the walls and burned the
beautiful tapestries that adorned the wall.
“Arkenel!
Hehre Rohbi Kireh?” He called in Hazaliahn, the language of Hazeltree. Calling
for King Arkenel, his king and friend, but the battle smoke was so dense around
him that Kylo could scarcely hear or see anything.
The
siege had been going on for five days. Everyone was wounded and weary, but
still they pressed onwards. Three days ago [Or so it felt. None could see the
sun from the tower, and when the darkness of night fell, it hardly mattered]
allies had arrived from Rhōbet, but still the rabbits were extremely outnumbered.
Kylo
missed the days when he was a kit, before he had become Captain of the Royal
Guard [or Kehten te téhg Yonsket Protflen, as it was worded in his language]
and had fought next to his friends in an undefeated team known as the Light
Defenders.
But
there was no going back, no being a Light Defender again. There was only this
fight, this city, this hopeless hope.
They
had made a stand worthy of song, yet likely no song would come of their deeds.
Or so they had thought, before King Arkenel had ordered everyone to leave. And
all did.
All
except Captain Kylo Independence Lee. Coming to the top of the parapets, he
sunk to the hard stone, panting. With each blow of the battering ram, even the
walls shook. Heavy longbow darts took out sections of the once beautiful wall.
The smoke made it difficult to breathe and see.
But
all of that just made Kylo feel stronger, more powerful. Free. But he still
could not muster the strength to get up and keep searching.
“Kylo?
K thouhdil k tolud vrythune ao blefe?” King Arkenel’s voice cut through the
smoke and soon a gentle hand was offered to Kylo.
Kylo
switched to the common speech, seeming as their enemies were pouring nearer,
and he did not want them to understand what they were discussing, and these
foes understood only old Hazaliahn. “I cannot leave you. My loyalty lies here,
in your walls, fighting next to you.”
Kylo
stood up with the king’s help.
“Your
loyalty at this time cheers me, however, now is not the time for such things.”
The king spoke softly.
Quickly
Kylo answered: “Then what is my place? I am your captain, and I shall stand
next to you though dangers may beset me.”
“Then,
Kylo,” The king began, “I must beg you again. Go. Help rebuild our city far away
from here. Make it strong, Kylo.”
“No.
Here I stay if you stay. And here I fall if I must.” Kylo resolved, drawing his
sword, and looking toward the approaching foes.
“Then
let’s make this count.” The king replied. The two bucks sprang forward, blades
bare and glinting as a few rays of sun cut through the smoke.
“Grahck’n
Tahle! Grahck’n Tahle!” King Arkenel cried.
“Flighky
Prafynier!” Kylo yelled.
Not
for centuries was there seen in Hazeltree such courage, and such a brave last
stand. For stand they did, Kylo next to his king, and neither made it out.
The
outcasts of Grahck’n Tahle split two ways after that. One group created what
was known as the new secret Home of the Heralds, in a cave in a mountain, and
the others travelled far until they found a new home.
Main
Warren, it was named, and in the center of the town ten large granite peak
statues, each thirty feet tall, were created.
One
for each Battlement tower on the walls of Grahck’n Tahle. On the tenth [or so
legend has it] runes were carved.
Runes
that told of a glory yet to come, for the rabbits didn’t live like they had
lost. Indeed, they had lost a great deal, but the Maker who loved them had
guarded them from complete ruin in that battle.
And
in the rock of the first stone structure created was placed a sword. When need
came, one great warrior would take up that sword and defend Main Warren.
Or
so legends say.
Hope
is never lost.
-From The Last Stand of the Light
Defenders.
And there we have it.
Fleck, signing out :)
