Rebellion From Tyranny

The dark lord Mattros has conquered all the free countries of the world. It is now up to Laisvas and a small group of rebels to start a seemingly impossible-to-win revolution against the tyrannical dictator himself. The way is not easy and many of his closest friends die, but he knows that he must continue to fight for the thing which he holds dearest: Freedom.

                                             Prologue: A World of Slavery and Oppression

       Once there was a world called Plechelthonium. Plechelthonium was a planet, actually, and it was not entirely unlike our own earth. It was more varied in peoples, however. Humans inhabited it, but so did Elves, Dwarves, Minotaurs, Dragons and many other types of creatures. Through the millenia of its existence, countries were established, borders defined, maps drawn, and wars fought. It was through these wars that once country in particular gained extraordinary supremecy on the battle-field. The name of said nation was Altuthar, and its ruler at the time of the events of this narrative was named Mattros. Mattros was a tall man, and excessively evil. A long and ugly scar snaked its way down the left side of his face, bearing record to the many battles in which he had participated. He had raven black hair which fell in a braid to the middle of his back. A patch of black leather lay over his left eye-socket which had parted ways with its instrument of seeing in the same, gruesome fight in which his face had been so brutally scarred. He refused to wear clothes of any other hue than black, which illustrated the color of his heart. He was cunning and skilled with blade and bow. Coupled with intense evil, this made him a fearsome foe indeed. His empire was, at that time, the largest that any empire had ever been, or indeed could be, for it encircled the entire globe. His armies knew no defeat and they numbered one billion. He had enslaved many billions of people, and these he treated horribly. If any dared speak against one of his proposed laws or ordinances, said person would be tortured horribly until thay died. I will not describe the awfulness of his brutalities, for they are to horrid to describe. He was absolute and he knew no rival. It it is this world that the events of this story took place.

                                    Chapter One: A Revolution Born

       Laisvas walked briskly in the crisp air of the late night. No clouds lay overhead, and the moon and stars sent out an eery light. A wolf howled mournfully in the distance and its shrill notes sent shivers crawling up Laisvas's spine. This road was notorious for its killings and robberies. Criminals escaped from jail would his in the swamp by which the road had been built waiting for their prey. Every night someone was murdered or robbed on that road, but no sense of anxiety lay on Laisvas. He had traveled that road since a child, and he feared no mangy rats as he called the lowdowns that lurked there. He was now fifteen and tall. He stood six feet two inches and he had golden brown hair. He was muscular and well-built. He walked, as I said, quickly down this road of horrors toward his home which now lay but three miles from where he now was. He wore brown leather pants, and a cloth shirt over which was a tunic of brown leather. This had no sleeves but was tough and durable. He wore heavy leather boots, and a warm black cloak was held tightly around his body to kewp out the mid-autumn cold. Around his waist was a large leather belt on which were fastened a hand-and-a-half sword and a long dagger, both of strong steel encased in brown leather scabbards. He wore no cap on his head, and his curly golden locks covered his ears and fell past his eyebrows. He heard many noises on the path, but he started at none of them. He feared no, as I said, mangy rats. He whistled quietly a familiar and soothing tune as he headed for home. Under his arm, which was concealed by his cloak, he was holding something tightly and one could sense that he dared not give it up. Indeed it was a parcel to be delivered to his elder brother who managed the farm where he worked. His brother had joined the army of Mattros when but a boy of thirteen years, and he was a marvelous soldier. He had been promoted quickly, and was now one a Mattros's most trusyed generals. Since no war was at hand, he had been given a large area of land to do with as he pleased. He had made it into a thriving farm, which was worked by his slaves. These people he treated horribly, which rather bother Laisvas. He had always been kind to Laisvas though, and he had been the one who had secured the weapons which Laisvas now bore. For under normal circumstances, no citizen was allowed the right to bear arms. He held his brother in high regard, however, and therefore gave him his weapons. Laisvas had never had to actually work on the farm, for that was all done by the slaves. He had had a fairly easy life growing up. Laisvas lived in his own little house, and was quite comfortable. He practiced with his sword every day, and as a result of said training, he was quite the swordsman.

       After returning to his home, Laisvas gave the package to his brother, and made his way to his own little house. In it there was a large stove for heating and cooking, a bed, and a bookshelf with many books, for Laisvas loved to read. He went to bed immediately after returning to his house, and slept peacefully through the night.

The End

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