~~~The Legends Of Zoravia~~~







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Long ago the empire of Zamora was a vast and powerful civilisation. Its cities grew at the expense of the neighbouring Dalician tribes, stealing their land and resources, imprisoning and murdering their people with giant, bloodthirsty armies sent by the Zamoran emperor, Zaragoza. Disgusted by the mass genocide, a group of rebels rose up against the authorities deamnding an end to the violence and a new era of peace. The nation of Zoravia was about to be changed.



This way of thinking was not acceptable to Zaragoza, who immediately ordered the execution of every single rebel. Many of them saw the danger and banded together to escape the emperoro s wave of oppression, deciding to flee to the Dalician villages in the mountains. There were hundreds of them, and while some died of hypothermia on the long, uphill trek, they eventually reached the Dalician capital, which was little more than a few dozen stone towers, clinging to the overgrown mountain side. After telling them their story, the tribes welcomed the rebel Zamorans and gave them shelter in the hope of using the extra manpower as a valuable military defence against the empire.



It wasno t long before Zaragoza heard of this. This traitorous, unholy alliance had to be crushed. The Dalicians had to be wiped out once and for all. Fortunately the size of the empire made it easy to conjure up a force of 13,000 troops, to be sent to the Dalician doorstep with haste. They were well-equipped with full iron armour and giant TNT cannons. As they lined up at the base of the mountain, the tribes surveyed the scene and realised with dread that they were hopelessly outnumbered. Then the attack began.



House after house was bombarded and destroyed by the cannons. Walls collapsed and material tumbled down the mountain side, taking many villagers with it. Caves and paths were swallowed up by rock and snow. Rooves caved in. The Dalicians looked on in horror as their lives were torn apart by fire and rock, and could do nothing as the Zamorans moved forward to finish them off.



But help was at hand. Many hundreds of the Zamoran troops were rebelling, stabbing their officers and sounding the Dalician battle cry! They had had enough of the empire.



Anarchy ensued. The few Dalician warriors, seeing their one chance, swarmed down the mountain and joined their rebellious comrades to fight for their freedom, scattering the Zamoran units and killing as many as possible. But despite the wounds inflicted, it wasno t enough. The rebels were wiped out and their bodies thrown in the river. Dalician men were killed before their families and survivors were rounded up and tortured. It was all over.



Zaragoza ordered the construction of a giant prison, as a landmark reminder for future generations and a symbol of the empireo s power. Right on the battlefield where they had so bravely fought, not far from their old villages, every last remaining Dalician would be packed tightly into cells, and there, would rot forever. Nothing could challenge the empire.







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Of course, not every Dalician could be found. Many had hidden in their caves and mountain tunnels during the fighting. With their hunting and building skills, they had survived the slaughter and thrived in the aftermath. The fate of the empire was a mystery. Had it been finally torn apart by rebellion? Whatever the case, to mark the thousand year anniversary since the last battle, they went to celebrate and remember the valiant efforts of their ancestors. Emerging from their caves into the sunso rays, what they saw could not have been anymore of a surprise. Yes, there were the old ruins, the ancient architecture, the tombs and the giant, legendary prison facing the mountain. As expected. But next to it, sprawled a huge new civilisation.



Dozens of buildings and structures unlike any they had seen before. Enormous, colourful round objects in the sky, with objects suspended from them. And they were moving, somehow. There were hundreds of people, moving around like ants. Towering green trees and colourful plants in the smooth ground. The Dalicians remained hidden as they inspected this with wonder. How could this be? Where had these people come from? Were they the descendents of the vicious empire?







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Soggyville is a beautiful, thriving and majestic city, yet living in ignorance of the mysteries of the past. The children are not allowed to explore the countryside. They must not go up the mountains. They must certainly not inspect the ancient, overgrown ruins and strange half-buildings on the mountainside. You see, this city lives in fear. Many have heard nameless whispers on the mountains, seen skeletons in the rivers and ragged bones amongst the rocks. The stench of blood and decay is thick in the cold air.



They stay here because they were born here, and dare not go beyond the forests, the mountains, the ocean nor the overwhelmingly large and locked-up prison, all of which hem them in like terrified mice. They are stuck here, imprisoned by their fear and lack of curiosity to discover the truth. But they make the best of what they have, using their land well and going peacefully about their simplistic lives. They can do nothing more.







The Dalicians have set up camp among their old ruins, keeping to the rocky shadows. They want to watch these people and find out if theyo re descendants of the murderers. If they are...well, they will suffer. The Dalicians are no longer just villagers, but have grown in number and have become fighters. Retribution will be swift if necessary. So, these new city-dwellers will be watched. They will be stared at, forever. They can never be free...and they may come to wish they had never been born.

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