In their hubris, they cast aside the sacred laws of God and crown. Men lay with livestock in the squares, and women coupled with beasts in the fields, defiling the very earth that nourished them. The stench of their sins rose to heaven, and ravens, dark as damnation, circled above, croaking prophecies of woe. Word of their depravity reached the ears of the Kingdom's sovereign, who had long shielded them from rival lords. Great was his wrath! “Let the hand of mercy wither,” he proclaimed. “No longer shall my banner guard those who mock divine order!”
Thus did knights from all realms—pale crusaders of Espada, iron-clad judges of Blood, and even wandering sellswords—descend upon UKL like wolves. Flames licked the sky as thatch and timber burned, and the air rang with the screams of the wicked. For forty days and nights, steel and fire cleansed the village, until its people, reduced to wailing specters, crawled upon ash-strewn roads to the king’s citadel. “Mercy, O magnanimous lord!” they cried. “Spare us, though we be unworthy!”
Moved by pity—or perchance divine folly—the king relented. “Go forth,” he declared, “and sin no more. Merge thy households with the pious folk of KOB, that their virtue may mend thy souls.” Yet no sooner did his protection return than UKL’s folk, like dogs to vomit, returned to their abominations. They scoffed at the decree to unite with KOB, spurning their righteous neighbors as “prudes” and “zealots.” In secret dens, they revived their orgies; in moonlit barns, beasts again bore witness to mortal shame.
Whispers of their renewed defiance reached the throne. The king’s counselors urged him to raze the village once and for all, but he, ever hopeful, sighed, “Even a viper may yet shed its skin.” But the viper did not shed—it struck. And so UKL festered, a canker on the realm, its people soulless, their hearts blacker than the ravens that now nested in their charred ruins.
Thus ends this chronicle, a testament to mercy squandered and souls beyond redemption. Let all who hear it tremble and take heed: For as the Scriptures warn, the wicked shall know no peace, though reprieve be granted seven times seven. UKL’s fate is sealed, not by flame or sword, but by the rot within—a warning etched in blood for ages yet unborn.
