A dark fairy tale without fairies.
an excerpt

The Sultan rode well. The Sultan; formerly prince Hadgel. Even I who am but a worm, and lower than a worm, by no means knowledgeable about the fine arts Equestrian, can see his skill. As a Grand Sultan it is known that he puts all other to shame in all aspects of creation, throwing all into his shadow, but riding is indeed something at which he excels. A month has passed since he simultaneously poisoned his father, the illustrious Sultan, seized the throne, and executed his ninety seven brothers, following a long and traditional method for taking power. He allowed the people to rejoice and celebrate for seven days, then he called a council of war. His adviser all agreed that the eastern barbarian threat had existed for far too long. It is right to educate them and bring them into the kingdom, making them a part of the glorious Kerrhaven and blessing them thereby. Thus the Sultan called together fifty thousand of his finest troops and set forth the way across the mountain. He commanded that throughout the war he should be supplied from the city, and to that end the Great Sultan commissioned a chain of carts to be driven continuously until He should return in triumph to the city. Seven hundred rest stops have been built across the empire to supply and repair the supply wagons in their charge, and a new war tax was declared to farmers, an additional tenth of their crop was taken for the war effort. Some few foolish ones protested the new law, and they were made examples of in accordance with the laws of the ancient kings.
Hadgel led the Army across the breadth of the empire and back, inspiring the people with the glory of their new leader before proceeding to the mountains. Here was a snag struck. The mountain passes were not suited for the one man carts used by the Sultan’s army, a box on two wheels drawn by a man between two shafts. Many lost their way and ate the food with which they were entrusted to prevent starvation, and when they were found suffered the just punishment for theft from the empire: The hands severed from the body and cauterized that they may survive to be hung by the ankles for three days or until the wretch loses consciousness. At that time he is beheaded before the public assembly. So it has been and so it will be, until the end of time. Furthermore, the Golden army was not suited for the weather in these high passes, and by the time the Golden army had reached the highest point, over five hundred had died of exposure, and an additional thousand from lack of nourishment. The Sultan determined to press on in his great wisdom, and to let his men live from the rich land that we shall find. Something troubles the Sultan though. All is not bright on the horizon. A Week ago the War mages Felt something through the ether: a echoing burst of power greater than anything they had ever felt before. They say that it hums still, a constant distraction to them. The Sultan, may he be exalted for eternity, has dismissed it some natural event, but I am not so certain. It is not mine to question, but to obey. More recently, and almost as worrying, The mages felt as well two great summonings in rapid succession. They say that only the greatest of human mages could have performed both so quickly, and it is likely that it was done by the same mage, for it was summoned through the same summoning circle, a capability lost by a bonded group. I smell something ominous in the wind, figuratively and sensible: The air does indeed smell of brimstone. The mages whisper of the darkest art being practiced beyond the pass: the summoning of demons. They warn that demons often cannot be harmed by sword or spear, so instruct that a mage be notified should any strange creature be discovered. This very day a Demon came. It was not noticed until it was upon us, for it floated on the wind high above. It came on silent wings and breathed upon the Golden army, and those who were touched by its breath were stripped of their flesh. Even the earth was sundered by the fire and brimstone that proceeded from the throat of the Hell Fiend. The Mages sprang to our defense, hurling air and stone, but this only infuriated the creature, and it fell upon us, dropping to the earth and devouring five men. Its size was immense, longer than two fishing ships end to end: perhaps ten meters. It rent many with its claws, opening their entrails to the sky, and many more were immolated by its breath. The mages were hampered in their efforts by the Sultan’s injunction to take the beast alive. In the end it took five mages linked to subdue the beast, freezing it solid. By carefully controlling it they managed to tie it with enchanted rope, many loops around the fearsome jaws and the ripping talons. Its tail could not be restrained, for many thorn-like projections are upon it, and they sever even the strongest rope. Twenty horses on each side strain to hold the beast and control it, for even so tied it fights every second to free itself and strike us all down. Over two hundred men died in the taking of the beast. The Sultan has spoken of the many uses for such a creature, properly controlled: It may be useful in a siege, for its breath, as I have already written, can sunder stone. He has also suggested that it may serve as an executioner, for the beast does not need to eat, though it seems never to be full. The five mages charge with its capture have also been charge to find a way to magically control it, and they continue in their task, though they are now four; one tried to link with the beast’s mind, and was driven mad, burning several pack animals to death before he was killed in one of his own explosions. The day draws to a close, and the Sultan has declared a day of rest to commemorate the men who died for the honor of the empire, and to feast. I am called now to my duty.

~An excerpt of the journal of Havyn, an Imperial Guard.