Friday, August 17, 2012

Then we destroy them... By Aaron



The High Elf ambassador knelt. There was no movement in the throne room except the labored breathing of the elf and the drip of his sweat as it spattered across the terracotta floor.

Aarontep stood so close that the ambassador could smell the spices of his burial cloths. A scent of cinnamon and cloves, incongruous with the morbid nature of his existence.





The silence dragged on, but there was no response from Aarontep, or his court. The Dragon King’s two sons stood to either side of his great throne. Aaronxes the Bitter, his withered flesh locked in a smirk, and Aaromydas Blackfyre, a golden mask covering his face, with dark flames licking out of the mouth and eye holes. The liche priests that attended this dynasty were also present. Some shifted uncomfortably, their ragged emancipated figures not yet free from life. Tomb guard stood like statues around the tableau, their blades eternally unsheathed.

Aarontep finally stirred. He spoke softly, but with surprising melodiousness. “You have brought me an intriguing offer. I accept. You may leave.” He turned and strode out of the throne room, his sons following close behind.
In the map room, Bittersteel was the first to speak. “So the elves have found your crown, father. Or so they say.”

“The scepter the ambassador brought was convincing proof that the Elves have finally found the Orc tribe that stole that crown from your great grandson. Accepting his information costs us nothing. Marching to war against those who have wronged us could benefit us greatly. That crown was the symbol of my dynasty, and without it, the fact that I expanded my territory to a greater extent even then Settra the Mighty is forgotten. By regaining it, and winning territory in the Badlands for Khemri, the Tomb Kings will once again remember the grandeur of the Dragon King. Gaining vengeance over those who have wronged us also has appeal to me.”
Blackfyre remained silent, his flames increasing in intensity. He had been slain by a Vampire centuries before, but the Elves had brought word that that the Black Count had been seen on the battlefield once more.

Bittersteel smiled as widely as his ruined face allowed. “If they are lying to win our support?”
“Then we destroy them.”

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