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The Kingdom of the Golden Horn
In this story, you are the sole heiress to the throne of an affluent, culturally rich but small kingdom called the Kingdom of the Golden Horn. Your kingdom is situated geographically on lush, fertile grounds which bare golden fields of wheat, barley and grain. This has allowed your kingdom to flourish and to become a font for artists, historians, scientists and much more. However, beyond the Western Mountains, “barbarians” as they are called in your kingdom, have eyed your land with envy and greed. Many a time, small gangs of riders have tried to plunder and steal. On a few occasions they have managed to burn farmland and steal livestock but nothing more. Your local garrisons have been too organised, have used the Western Mountains well and the riders have been too divided to bring a serious force together.
That began to change a few years ago. Your father, the King, became seriously ill and was left bed-ridden. You would often care for him as your mother, who your father loved fanatically; so much so he refused to marry again, had died decades ago. Yet, as you were busy caring for him along with the other women, doctors and priests; you would often see his councillors bring him things to just sign. That was when you first began to suspect the rotten hold your father’s councillors had. They began taking money from the army and garrisons to fund their own hedonist lifestyles. Clothing, art and luxury goods flourished in the capital, but rumours began arriving that along the border the “barbarians” were becoming more and more brazen and the garrisons were struggling to counter their incursions.
Fast-forward to a few months before and now more frightening rumours began to arrive in the capital. As the King laid on his deathbed, barely clinging on to life, the rumours said that the lands beyond the western mountains had been united, through conquest, under the control of a single aged tyrant, simply known as the Lord of the West. You heard many shouting matches to begin to erupt from your palace’s council chamber. Councillors argued whether these rumours were true and things needed to be done or whether these were just the ravings of madmen. You wanted to give your view, but before you could listen long enough, you were often called away to help at your father’s side. This progressed for some time, you heard more news that vast amounts of gold, livestock and grain were being stolen and taken to the west. The arguing continued, until suddenly during the night your father passed away peacefully. Mourning swept the nation and many people gathered to respect the passing of your king.
However, there was still much discussion whether you were fit to take the throne at such a critical moment. Consequently your coronation was delayed until “The council saw fit a suitable time to crown our Queen”. Two weeks ago, reports came through that a massive army of riders was storming towards the capital. They had already broken through the lines of defence and the army, which was still under the jurisdiction of the council, was not even close to the capital. People began to panic as the news became obvious. They began panic buying and began loading wagons to leave the capital. Many called for your coronation to happen to give a morale boost to the people. They debated for day after day, but the outcome was that many of councillors, whom still greedily clinging to their power, said that this was just but a raid and did not threaten the capital with its glittering high walls. You stormed from the council chamber to your room in frustration. Everything was falling apart and there was nothing you could do. You began to write letters to other kingdoms nearby and old friends littered throughout the kingdom for support. Before you could finish your door burst open during the night. You are told a messenger has come and must see you in the throne room.
The messenger badly bruised and with a bandaged knee because of an arrow wound, reports that the vast host of riders are only one night away from the capital. They are not led by the infamous Lord of the West, but by one of his many sons who has laid claim to marry you and therefore claim the crown of your kingdom. You call for the gates to be sealed and all able bodied people to be armed and ready to fight until the army can relieve the capital of a siege. You spend much of the night preparing the defences and rallying men and women alike. However even you need rest. You retire to your quarters in the palace and remind your staff to wake you for updates. Exhausted you collapse into bed.
You suddenly feel yourself being shaken by a desperate guard. “Betrayal!” you find yourself is a word people are shouting at you. At first, in your dozed state you don’t recognise the seriousness. But as you come to, you learn that you have been betrayed! The south gate was left open and it turns out a bribed councillor, one of your most vehement rivals to your coronation ordered the gate to be left open for “supplies”. During your sleep advance scouts of the horde of riders captured the gate, with not much fighting against the armed citizens. Now, the main force is pouring through the south gate.
At the head of this force is Valdid, the son of the Lord of the West. He was known for being sat astride his maroon horse, in his rich purple attire, leading the vast hordes to victory. He is also rumoured to be obsessed with yourself, your kingdom and it's culture. All in the pursuit of glory. Everyone is turning to you asking what they should do. You stand their silently as the impending doom seem to be right on your door step. Everyone in the room hangs on your word in avid fear of what is to come.
That began to change a few years ago. Your father, the King, became seriously ill and was left bed-ridden. You would often care for him as your mother, who your father loved fanatically; so much so he refused to marry again, had died decades ago. Yet, as you were busy caring for him along with the other women, doctors and priests; you would often see his councillors bring him things to just sign. That was when you first began to suspect the rotten hold your father’s councillors had. They began taking money from the army and garrisons to fund their own hedonist lifestyles. Clothing, art and luxury goods flourished in the capital, but rumours began arriving that along the border the “barbarians” were becoming more and more brazen and the garrisons were struggling to counter their incursions.
Fast-forward to a few months before and now more frightening rumours began to arrive in the capital. As the King laid on his deathbed, barely clinging on to life, the rumours said that the lands beyond the western mountains had been united, through conquest, under the control of a single aged tyrant, simply known as the Lord of the West. You heard many shouting matches to begin to erupt from your palace’s council chamber. Councillors argued whether these rumours were true and things needed to be done or whether these were just the ravings of madmen. You wanted to give your view, but before you could listen long enough, you were often called away to help at your father’s side. This progressed for some time, you heard more news that vast amounts of gold, livestock and grain were being stolen and taken to the west. The arguing continued, until suddenly during the night your father passed away peacefully. Mourning swept the nation and many people gathered to respect the passing of your king.
However, there was still much discussion whether you were fit to take the throne at such a critical moment. Consequently your coronation was delayed until “The council saw fit a suitable time to crown our Queen”. Two weeks ago, reports came through that a massive army of riders was storming towards the capital. They had already broken through the lines of defence and the army, which was still under the jurisdiction of the council, was not even close to the capital. People began to panic as the news became obvious. They began panic buying and began loading wagons to leave the capital. Many called for your coronation to happen to give a morale boost to the people. They debated for day after day, but the outcome was that many of councillors, whom still greedily clinging to their power, said that this was just but a raid and did not threaten the capital with its glittering high walls. You stormed from the council chamber to your room in frustration. Everything was falling apart and there was nothing you could do. You began to write letters to other kingdoms nearby and old friends littered throughout the kingdom for support. Before you could finish your door burst open during the night. You are told a messenger has come and must see you in the throne room.
The messenger badly bruised and with a bandaged knee because of an arrow wound, reports that the vast host of riders are only one night away from the capital. They are not led by the infamous Lord of the West, but by one of his many sons who has laid claim to marry you and therefore claim the crown of your kingdom. You call for the gates to be sealed and all able bodied people to be armed and ready to fight until the army can relieve the capital of a siege. You spend much of the night preparing the defences and rallying men and women alike. However even you need rest. You retire to your quarters in the palace and remind your staff to wake you for updates. Exhausted you collapse into bed.
You suddenly feel yourself being shaken by a desperate guard. “Betrayal!” you find yourself is a word people are shouting at you. At first, in your dozed state you don’t recognise the seriousness. But as you come to, you learn that you have been betrayed! The south gate was left open and it turns out a bribed councillor, one of your most vehement rivals to your coronation ordered the gate to be left open for “supplies”. During your sleep advance scouts of the horde of riders captured the gate, with not much fighting against the armed citizens. Now, the main force is pouring through the south gate.
At the head of this force is Valdid, the son of the Lord of the West. He was known for being sat astride his maroon horse, in his rich purple attire, leading the vast hordes to victory. He is also rumoured to be obsessed with yourself, your kingdom and it's culture. All in the pursuit of glory. Everyone is turning to you asking what they should do. You stand their silently as the impending doom seem to be right on your door step. Everyone in the room hangs on your word in avid fear of what is to come.
7 | Nov 14th 2021 13:46