The King’s Keep was the last remaining bastion of the tyrannical regime which ruled the land from the Galloping Sea in the west to the Sawtooth Peaks in the east, the sole defiant finger which positioned itself to be most offensive to all who dared rebel against the vain royal who still demanded fealty. It was a simple castle, a tower three hundred feet tall with little more than a curtain wall for protection. It once jutted out over the green landscape with the grandeur of marble, glimmering in the sun like a jewel, but after the war, the smoke and tar had worn on the alabaster skin, turning it black and yellow with age and despair.
Despite the seemingly temping solution of knocking the thin finger down with a hammer, as it looked frail from afar, hiding its remarkably strong face under a facade of fragile balconies and fluttering tapestries, the sole method of toppling the imperial redoubt was far more complex. Beneath the simple protection the tower had was a vast network of caverns, and it was within these catacombs that the rebels had decided to place explosives. The end would be the same: The tower would be toppled, but in this case they would simply be robbing it of its support. “Fitting, aye?” the rebel captain asked his attaché.
“Indeed, sir,” he replied. The situation was suiting. Just as the rebels had stolen the support from the crown, they were about to rob the king’s last castle of its foundation.
The rebels toiled through the night, assembling in droves as they tunneled through the earth to a subterranean tube the had discerned the location of. After finding it, they wheeled in the carts of dynamite and gunpowder and followed the tube towards the area of the castle’s foundation.
There were few resistants. A few guards were stationed below as a precaution, though the vanguard had disabled them and cleared the way. The rebels worked through the night and into the day, and it was not until late the next night that they reached their goal: The basement chambers under the tower. They laid their stuffs there and left a few of their number behind as the suicidal guards of the load in case it was discovered. They then left and emerged from their entrance.
The men left behind lit the fuses and let it go, not bothering to flee; they knew what the fireworks would look like. For the majority who left, though, the sight was heavenly. In a fantastic blow, the entire bottom fourth of the tower disintegrated, sending the rest of the bastion to crumble down in a massive heap. The earth shuddered, but the people rejoiced as the last bricks shattered. The king’s tower had been destroyed, and with it, his influence. They were free at last.