[i]There, yonder, past the motley line of brush and trees -- beyond the range of so many peasant's terrors. It stood tall and proud, surrounded five-fold by mighty sentry towers, and mightier, lofty brick-work barricades between them. Over the course of centuries the walls of the stone city had been coated and recoated in hundreds of thousands of gallons of lime-wash; to the consistent, splendorous effect of casting the entire collage of structures from a singular piece of rock. For six, hundred, years it had sat there -- slowly expanding, slowly growing in strength. In infancy it had been nothing more than a hastily constructed Keep -- a retreat for the cowardly lord that'd so brutally worked his serfs to finish it. Only 'after' he perished did it 'truly' begin to flourish, steadily adding atop itself. First, another hut, a doctor's hut; and following this...? A blacksmith's lodge for the rescued smith's son -- his father had died a midst the terrifying forms that occupied the great forests surrounding the tiny settlement, only occasionally breaking forth--thankfully into the ready blades of the land's guardians--at the tempting intrigue of a stray or weak worker. Steadily, gradually, the land was tilled and sown; years came and went, and the village grew into a town; and from there--following the birth of its greatest benefactor--it sprouted magnificent walls. Walls telling of a place of great protection, or great opportunity. A place of life and death, work and relaxation, career and sloth. And with these triumphs rose the population, capable of providing more for the expansive community, capable of allowing for a greater surplus of supplies to be used most ably by its myriad of craftsmen. From workers of the plow, to thinkers of the pen and from there to artisans of the polearm...all of these things would arise, in time. And the city would become renowned for its culture, for its long history, for its masterful achievements, for the tremendous shelter it gave to those trying to escape the chaos outside its walls.

It would 'be' a great city.

                           It 'is' a great city.

                                                And the city was born with a single name...

                                                                                                                      ...."Yvindel!"

"...And the people would shout and praise its great walls, and its powerful military, and its tremendous economy. It would be worshiped by all those who loved and cherished it, and they would shout--and are 'still' to this day shouting...that name..."

She paused, gazing upon the speckled city that glimmered so brightly on the plains. Outside of the reach of the darkness, it seemed to glorify itself in the naked eye of the great creator above, who's fiery beams lit upon its shimmering white walls, and the great, thronging multitude of rooftops that--assuredly--outshone an even greater number below the line of sight. The sight from 'outside' those massive walls, away from the great shelters it provided, and the innumerable happy families it had birthed, and the immense plains of wheat and crop grown to sustain it, and all the other many wonderful things 'it' had created. The woman raked her pale, slender fingers through the sloppy mess of jagged, jet-black hair atop her head, completing the history:

"...and today, that name will live no longer."

Following the signal of her risen arm as it jutted forth, the creaking groan of their preliminary trebuchet shot flew overhead the witch's ears. With a rapid sense of urgency, the hurtled cargo sailed through the air, progressively decreasing in size as it passed further and further more beyond the mind's eye. She watched as it arced, dropping...dropping...

"MISS! RE-ADJUST FOR ANOTHER SIXTY YARDS!", came the shouting cry of one of the secondaries, his voice sending the lengthy line of trebuchet crews speeding into action as they set about following the command. Midia expired in minor disappointment -- what a waste of a good speech; though, she supposed she'd probably been the only one capable of hearing it at that soft a tone. A set of five digits rapped impatiently along the spear in her right, waiting for the others to finish correcting their error. 

Talk about waste -- the short woman's blue eyes seemed to lapse from the anxious excitement they'd held before. They trailed the package, observing the faint dot as it dropped just short of the eastern outer wall, bursting forth into a wicked titian flame. It snarled and whipped about there, in the distance, as the siege engines readied for a more accurate volley.

"READY!"

Again, her arm summarily rose and fell, preceding the groaning launch of several dozen fire-bombs as they raced across the sky, striking past the first wall. Less than a minute passed, and what little smoke the first miss had produced was now replaced by a long, thick barrier of the choking smog -- its presence casting a foreboding shadow over that proud engineering feat. The first wall--home to the majority of the city's agriculture--would soon be in uproar, with massive, enraged fires greedily devouring the bountiful surpluses...all they need do was wait.

Wait for their opportunity.

Wait for the first stage of the end.[/i]