V. The Forsaken: A Nagarathi children's story....

[Malossar]

+1 to what Rod said. This is much better than the dribble continually written by Gav Thorpe (ok ok Caledor and the Shadow King were OK) but that's about it...

[Aicanor]

Headshot, thanks for all those great chapters. I wanted to comment under each of them, but never quite managed it. Looking forward to more!

[Headshot]

@Aicanor

That's ok! All this time working with the Nagarathi has taught me the importance of persevering on my own... Without relying on the support of any of my virtual friends.... cough cough....

If Palin'Tanith said it once, he said it a thousand times: "You can only count on your brothers in black! Those soft southern elves will always let you down...."

Cough cough....

But if I don't finish the stories... Who will? The dutch?! Pshaw!!!



Headshot

P.S. Speaking of which....

[Headshot]

Part 13 – Castle Gormghast


“There it is…” Malossar intoned calmly.

The three Asur stood in the shadow of the broken watchtower, their gazes drinking in the peninsula, and its single fortress, before them. The sky was clear for a change; though it was no pristine blue, but a shale-like grey of the northern autumn. The world was filled with a diffused light, cold and shadow-less.

“Those walls are a hundred feet. At least. And only the one gate,” Malossar continued. Kurnion looked over to him. His old friend’s head and face were still wrapped in makeshift bandages, but the one revealed eye gazed purposefully out at their destination. The Caledorian stood relaxed, and with a steely calm, arms folded, watching the Druchii fortress as if he was deconstructing it in his mind. Kurnion could almost see the armies being arrayed, the Eagleclaws wound and leveled, the ramparts raised, with formations of spears, shields interlocked, ready to force an entrance…. A siege worthy of the might of Caledor….

With armies that they did not have….

“Shadow Warriors could climb even that wall,” the Shadow Prince added from where he stood and watched. “Yet, we would be seen. And draw bolts and oil from the parapets….”

He stood to Kurnion’s other side, frowning at the fortress with obvious concern. They had traveled so far. Crossed half of this cursed country, to finally reach the place named in that leger of Clar Karond….

He would not be stopped by a closed door!

“We could wait til night,” the Nagarathi offered quietly.

“No!” Kurnion snapped back. “I will not leave my sister one minute longer than necessary in the hands of those Druchii!”

Even as he said it, he knew it wasn’t wise. Foolish, and the Nagarathi offered only practical guidance. And yet…. The thought of Tarabeth alone, in the hands of the torturers, yet so close….. He couldn’t bear it.

“Agreed,” Malossar stated in support, and placed a comforting hand on his shoulder. Though his eye was still locked on the fortress. After a moment, he added, “I find it hard to believe that there is only one entrance. It is a strong defense, but could leave the occupants trapped like rats in a box.”

The Shadow Prince nodded. “I suspect there is at least one other exit to the Keep. Hidden somewhere nearby. Possibly under the waterline….” He answered. “The Druchii lord would have to live in fear of the attack of rivals. Or a usurpation from within his own court. In the north, success legitimates all treachery….”

“Then that is our way!” Kurnion said, decisively and with urgency.

The Shadow Prince paused and shook his head. “We would need to search for it, and would surely be seen from the walls…..” He paused for a minute. Then his face turned grim. “We will need a distraction….”

Then another moment. “I will go.”

He un-shouldered the great Draich and passed it to Kurnion. Then stripped the knives from his belt. Turning, weaponless, he began towards the single road that led to the castle gate.

“What?! No!” Kurnion barked and seized his arm. “I will go!”

The Shadow Prince looked at him sadly. “No, Kurnion. Your sister will need you…after this. You will need to find her and the other captive and get them to safety.” Glancing at the Caledorian, he added, “And Malossar has not yet regained his full strength. It will be to the two of you to lead them from this terrible country.”

Malossar was scowling fearsomely. “You damned Nagarathi,” he hissed. “Why must you sacrifice yourself?”

The Shadow Prince turned back towards the road. Over his shoulder he said, “Why?”

He started walking. “Because, as you said, I am Nagarathi.”

“And the Nagarathi never leave a brother – or sister – behind!”

***

The guards atop the parapets of Gormghast stood with a practiced ease, bored at the unending task. It was cold high atop the wall; the autumn winds cut with a razor chill, hardened by salty brine brought in from the howling seas. But that was as nothing compared to the winter cold that would be upon them soon. Then, it wasn’t unheard of to find a raw recruit, dead from frost and exposure after a long night’s vigil.

An attentiveness to both the elements and the surrounding land and sea was demanded of the sentinels of Gormghast. Because both were deadly.

But today there were no raw recruits atop the walls. The dozen watchers above the gates were all veterans, experienced in the service to their lord, and his father before him. They watched the road, while their counterparts at the other sides of the walls watched the seas. All eyes searching for the telltale sign of a raiding party, or even an invasion. Not unheard of in the intrigues among the lords of Naggaroth….

Yet, today there was little to see. It was morning, and the tide was out. The world before the gate was a syrupy sea-mud and ooze, filled with tiny scittering crabs and dead fish. Except where the road ran, straight and true as an arrow, south to the woodlands and farms that composed the bulk of the Gormghast domain. There the slaves worked under the overseer’s lash, felling timber and growing the crops that provided a not insignificant portion of the domain’s wealth. And the road was carefully elevated to keep it as dry and passable as possible, for the easy transport of goods and warriors.

So the sentinels stood, wrapped in woolen cloaks, leaning on spears, with their deadly repeater crossbows stacked carefully along the parapet’s base. Small braziers burned at scattered points about the wall top, and it was around these that the guards naturally gathered, in twos or threes, for warmth and comradeship. They stood, occasionally grumbling something into the bitter wind, but for the most part they stared out into the waiting world, watching, and wishing they were elsewhere.

And then one saw it. Where the road had been empty but a moment before, there was movement! A single solitary figure had appeared as if from nowhere, and was walking the final hundred yards to the gate below.

The watcher blinked just to make sure his eyes were not playing tricks on him. (He had been up late carousing the night before. Perhaps that wine, taken from the man-lands of Nippon…?) But no. The figure was still there when he opened his eyes again. An elf, dressed in worn, mud-caked armor, with the remnants of a tattered cloak twisting in the wind about his shoulders. His long, stringy black hair blew about a thin, almost emaciated, visage.

The sentinel stood up straighter, alerting his fellows to the figure on the road. Crossbows were taken up. One sounded a short note on his horn, alerting the garrison below.

“HALT!!!” the first sentinel called down in his drill-ground voice. “Who approaches Castle Gormghast?!”

The ragged elf far below stopped a stone’s throw from the gate. Slowly, his head turned upwards, and even from the distance the sentinel could see the hard black eyes peering from out of that wasted countenance. Even from the distance, crossbow in hands, the watcher was taken aback for a moment. The eyes were those of an ancient: ice cold, and yet filled with such malice. Yet it was only for a moment, then he and his fellows crowded the wall, crossbows pointed downwards.

“I?” a thin voice called from below, as the figure faced them. “I? I am the Shadow Prince of Nagarythe!!”

The figure said calmly but with terrible force. Eyes sweeping across the waiting Druchii.

Then slowly, it added,

“And I would have words with the lord of this keep….”

***

The Seeker strode down the corridor.

The castle was abuzz with activity. Whispered conversations seemed to fill every nook and cranny. The halls were witness to streaming clusters of Druchii warriors, courtiers, and servants; all headed in the same direction as he.

It was supposed to have been easy. A short tour of the outlaying, rural estates of southern Naggaroth. Always notorious for being potential dens for the worship of the lascivious Dark Power. And as was his duty, he had come to investigate and witness. And admittedly, he had hoped to find: to call for a Purge of one of these homesteads, to revel in the bloodletting to follow. That would have risen him in the eyes of the court of Naggarond.

And yet he had been exiled to this backward stretch of the Empire for over two months, with nothing to show for it. He had been eager to finish the trip so that he could return north and see what his rivals had been saying about him in his absence….

He entered the court annex. The fool boy lord was already there, seated upon a smaller version of his father’s throne from the main hall, and surrounded by the guard and sycophants that comprised his retinue. There was also a further gaggle of slave females, humans and elves, drugged and chained to the base of the throne; they were slack jawed and blank eyed with the serums that ensured their compliance. Beyond them was the hulking, misshapen figure of the boy’s ‘uncle’. He was an armored imbecile, whatever his real relation to the court may be.

Fool! If only his father hadn’t have succumbed to that poison…. Then the Seeker wouldn’t be forced to deal with the impertinent vanity of a child made lord before his time.

He gritted his teeth and with his Blackguard in tow, moved to his position to the right of the throne; the honorary place due to his station as being of the Hand of the King.

The annex was already crowded with elves. And a quick glance showed that even more loitered atop the other walls. All eyes were fixed on the slim inner courtyard below. The sun streamed down onto the interior center like a beacon light: a beam of radiance prepared for the spectacle to come.

And then the doors opened, and the Seeker found that even he was holding his breath. A half dozen heavily armed guardsmen marched through. And between them….

An elf. A tall, slender, sickly looking elf, wan with what looked like little more than skin over his bones. He wore the remnants of a Corsair’s garb, and his hair was an unkempt, long stringy black. About his wrists were manacles laced with silver. The warriors marched him to the courtyard center directly under the sunlight, and sealed the doors behind them. The elf looked up towards the throne high overhead, and in the radiance the Seeker could see how truly filthy and pitiable a creature it was.

The boy Gormghast leaned forward seeming to savor the sight. A smirk on his face, the Seeker could imagine the youth’s eyes as needles burrowing into the flesh of some curious insect below.

The Seeker frowned. This couldn’t be….

Then the elf below spoke.

“I am the Shadow Prince of Nagarythe….” The voice cold and calm echoed up to them.

Lord Gormghast, still smirking, declaimed, “Really? You seem more the Drab Prince of Nagarythe to me!” The sycophants duly laughed at the poor attempt at humor, and the guards, of course, followed suit. Soon all of the balconies were ringing with peals of mirth.

The Seeker kept his mouth shut and his jaw clenched. Surveying the elf below, who waited for the laughter to die out.

He waited calmly. And that…wasn’t right.

The Seeker fixed upon the face below. Saw the black, black eyes of an ancient warrior in that otherwise pitiable visage.

There was no fear there. None at all. Despite the overwhelming vulnerability of his situation. That meant either he was mad. Or….

Finally Lord Gormghast had grown tired of his jest. He waived the court to silence, and then leaning forward once more said to the prisoner. “I am told you have words for me. You may speak.”

The Seeker’s frown deepened as he focused his concentration on the elf below. This wasn’t right.

“You have two Asur woman within the keep, taken forcibly from the south some months ago,” the elf called calmly. “Return them to me, unharmed…

“…and you may live.”

Laughter once more erupted throughout the court. Raucous, tear inducing, belly laughter. The boy lord was practically rolling about his throne. And yet the Seeker’s jaw hardened. He habitually reached for his ceremonial glaive, taking it from his attendant.

There was no fear in those eyes… That meant…. Either he was mad….

Or this was a diversion!

He stopped. Trying to think. Trying to listen. And yet the bedlam of the court allowed for neither.

Finally, the boy lord called for silence once more and faced his captive.

“I suppose that if we refuse to return them to you, unharmed as you say,” he said, a smile stretching his face, “then we will all die?”

From below, a simple unadorned, “Yes”, came up. More laughter.

“Oh, him I like!” the boy declared in the silence that followed, clapping his hands together joyfully.

And then, the Seeker could hear it. Calls and shouts from further within the Keep!

“My lord…” he interrupted.

The boy waived him off, and still smiling, said, “Kill him.”

“My lord!” the Seeker tried to protest.

It was so fast. The Seeker was forced to use all of his concentration to follow what happened.

The prisoner had taken a breath, and slumped to one side where he stood. The guard on the other side had habitually tightened his grip to hold him in place…and as he did so, the prisoner had jerked back, yanking the guard out of his position. A spear lanced forward at the same time, thrusting through the space the prisoner once had stood. But which now the stumbling guard filled. The spear took him under the arm in a fountain of blood.

And the prisoner’s arm was free! He spun about and seized the head of the other holding him, and with a twist, bones snapped! A skull hung feebly.

And from the guard’s belt, a sword was now in the prisoner’s hands.

It was over in seconds. The last guard was thrown to the stone floor, with the sword buried through the soft spot under his sternum, before the Seeker had taken his second breath. And the court above had fallen into utter silence, except for the occasional gasp or murmur.

The boy lord Gormghast was watching, smile in place, eyes ablaze, as if pleased with a new acquisition to his kennels.

The Seeker could hear it now. Shouts and the sounds of battle further within the Keep. He cursed, and snapped his fingers, summoning his Blackguard warriors about him. He made towards the side entrance.

Just in time to see the prisoner far below heft one of the fallen spears…and throw it, javelin-like, towards the throne!

The Seeker’s heart leapt into his throat. He had no love for the boy. But if the lord died on his watch – and not at his hand – it would make him look incompetent. And THAT was a death mark in the Naggarond.

But as the spear sailed through the air, suddenly a throne-slave staggered to her feet. She performed the duty the drugs and training had ingrained into her addled brain. And acted as a shield of living flesh to her lord and master. The spear transfixed her at the last instant. She fell spilling forth her vital life fluids.

Lord Gormghast was no longer smiling. He had paled several shades, and his eyes turned hard.

“Release the spiders!” he commanded.

The Seeker shook his head, and made for the bowels of the keep.

***

[Loran]

What? Spiders?

A brilliant piece once again. But still (once again) too short!

Can't wait for the next one! This thread seems to be the only reason I frequently check up on the site as I've been a bit too busy to actually browse all the new posts

- Loran

[Elithmar]

It was over in seconds.

That's ASF for you!

Thanks for yet another great part. I have no doubt they'll escape, but will the Shadow Prince survive?

[daid13]

Way to go shadow prince thrash the incompetent druchi, rescue the sister and get back in time to help who ever else needs the shadow prince whether it is the colonials with their biknis and poo cookies or idiotic pompus eataini prince of fools or arrogant caledorians who can't tell the difference between a noble eagle and a ancient dragon or sapherians that don't know that you don't get enough rainbows on the battle field for rainbow camoflarge to work or yvressians who get lost visiting their nextdoor neighhbours or wagon jumpers who are stupid enough to betray the one race who has longer memorys than us or chracians who can't think about anything other than lions...

sorry about enormus paragragh hope I haven't missed anyone.

[Aicanor]

That's ASF for you!

And a reroll, he chose his weapons well.
Now reading the last post I get the feeling we may not be as respectable audience as you deserve, Headshot.

[Elessehta of Yvresse]

Normally at this point I say, 'We know how he dies, and it's not here'. Except, this could be how he dies this time ^_^'

[Headshot]

I get the feeling we may not be as respectable audience as you deserve, Headshot.

Ah it's okay! The nagarathi might not think much of you lot, but I like you guys!

I mean, I gotta appreciate my indulgent audience! (All five of you. )

Headshot

[Malossar]

I get the feeling we may not be as respectable audience as you deserve, Headshot.

Ah it's okay! The nagarathi might not think much of you lot, but I like you guys!

I mean, I gotta appreciate my indulgent audience! (All five of you. )

Headshot

And hey... we're loyal to the end.

[Elithmar]

Hey, idiotic pompous Eataini princes of fools have feelings too, you know.

[daid13]

So sorry to have offended his enormus pride and am shocked that he wasn't busy showing his class of pretty girls how to dance.

[Aicanor]

There are more than five I am sure. The Nagarathi reading the stories are just too grim and silent to leave a comment.

@ daid13, as a good Sapherian I am just going to point out there actually are rainbows to be found on the battlefield.

[daid13]

There's only 7 colours in rainbow and there's 8 in your pic so not a rainbow.

[Prince of Spires]

Hey, I'm still here, so that makes at least 6.

@daid: technically speaking, all colors are (or can be at least) present in a rainbow. Us humans just have trouble drawing, so we tend to stick to just the 7.

Rod

[daid13]

That makes sense other than the fact that pure black doesn't appear I think at all definetely not naturally.

[Aicanor]

Spires is quite right. Also, all colours are inherently present in white and black. For reference, Saruman discussed it at some length with Gandalf. And as we are talking about camouflage, not definition, so I think it is close enough for practical purposes.
Not that it has anything to do with the story.

[Headshot]

Hey, I'm still here, so that makes at least 6.

Six it is then!

(Wait! Does Rod count as a 'person'?? I always assumed he was one of those 'spy programs' launched by the US government to monitor traffic on the internet. You know, a ghost in the machine that is only partially self aware. Hmmmmm..... )

Not that it has anything to do with the story.

Feel free to argue about rainbows all you want when I'm not here!

I look forward to a resolution of that classic anthropological problem of color categorization! (The Japanese call their green traffic lights 'blue'. And not to mention the cultures that use multiple axes for their color systems: things like 'wet' and 'dry', or 'proximity to the ancestors'!) Have fun!

Headshot

[Karalael Moonsinger]

Make it seven, your writing has made me want to write my own fluff instead of keeping it locked up in my head. Just need to get the courage and time to make the plunge

[Prince of Spires]

(Wait! Does Rod count as a 'person'?? I always assumed he was one of those 'spy programs' launched by the US government to monitor traffic on the internet. You know, a ghost in the machine that is only partially self aware. Hmmmmm..... )

sshhh. That's supposed to be secret... We're watching and recording all the heretical, anarchistic stories you write down here. Just don't tell anyone I told you that. All the killing and stabbing and magic got our attention. Not to mention the non-conformist views (using shadow warriors? In a HE list?? Seriously???) you propagate.

Of course, the best way to deal with the internet monitoring is to just create as much content as possible. At some point, it becomes too much to be used in any usefull maner.

The real person behind all this is of course Spires who pulls all the strings from the shadows. Rod is just a puppet.

Rod

[Malossar]

Hey, I'm still here, so that makes at least 6.

Six it is then!

(Wait! Does Rod count as a 'person'?? I always assumed he was one of those 'spy programs' launched by the US government to monitor traffic on the internet. You know, a ghost in the machine that is only partially self aware. Hmmmmm..... )

I'm not sure joking is wise here (/sarcasm) ... you might end up in Hong Kong and praying not to be extradicted

If that's the case you're still not off the hook for the story.

[Prince of Spires]

If that's the case you're still not off the hook for the story.

If anything, that would give him more time to write...

Rod

[Headshot]

Part 14 – Under Gormghast


Kurnion crept forward. He was soaking wet. Malossar had spotted an odd break in the waves, and so they had been forced to lower themselves into the frigid ocean tides. Clinging to slimy boulders, and foot slipping upon stone and gravel below, they had made their way slowly along the rocky shore behind the Druchii keep. Seal and seagull droppings had been everywhere, giving off a rancid, almost acidic, stench. His eyes had watered, and the open ocean’s salt had stung at every scrape and cut on his body. It must have been hell for Malossar; his bandages soaked with brine and salt - his still unhealed wounds must have felt as if on fire. And yet the Caledorian had clung to the boulders alongside him, slowly making his way, hand over hand, foot over foot, around the shore.

Then they had reached the eddy Malossar had seen. But to get there they had to plunge beneath the waves. It was an awful, awful feeling. The water a chaotic thrashing about him, and yet at the same time, pitch black and eerily silent. Thick fronds of kelp waived before his face; a veritable forest grove of the seaweeds rose from the ocean floor. And among them, the nimble bodies of the sea lions, twirling at the corner of his visions.

Once, Kurnion thought he had seen a white bodied ghostly form, like a dragon beneath the waves, the broad and bellicose figure of a white shark. He had tried not to think about it and swam as fast as his arms and legs would take him. Until then, finally, they had seen the tunnel mouth, blacker than the black waters around them. And the two had pulled themselves through and up. Gasping with burning lungs when the waters inside had finally leveled out, revealing a damp, worm like winding through the dark rock.

And now Kurnion crept forward. He could see a light ahead: a flickering torch flame. And in the ruddy red hue he could make out the shape of a heavy, barred gate, completely blocking the tunnel ahead. He moved up to it, felt the heavy steel bars under his hand. Beyond he could just make out the shape of an elf, sitting in a worn wooden chair, slumbering. A spear rested against the wall next to him. A horn was on his hips.

Malossar eyed the slumbering Druchii and then jerked his head towards the gate. Kurnion nodded and knelt down facing the complex lock mechanism. He pulled out his knife and began to prod.

And prod. Until he could almost see the irritation on the Caledorian’s slumped shoulders.

“Don’t worry,” Kurnion whispered. “An Eatainian sailor showed me once. I just have to find…”

And he prodded some more. How did it go? He tried turning the knife. No it wouldn’t fit. Perhaps he could force the locking bar upwards…?

Suddenly, Malossar jammed his shield between the bars, then flung himself shoulder first into it! There was an almighty clang! As steel and iron bent and snapped beneath the force of the blow! The weight and strength of the Caledorian’s shoulder charged levered back against the gate by the turning shield, snapped the lock bolt in two, and popped the gate open. The Druchii beyond was sitting up, startled with mouth agape, but Malossar was already upon him: kneeing him in the face, before finishing him with a downward blow from his heavy sword pommel.

“Mal!” Kurnion whispered-snarled.

“What?!”

“Quietly! We don’t want the garrison to hear us!”

The Caledorian rolled his one good eye and reclaimed his shield. “Bring em on!” he snorted. “I prefer a straight fight to all this sneaking around!” He gestured down the tunnel. “C’mon.”

***

Past another door and the tunnel emptied into what appeared to be the servant’s quarters of the castle. Kurnion recognized the spare corridor and room design, the many broom closets and rooms filled with cutlery to polish, from his own keep in Chrace. It was just another strange reminder of the similarities between the Asur and the Druchii….

Kurnion shook his head. “We must search the keep for the prisons…” he muttered softly.

Abruptly, a side door opened in the passage. Kurnion blanched and reached for his Draich, but stopped when he saw an elf child standing in the doorway. It was a boy, only ten winters old dressed in a servant’s smock, standing there shocked at the sight of the two soaked elf warriors in the corridor. Kurnion hesitated, and then put a finger to his lips, and shhhhhed the child. Carefully he moved onwards.

There was a thud behind him! He spun about and saw the boy sprawled upon the floor, blood leaking from a cracked skull, with Malossar standing above him. The Caledorian pointed towards a curved knife near the child’s hand.

“Careful,” Malossar grumbled. “They are all Druchii.”

Kurnion swallowed, trying not to imagine the knife being buried into his unsuspecting back. He nodded his thanks and tried to focus himself. Yes, they were Druchii. No matter how much this may look like home….

***

At the end of the corridor Malossar drew to a halt.

“This place is vast,” he grumbled. “We should split up.”

Kurnion opened his mouth to protest. But then clamped his jaw shut, and nodded. The keep was vast. He didn’t like it, but he needed to find Tarabeth.

“You go look for the maidens,” Malossar continued. “They are not here in the servant’s quarters, so they might be further up, near the family quarters.” He pointed towards a narrow servants’ stair.

Kurnion nodded again. Then frowned. “What will you be doing?”

Malossar drew his sword. “I’m going to go make sure that idiot doesn’t sacrifice himself.” He moved through the door at the corridor end. “No matter how much he might want to,” he finished with a grumble.

Then banging his sword on his shield, he started charging down the corridor beyond, howling as he went!

***

Kurnion entered a room. It was a study of some sort, with thick shelves lined with tomes, and a sturdy table in the center.

In the distance the Chracian could hear Malossar.

“RAAAAAAAAAWWWRRRRR!!!!! FLEE BEFORE THE MIGHT OF CALEDOR YOU DRUCHII SONS OF BITCHES!!!!! AH THE DRAGON LORDS ARE HERE FOR THEIR PREY!!!!!!”

Accompanied sporadically by the sound of steel upon steel, and the screams of the wounded and dying.

Kurnion sighed. I suppose there is more than one way to infiltrate a castle, he thought. Then made a short prayer to Kurnous for the Caledorian’s safety, and moved across the room towards the door on the far side.

It swung open! Three Druchii warriors burst into the room. Their faces registering shock and surprise at the waiting Chracian.

Kurnion hesitated only a split second. Then with a roar he seized the table in hand and flung it across the short span, bowling over the Druchii with the heavy wood. Then he pulled the Draich into his hands.

And felt the old familiar call of battle…

***

The throne annex was bedlam. Servants and soldiers were running here and there about the room and surrounding corridors. The sounds of fighting could now be clearly heard even here at the heart of the keep.

Lord Gormghast twisted in his father’s throne, scowling and sweating. A group of soldiers ran past the opposite balcony. He could hear them yelling, “We are under attack!” Servants were screaming nearby, in terror and disarray.

“Who is it?? What is happening??!” the young lord bellowed. But the warriors were already gone.

And then a group of female servants ran past the door crying and screaming. “The Nagarathi!! It is the Nagarathi!!! Shadow Warriors have come for us!!!!” a woman cried as they fled past.

“We are under attack!” a man’s voice called from somewhere nearby. “Bodies!! Bodies in the keep!!!”

Gormghast scowled and sweated some more. He turned to the left of the throne. “Uncle!” he bellowed. The twisted armored creature with the watery eye, stood up from his stool. “Find! Kill!!!” Gormghast instructed. The hulking misshapen elf grunted something, and then made off through the doorway.

Gormghast turned to survey his personal guard, standing calmly nearby. At least they were keeping their heads during this crisis. Where were that cursed Seeker and his Blackguard?

Someone shouted. “Dragons! There are dragons laying siege to the Castle!!!”

Gormghast stood. Perhaps he should move to a more secure location with his guard.

He turned towards them. Then stopped. At the edge of the balcony there was movement…

Suddenly, a curved spike of bone and gristle dug into the stone at the balcony’s edge, chipping the mortar and granite as it buried in with a pointed tip. The thing was a yard long, as wide as a spear-shaft, and covered in green slime and ichor. He recognized it: the mandible of a giant spider! At one end he could see muscle and ligaments still writhing; as if the deadly fang had just been torn directly from living flesh! Yet, there the tooth was, sunk into the stone at the edge of the balcony above the courtyard.

And a blood-soaked fist was wrapped about its center…

A figure of black and gore was hauling itself up over the lip.

Gormghast screamed. And ran.

***

[daid13]

It's amazing how even in total beserk mode Caledorians make sure to have a big beastie to back them up even it they don't have a Dragon with them. I agree with Luna.

[Malossar]

It's amazing how even in total beserk mode Caledorians make sure to have a big beastie to back them up even it they don't have a Dragon with them. I agree with Luna.

i'm super confused by this comment.

[Aicanor]

Malossar: I am quite sure he means either Kurnion or the Shadow Prince.

Lot of mayhem for three Asur madelves, but I guess not all of the druchii will run around in panic...

[Elessehta of Yvresse]

It's amazing how even in total beserk mode Caledorians make sure to have a big beastie to back them up even it they don't have a Dragon with them. I agree with Luna.

Their massive egos?

[Malossar]

Well honestly...

three elf lords who have stalked the world for over two millenia should probably be able to dismantle an outpost that they're infiltrated.

Oh and they hate their opposition more than any other foe!

Just saying of course.

[Headshot]

three elf lords who have stalked the world for over two millenia

I'm with Cal/Mal on this one. Their egos are definitely massive. But they can back it up! Having fought in wars and skirmishes, and Asuryan knows what else, for a combined 7000 years or so, makes them pretty awe inspiring foes in my humble opinion.

(Though admittedly it was partly for this reason that I have always avoided centering my stories on the lords, and used 'young punks' instead. More relatable! At a point that awe insparing-ness just becomes intimidating! Still, I enjoyed looking at Spires psyche, so....)

There is another thing to be considered. I've based my 'alternative reality' on jwg20s interpretation of the decline of the elves: that the low fertility is due to the proximity of the Vortex, and that is why the Asur are in decline. Quite ironically, and certainly unintentionally, Malekith's flight with most of Nagarythe put them largely out of reach of this effect, meaning that I'm assuming they have a much greater birth rate than their Asur foes! This makes sense in a way that the Druchii tend to be the 'aggressors' and so would have to be worried about casualties and attrition moreso than the relatively 'defensive' Asur. But it also got me to thinking about the social impacts. Specifically, if the constant state of warfare in Naggaroth didn't mean that again relatively speaking there are fewer 'ancients' among the elites of Naggaroth than their are among the Asur. There is a higher turnover rate, because of the constant (offensive and thus risky) fighting and strife! Militarily I interpreted this to mean that the Druchii can field armies relatively quickly (i.e. they can replace their numbers after the invasion of Ulthuan etc, to still be a threat), but they can't replace their ancients like that. So lots of fresh blood coming into Malekith's army. Young elves. (Which psychologically plays into the Witch King's hands: he seems even that much more ancient and powerful to his troops! He's a wily one that guy....)

However, in another sense that means the armies of Ulthuan have an additional double advantage of both 'quality' and 'experience'. Less risky warfare means that more of their ancients survive which means they can draw upon that experience in war, but also the terrifyingly awesome powers of an elder elf!

Anyways, just my read of things! No canon here! Move along.

Headshot

PS I actually totally read Tiralya's remark as a complement by the way. I think an elf lord saying to another elf lord that he has a massive ego is on par with observing the state of the day's weather, or how healthy the other elf lord looks! Duh! Of course, a massive ego. That's like saying the humors are in balance for an Asur ancient.