Post by Erathor Pridenar on Aug 20, 2014 11:53:33 GMT -8
Black flags fluttered in the black night, and black crows croaked amongst the black trees. One large tent stood away from those belonging to the mass of Galainir’s army, next to a broad oak at the edge of a clearing. In that tent a man, if that is what he could be called, sat alone, brooding. The air was thick around him and it felt strained, as if it was alive and bent to the will of the cloaked figure. His beard was long and thick, covering his face, and in the darkness only the light of his eyes could be seen, piercing every side of the tent. He was Maldrake, formerly Galainir’s right hand and now his own commander, free to make his own decisions, and the most powerful being outside of the Magic Isles. Sorcery was in his blood, coursing through his veins as it had done since the day he entered the miserable world. Now that world was in turmoil – Maldrake’s world. His forces had failed him in Loreos and Lenfald, two dung heaps that had somehow held back his might. Even in Garheim, a land of drunkards, his armies hadn’t been able to secure themselves, and now they were on the run, fleeing the allied forces of Roawia.
A masked man appeared at the tent’s opening, wearing the dragon-emblazoned breastplate of Maldrake’s commanders.
“Lord Maldrake.” He bowed low.
Without moving his lips, the thoughts of the silent wizard were conveyed to the general.
“Tell me, Cryxus, how far behind us are the allied forces?”
Cryxus gulped. The telepathic communication always unnerved him. Taking a moment to gather his resolve, he responded,
“They gained five miles on us today, my lord. They’re ten miles away.”
“How many times will my forces fail me?” Maldrake conveyed through the ether, sneering. “No matter. They will meet us in battle; after all, that is their aim.”
“But my lord, they outnumber us four to one. We will be crushed by the Roawian scum. Is that what you want?”
“I forgive your doubts, Cryxus – the young always doubt – but you should know this: I will NEVER be defeated. I gave my plans.” Looking out of the tent, the wizard’s eyes came to rest on a small basket of firewood. “Bring me that basket.”
The commander bowed uncertainly, making Maldrake smile. He still doubted him, the fool.
The basket was placed at the foot of Maldrake’s chair, and the bearded man opened his hand.
“Watch closely, commander.” A lick of flame appeared in the upturned palm, growing in size each second that passed. Maldrake kicked the basket over and flung his hand towards the wood on the floor. Immediately the tent was lit by a burning light, causing Cryxus to stumble back in shock. The firewood became ash on the ground, nothing more, and all was still. Then, after a moment, the ash began to rise up, pieces moving together and breaking apart, forming indistinguishable shapes. When the movement ceased the shapes were recognisable. There were mountains, valleys, rivers and, in the midst of all this, a fortress.
“This fortress is mine, Cryxus, and it’s but ten miles away from here. We make it there and we can hold back those who would try to bring me down.”
“I will rouse the men so we can leave right away.” Turning to leave, the commander paused and laughed mockingly. “It will be good to see the Roawian attack break upon the walls.”
Maldrake opened his hand once more and the wisps of flame still glowing amongst the ash disappeared, and the hills fell away to nothing. Soon, the rest of Roawia would do the same thing. Black thoughts filled the wizard’s mind, and black crows croaked amongst the black trees.
A masked man appeared at the tent’s opening, wearing the dragon-emblazoned breastplate of Maldrake’s commanders.
“Lord Maldrake.” He bowed low.
Without moving his lips, the thoughts of the silent wizard were conveyed to the general.
“Tell me, Cryxus, how far behind us are the allied forces?”
Cryxus gulped. The telepathic communication always unnerved him. Taking a moment to gather his resolve, he responded,
“They gained five miles on us today, my lord. They’re ten miles away.”
“How many times will my forces fail me?” Maldrake conveyed through the ether, sneering. “No matter. They will meet us in battle; after all, that is their aim.”
“But my lord, they outnumber us four to one. We will be crushed by the Roawian scum. Is that what you want?”
“I forgive your doubts, Cryxus – the young always doubt – but you should know this: I will NEVER be defeated. I gave my plans.” Looking out of the tent, the wizard’s eyes came to rest on a small basket of firewood. “Bring me that basket.”
The commander bowed uncertainly, making Maldrake smile. He still doubted him, the fool.
The basket was placed at the foot of Maldrake’s chair, and the bearded man opened his hand.
“Watch closely, commander.” A lick of flame appeared in the upturned palm, growing in size each second that passed. Maldrake kicked the basket over and flung his hand towards the wood on the floor. Immediately the tent was lit by a burning light, causing Cryxus to stumble back in shock. The firewood became ash on the ground, nothing more, and all was still. Then, after a moment, the ash began to rise up, pieces moving together and breaking apart, forming indistinguishable shapes. When the movement ceased the shapes were recognisable. There were mountains, valleys, rivers and, in the midst of all this, a fortress.
“This fortress is mine, Cryxus, and it’s but ten miles away from here. We make it there and we can hold back those who would try to bring me down.”
“I will rouse the men so we can leave right away.” Turning to leave, the commander paused and laughed mockingly. “It will be good to see the Roawian attack break upon the walls.”
Maldrake opened his hand once more and the wisps of flame still glowing amongst the ash disappeared, and the hills fell away to nothing. Soon, the rest of Roawia would do the same thing. Black thoughts filled the wizard’s mind, and black crows croaked amongst the black trees.
