Metal creaked as the once proud tower fell crashing to the ground. It was the last symbol of freedom, the last bastion of hope that the people of Kazaldor had. The usually fertile fields lay barren, trodden into oblivion by the iron shod boots of the soldiers who had almost continuously marched towards the capital. They had left a trail of destruction behind them, farmers and livestock alike laying dead next to the pastures. It was a horrific sight, yet paled in comparison to the scenes that could be found at the capital Cylon. Fires still raged amongst the buildings, corrupt soldiers ran amok amongst the streets, doing as they pleased. It seemed that the invaders cared littlefor taking over but seemed to relish in the unfettered violence. Few dared to stand in their way, running from the sound of their now feared boots. With the tower of Cylon in ruins, very few believed that Kazaldor could ever be restored to its former glory. James Reilly however, was one of those men.
Reilly lifted the cold drink to his lips, relishing the taste. His dusty throat was refreshed, and already he could feel his aching limbs returning to their former selves. However, his relief was mingled with sadness. He sat alone in the pub, a weary and worried barman his only companion. This used to be the centre of Cylon, the hub of the town. Never would one find this place close to empty before the invasion, yet now Reilly truly wondered if there were enough people left within the city walls to fill the room. He pulled a couple of coins from his pockets, nodded at the barkeep, and made his way into the streets that few bar him were willing to travel at night