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

[Malossar]

Don't forget that Morathi and Malekith have the uncanny ability of executing all of their princes, lords, and generals when they fail to complete their task. Gav Thorpe writing aside, he does do a pretty solid job of showing their utter ruthlessness, elves who fought against the daemons were executed on a whim, great generals who could rival a dozen of the other kingdom's princes were savagely murdered for "failure".

Also with the back stabbing and murdering politics of the Dark Elves, no one is really safe. Rivals will dismantle other house not through politics or economics but by cutting throats!

[Elessehta of Yvresse]

The Luna comment may have had something to do with the lord of Lionstone's dislike of everything Caledor. I've read the story of his last encounter with the 'might of Caledor'.
I have no such issues with them, my father was a herald of Morvael, and fought under Mentheus. Many of his writings on warfare can be found at the Armis Kormalin academy where the children of Yvresse's nobility learn the art of war. Nothing but respect for Caledor here ^_^

[Headshot]

Don't forget that

Hey! I said '...and strife...'!

(I was thinking of how Druchii politics and religion tends to be 'red in tooth and nail'.)

My main point was just that three Asur lords would be more than a force to be reckoned with; they have the potential to make the average Druchii soldier look like cannon fodder!

And also with that whole 'massive ego equal humors in balance' thing. Well, in Mal's case. His humors are REALLY in balance. Moreso than just about anyone!!

Nothing but respect for Caledor here

"Caledorians are scum!"

Oops. Sorry. That was a quote from my time beside the campfires in Nagarythe. Here is the full quote to give it context:

"Caledorians are scum! They are lucky that we Rathi boys are here to pull their butts out of the fire! Over and over again!"
-Palin'Tanith



Headshot

[daid13]

I was refering to the sea monster coming to help Malossor and I was agreeing with Luna Guardian's posts where he talks about how he thinks that the Caledorians don't have much self confidence in their fighting abillity.

[Aicanor]

You mean: "the sea monster helped Malossar to get into the hidden entrance at much quicker pace"?

[daid13]

No I was refering to the sea monster attacking at the right time just when things are happening.

[Malossar]

No I was refering to the sea monster attacking at the right time just when things are happening.

I dont think that happened...

I think panic has ensued! One dark elf hears the "Dragon Lord comes for his prey..." and then instantly assumes theres a great ole dragon ransacking the castle.

[daid13]

I've just looked again and what I assumed was the sea monster was actually a spider.

[Malossar]

I've just looked again and what I assumed was the sea monster was actually a spider.

And it wasn't Malossar who was riding it

[daid13]

I think I missed most of that paragragh other than monster at window and tentacle which was on second glance probably a mandible.

[Elithmar]

I love the contrast between the calm Kurnion and insanely aggressive Malossar. Well, he has reason to be angry!

I find it funny how in the chaos of the attack, everyone magnifies the attackers either through wanting to seem not so cowardly or getting confused with all of the noise et cetera. Of course, an angry Caledorian is probably worse than a dragon and a determined Nagarathi... is probably more deadly than spider venom!

[Aicanor]

I've just looked again and what I assumed was the sea monster was actually a spider.

This is exactly how prejudice works. But bashing Caledorians is too much fun. No idea why... Fortunately there were no rainbows so far...

[Headshot]

Part 15 – The Lord’s Chambers


Kurnion sprinted onto a banister-lined corridor overlooking a gigantic feasting hall. He heard the sounds of fighting below. Sliding to a stop, he turned to look, expecting to see Malossar. Instead, he saw….

“Vaal!!”

He could see the Nagarathi below and far across the other side of the spacious room. The elf lord was manacled and covered in black gore, and yet as Kurnion watched, still managed to dispatch the second of a pair of guards with a long Druchii blade.

Suddenly a hulking armored figure with a watery white eye loomed up behind the Nagarathi. With a gauntleted fist the size of a roast ham, the creature delivered a blow at the back of the Shadow Prince, sending the Nagarathi flying into the end of the great table. The twenty foot long piece of oak upended at the force of the impact, scattering chairs, goblets and decanters in a wild explosion of wood and metal.

The Druchii long blade fell from the Nagarathi’s grasp. The armored giant calmly stepped upon the discarded blade, snapping it in half.

Kurnion looked. He could jump down and risk twisting a leg…but even then he was too far to make it across the length of the room in time! Already the huge Druchii warrior was stalking towards where the Nagarathi lay, struggling to rise from the ruins of the table.

A thought! Kurnion grabbed at his back, freeing the second Draich blade that the Nagarathi had given him. He yelled,

“Vaal!” and turning, hurled the blade with all his might!

It spun, glittering through the air, towards the spot just over the Nagarathi’s supine form.

The Elf Lord’s hands reached up, wide…

And with a snack! the blade sailed past!! Clattering uselessly upon the stone floor! Vaal had missed the catch!

Kurnion’s heart sank. He moved to the banister edge, and hauled himself over to leap the three stories below, come what may.

But it was already too late. The armored Druchii had drawn back one black ironed fist and threw it down at the barely kneeling form of Vaal…

The fist came down with the force of a comet!

And it was met mid-air!

Caught by the slender hand of the Shadow Prince!! Where the armor fist struggled and strained against the hand holding it…

…and did not budge!

Then Kurnion could see: the Nagarathi’s eyes aflame with blue witchfire! Within the burning orbs, the Chracian could make out golden irises, glowing with a supernatural heat, round and feral, like a wolf’s!

Of course! The silver manacles! Kurnion looked again. The chains about the Shadow Prince’s wrists had been severed by the force of the thrown Draich.

And now the Shadow Prince’s other hand came about in a furious blow, connecting with the milk-eyed Druchii’s leg just below the knee. The Chracian could hear a snapping like of dry branchwood, and see grisly bone protruding from the howling warrior’s leg. Then the Shadow Prince leapt to his feet, and as the Druchii bent over in pain and shattered limb, the Nagarathi seized his head underarm, and lifted the massive body with both arms, twisting… Another mighty snap followed, and the Shadow Prince allowed the misshapen Druchii to collapse to the floor, lifeless.

Kurnion carefully lowered himself towards the room below. The Shadow Prince was reclaiming the great Draich from where it hand landed. He nodded his thanks and then said,

“Where is Malossar?”

“I don’t know,” Kurnion answered with anxiety. “I cannot hear him anymore.”

“Come. We must hasten,” the Nagarathi answered gravely. “The Druchii guard are becoming more organized. There are large patrols in the halls now.”

“Let us hurry!” Kurnion said.

***

Tarabeth sat on the edge of the bed. She was in a room surrounded by silks and silver, and luxuries of all kinds. Yet never before in her life had she been so miserable.

She was wearing some white satin gown proffered her by the young Druchii lord of the castle, and told to await his visit that evening.

And the mere thought of that filled her with a mixture of nausea, rage, and horror.

Laicami was nearby, slumped upon a high-backed chair, sobbing ceaselessly. Her small, lithe figure shaking with the effort of the weeping. Her tiny shoulders fluttering in time with her grief.

But Tarabeth couldn’t cry! She was too angry! Too desperate! She couldn’t believe this was happening to her!

But the silver about her wrists kept her from doing anything.

Then the door to their room was flung open! A pair of Druchii guards quickly entered. Tarabeth leapt to her feet and grabbed the water pitcher from the bedside table. She moved in front of Laicami.

She may not be able to use her powers with her arms shackled. But Kurnous-be-praised! She wouldn’t go down without a fight!

Teeth bared in a snarl, she faced the Druchii soldiers….

Only to see them completely ignoring her! The two had turned to the door, shouldering it closed, and were now pressing against it with all their might. One was making a high-pitched squeaking sounds as he pushed!

What the…?

And then just like that the door burst open, sending the two Druchii sprawling back! A third Druchii had come flying through the door! He now lay upon the floor, unmoving, head hanging limply to one side.

And she saw a grim figure in black, coming down the corridor towards them….

One of the Druchii let out a squeal and ran towards the opposite side of the room. The other moved towards the door, blade aloft….

The figure in black’s hand darted out and seized the Druchii’s wrist. Then the other fist came into the warrior’s sternum. Once. Twice. Lifting the Druchii off of his feet with the force of the blows. Before the warrior was seized, and flipped end over to land on the floor, with a blade buried in his throat!

The squealing Druchii was at the barred window. Helplessly clawing at the glass.

The black figure took one look and then kicked the fallen Druchii’s sword off the ground, seized it out of the air, then spun about, flinging it to bury in between the craven Druchii’s shoulder blades….

And then the figure turned towards her… and she saw….

Tarabeth couldn’t help herself. She fell to her knees. Hands on her face, she gave out great gulps of air as she wept.

“I…I thought…I had been abandoned!!” she cried out between gasps.

And then a hand, calloused and hard, but surprisingly gentle in its touch, laid upon one of her shoulders. And past her tears and closed fingers she heard that familiar voice say:

“No one gets left behind, Friend of Nagarythe.”

***

Kurnion came into the room. And the tiny princess of Chrace leapt to her feet and was swept into the embrace of her elder brother, disappearing into the girth of the mighty Chracian warrior, who was now sobbing like a child, with relief.

The Shadow Prince turned toward the other occupant of the room. The girl had drawn her feet up into her chest, seeming to try to disappear into the chair.

“Laicami of Saphery,” he greeted.

“I am the Shadow Prince of Nagarythe. And I am here to bring you home.”

***

[Elithmar]

Even Nagarathi have happy endings. (Well, we haven't actually come to the end of the story yet (I think ) so something bad might still happen. In fact, I'm pretty sure it will, as we haven't seen the last of the Seeker, for sure.)

[daid13]

You seem to have changed your priorities Elithmar.

[Aicanor]

They've come to the end of "There", now starts the "And back again" part of the story. The "Lived happily ever after" probably doesn't apply even if they survive that because Headshot will no doubt devise another plot. At least I hope so. Selfish, I know...

[Headshot]

@Eli and Aicanor

Don't worry - the story isn't over yet. I'll give everyone a head's up for when the epilogue is coming.

Still more mayhem to come....

The "Lived happily ever after" probably doesn't apply

Ah... Y'know I like 'lived happily ever after'. Or perhaps I should say that I'm old enough now to have rediscovered an appreciation for it. But that just doesn't seem to be the lot of the High Elves in our literature. From Tolkien's brow they sprung as an embodiment of poignant loss and alienation. A sweet lamentation of what once was but can never be again. And how we are the lesser for it.

And a 'happily ever after' in a story about the Shadow Prince... That is even more painful! A schizophrenic tormented by emotions and memories not his own. A walking dead elf, living on borrowed time, separated from those he loves, and carried onwards by the awesome weight of duty. Honestly, there is no 'happily ever after' for him. He's a tragic figure that has my pity. And I'm sure as Tim recounted once before, when the second death takes him it will be a welcome release.

Until then.... Well, he is just really, really good at beating down Druchii!

(And why not? The first Shadow Coven made him that way! That was the plan after all... But perhaps I should say no more.)

Headshot

[Aicanor]

Well I hope the mayhem to come will be an "M" word.

The "Lived happily ever after" probably doesn't apply

Ah... Y'know I like 'lived happily ever after'... [/quote]I never stopped appreciating it. Too true about the Shadow prince, but Tolkien has answer even for that (only not from The Hobbit this time).
Elves form Ulthuan have nowhere to leave (more so with the new book as the story has their souls bound to the waystones), no glorious land in the West to retreat to, so... they are not going anywhere just yet.

[Malossar]

Well I hope the mayhem to come will be an "M" word.

The "Lived happily ever after" probably doesn't apply

Ah... Y'know I like 'lived happily ever after'...

I never stopped appreciating it. Too true about the Shadow prince, but Tolkien has answer even for that (only not from The Hobbit this time).
Elves form Ulthuan have nowhere to leave (more so with the new book as the story has their souls bound to the waystones), no glorious land in the West to retreat to, so... they are not going anywhere just yet. [/quote]


I thought the new Army book did a great job at setting the scene as well. This stoic ancient race reduced from past glories and desperately trying to keep the world together and fight back the dark powers in the North...

The tragic figure... more like the tragic race doomed to walk the world forever until battle in death takes them. Another great feature of the army book is the portrayal of a race in continuos conflict (where even the aristocracy has few reprieves from war).

[Headshot]

The tragic figure... more like the tragic race

Man, I hate that Cal guy!!! Every time I tell a story he just has to one-up it!

Headshot: "Cal, you remember that time I was in the bar fight, and that guy hit me over the head with a beer bottle?!"

Cal: "That's nothing! I was in a knife fight in Singapore once. And these two big Triad guys stabbed me in the face with a bowie knife...! Then removed my kidneys with a machete!! A dull one!!!"

Grumble....

Headshot

P.S. Love you Cal.

[Headshot]

Part 16 – The Gate House


Kurnion threw the double doors shut behind him. Casting about, he claimed an ornamental blade from the wall and jammed it between the door handles. Moments later there was a thud on the other side of the door. Then came the staccato rhythm of heavy blows coming from the other side.

“That will hold them. For a little while at least,” he gasped and turned into the room. The girls were there, standing just a few paces away, their hands still bound. And beyond them, the Shadow Prince pulled at a heavy drape and looked out a tall window.

“I found Malossar,” he said.

Kurnion hastened to his side. They were overlooking the outer courtyard. And beyond it, the main wall and the massive gate with its fortifications and keep house. There, half way up the stone steps to the gate door, was Malossar, shield and sword flashing like lightning as he forced his way forward, one step at a time. Fighting Druchii warriors both to fore and aft as he went.

“What’s he doing?” Kurnion started and then realized the answer at the same moment. “He is trying to seize the gatehouse!” He shook his head. “By himself.”

The Shadow Prince grimaced. “He is Caledorian. They only know two tactics….”

“Charge. And die.” Kurnion finished the old northerner joke, grimacing himself.

“A knight from Caledor!” the girl from Saphery finally spoke. “We are saved!!”
she cried, her face twisted into an expression of joy.

The big Chracian rolled his eyes, and could almost feel the Nagarathi doing likewise from beside him. They had heard it all before. Generations of Asur youth raised on stories in which the day was saved, the evil finally quelled, by a last minute charge by the Dragon Princes of Caledor. It was one of the most popular elements among the troubadours of the south.

And yet, this, here and now, was no tale. In war, real war, things often were much different than how the troubadours sang in Lothern. Brutal. Unclean. And victory often came from deception and misdirection.

Or as the famed Yvressi savant once claimed, ‘War is the coward’s art….’

Still… Malossar did strike quite a pose, Kurnion had to admit. The sun gleaming off his sword and shield. His long blond braids flying through the air with each of his panther like movements. The handsome line to his chiseled jaw. It was enough almost to give him hope.

Almost. “We need to get down there,” he said. “Malossar may be foolhardy, but he is not wrong: we need an exit.” Kurnion finished, and pointed at the closed main gate.

The Shadow Prince glanced aside. “Pull down the drapes. Tie them together and you can climb below.”

“But that is too slow! Mal needs help now!” Kurnion protested.

And suddenly Malossar was there next to him! The Caledorian’s sword sweeping through the air…. Kurnion quickly ducked as the blade sailed past him. Malossar staggered and cried,

“What the-?”

The two old friends looked at each other for an instant, then rushed to the window. Far below they could see a figure in black upon the stairs… And then the gatehouse was engulfed in an explosion of blue flame! Seconds later they could see the figure in black running across the walkway above the gate, kicking at the heavy levers that controlled the gate mechanism. Chains began to rattle as the gate began to lower to the ground with jerks and starts. In seconds the gate was down, and Kurnion could see the road beyond.

“Gods, I hate that elf,” Malossar muttered.

But he was helping Kurnion pull down the drapes and hastily tying their ends together. They threw the heavy cloth out the window after tying one end of it to the window lattice frame.

When Kurnion glanced outside again, preparing to climb down, he could see the Shadow Prince…

…disappearing back into the castle depths…

“What the-?!” he exclaimed.

Malossar looked, shook his head, and repeated,

“Gods, I hate that elf!”

***

Lord Gormghast sat upon his throne.

He wasn’t worried. Not much. His throne room had been vacated by all except his personal guard. The five most highly trained, most loyal of his warriors, stood in a line before the throne, each garbed in full battle armor, sword or pike held at the ready. All the entrances to the room had been sealed, with more warriors waiting beyond. To one side, his mother sat near the wall, muttering to herself. She was a powerful sorceress in her own right.

No he wasn’t worried. All he had to do was wait. Any minute now a messenger would arrive with the news that the intruders had been caught and killed.

And then he could send the heads to Naggarond. And be a hero. Yes! A hero of the Druchii. Feared and respected throughout the north for cutting down the foes of the Witch King! Yes! The Seeker was right!! The head of the Shadow Prince would elevate him to the highest heights in Malekith’s court….

Gormghast reveled in the thought. Only for a moment did he idly wonder where the Seeker had disappeared to. No matter. He would make sure to deliver the heads to Naggarond personally. Just to be sure that credit was given where credit was due….

Abruptly there was shouting beyond the hall’s main door. The shouting grew louder and then was punctuated with cries of pain! And then… a more eerie silence came from beyond the door.

Gormghast seized the armrests of his throne, and stared at the great doors, willing with all his might to know what lay beyond.

With a clang the mighty doors swung inwards….

A solitary figure stood in the center of the entrance. Garbed in ragged black armor and covered in gore. Scattered about on the floor were the still figures of the door’s guard.

The Shadow Prince entered the throne room. He strode down the center of the velvet carpet that stretched the length of the room.

Gormghast sat up in his throne. “A chest of silver and one of gold to the warrior who brings me his head,” he hissed.

His warriors stepped forward at the Asur lord’s approach. Gormghast could feel those cold black eyes on him. The Nagarathi seemed unaware of the armored knights moving to intercept him.

And then he brought his fists together before him. A sound rang out about the hall. A metallic clang, not unlike the clash of hammer to anvil.

Gormghast flinched. But… nothing happened.

He smiled. His confidence returned to him.

And then…. Something was wrong. The line of his guard seemed to waiver. Then a scream! One of the guards seized at his helmet and threw it from his head. Gormghast could see the flesh now exposed covered in hideous blisters. The others were screaming too! Black blood and smoke seemed to spill from their armor!! And the face! The face of the one, burst into flame, the very flesh from the bones began to melt!!

The five warriors collapsed where they stood. Puddles of smoldering flesh, and glowing steel.

“Mother!!” Gormghast cried, fear filling his breast. “Mother! Do something!!”

He looked. His mother was sitting there, rocking herself, muttering over and over again:

“The Shadow of Khaine! The Shadow of Khaine!!”

The Nagarathi was atop the steps! Gormghast reached for his knife, but the Asur lord batted it out of his hand. He then seized the front of the boy lord’s immaculate doublet and forced him back against the hard metal of the throne.

Gormhast looked at the black eyes just a few inches away from his own. He saw no pity. No hesitation. Only a vast black void filled with rage….

And he could feel his bowels releasing themselves. Spilling filth upon his father’s ancient throne.

The black eyes turned to the side. The Asur lord’s hand reached over and seized one of the vials set to one side of the throne. He held it up before the boy’s face.

“No! Not that-!” Gormghast cried.

The Nagarathi shoved it into his mouth and forced the vile liquid into his throat. Gormghast tried to fight it, gasping and weeping as he tasted it.

And then the black clad Nagarathi turned, and walked down the steps of the throne. At the base he stopped. He looked to where the Druchii boy’s mother continued to rock and rave.

“Go to the ancestors, Old One,” he said. “Seek their forgiveness…. “

The Asur made a fist in the air. And just like that, the old Druchii collapsed in upon herself. The dim light gone from her faded eyes.

The Shadow Prince walked down the velvet carpet and towards the door. Gormghast watched him, feeling the panic rushing throughout his body.

And then he felt something else….

A swelling deep inside his chest….

***

[Malossar]

What a great piece! Quick note, was that the Shadow prince's mother? Or Gormghasts? I assume the latter but the pronoun through me off a bit.

[Headshot]

@Cal/Mal

Oops! Sorry about that! Fixed now.

Oh, and Tanith assured me that Vaal was the last of his family line. So no mama.

(Apparently there was a baby sister at one point. But something tragic happened. Unfortunately Tanith refused to tell me the details.... )

Headshot

[Aicanor]

“A knight from Caledor!” the girl from Saphery finally spoke. “We are saved!!” she cried, her face twisted into an expression of joy.

Quoted, I laughed so hard.

PS: Clever girl, how did she know?

[Elessehta of Yvresse]

This is another great tale, but I think I'm missing the usual young hero...

[Headshot]

@Aicanor

Oh, the two elf lords were using the words 'caledorians' and 'charge' in close proximity just before that, and our Saphery maiden, in her own scatterbrained way, made connections!

(Hmmm or it could be that she is a member of the Caledorian/Malossar fan club. You know young Sapheri (not Sapphics!) who hang up tapestries of their favorite Caledorian knights on their bedroom walls. Or go to the FaceWall, you know that site in the Tower of Hoeth; and hang up 'selfies', charcoal drawings of themselves with their arms mysteriously extended towards the viewer... All in the hopes of catching the attention of some passing Caledorian lord!

I do know that when Calossar was set to visit the Tower, all the girls were in a swoon. I guess dragons are the ultimate sports convertible! Shiny and red!!)

And even this bitter Nagarathi biographer has to admit that the Caledorian knights strike a much more dashing pose than either dour Shadow Lords or Chracian elf-mountains!

@Tiralya

As usual T, we are on the same page! Its been a lot of fun experimenting with stories, and learning about the 'three amigos'.

But I do miss Tim ever so much!

Headshot

[Malossar]

Leave the whining-blumbering- love struck fool at home! More three elf lords of bad assery incarnate!

[Elessehta of Yvresse]

You sir, just like reading your own name ^_^
It is a good feeling when you see your character play a part in a piece of art.

[Headshot]

Part 17 – The Broken Tower


With his Draich axe, Kurnion split the manacle chains about the wrists of Tarabeth, before turning to do the same for the Sapheri maiden. Nearby Malossar rummaged through the bodies of the pickets. The broken watchtower stood above, casting its long shadow over where they stood.

“Not much food,” Malossar grumbled, as he stood peering into the slain Druchii’s pack. “But there are two full skins of water. That is something.”

The shrill whistle sound of the deadly Druchii repeaters was growing louder. Malossar scowled, and claimed similar devices from the two sentries’ bodies. He passed one to Kurnion. The Chracian reluctantly accepted it; never having liked the cursed contraptions.

Then around a heap of stones lying piled alongside the castle road, they saw the figure of the Shadow Prince approaching. Kurnion eyed him with relief – he had worried they had seen the last of him as they climbed into the courtyard – but his relief quickly drained. The Nagarathi was moving slowly; more slowly than even the exhaustion they all felt should dictate. The elf was covered with so much blood it was hard to tell what was his. Yet he walked hunched over, clearly favoring one leg.

“About time!” Malossar barked as way of greetings. “The castle pursues?” the question came out more as a statement.

“Worse,” the Nagarathi answered hoarsely as he drew close. “There are two ships now docked at the rear of the keep, flying the Witch King’s standard. They disgorge knights and Blackguard, and are rallying the remnants of the castle garrison. They will be upon us in force, soon. And they will be organized.”

The three elf lords stood facing each other in silence for a few moments.

“Then…we must make for the forest to the south. Lose them among the trees, as we did before,” Kurnion said, trying to sound more hopeful than he felt.

“It is still hours until dark,” the Nagarathi answered with a shake of his head. “They have cavalry, and tracking beasts with them this time. Including the hunting reptile mounts from the northern citadels,” he added grimly. “We will never make it,” he finished.

Another long moment passed. Then Malossar let out a sigh and said:

“Well. This place is as good as any. It is narrow at least. They will not be able to come at us in their full force.”

He looked at the Shadow Prince for a second, and the two seemed to share a silent communication.

Kurnion understood it a second later. “No,” he said softly, a note of pleading in his voice.

Malossar turned towards him, a sad smile on his face. He reached forward and took the Druchii crossbow from the Chracian’s grasp and placed the satchel of supplies in his hands instead.

“It is the only way,” the Caledorian said quietly. “I…am ready.” Then a touch of fire returned to his eyes. “Go, old friend! Take the maidens and go!! The Shadow Prince and I will delay the pursuit!”

“No,” Kurnion whispered.

The Shadow Prince laid his hand on his shoulder. “There is no time,” he said. “Head south through the forest, and avoid the roads. When you reach the mountains turn east and make for the Black Forests. The Host will be waiting there, north of Arnheim! They will see you home!”

“There must be another way,” Kurnion pleaded.

“Go! You big lug!” Malossar put his hand to his chest and shoved him. “I can hear the sound of riders! Go!! NOW!!!”

Kurnion took one last look, eyes sweeping over the faces of his two friends, then turned, and taking the girls’ hands in his own, ran south down the road.

***

Malossar cocked the crossbow and took aim over the edge. He released the bolt and watched it sail towards the road below. Then quickly cocked the mechanism again.

He lay upon his belly atop the watchtower ruin. Some fifty feet below, the stones and beach seemed to be crawling with Druchii warriors. Cavalry. Spears. And crossbows of their own. The air was filled with the shrieking barbs!

Nearby the Shadow Prince knelt and shot over the ruined walls.

Malossar eyed the approaching wave of Dark Elf soldiers. Their numbers and sharp edged, almost chitinous, armor, made them look like the approaching vanguard of an army of gigantic ants.

“Just like old times!” the Prince of Caledor chortled, and let loose with his crossbow.

The Nagarathi continued to look calmly over the wall, shooting in a careful and fluid motion.

“Yes,” the Shadow Prince agreed. Then added,

“Except you are an even worse shot now.”

Malossar took aim. “You cut out my damn eye!! You Nagarathi bastard! What do you expect?!” he snarled. Though a small smile played about his lips.

“Ah! Got one!” Malossar finished, satisfied as the Corsair staggered and fell.

The Caledorian looked over just in time to see the Shadow Prince release a shot. The bolt sailed through space before plunging through the throat of a Druchii warrior, to pass out the back of the neck, only to embed itself in the thigh of another standing behind. That warrior howled and collapsed, bringing his spear down with him…. Which in turn gouged the shoulder of a nearby horse… that reared in pain and shock, flinging its rider from the saddle.

The rider too, lay still where he was thrown. One shot: three Druchii. And the Nagarathi was calmly reloading once more.

Malossar looked at the Shadow Prince for a moment.

“Gods, I hate you elf,” he grumbled.

The Nagarathi said nothing. Then pointed to the side. “They are trying to flank us along the shore.” He hefted a stone and hurled it over the wall. Moments later an explosion sounded on the beach. A geyser of sand and cobalt flame erupted high in the air.

“Good!” Malossar grunted. “If they want us they will have to come through the tower itself. And we can hold them off all the damn day if need be!”

Malossar thought for a moment and then nodded to himself. “Yes we’ll be fine,” he said aloud. “As long as they don’t have a….”

Just then a shrieking roar erupted in the gray clouds overhead. A sound filled with venom and hissing rage buffeted them. The clouds parted…and a great winged predator of scales, horns, and claws plummeted towards the earth with the speed and ferocity of a hunting shrike! Or a falling star!!

“Dragon!” Malossar cried.

But it was too late! The mammoth reptile’s plunge took it across the tower top. Stone buckled, snapped, and went flying under the force of the massive collision. Malossar felt himself tossed in the air. And watched the large, carved tower stones, quietly flying along beside him, with an odd detachment.

Before he felt gravity’s pull once more, and felt himself falling downwards, into the belly of the broken keep….

***

[Elessehta of Yvresse]

Ah feck...