Prologue: Accepting the Will of “Heaven”
Deep within the southwestern reaches of Athel Loren, an old Bretonnian castle forgotten and ruined by the ages stood vacant until recently. At its core was an insignificant campfire, where flame ate away at kindling slower than the passing of the sun and moon across the sky. Upon a plinth of stone an Asur sorcerer clad in deep green silks contemplated the future in silence. His back was sore and tired, for it normally carried several massive tomes and important scrolls. This was all he could save from the libraries of Saphery; during the crisis he was given an hour to select tomes he would find the most useful and let perish all others. Back in Ulthuan, with the earth shattering and sinking around him, the sage remembered tears bathing his face as he shrewdly chose that which could be spared. It was like choosing a single household to live while condemning millions of others to die. No person so attached to their art such as he could ever make such a choice swiftly. And yet, here they were. Five books, seven scrolls, and one artifact in a decorative case were all that he could collect from the Library-City of Hoeth.
The fire burned in slow motion, as to let it provide heat longer and with less maintenance. He stared into it intently, he was waiting. Perhaps the first to understand a possible way forward, all he had to do was hope for the right pieces to fall into place.
“Kongming?” A voice called out, the soothing sound of a woman’s call. Stepping into the light from a crumbling passage, she approached the fire. Above the firelit chamber a hole in the stone allowed moonlight to flood the room. The cold blue of the moon and the red warmth of the fire played with the light in a fantastical way. The woman was an elven princess, armored like the greatest warriors of the age. Silver plate covered her abdomen, arms, and legs. She wore over that a long skirt of steel scales. Her doublet was a sky blue, and all other cloth a ruby red, like her hair. She wore her hair in a long braid that wrapped around the left side of her head and almost reached her waist. This was Andriel Kethruil, Princess of Cothique, and founder of the Warden Host. She was the key to the Archmage’s plans.
“Andriel, come, sit by the fire.” The sage gestured for her to sit with him. She placed her trusted weapon, a long emerald greatsword, against the stone beside her, “How are things at the court of the Eternity King?” He scoffed at the new name Malekith was given.
“A rightful mess, to be blunt.” She replied as she rolled her eyes, “The forest cannot contain all of us. We are running out of fresh water to bathe in. At the great pools, Asur and Asrai squabble. Meanwhile Asur fight Druchii over the use of human peasants to fuel literal blood baths for the last followers of Hellebron.”
“I heard about that. And the beast meat is going over alright amongst the scholars and statesmen?”
“Yes, with the beastmen herds culled in such numbers, and other sources of food scarce outside of feeding on what the forest can provide, their meat is at least sustaining what remains of our ranks.”
“Do you have any idea where the Asur can go when this is all over? We lived in towers and cities, many cannot cope with living amongst so much nature.” The sage was not alone in this opinion. He could even see it in his friend’s eyes. A hammock of leaf and vine could not compare to a royal plush bed in a palace of vermillion wood and gilded stone.
Kongming sighed greatly, and stroked his short wiry beard that jutted out of his chin, “These are truly the End Times. Our civilization has gone from a world power to almost nothing, and to think I lived through the reign of two Phoenix Kings, nay three now! I truly cannot tell you where our future lies!”
Andriel leaned forward and gripped her friend’s arm tightly with an armored hand, calming him, “I believe it is our place to make a new future, at least for our people.”
“Oh Lady Kethruil, ever a champion of a brighter tomorrow. Woe indeed that you could not persuade those who took their own lives. So many died in vain for Ulthuan, and many more took blades to themselves!” He referred to the mass suicide pacts that occurred almost exclusively amongst the surviving High Elves upon entering Athel Loren. The number of Asur were few enough before, and painfully fewer still as many hundreds perished by their own hands that day. “I have traveled with you for almost forty years. I remember you founding the Warden Host. You alone foresaw the resurrection of Nagash and correctly predicted the rise of Archaon the Everchosen. Truly your wisdom is only eclipsed by your kindness and bravery.”
“You shower me in compliments friend.”
“It does not make them anything less than fact! If you were in Malekith’s place, all elves would be prospering and content right now. There would not have been any mass suicides, and elves would stand united and ready to confront all evils that await us!”
“But are we not united by his will, or at least the marriage of Malekith and Alarielle?”
“Perhaps, but Malekith has only issued three decrees since becoming our ruler. First, no elf may harm another. Second, all Dark Elves may do as they choose, including pillage other lands, but they must above all other things obey the first decree. Third, all elves are mandated to slay anything that threatens the security of Athel Loren’s borders, which explains the mass culling of the Beastmen herds. Not a word since has been uttered from his Eternal Throne, and while his power is unassailable his reputation and character are at best laughable. He is no king to many of us, they are merely too gripped by melancholy to renounce him as ruler.”
“What are you saying?” Andriel was taken aback.
Kongming’s words were working, he only now had to sell it with a bit of kowtowing, he rose and placed himself before her on the stone, on his knees he pleaded his case, “Many of our gods are gone, but their will remains. The Elves need a ruler gifted with intelligence, compassion, and experience to guide us through these troubles. The Elves do not need a twisted son, the spawn of the first Dark Elf. The Elves need a true Asur to guide them. Please Lady Kethruil, accept the will of the people and ascend your own throne, declare a new dynasty!”
And so began the tales of the Red Queen. In these Times of Ending, Andriel Kethruil who was once revered a hero was now seen as potential monarch. As the final battles for all the world commenced, when Archaon marched down from the north, many High Elves looked to her first above Malekith to lead them. Only time will tell if such a hero survives the End Times. But if she does, her story is only just beginning.
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