Chapter 1
In a gleaming white keep in the capital city Tyra, a gathering of the high council was about to begin. The eight participants were assembled around the great central iron table. At one end sat a pyromancer from the lands of fire, his face tattooed with arcane symbols. Adjacent to him were a Triton lesser noble from the deep sea kingdom, and a druid from the eastern forests who sat in meditation amidst a faint green halo.
”This meeting of the Exalted Representatives of the Eight Empires is convened," announced the elected Speaker, a well-respected diplomat from the cloud city of Nimbulus.
The members each held up a small glass sphere and placed it solemnly on the table.
"We are gathered to—” started the Speaker, distracted by sudden movement in a corner of the chamber.
A swirling purple mist was forming. Within it centre, purple and black wispy tendrils stretched out and formed an elongated vertical disc. They watched, transfixed, mystified as to what would happen next, each assuming this was some doing of another present. Without warning, darkness burst forth, engulfing everything. A shadowy figure was glimpsed as it darted between the startled and paralysed watchers, a sickening slash heard as each victim was claimed.
The killings took precisely eight seconds. The descent into chaos was just beginning…
Chapter 2
Deep in the heart of the eastern forests, home to flora, fauna and fey, Queen Adeera was gazing contentedly from her private tower. All was tranquil. Until the messenger flew through the arched entrance in a state of urgency. She turned sharply, unaccustomed to the lack of formal courtesy.
"My Queen, war is upon us, a Triton army has come!" he announced, his wings fluttering in trepidation, sending scintillating motes of light cascading onto the moss-covered floor.
She simply couldn't believe it at first. Did the Triton Prince seriously believe her capable of orchestrating the assassinations?
"How far have they penetrated the forests?" she asked.
"As yet, their forces are gathering only on the shores and inner isles. Our scouts spotted their war machines far out at sea."
Quickly and calmly she considered her instructions, "Spread the word, muster every forest dweller able to fight. Go swiftly, go now.”
She sighed, then moved to a small pool of water that was suspended in mid-air by unseen magical forces; lilies floating upon its surface gave out a faint luminescence. She touched the water, causing a greenish haze to rise and slowly coalesce into an image of a diminutive hooded humanoid sitting in the hollow of an ancient tree trunk.
"Meander, there is news," said the Queen.
"I know. The birds have sung of it," confirmed the Arch Druid, one of the most powerful of the forest's inhabitants.
"We must act quickly. There is hope yet this madness can be halted before war is joined."
Deep in the heart of the eastern forests, home to flora, fauna and fey, Queen Adeera was gazing contentedly from her private tower. All was tranquil. Until the messenger flew through the arched entrance in a state of urgency. She turned sharply, unaccustomed to the lack of formal courtesy.
"My Queen, war is upon us, a Triton army has come!" he announced, his wings fluttering in trepidation, sending scintillating motes of light cascading onto the moss-covered floor.
She simply couldn't believe it at first. Did the Triton Prince seriously believe her capable of orchestrating the assassinations?
"How far have they penetrated the forests?" she asked.
"As yet, their forces are gathering only on the shores and inner isles. Our scouts spotted their war machines far out at sea."
Quickly and calmly she considered her instructions, "Spread the word, muster every forest dweller able to fight. Go swiftly, go now.”
She sighed, then moved to a small pool of water that was suspended in mid-air by unseen magical forces; lilies floating upon its surface gave out a faint luminescence. She touched the water, causing a greenish haze to rise and slowly coalesce into an image of a diminutive hooded humanoid sitting in the hollow of an ancient tree trunk.
"Meander, there is news," said the Queen.
"I know. The birds have sung of it," confirmed the Arch Druid, one of the most powerful of the forest's inhabitants.
"We must act quickly. There is hope yet this madness can be halted before war is joined."
Chapter 3
The exquisitely dressed Prince of Tritonia lounged in his exuberant deep-sea palace. He was perched atop his throne, a huge conch shell. About him, servants waited on his every whim. Outside of the transparent dome that enclosed the royal complex, ocean creatures glided by, unable to penetrate the magical barrier.
A sickly, emaciated creature, clearly not a triton, approached him, eyed carefully by the Prince's bodyguard. Upon his simple black garments he wore a prominent badge of silver, identifying him as an envoy of The Underking, the master of the subterranean realm. His pale skin, used to living underground, looked sickly even with the shimmery blue reflections of the waters outside.
In a slimy whispering voice he announced, “My esteemed prince, I am but a humble messenger, but bear important news."
"You have discovered the identity of the assassin and now wish to sell us that information?" ventured the Prince.
This sarcasm was not lost on the envoy, who winced slightly. "Your majesty, the information will be given freely to one so eminent, for the sake of justice and peace," said the Darkling in a practiced subservient tone.
"And since when has The Underking been so concerned with others?" queried the Prince.
"Since our realm is threatened by a conspiracy of land dwellers, the same plotters that threaten your own demise."
"You think we would go to war on mere words?"
A knowing smile spread across the Darkling's pallid face. "His majesty is most wise in his caution. Evidence has been presented to your advisors. On examination, I trust you will find it most revealing."
A group of pompous looking elders had slithered over carrying scrolls and vision spheres. Such devices were used to capture the happenings of real events and were able to play them back on command.
The prince had picked up a bejewelled hand mirror and was glancing sideways at his own reflection, "I am of course an obvious target for their jealousy. They mean to stop me being crowned king at the next Moon Tide."
The listeners nodded in feigned consensus.
"Very well. We will ready a vessel for your return," said the prince.
"I must graciously decline such a generous offer, for I travel the The Long Dark back to my realm," said the envoy.
This was a statement calculated to produce just the right amount of awe in the listeners. The Long Dark was the only known route connecting the ocean-bed Tritonia to the subterranean realm of the Darklings and was rumoured to contain all manner of horrors; amongst them rogue illusions that had taken on sentient form, fearsome worms with razor-like rings of teeth and Darkling assassins whose soul blades could extinguish life force with the smallest of cuts. These rumours, although partly based in truth, were something the Darklings were only too pleased to perpetuate in order to keep out the unwanted. The unwanted, in their case, was everyone else.
The exquisitely dressed Prince of Tritonia lounged in his exuberant deep-sea palace. He was perched atop his throne, a huge conch shell. About him, servants waited on his every whim. Outside of the transparent dome that enclosed the royal complex, ocean creatures glided by, unable to penetrate the magical barrier.
A sickly, emaciated creature, clearly not a triton, approached him, eyed carefully by the Prince's bodyguard. Upon his simple black garments he wore a prominent badge of silver, identifying him as an envoy of The Underking, the master of the subterranean realm. His pale skin, used to living underground, looked sickly even with the shimmery blue reflections of the waters outside.
In a slimy whispering voice he announced, “My esteemed prince, I am but a humble messenger, but bear important news."
"You have discovered the identity of the assassin and now wish to sell us that information?" ventured the Prince.
This sarcasm was not lost on the envoy, who winced slightly. "Your majesty, the information will be given freely to one so eminent, for the sake of justice and peace," said the Darkling in a practiced subservient tone.
"And since when has The Underking been so concerned with others?" queried the Prince.
"Since our realm is threatened by a conspiracy of land dwellers, the same plotters that threaten your own demise."
"You think we would go to war on mere words?"
A knowing smile spread across the Darkling's pallid face. "His majesty is most wise in his caution. Evidence has been presented to your advisors. On examination, I trust you will find it most revealing."
A group of pompous looking elders had slithered over carrying scrolls and vision spheres. Such devices were used to capture the happenings of real events and were able to play them back on command.
The prince had picked up a bejewelled hand mirror and was glancing sideways at his own reflection, "I am of course an obvious target for their jealousy. They mean to stop me being crowned king at the next Moon Tide."
The listeners nodded in feigned consensus.
"Very well. We will ready a vessel for your return," said the prince.
"I must graciously decline such a generous offer, for I travel the The Long Dark back to my realm," said the envoy.
This was a statement calculated to produce just the right amount of awe in the listeners. The Long Dark was the only known route connecting the ocean-bed Tritonia to the subterranean realm of the Darklings and was rumoured to contain all manner of horrors; amongst them rogue illusions that had taken on sentient form, fearsome worms with razor-like rings of teeth and Darkling assassins whose soul blades could extinguish life force with the smallest of cuts. These rumours, although partly based in truth, were something the Darklings were only too pleased to perpetuate in order to keep out the unwanted. The unwanted, in their case, was everyone else.
Chapter 4
A burning land. Live volcanoes spewed their liquid fire in anger and defiance of the sky above, their animated violence a stark contrast with the utter deadness of the surrounding ashen plains.
Amongst this famished landscape was a single city, fashioned from huge igneous blocks and now half submerged in layers of solidified lava flow. Basalt battlements topped impenetrable walls, flanking a mighty gate made from huge slabs of imposing granite. Atop these walls, in great cauldrons were ever-burning fires. And ever-burning beings could occasionally be glimpsed ambling along its ramparts; the lava giants of the City of Caldera.
Far from this city, in a lava tube deep beneath the earth, walked a lone hooded figure clad in simple black garments. As he reached the exit of this forgotten road, reddish light from burning embers reflected off his prominent silver badge.
He emerged into a smokey twilight. All was quiet, except for some faint booming from a distant volcano. Then there came another sound. A burning crackle. He became immediately aware of a ball of fire blazing a path down a nearby ashen hill. He noted how it had quite deliberately changed course and how its pair of intense red eyes glared at him with insane rage. The hooded figure stood his ground and awaited the fire elemental's approach. It accelerated, spewing a trail of charred stones and twisting smoke.
He remained motionless.
There was the sound of roaring flame as the elemental rose up and flared in anger, bent on the destruction and utter incineration of the invader. It charged in for the final annihilation. He half-raised a pale sinewy finger on his left hand. On this command, black oily tendrils from some unspeakable underworld burst from the ashen ground, trapping and engulfing the enraged creature. The land beneath cracked open and the tentacles of doom pulled their quarry deep down into the maws of the earth.
Without a moment’s pause, he moved on towards the cyclopean city just visible over the next ridge.
At the gates he sent a telepathic request to the gate master. With a ponderous grinding, the left door started to open, sending sparks scattering as the huge mass was pulled across the stony entrance. It only revealed a short gap - it was all he was worth; he was just an insect before a huge rock. He proceeded inwards, determined to complete his mission of speaking with Warchief Ashbringer, mightiest of the lava giants.
The warchief’s chamber was vast. Subservient elementals and lesser creature of fire darted this way and that, on errands that kept the city running. The air was stifling to the point of choking. The heat verged on being unbearable to outsiders. The ever-present smell of bitter ash parched the mouth and sulphurous fumes sickened the stomach.
Ashbringer was sitting on a gargantuan jet black throne, issuing orders to a gathering of fire djinn. Standing just behind him, two intimidating giants guarded their leader. They were unarmed; hey needed no weapons as these huge creatures could conjure fiery meteorites from their very essence. The djinn bowed and then flew away down the maze of adjoining corridors. The stranger saw his chance and stepped forward.
The great giant had noticed him, but chose not to react. He wanted the outsider to feel like a trifling pest, beneath the attention of higher creatures such as himself.
"My esteemed lord, mightiest of the giants, I bring vital information," said the visitor, his voice rasping in the oppressive atmosphere.
"Tell it then, worm from the underworld”, commanded Ashbringer.
The Darkling envoy had rehearsed his lines well. "The Underking wishes to share information with you. We have uncovered a plot to bring an end to both our kinds."
He arose slowly and with much deliberation, his great limbs making heavy cracking sounds and showering burning sparks.
"By my ruby heart, this had better be good," he boomed, "Or I will incinerate you for a curious morsel.”
The Darkling remained unperturbed and simply placed a handful of vision spheres on the ground, bowed and left.
A burning land. Live volcanoes spewed their liquid fire in anger and defiance of the sky above, their animated violence a stark contrast with the utter deadness of the surrounding ashen plains.
Amongst this famished landscape was a single city, fashioned from huge igneous blocks and now half submerged in layers of solidified lava flow. Basalt battlements topped impenetrable walls, flanking a mighty gate made from huge slabs of imposing granite. Atop these walls, in great cauldrons were ever-burning fires. And ever-burning beings could occasionally be glimpsed ambling along its ramparts; the lava giants of the City of Caldera.
Far from this city, in a lava tube deep beneath the earth, walked a lone hooded figure clad in simple black garments. As he reached the exit of this forgotten road, reddish light from burning embers reflected off his prominent silver badge.
He emerged into a smokey twilight. All was quiet, except for some faint booming from a distant volcano. Then there came another sound. A burning crackle. He became immediately aware of a ball of fire blazing a path down a nearby ashen hill. He noted how it had quite deliberately changed course and how its pair of intense red eyes glared at him with insane rage. The hooded figure stood his ground and awaited the fire elemental's approach. It accelerated, spewing a trail of charred stones and twisting smoke.
He remained motionless.
There was the sound of roaring flame as the elemental rose up and flared in anger, bent on the destruction and utter incineration of the invader. It charged in for the final annihilation. He half-raised a pale sinewy finger on his left hand. On this command, black oily tendrils from some unspeakable underworld burst from the ashen ground, trapping and engulfing the enraged creature. The land beneath cracked open and the tentacles of doom pulled their quarry deep down into the maws of the earth.
Without a moment’s pause, he moved on towards the cyclopean city just visible over the next ridge.
At the gates he sent a telepathic request to the gate master. With a ponderous grinding, the left door started to open, sending sparks scattering as the huge mass was pulled across the stony entrance. It only revealed a short gap - it was all he was worth; he was just an insect before a huge rock. He proceeded inwards, determined to complete his mission of speaking with Warchief Ashbringer, mightiest of the lava giants.
The warchief’s chamber was vast. Subservient elementals and lesser creature of fire darted this way and that, on errands that kept the city running. The air was stifling to the point of choking. The heat verged on being unbearable to outsiders. The ever-present smell of bitter ash parched the mouth and sulphurous fumes sickened the stomach.
Ashbringer was sitting on a gargantuan jet black throne, issuing orders to a gathering of fire djinn. Standing just behind him, two intimidating giants guarded their leader. They were unarmed; hey needed no weapons as these huge creatures could conjure fiery meteorites from their very essence. The djinn bowed and then flew away down the maze of adjoining corridors. The stranger saw his chance and stepped forward.
The great giant had noticed him, but chose not to react. He wanted the outsider to feel like a trifling pest, beneath the attention of higher creatures such as himself.
"My esteemed lord, mightiest of the giants, I bring vital information," said the visitor, his voice rasping in the oppressive atmosphere.
"Tell it then, worm from the underworld”, commanded Ashbringer.
The Darkling envoy had rehearsed his lines well. "The Underking wishes to share information with you. We have uncovered a plot to bring an end to both our kinds."
He arose slowly and with much deliberation, his great limbs making heavy cracking sounds and showering burning sparks.
"By my ruby heart, this had better be good," he boomed, "Or I will incinerate you for a curious morsel.”
The Darkling remained unperturbed and simply placed a handful of vision spheres on the ground, bowed and left.
Chapter 5
The silhouette of Death Hold rising out of the swamplands was of an especially morbid shade of grey. Suffocated trees clawing out a withered existence gathered round like decrepit beggars reaching out for some last gesture of charity. They would find none here.
The small cloaked figure was making slow progress through pools of sickly water that were choked with malevolent weeds. Putrid fumes rose from each muddy footstep left behind.
A soul-freezing howl resonated across the marsh. The Darkling paused. Bats skittered amongst the trees. The spectral form of a human woman materialised ahead, her long hair floating on some unseen ethereal wind, her face horribly distorted. Terrible eyes, glaring with malice and contempt for the living, drilled into her victim's inner psyche. Then more dreadful wailing began again. Tendrils of primal fear reached into his brain, but years of mental training allowed him to resist.The banshee hissed in contempt and flew away, in search of easier prey.
Arriving at the gates of the black fortress, he transmitted a standard telepathic introduction and waited. He was greeted only by deathly silence and the empty stares of skulls arrayed atop the walls. Then a vile gurgling came from the unhallowed earth below. Several decayed arms suddenly burst from the grey mud, guided by some supernatural sense, and tightly gripped his legs. With the piercing nails pushed sharply against his flesh, all he could do was wait.
A hissing voice drifted from an unseen mouth, "Why?"
"We wish to offer information about the assassinations. We know how they plan to destroy Death Hold," he explained.
"Death is part of life. We care not. Leave here, now,” it hissed.
"But this news is –“
The skin of the Darkling's body tightened, then turned to dust. The remaining skeleton collapsed in a heap, destined to be chewed upon by the ghouls waiting eagerly in the mud below.
The silhouette of Death Hold rising out of the swamplands was of an especially morbid shade of grey. Suffocated trees clawing out a withered existence gathered round like decrepit beggars reaching out for some last gesture of charity. They would find none here.
The small cloaked figure was making slow progress through pools of sickly water that were choked with malevolent weeds. Putrid fumes rose from each muddy footstep left behind.
A soul-freezing howl resonated across the marsh. The Darkling paused. Bats skittered amongst the trees. The spectral form of a human woman materialised ahead, her long hair floating on some unseen ethereal wind, her face horribly distorted. Terrible eyes, glaring with malice and contempt for the living, drilled into her victim's inner psyche. Then more dreadful wailing began again. Tendrils of primal fear reached into his brain, but years of mental training allowed him to resist.The banshee hissed in contempt and flew away, in search of easier prey.
Arriving at the gates of the black fortress, he transmitted a standard telepathic introduction and waited. He was greeted only by deathly silence and the empty stares of skulls arrayed atop the walls. Then a vile gurgling came from the unhallowed earth below. Several decayed arms suddenly burst from the grey mud, guided by some supernatural sense, and tightly gripped his legs. With the piercing nails pushed sharply against his flesh, all he could do was wait.
A hissing voice drifted from an unseen mouth, "Why?"
"We wish to offer information about the assassinations. We know how they plan to destroy Death Hold," he explained.
"Death is part of life. We care not. Leave here, now,” it hissed.
"But this news is –“
The skin of the Darkling's body tightened, then turned to dust. The remaining skeleton collapsed in a heap, destined to be chewed upon by the ghouls waiting eagerly in the mud below.
Chapter 6
The Triton captain slithered up the shore, six marines of the lead scout group following. Behind them and out to sea were ships, assorted amphibious war-machines, and multitudes of half-submerged Tritons bobbing in the water. Ahead of them was the sea-border of Deepwood, one of the three major eastern forested regions.
A single figure, features hidden by a great hooded green cloak, broke cover from the tree-line and walked down the sandy beach towards the intruders.
The Triton captain let out a hissing throaty laugh. “What have we here? You wish to die first?”
“There need be no death here today. Return to your realm. I am Meander, Arch-druid and guardian of these lands. I cannot allow you any further.”
“A druid?” guffawed the Triton. “Well, my flower-loving land-dweller, you will be no sport for my men. I am almost disappointed.”
The captain hissed and poked his ugly barbed trident towards his insolent foe, the signal for the marines to attack.
A great roar blasted from the forest depths and a black-green blur hurtled towards the Tritons, the resulting rush of air knocking them over. After a split second, its nature was revealed: a great scaly winged beast hovering over the beach, its unfortunate victim dangling uselessly in its ferocious talons. The other tritons, paralysed in fear at the sight of a dragon, could only look up helplessly as their comrade’s head was bitten and his body dropped onto the sand with a sickening thud. The creature’s hungry red eyes transfixed them, its great wing beats penetrating deep into their consciousness until they dropped their weapons and dived into the sea, swimming for their lives.
On command the beast snorted and retuned to hover over the druid, its great wings stirring up gusts of sand.
The Triton captain slithered up the shore, six marines of the lead scout group following. Behind them and out to sea were ships, assorted amphibious war-machines, and multitudes of half-submerged Tritons bobbing in the water. Ahead of them was the sea-border of Deepwood, one of the three major eastern forested regions.
A single figure, features hidden by a great hooded green cloak, broke cover from the tree-line and walked down the sandy beach towards the intruders.
The Triton captain let out a hissing throaty laugh. “What have we here? You wish to die first?”
“There need be no death here today. Return to your realm. I am Meander, Arch-druid and guardian of these lands. I cannot allow you any further.”
“A druid?” guffawed the Triton. “Well, my flower-loving land-dweller, you will be no sport for my men. I am almost disappointed.”
The captain hissed and poked his ugly barbed trident towards his insolent foe, the signal for the marines to attack.
A great roar blasted from the forest depths and a black-green blur hurtled towards the Tritons, the resulting rush of air knocking them over. After a split second, its nature was revealed: a great scaly winged beast hovering over the beach, its unfortunate victim dangling uselessly in its ferocious talons. The other tritons, paralysed in fear at the sight of a dragon, could only look up helplessly as their comrade’s head was bitten and his body dropped onto the sand with a sickening thud. The creature’s hungry red eyes transfixed them, its great wing beats penetrating deep into their consciousness until they dropped their weapons and dived into the sea, swimming for their lives.
On command the beast snorted and retuned to hover over the druid, its great wings stirring up gusts of sand.
Chapter 7
But the tritons had not yet began their main assault.
Meander ordered his druids to ready themselves, to weave all their healing and protective magics, in anticipation of the inevitable. They called great walking sentient trees, some of which had not moved for many years – their wooden limbs, covered with viny sinews, creaked as they came striding through the undergrowth.
Towards the horizon great pillars of seawater were rising and twisting, coalescing to form one long great tidal wave. With magnificent energy it suddenly surged forward. Along its crest hundreds of triton marines balanced with great skill, and in its wake war-machines and sea-beasts were pushed aside. On the outskirts of the forests, animals sensed the danger and fled inland. But the druids stood firm and continued creating lines of magical trees – wooden barriers that would absorb the impact of the coming water. So they hoped. Inexorably, and with growing power, the great wave approached. Small wooded offshore islets were crushed as it passed, their trees left as twisted broken splinters.
Then an ominous rumbling reached the shore, soon followed by the great deluge. Many forest creatures and druids alike were caught in the impact, and pulled back out to sea in the powerful undertow. Triton marines swarmed forth only to find their paths blocked by the druids’ barriers. They tried to scale the barricades, only to face the wrath of the great walking trees, who hurled them back out to sea or crushed them underfoot. But their morale held for now, as they knew their warmachines had arrived on the beach. Their whirling blades would surely make short work of the druid’s defences.
But the tritons had not yet began their main assault.
Meander ordered his druids to ready themselves, to weave all their healing and protective magics, in anticipation of the inevitable. They called great walking sentient trees, some of which had not moved for many years – their wooden limbs, covered with viny sinews, creaked as they came striding through the undergrowth.
Towards the horizon great pillars of seawater were rising and twisting, coalescing to form one long great tidal wave. With magnificent energy it suddenly surged forward. Along its crest hundreds of triton marines balanced with great skill, and in its wake war-machines and sea-beasts were pushed aside. On the outskirts of the forests, animals sensed the danger and fled inland. But the druids stood firm and continued creating lines of magical trees – wooden barriers that would absorb the impact of the coming water. So they hoped. Inexorably, and with growing power, the great wave approached. Small wooded offshore islets were crushed as it passed, their trees left as twisted broken splinters.
Then an ominous rumbling reached the shore, soon followed by the great deluge. Many forest creatures and druids alike were caught in the impact, and pulled back out to sea in the powerful undertow. Triton marines swarmed forth only to find their paths blocked by the druids’ barriers. They tried to scale the barricades, only to face the wrath of the great walking trees, who hurled them back out to sea or crushed them underfoot. But their morale held for now, as they knew their warmachines had arrived on the beach. Their whirling blades would surely make short work of the druid’s defences.
Chapter 8
The battlefield was suspiciously quiet. The tritons had fallen back and regrouped at the shoreline. Occasionally, the gentle whirring of a war-machine was carried on the sea breeze.
Meander had hastily called together a gathering of the four highest-ranking druids. Muddy-faced, with clothes torn from the fight, they sat awaiting his guidance. He had never let them down. Two of them had only been children when Meander was consecrated as Arch Druid, many winters ago. What a night of celebration that was; dance and song amongst the ancient cairns, the ritual of shape-shifting, and the carving of moon-runes upon the new Arch Druids staff made from a branch of the Under-Tree…
“Friends, we know our barriers can’t last long against their machines. We’ve long foreseen such a day. So, earlier today, I took the liberty of seeking the council of our good ally Arborax.”
(Arborax was the eldest and noblest of the Forest Dragons. Most of his time was spent slumbering in ancient hollows and hidden magical glades, but he could still be found by a select few.)
The druids exchanged nervous glances. After all, it was well know that dragons are notoriously fickle, even toward a respected elder druid, and always regarded the matters of their kind as being far above those of smaller creatures. Meander noticed their consternation, but continued, “Arborax advised that we should summon aid from outside the forest to win this fight. He said that these particular allies will make short work of the invaders.”
“Who are they?”
“Oh you will see, very soon…”
The battlefield was suspiciously quiet. The tritons had fallen back and regrouped at the shoreline. Occasionally, the gentle whirring of a war-machine was carried on the sea breeze.
Meander had hastily called together a gathering of the four highest-ranking druids. Muddy-faced, with clothes torn from the fight, they sat awaiting his guidance. He had never let them down. Two of them had only been children when Meander was consecrated as Arch Druid, many winters ago. What a night of celebration that was; dance and song amongst the ancient cairns, the ritual of shape-shifting, and the carving of moon-runes upon the new Arch Druids staff made from a branch of the Under-Tree…
“Friends, we know our barriers can’t last long against their machines. We’ve long foreseen such a day. So, earlier today, I took the liberty of seeking the council of our good ally Arborax.”
(Arborax was the eldest and noblest of the Forest Dragons. Most of his time was spent slumbering in ancient hollows and hidden magical glades, but he could still be found by a select few.)
The druids exchanged nervous glances. After all, it was well know that dragons are notoriously fickle, even toward a respected elder druid, and always regarded the matters of their kind as being far above those of smaller creatures. Meander noticed their consternation, but continued, “Arborax advised that we should summon aid from outside the forest to win this fight. He said that these particular allies will make short work of the invaders.”
“Who are they?”
“Oh you will see, very soon…”
Chapter 9
It started with a gathering of small dark objects high in the sky; several larger shapes surrounded by clouds of smaller ones. They were descending at great speed, trailing lines of smoke and ash. Their scaly bodies were soon visible, armoured with scintillating crimson scales, with great webbed wings pulled back as they plummeted towards their targets.
Soon a terrible roaring reached the ears of the cowering tritons who watched in terror as the fire dragons bore down upon them. Behind them came hordes of juvenile whelps, small in stature but no less hell-bent on destruction. Their descent has boosted their speed to phenomenal levels, which they used skilfully to arc and twist through the air, sending swathes of flame upon machines and ships, instantly reducing them to burning wrecks. Against such overwhelming powers of destruction the triton invasion force was soon broken and fled under the ocean in a mass rout.
The dragons, their appetite for destruction satisfied, rose to start their westward journey back to their cinderous lairs. Pillars of acrid smoke, smouldering war machines, and an ash-flecked wind marked the demise of the triton invasion...
It started with a gathering of small dark objects high in the sky; several larger shapes surrounded by clouds of smaller ones. They were descending at great speed, trailing lines of smoke and ash. Their scaly bodies were soon visible, armoured with scintillating crimson scales, with great webbed wings pulled back as they plummeted towards their targets.
Soon a terrible roaring reached the ears of the cowering tritons who watched in terror as the fire dragons bore down upon them. Behind them came hordes of juvenile whelps, small in stature but no less hell-bent on destruction. Their descent has boosted their speed to phenomenal levels, which they used skilfully to arc and twist through the air, sending swathes of flame upon machines and ships, instantly reducing them to burning wrecks. Against such overwhelming powers of destruction the triton invasion force was soon broken and fled under the ocean in a mass rout.
The dragons, their appetite for destruction satisfied, rose to start their westward journey back to their cinderous lairs. Pillars of acrid smoke, smouldering war machines, and an ash-flecked wind marked the demise of the triton invasion...
Chapter 10
A nervous triton scout skittered towards the his leader’s throne. The Prince was being attended by his sirens, who had started singing an elaborate harmony. Other courtiers looked on dreamily, already enthralled by the entrancing voices that drifted across the room, reduced to a hypnoptic state of utter contentment. The scout resisted the urge to meld into the collective unconciousness and proffered the sealed missive that he had carried from the forest borders.
“I have better things to do than read words written by mortals,” scoffed the Prince. “The day of my coronation draws near! What can possibly be more important?”
“My Prince, the forest dwellers rallied strong defences on their eastern borders. Our forces were repelled.”
One of the Prince’s advisors, General Vexis, veteran commander during the wars of The Schism, stepped forward. “Then attack from the south, at Wildwood. There is nothing there but wild animals. It will catch the enemy unawares. I should command the invasion.”
The Prince nodded. “You read my mind, commander. Attack Wildwood!”, in a vain attempt to claim the idea for himself. “Commander, I have another idea: you should go and personally organise the invasion.” On saying that his eyes shut.
“As you wish my Prince.” Vexis smiled wryly and departed the palace, leaving the bewitching melodies to dance upon the senses of willing fools.
On his way out his path crossed a group of divers who were carrying impressive hauls of Shimmer Pearls, items greatly revered for the magical power they contained. They stood to attention on seeing the General, still a famous figure after so many years.
“I wouldn’t go in there if I were you,” advised Vexis.
“The Prince is not in there?”
“I really cannot imagine where he is at the moment”.
A nervous triton scout skittered towards the his leader’s throne. The Prince was being attended by his sirens, who had started singing an elaborate harmony. Other courtiers looked on dreamily, already enthralled by the entrancing voices that drifted across the room, reduced to a hypnoptic state of utter contentment. The scout resisted the urge to meld into the collective unconciousness and proffered the sealed missive that he had carried from the forest borders.
“I have better things to do than read words written by mortals,” scoffed the Prince. “The day of my coronation draws near! What can possibly be more important?”
“My Prince, the forest dwellers rallied strong defences on their eastern borders. Our forces were repelled.”
One of the Prince’s advisors, General Vexis, veteran commander during the wars of The Schism, stepped forward. “Then attack from the south, at Wildwood. There is nothing there but wild animals. It will catch the enemy unawares. I should command the invasion.”
The Prince nodded. “You read my mind, commander. Attack Wildwood!”, in a vain attempt to claim the idea for himself. “Commander, I have another idea: you should go and personally organise the invasion.” On saying that his eyes shut.
“As you wish my Prince.” Vexis smiled wryly and departed the palace, leaving the bewitching melodies to dance upon the senses of willing fools.
On his way out his path crossed a group of divers who were carrying impressive hauls of Shimmer Pearls, items greatly revered for the magical power they contained. They stood to attention on seeing the General, still a famous figure after so many years.
“I wouldn’t go in there if I were you,” advised Vexis.
“The Prince is not in there?”
“I really cannot imagine where he is at the moment”.
Chapter 11
General Vexis, standing upon the shell of his loyal giant turtle mount, peered through a rusting telescope towards the forested shoreline of Wildwood. It was dusk, and the flashes of fireflies revealed that nobody else was near. Perfect.
Behind him, far out to sea, the mercenary pirate ships awaited his signal. They were vicious cutthroats, not to be trusted, and even a threat to Triton civilians.
Yet the General had cunningly offered them the opportunity of a lifetime – and it would be their very last opportunity if all went to plan. Many wars ago he had learned that an aged treasure chest had been dredged up from the sea by a circle of druids. Within was an ancient artifact of great power, originating from a tomb in the western deserts, that had horrified the druids to such a extent that they decided it was better hidden away forever in their grove. In his youth, as a Captain, he had captured one of those very druids in a skirmish action and ‘persuaded’ her to reveal more information. And it was that same artifact he had promised as payment to the mercenaries.
He ordered the Tritons marines to advance but remain out of sight by swimming beneath the surface. Next the mercenaries were given the command to attack. Rowboats full of bloodthirsty pirates surged forward for the beach assault. Under cover of the low light they soon hit shore, and rushed into the forest cutting down minor resistance from wild creatures of the undergrowth.
Now the marines followed their next orders: to leave the area, unseen, as quickly as they could. The General waited. He knew the pirates would soon find the druid’s grove, thanks to his precise instructions. They should be there by now...
“What if those damned druids had been prepared,” he pondered to himself. His military mind started to concoct a retreat strategy, but his thoughts were interrupted by an immense boom, and his eyes were simultaneously doused in a bright light, as a hemisphere of burning orange glow reached out about beyond the tree tops, before disappearing instantly; an immense hole in the forest the only sign it had ever been.
“Fools,” he muttered to himself, a twisted smile creeping across his aging scaly face.
General Vexis, standing upon the shell of his loyal giant turtle mount, peered through a rusting telescope towards the forested shoreline of Wildwood. It was dusk, and the flashes of fireflies revealed that nobody else was near. Perfect.
Behind him, far out to sea, the mercenary pirate ships awaited his signal. They were vicious cutthroats, not to be trusted, and even a threat to Triton civilians.
Yet the General had cunningly offered them the opportunity of a lifetime – and it would be their very last opportunity if all went to plan. Many wars ago he had learned that an aged treasure chest had been dredged up from the sea by a circle of druids. Within was an ancient artifact of great power, originating from a tomb in the western deserts, that had horrified the druids to such a extent that they decided it was better hidden away forever in their grove. In his youth, as a Captain, he had captured one of those very druids in a skirmish action and ‘persuaded’ her to reveal more information. And it was that same artifact he had promised as payment to the mercenaries.
He ordered the Tritons marines to advance but remain out of sight by swimming beneath the surface. Next the mercenaries were given the command to attack. Rowboats full of bloodthirsty pirates surged forward for the beach assault. Under cover of the low light they soon hit shore, and rushed into the forest cutting down minor resistance from wild creatures of the undergrowth.
Now the marines followed their next orders: to leave the area, unseen, as quickly as they could. The General waited. He knew the pirates would soon find the druid’s grove, thanks to his precise instructions. They should be there by now...
“What if those damned druids had been prepared,” he pondered to himself. His military mind started to concoct a retreat strategy, but his thoughts were interrupted by an immense boom, and his eyes were simultaneously doused in a bright light, as a hemisphere of burning orange glow reached out about beyond the tree tops, before disappearing instantly; an immense hole in the forest the only sign it had ever been.
“Fools,” he muttered to himself, a twisted smile creeping across his aging scaly face.
by Steve of Three Goblins