The fall of Imbuthara: the nephilim cycle, #1

By Lorenzo Meteora

This is the prequel to an upcoming series about a retelling of the Nephilim story, the giants that once roamed the earth. Prepare for an epic fantasy setting, full of magic, dragons and all kinds of mythical creatures!

 

It describes the fall of the mighty city of Imbuthara through the eyes of the guard Inra, which, unbeknownst to him, is the first step in the prolongued war of the Nephilim, that will set all the world ablaze.

 

Get ready for a taste of monstrous epic fantasy, and if you enjoy the tale, stay tuned for much, much more!

 

After the prequel, the first two chapters of book 1 of the Nephilim cycle are included. Hopefully this will give you a good idea of the overall setting of the series. Enjoy!

• Language: English
• Publisher: Lorenzo Meteora
• Release date: Feb 17, 2023
• ISBN: 9798215972007

Book preview

The fall of Imbuthara

When the bond was broken, the world was set aflame.

The children rose, to take the fathers crown.

Two races broken, and they alone to blame.

The war of kin, in whose blood the world shall drown.

A soft night breeze touched upon the thick wall and houses of Imbuthara, the grand city which many referred to as The Pearl of the East. The breeze sent forth a soft, satisfied whistle as it descended from the heights of the protruding towers, as if relishing its youthful purity. It tenderly caressed the rooftops, much the same way the winds of the past have been doing for a thousand years, beyond which the details get a bit fuzzy. The breeze fanned out over wide cobblestone streets, through narrow alleys all the way to the center of the city. To the white palace of the Maghara family, which claim to have ruled the city for as long as it stands, and whose members vehemently oppress the awful rumor that they had once dethroned the Burgum family in a less than graceful manner. It was a calm night. Quiet. As good a night as the end of spring could offer. As good a night as one could hope for, standing watch.

Inra was watching the silent landscape in front of the city walls at his leisure, using his spear to prop up his large frame. His shoulder length, golden hair lightly stirred in acknowledgement of the wind, as he deeply inhaled the fresh smell of cold air, carried to him from the faraway mountain tops. A wondrous, fresh smell that let old bones remember they are still alive, and that chased away the irky feeling of trepidation that had been haunting him all evening. He shivered despite of himself, suppressing his dark thoughts with no small amount of will-power, and tried to focus on the empty space outside the city walls.

Before him lay an open area of several hundred feet, kept clear year-round by hundreds of laborers. Like any soldier, he had labored out there for many a spring and autumn, with nothing but a hoe and his store of curses to work with. The one time they had simply tried burning the field clean, the smoke had clung inside the city walls for days. With a wry chuckle he recalled how people had suffered from black spit for days, and for weeks more so from aggrieved women lamenting their ruined clothes. The Magharas were fat, corrupt fools, but they could be decisive at times, and now wouldn´t accept anything but manual labor for the job. Not even magic. It was just as well for Inra, for whom the field was littered with fond memories of jesting with his fellow soldiers and letting rookies dig for stone-roots that didn’t exist in the first place. The only issue was, that the city perimeter was not quite as barren as it should be, with occasional shrubs and boulders offering too much cover for comfort.

Too many years of looking at glittering blankets of snow had taken a toll on his eyes, but he could still clearly discern the shapes of the distant mountains against the night sky. Unmoving shadows, darker than the night itself. A solid mass of stone, sunk deep into the earth’s crust, topped with ice-laden jagged peaks for over fifty miles to the east, fanning out to the north and south, and any direction in between. Cleaved only by the valley of the Dark River, the cold and cruel lifeblood