Fall of Shasarazade: Vol. 3

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As the three of them made their way through town, screams and shouts came pouring from where the Minotaurs had emerged. Several houses were ablaze, people were out of their homes and running through the streets. Panic washed over the citizens of Shasarazade as they became submerged in the conflict. Futilely, women and children were picking up the swords of their now deceased husbands and fathers, they -tried- to fight back. Chaos and death marked the occasion, this event will live on as a scar upon the Elves for all time.

"The western gate will be open by now, if we are to make it we must hurry!" Aarin exclaimed as he urged his steed forward, now moving at a gallop.

From behind, Tyllia watched as he led. He had always seemed

like a giant to her, standing taller than most of the other men in their town. His features were dark, not unlike her own, with mysterious eyes and a kind face. He was every bit the man she adored, brave and strong. She was thankful for him, glad that she, unlike so many this night, still had a father.

Eliss followed suit, squeezing tightly around Tyllia as she

pushed the gelding into a quickened pace. Being held in her mother's arms like she was, Tyllia felt safe; she felt loved, like her mother's most precious commodity. Her mother was slight of build and small in stature; she radiated more warmth and beauty than anyone Tyllia had ever seen. She would be like her mother someday, good and true.

Her parents were everything; her world. They loved each other and they loved her. Out of all of this, Tyllia's only concerns were her mother and father. Her dolls, dresses, jewelry and home didn't mean anything anymore. She had her family and that is all she cared about. No matter what, they would be together and start again.

Slowing to a canter as they neared the main path through

Shasarazade, Aarin started peering into the shadows between houses. He was more cautious now, they would have to put themselves in harms way should they wish to leave. Coming to a trot, his wife and daughter caught up and traveled alongside him. They moved just off from the bustle of fleeing survivors.

Men stood at the gate, swords in hand, directing the escapees out. Most were on foot, a few rode horses among the throng. They were a pitiful sight. As hardened as the Elven people had become in their Stormhaven, they were no match for the horrors that had preyed upon them this night.

continued in Fall of Shasarazade: Vol. 4

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