s I lack any longer news commentary, and I'm in a somewhat literary mood, here's a semi-story, made up on the spot.  I have no idea where it's going, I'll just see where my fingers take me.  It's a fantasy thing.

n the twenty years preceding the first appearance of the purple-skinned, warlike tribes of the North, Darland had known peace.  Peace, as always in such a savage land, was a relative term.  Squabbles between villagers, trappers and hunters leaving the occasional "accidental" human victim in a shallow grave, and the bickering of the nobles all went on as usual, but there was no open warfare, or large scale warfare.

Word of the invading hordes traveled slowly, generally coming with the streams of refugees who came straggling into the towns of the South and West.  They claimed their homes had been looted and burned, that their crops and livestock were destroyed, and blamed it all on unknown enemies.  The first few refugees with such stories were dismissed as mad, or beggars with more inventive tales than usual, but when the trickle of people became a steady stream, many of them showing the wounds of battle, panic began.

Militias were raised, equipped and sent to the North, and were never heard from again.  Millsbend, a large town to the West, sent a veritable army North, 500 men with 300 horses.  Two weeks later 3 horses wandered home, but none of the men returned.  Scouts and trappers sent out to look for them vanished as well.

Yet the refugees, mostly women and children, kept coming in, all with the same tales of attacks in the night, murder and carnage, fire and barely-seen enemies.  Clearly the invaders were an awesome military force, able to completely wipe out any troops sent to oppose them, yet they were merciful, or crafty enough to spare the women and children.

War councils met in Millsbend, Gannortown, and men armed themselves for battle.  How could an enemy so powerful be fought?  From whence had they come?  Could the fragments of tales told by frightened women and children be believed?  There were reports of great arcs of lightning seen over the hills, and cracklings and explosions.  None had seen the source of these strange forces though, they were always glimpsed through tear-filled eyes by broken women or frightened children.

And how had no men seen the enemy and returned?  It was impossible that a man on a horse could not sneak through a forest, spy out the enemy, and be gone before he was spotted.  Yet not one of the scouts, or any man in the larger forces, had ever returned.

The nobles of Millsbend, ever foolhardy, took it upon themselves to set out to parley.  A dozen lords, each taking half a dozen retainers, all twelve mounted on fat white steeds and cloaked in white, ceremonial robes of the brightest yellow, set forth one morning.  They would ride to the enemy, rumored to be less than a day from the city, and see what they could see.  They took no weapons, sure that their regal bearing and noble visages would exempt them from harm.  And after all, weapons had proved of no avail to their armies.  Millsbend was rich with spices, grains, and goods of leather and steel; surely they could reach some sort of arrangement with the invaders.

Around noon of that day, none in Millsbend were especially surprised when the booming sound of some great explosion came echoing over the hills from the North.  Just before dark two of the white horses came trotting back into town, their coats singed and blackened.  Much was made of the long white scar down the side of one mare, and the smell of sulfur and ash that the equines reeked with.  Of the party that had set out that morning, there was no other sign.

One month later the great armored town of Aarnsland was girding itself for war.  Hundreds of women and children from the North, most exhausted from the two week hike from the now-ruined Millsbend, were within the town's high walls, and the men met in war councils daily.

Tales from Millsbend were no better than the countless smaller villages and hamlets before.  They had come in the night, seeming to appear inside the town walls at once.  There were reports of lightning streaking the sky, buildings of every sort exploding into flames, and screams of death filling the chaotic night. No one had yet seen the invaders but from a distance, and no one could say more than that they wore gleaming steel mesh armor, had dark, purple skin and white hair. And as before, all reports were from women who had fled before the invaders.  No soldier, or any man at all, had yet braced the invaders and survived.  The remaining Aarnsland scouts flatly refused to ride to the North, for none who had attempted even the most cautious of spying missions had yet survived it.

A week passed, and then came a night filled with the sounds of horses and men.  The Aarnslanders feared for their lives, but no attack was mounted, and come morning a great camp lay to the North of their walled city.  Thousands of tents were pitched across the open plains, stretching all the way North to the Blasted Forest, and Northwest to the rocky Carn Mountains, where steep cliffs of granite had been carved deeply to provide the stone that Aarnsland was built with.  Horses were seen grazing, smoke came from cook fires, but not a soul was to be seen anywhere in the great enemy tent city.

All through the day the Aarnslanders watched, incredulous.  Back in the distance, farther than the eye could see clearly, shapes were seen moving about, but they were too far for any man to make them out.  Horses, humans, or mere canvas blowing in the wind; none could say.

Debate raged at the packed war council.  The enemy came in the night, that much was known.  Perhaps they were vulnerable in the day?  Why did they not demand the surrender of the town?  Why were none of them seen?  Wild theories flew in the council room.  Perhaps the invaders were monsters?  Demons in human form?  Vampires, helpless in the day?  Could they be attacked now?  Should the town stay safe behind their walls?  Were they safe at all?

Nothing was agreed upon, but enough of the nobles wanted to attack that a force was assembled within the Northern Courtyard.  Several hundred cavalry were mounted and assembled there by the noon hour. Armed with pikes and swords, they planned a quick attack, as much to finally see their enemies as to inflict damage on the untold horde gathered outside the walls.

The gates creaked open, and out flew the knights, riding eight-abreast through the portal.  All Aarnsland was perched on the outer battlements, or crowded the taller buildings in town, fighting for space to see the enemy at last.  One hundred thousand eyes followed the gleaming silver column of knights as they spread out into a long thin line, and rode towards the tents, the nearest of which were less then half a mile from the city.

The sun gleamed from the mounted men's armor, and faintly the townsfolk could hear the pounding of hooves and the great shout as the men went to war.  When would the enemy horde come pouring out of their tents?  Were they really purple and ten feet tall, with lightning shining in their eyes?

Many of the men watching were in mortal terror for their lives, for rumors that any man who beheld the invaders dropped instantly dead were impossible to disprove.  No male older than nine summers had yet seen them and survived, after all.

The ride to the nearest of the tents was but a few minutes, though it seemed to stretch on forever to the watchers.  Just what the men of that boldly-charging cavalry thought was never known, for none of them returned to the city.  As their horses reached the edge of the camp, and they drove their lances into the tents, lightning began to crackle in the sky, rising up from somewhere deep in the tent city.

A gasp rose from the watching Aarnlanders as first one tent, then ten, then fifty were ripped from the ground by their brave knights, and nothing was revealed.  Each tent had blankets, or a chest, or other items of furniture within, but there were no men to be seen.  The invader's horses grazed on, their fires smoldered, but of soldiers, there were none to be seen. The cavalry continued into the camp, slicing open or pulling down tents as they went, all entirely unopposed.  Where were the enemy troops?  Who had built this tent city overnight, and left it deserted this day?

The crackling of lightning grew louder by the minute, and some in the watching city began to scream, madness entering their minds.  The sky was turning purple, a deep, dark blackish purple, and the stench of burning ozone filled the air as the clear blue sky darkened.  Watchers could see their mounted troops still moving through the empty tents; some heading deeper into the camp, others looking through the items revealed wherever an empty tent was pulled down, and a few others beginning to ride back towards Aarnland.

An instant later, as the sky blackened, sheets of lightning poured down, like heavy rain off of a steep roof.  The day become night became day again, but never was a day this bright.  The bolts of lightning were so numerous, so packed together as they scored across the camp that no one could look.  It was as if one solid wall of lightning, miles across, struck the earth, and yet did not vanish in a blink, but remained suspended between heaven and earth, flickering and blinding, out-shining the sun. There were cried of pain and every eye was closed as men and women fell backwards, screaming with the pain of their seared vision.  People who had not dared to watch covered their faces as the pure white light shone off of walls and turrets overhead, bright enough to blind even reflected from dull stone towers.

With the lightning came thunder, rolling over Aarnland from the North, shaking the very walls of the city.  Roofs collapsed, wooden beams snapped, glasses shattered.  Men fell to the earth, hands clapped to their ears, their aching eyes forgotten for the moment.  And still the booming thunder came on and on, a steady roar of sound that deafened all who heard it.

At last the thunder died away, but it had destroyed half the town, and nearly every man, woman, and child in Aarnland was stone deaf, ear drums ruptured by the colossal sound.  Inside the city all was chaos, and despair.  Blinded men stumbled about, their voices howling pleas no one could hear.  Half the walls in town had collapsed, and ruined men stumbled in the fallen stones.  Hundreds were driven mad, and men sat in their own filth, daggers driven into their hearts or throats, death seeming more merciful than life in such a mad world.

Only a few who had not been watching when the lightning erupted, or who had managed to look away in time, dared creep back to the walls to peer out to the North.  What they saw was incredible.  Of the mounted knights that had rode forth, a few bodies could be seen lying on the earth, and several dozen of the horses were visible, lying in smoking heaps, all motionless.

The enemy had fared no better though.  Their tents were destroyed and their camp was no less ruined than Aarnland, with fire raging through it.  The very earth was ripped and torn, as if some massive plot had been driven through, ripping trenches deep enough to lose a wagon in. The Blasted Forest beyond the camp was ablaze as well.  Black smoke billowed from the trees into the sky, and it looked as though the entire forest would be lost, for the flames were roaring.  Huge swathes of forest had been leveled by the lightning, and there were jagged slices of destruction where no fire yet burned, but every tree could be seen to have fallen, and been broken into kindling, burst by the lightning.

None in Aarnland could imagine what had occurred.  Some vast magic of the enemy gone awry, killing them all?  But where had their forces been?  Why had all the tents been empty?  Where were their soldiers now?  Their army must have been effected by the lightning, but where were they now?  Some should be visible; either driven mad by the lightning and thunder, or trying to put out the fires, or merely lying dead on the ground, as some few of the Aarnland knights were.

But stare as they might, no Aarnland eye could see any movement, other than torn tents rippling in the wind and flame.

It was nearly a week before anyone dared venture forth from the city, and then it was a party of women who armed themselves as best they could, and rode forth.  Four were stone deaf, as was nearly everyone in Aarnland now, and the town was half emptied out.  Nearly all of the men were deaf, most were blind, and thousands had been killed or had killed themselves in the chaos of the day of lightning and thunder.  None of the men would dare approach the remnants of the enemy camp, and most wouldn't even risk a look over the walls towards it.

The exploring women found nothing living in their day of searching.  Fly-specked corpses of the Aarnland cavalry and their horses, hundreds of empty and burned tents, and great furrows in the burned into ground, most too wide and deep for their skittish horses to traverse.  The earth was frequently glazed and cracked, melted to glass in places.  The chests left where enemy tents had stood proved to be empty, and of other items the enemy had left none behind.  Just old blankets and torn clothing here and there.  The women found not a sword or weapon of any type, nor any tools, other than those used to raise and secure the tents.

Two of the women continued on, urging their horses to leap the smaller trenches, and walking along larger ones until a way across was found.  All afternoon they searched, moving deeper into the enemy camp, yet finding nothing new.  Thousands of tents had been pitched, nearly all had been destroyed by fire, but there was not a corpse to be seen.  Finally they reached the center of the camp, but the furrows dug by the lightning were here so frequent that the horses could go no farther.  Tying their mounts to an abandoned and charred chest, the women walked, scrambling over the slippery glass-specked ditches, down into a small valley.  Here the ground was almost entirely black, most of it fused entirely into glass, and the footing was treacherous.

They at last rounded a huge shattered pile of rocks, and found nothing but a drag mark.  Something huge had been here, some sort of giant machine by the looks of the tracks.  Some great device, easily the size of a wagon but standing on many legs like a dining table, judging by the deep grooves through and over the ground they followed.  It had been dragged away to the North, sometime after the lightning.  The women boldly followed the tracks, which lead them up out of the small valley, and then across the flat land, towards the still burning Blasted Forest. Whatever had dragged the unknown object had enormous strength, for the furrows in the earth were often several feet deep, and had broken right through the glazed glass surface, which was several inches deep in many places. 

The two women followed it for another half mile, until they scaled a ridge and could see the track leading on and on, veering to the right and towards the old highway that wound to the North.  Who or what was doing the dragging, and what had been dragged they could not say. It was growing dark, and they had at least two hours to ride back to town, over the rough ground, so they turned back, hurrying to their horses.

Aarnland was never rebuilt, and most of the survivors trekked further south.  Of the invading army, purple-skinned and fearsome, no further sign was seen.  It was over a year before any men dared seek them to the North, and they found nothing but destroyed villages and abandoned farms.  Any signs of the dragged object, which had become legendary since the destruction of Aarnland, had been erased over the winter, and nothing more was ever known of what it might have been.

Finish.