The warden’s curse

The starless sky was damnation black and brooding. Even the clouds appeared depressed. A hail of fire arrows buzzed and fuzzed as the enemies mined tunnels beneath the castle walls and use gunpowder to create explosions on the walls, while others continued to use a battering ram to weaken the walls as the castle gates became more difficult to breach. Females and children’s screamed and wailed as the battleground became slimy with molten red blood and guts as the enemies breached the walls and reached the barbican. Under the eerie moonlight, the swords glinted cruelly. Its flames cast silver light across the battle. Swords are clinked and collided with shields as the enemies storm the castle splitting and splintering bones. No hope if survive. As the adversaries won the battle, they slaughtered the remained innocent civilians without remorse. A nauseating putrefying stench seemed to rise as the ground became lubricated with guts, enveloping the entire castle with an eerie vibe. The clouds have cleared and a cold wind keened through the valley. The moon shines brightly even in the dead of night. Two of the king’s most trusted generals descended the stairs and exited through a postern on to a carriage filled with wooden boxes on the west wing of the castle. As the darkness completely engulfs the carriage, the coachman rides it out of the palace and in to the deep dark forest despite the screams.