Delicthia looked out his tower window across the lands, his lands. The great lands of Minera. His age made him able to see different than any other. He looked outward north for mile after mile towards the great tree of Kondra. "First Root" it meant in elven, for as there tales say it was the first being from which it gave air for all the grasses and flowers and out of which Elve himself danced. He then found a tree and with his love he sung it to life and as elven culture claims started the world which diluted itself down to humans. Through the ages it lived not losing even on leaf from the branches that stood 700 feet up.
Also in the south he looked to the Rigarag Mountains towered high blocking the foggy dark Bilvr forest beyond. He looked back into the past, to better times of prosperity and widespread fortune for all.
He returned to the places and events at hand. He craned he long white neck farther out and looked directly at the surrounding land without his powers. Poor peasants worked in the fields as the depressed villagers scrambled around trying to finish there task before the impending darkness. How things had changed since the breaking of the union. Harmony turned into ignorance. Ignorance led to disagreements, which can only end with violence. That what once was good and just was broken like a pane of glass, Shattered and spread abroad. Though many had tried to put it all back together pieces always seemed to be missing.
The never ending ever worsening cycle drained on Delicthia’s heath and life. His old stature was not frail by any means, just well used. His scales paled from there youthful glowing white his wings sagged from lack of use, and his deep eyes always seemed farther back and gave a feeling like he was far away. Intently being in another land. Where his physical being lacked his mind mastered.
All Dragons are highly intelligent, there brains growing slowly with time. He had outlasted for longer than time itself it seemed. He had seen the worst of times and lead armies to fight for the better times. Since back when he was barely older than a hatching he was deemed “special”. His abilities became profound and were refereed and feared by all. Some thought that his white scales led to his intellectual abilities, bards all over had there own ideas and concepts as they song his name all across the land. He himself didn’t know how he could see anywhere he had been or even see the events in the past of those locations. He crossed the tower almost crushing a human servant who was only tall as his thigh. He looked eastward toward Exitorn, a land of darkness, and not just because of the setting sun.
A tearing force coursed throughout him as he was ripped from his body. Another vision. It was dark. He had been taken into Exitorn where the over sized Hatch Mountain blocked out any last rays of the sun. He must be in Mittlestadt, as he could hear the large White River rush nearby. Fires where lighting the small village square. The noise came a few seconds later as his mind fully adjusted to its current environment. The sound Blared in from all directions, swords clashed, warriors yelled, and children screamed. Deljols ran rampant among the town as the villagers defended their territory.
The Deljols pail grayish green skin was pulled taught over their small frame. Stringy muscles lay atop bare bones visible like a child of malnourishment. Yet speed and agility made them feared raiders. They wore minimal amounts of clothing, usually sticking to just a loincloth. The lucky ones wore plates of armor attached in a mixed matched pattern. They carried savage brutal weapons. Rusted blades, bent pikes, and poison blow dart all among the mix. The Deljols were divided into bands and clans that all together make up the Blood Tooth Kabal.
Blood Tooth was the greatest of all their generals and united them under one banner, a banner that invoked fear. Deljols though under a governing body we anarchists and barbarians. Not calling anywhere home and pillaging what they must.
Most of the village was forced to the center of the town square. Bodies piled up as both humans and Deljols fell. Savage clubbing blows could be herd as a farmer’s neck snapped in two. Delicthia sensed movement behind him, by the trees. In a sense he turned mentally on an axis. A youth not over 17 entered the clearing. He dropped a buck he had been carrying on his back and drew a bow; he knocked it and pulled back…
Ripping force again, back to Minera, his fortress. But why couldn’t he access his usual powers and stay longer? He soon stopped thinking about his problems and those of the nation. What must be done? Mittlestadt was near, just across the river, were they headed into the lands under his control? This is all too much. I must reach the great yurk, king of the elves.
He headed for the large opening on the north wall, but stomped before plummeting outward toward the vast plains of Minera. He was weak it must wait tomorrow I will get there some how tomorrow, until then rest, rest of the body, rest of the mind. What is going on? That was his last thought as he went into his slumber that night.
Rooslan shot the arrow straight through one’s head and into another. He let out a slight whoop before dodging a stray dagger that came close to taking his ear off. Damned bloody creatures he thought as he trampled past a fallen deljol.
He had only seen a deljol once before, on a hunting party his father pointed them out on a ridge. His father. His mind was shaken, as though dumbed down by anesthesia, until his uncle took his attention.
“Go boy!” Ambriy shouted, “They are advancing on the homes! Go protect your aunt.” He blocked a jagged spear with a makeshift dinner plate shield as Rooslan turned and ran.
He past the battle on all sides. People he knew bleeding but still fighting
Flames, red, orange, yellow, streaks of blue. Crawling and dancing at the roof like tribal bandits. The house was in flames. The work was going down. Possessions turning to ash. And that was the least of all problems.
Near the door two of the unruly beasts stood with torches finding more to set flame to, they saw him and bolted away. He shot both dead on with his last two arrows, one diving torch first, its small sweaty frame crashing into the barn, knocking the old termite infested door inward. The hay on the floor started smoking. But he didn’t have time to put out the sparks in a literal and figurative sense because he had a wildfire to stop.
A muffled scream came from a near vicinity; Rooslan remembered why he was sent back. He turned toward the house on first instinct. There was no going in there, a beam fell, Crashing down and crushing a wall beneath its mass as he franticly thought, where, where, where?
He turned upon hearing sound like it was behind him. Anya was there as she wailed again. Three of the damned creatures where dragging her out of the town.
“Rooslan.” she called as she kicked. “Kak Dilla! Ploho!” What that meant he had no idea. For what he knew she didn’t know any other languages, she must have picked up a bit from a trader or somewhere. He felt the die hard determination and noticed the yell was like a last stand. A last will and struggle aimed at one hope. The Deljols also noticed this to and turned to see where the message was planed to go.
Rooslan was running at them like a great falling monolith by the time they reacted. They grabbed her up with unpredictable strength for their composition splitting the weight and took of towards the hilly region and away from the river. Out of instinct while he ran he reached for an arrow. Damned he was for he felt the only recently emptied quiver. He scooped for a stone and through with all his might but he couldn’t muster the difference. And fell short by about 10 feet. He would never catch them an their tone speed given legs, he knew Ambriy would would be made but he could at least try to save some things of value. He turned to the place of most value, the now flaming barn from which emitted the neighs and baas of livestock.
He flipped the latch of the gate as they ran out and he went were his Uncles tools were. Luckily the flame wasn't over here, yet the heat had expanded the leeward side from rain two days prior. It had bowed the wood and then in some parts it had snapped opening holes to the dark outside. But one of these glowed red, but he saw it wasn't flaming golden or ember orange but a solid hue like that of a slit neck. He went for that as a section of roof sized like that which was burning in the house. He reached in and felt heat radiating from the what he now saw as an ax. He picked it up by the handle and hurried out as the main beam fell.
With nothing to do at the place he had come to know as home he ran back to the main village of Mittlestadt. He stopped in an ally between to houses before reaching the main square. He could see clearly in the light that glowed from the red blade that there was a system of runes on the handle.
A war cry was shouted as something flew down from the roof of one of the buildings. A deljol looked at him with its eyes glowing green and luminous toward the red shine that emitted from Rooslan's weapon. It ran dropping its own weapon to run with free hands ready to snatch and grab, to pillage as had been done numerous times in the past. Rooslan lifted the ax and swung down. As the ax swung down like a guillotine falls strait and on came the deljol he saw a solid plate over the back and the neck. He realized the beautiful weapon would become dented as did all the crudely made axes he had been exposed to. With no time to react he was an onlooker falling off a cliff in utter defeat.
The Deljols head fell to the ground. A clean cut going strait through the makeshift plated amour and all the tissues and bone and what ever else made up the foul beasts. A lick of smoke came off the oozing bloody meat. He bent down seeing that the some of the open tissues had been charred. He looked to the ax, and was shocked. Some of the blood that had settled one it danced around as though thrown on a skillet, the blade seemed to be radiating heat.
He hadn't much time to think this when his Uncle called. He looked up to seeing that the deljols were being driven off. He hid the ax in the dirt behind a barrel and ran toward the crowd. Rooslan thought how to break the news of Anya to Ambriy.
Delicthia awoke in the north tower, pain shooting up his leg. No light fell from the open ceiling five stories above him, a ceiling he once used daily to enter and exit before his age caught up with him. Yet he could feel on the floor that several scales had fallen from his front right leg, a returning nigging result of a battle against a Troll set on slashing his wings in the Muzesi Swamp located in the southern most reaches of Sathroko when he was a youth. It had caught him from thigh to shin with one talon while he taunted it from above. It had tore the muscle and he had hid until scales grew over, leaving a ridge down the limb. When he discovered that it would remain that way forever he found the troll it's clan and ripped into them seeking the vengeance of the permanent scaring and leaving them to rot. He returning covered in their blood expecting to be a hero in the burrows of his dragon society. He learned that though the creatures were despised they still had a quality of life and he was punished, thus beginning his vast empathy toward all.
A rapping sound came from the barrier behind him. It was a great stone. He shuffled his mass around to see the stone slide away, a power only done by magical force. In came the one he had planned to seek, Shroto, royal yurk of the Bilvr forest in southern Minera and northern Sathroko. He led the wise elves with a stern mastery of all arts and ability's keeping all in balance. He, as most of his forests elves despised the elven empire in the western land of Puereska and the Hiathorne Forest which lies in the triangle between the Ancient Lake and the two branches in the River of Old. Their culture was ravenged and torn by the love of war, death, and torture they inflicted.
Their minds met as their eyes touched. Respect ran between as a youths ball of leather bounces back. For years they had been ruling over the respected peoples of Minera and it's forests and mountains. By law of position the drake Delicthia had supreme law of all including Bilvr but he saw how Shroto leads and respect and saw that he show have overall charge of his own kind but also oversee the nearby others in concordance with Delicthia. For what happens everywhere can effect all even outside of it's own rhelm was his firm belief and statue.
That was one reason for the starting of the Great Dragonic Council long ago. To regulate all that happens everywhere and all respected rule weather or not they agreed or supported the ideas. If only he knew the state of the council and how it was now split...
Silence miandered throughout the room like a hunter trying to find a cornered animal as they peered beyond the pupils and cornias and into the mind, the brain, or even the soul. That is if such a thing existed, Dragons did not believe so, yet the elves and many others in the world did. Shroto broke the silence surprising Delicthia as he knew elven customs and was aware that it was the the rude for a guest to break silence or start a topic for discussion unless called upon to do so.
"You know what has happened in Exitorn?" Shroto started. He knew Delicthia would have delved into any major disturbance with his powers, even if he did it sub-consciously while asleep so he did not wait for an answer. "It was a terrible disaster. But the mess made can further outer empires."
Delicthia's mind flipped back several hours to one of many dreams. Most events of the past and others completely fictitious. He cornered one that involved the western nation of Exitorn. He sank in...The great Hatch mountain, figures all about, a battle was being fought. The smaller Deljols looked like they would be easily oppressed by the large orange mass of well trained Exitornians, greatest fighting national army in the land. Yet they were driving the defending nationalists back. They had advanced armor and fresh shiny well kept weapons. Either they were a new breed or some thing was up. With only two more ranks of normal ground forces left before the little invaders from as there name means in elvin, "Under the Hills", could reach the archers who's arrows rained down yet couldn't pierce the armor unusual for the creature wearing its amour. Armour that had the orange tint, the orange tint of the Exitornian flag. A roar erupted from behind a large ridge on the mountains face. Xon the lord and ruling dragon of Exitorn had arrived and flew over above the fight. The ground forces in the first two rows before the enemy yelled "hazah!" at the sight of there leader and fiercest warrior. Most of the arcers turned the bows up away from the angle needed to hit the deljols and instead onto the large figure gliding overhead taking out the wings and reflecting off the steely scales. Xon turned quickly to see many of his own forces pull knives off their thighs and stab the hearts and slit the throats of all who hadn't committed the mutinous turncoat against their nation. The first two ranks, the sword bearers, of which none had turned all knew the circumstances were unbeatable turned up and saw the one who inspired them sinking, flapping and unable to stay in the air. They began to run down the east side of the mountain fleeing between crazed little beasts with a thirst for blood and rows of well suited warriors that wanted them killed. Xon continued downward. Arrows had ripped the great bold wings to shreds and his eyes and nostrils had been well pierced and made bloody. He couldn't see the ground he was about to crash into at a deadly force. He couldn't smell the future of all the lands. The future of war, famine, heroism, and most of all in his near future and in the future of all, death...Delicthia returned to the present. Disturbed that what he had just relived, even more disturbed that this was all true and had only passed hours before. "Which of the clan chiefs do we appoint as new leader?" Delicthia was referring to the many clans which had a leader for each of the eight lands.
"There are no chief in Exitorn, the same raid went and destroyed each clans embassy, killing all including the chiefs." The great white drake was taken aback at the news from the elven lord. All the chiefs were Dragonic and many members at the embassy were also. By no means is any dragon the kill, even the common green or the wild brown that can be found throughout the land. Shroto continued, "We need to mobilize and secure the area before others do, others with foul intentions." This put Delicthia in a bad spot. Minera had no army. There economy was made up mostly by farming meaning an army's funding was pretty much out of the question. The citizens worked hard and were happy. They were happy with the nations size and status in the world. Shroto didn't wait for the opinion of the one who he trusted most. "My people will move tomorrow. For the betterment of the world, For the betterment of Minera, For the betterment of elven kind!" And with that the Royal Yurk Of Bilvr turned on his heel and left the north tower.
Riders traveled all across Exitorn trying tell everyone in the medium sized country the same message. They was no plan for this delivery. All plans had been thrown out the window due to events the night before. All concepts of a peaceful future had been removed from the minds of all who knew. The lack of pattern meant that many were told the same thing multiple times not including the constant "Did you hear the message?" from anyone you passed. This was no different in Mittlestadt.
A horse galloped 20 feet behind Rooslan. Rider proclaiming his message. This was his seventh time hearing it, and it was always the same. "Important news! All must gather in the plaza at high noon! A representative wi-" The ending was usually missed as the horse was far down the road. Even without the last few words all knew that it had something to do with the events of the previous night and the unusually attack that came from the Deljols who were always worried about the punishment that would be inflicted by the Exitornian army. Rooslan looked to the shadows. They were almost gone. He knew it was time to head to the gathering.
All morning the people of Mittlestadt worked on counting and buying the dead or repairing their damaged property. Rooslan's aunt and uncles home had been burned down meaning that there wasn't much to do in the line of repairing the damage. Ambriy had already salvaged the very little left. He hadn't said a word to anyone since hearing the news of his wife. Rooslan ended up spending his morning helping others do various jobs.
He went to the plaza as instructed by all the messengers. Or at least what was the plaza. Even before the raid it wasn't much. A dirt square with a tree in the middle. The wasn't much use for it. The only reason for it was to satisfy the government regulations of Exitorn, one of which required a town plaza. Now it was even worse. Buildings had darts, spears, and arrows stuck in them. Blood stained the dirt. Broken miscellaneous pieces of things laid about. At the edge by the woods laid a deer carcass. Now full of maggots. How life was simpler less than 24 hours before.
Most the village was there at the gathering including Ambriy who was off to the side sitting on a barrel whittling. He hadn't taken the news of his wife well and had yet to speak to anyone all day. Rooslan looked to the ground where the mound of dirt and leaves he had made the night before was. Standing on a the back of a horse drawn trailer stood a well dressed individual, most likely the representative that they had been told of by the messengers. There seemed to be a heated dispute over something revolving around him.
"We are not sure of his location. Though we fear the worst for him and many who are missing." Was the first thing Rooslan heard form the representative as he entered the thick of the crowd.
"My baby! My baby!" cried Inna. She was being held by her husband Mono. Rooslan now understood. The expected representative was Draz. Mona and Inna's son. He was broad shouldered and very strong. It was general consensus that when he turned 16 he would inherit Mono's carpentry and construction business. But he chose to go into studying and eventually shocked the town when he announced that he would be the towns ambassador on Hatch Mountain. It seemed logical he would represent Hatch Mountain to the village. Apparently something must have happened recently. Possibly he voted something that made the Deljols unhappy and they attacked the town out of vengeance thought Rooslan.
Someone else cried out, "Why are you here then?"
While another yelled, "Why were we attacked for no reason at all?"
An elderly man rasped, "Back in my day Xon would have never tolerated this!"
"Xon is dead." All were instantly silent and paying attention to the representative. Ambriy dropped his knife. The representative continued. "Last night an attack occurred on the capital. A large number of the Royal Army have betrayed the nation aligning with the deljols. Several other nations on the far west coast are believed to be in support of this new government now in power over this land. They have yet to name a leader." At every new fact the shock rolled through then crowd like a wave. "Do not worry though. A resistance is being planned. Along with the remaining hundred or so loyal Exitornian warriors we are forming the peoples army of Exitorn! We can take back our nation and put a righteous leader in place and destroy the tyranny which has infected our home. In several days a member the remaining warriors will march through here on the way up the White Wolf River to the town of Ripley where the rendezvous will take palace with all the other forces will meet. Then we will march upon the capital and then we will march to freedom!" He finished and stepped down. People begin rushing around doing various jobs to get ready with the family members that weren't going to fight helping or continuing restoring the city.
It wasn't to long until Rooslan had gathered all he needed, which was all he had. He put his bow and quiver over his shoulder and then put the mysterious ax at his hip. Still curious about the powers he saw it do the night before. His uncle also was ready though all he had for weapons was various knives he had strapped on himself and a foot long dagger he used the night before. All the knives were in a poor rusted and dented quality. Rooslan guessed they were looted off dead Deljols. He sat with nothing to do. He realized it would be a long few days waiting for the Royal Army's last men to come through.
His attention soon changed as he smelled smoke. Not another fire. The ones set the night before by the Deljols were enough and he knew the little well the community shared probably couldn't handle another bucket line. Rooslan was the first one their. He knew the way all to well. Tolya, another youth in the village of Rooslan's age was outside tears streaming down his face and a large sack next to him. His mother had passed less than a year ago after a high fever. His father was 6 feet underground. A deljol dart still in his head. Their eyes met understanding and reasoning flowed free. If he would have been older at the time of his parents passing he would have done the same.
A round and a round the staircase turned. Up and up it went. Hallways ran off to the sides where rooms of all purposes were. In each arching doorway to the branching rooms stood faces. Wide oblong eyes watched. Flared nostrils smelled. Tapered eyes listening. Svelte lips lay still. The great white beast passed farther upward.
Tap, tap, tap, thump. Tap, tap, tap, thump. The sound flowed in waves throughout the tree. Step, step, step, thump.
Delicthia's leg had continued to bother him. His trip to the Great Tree of Kondra had been very slow. The flight that would normally two day flight was lagging on into its fifth afternoon. But at least he was near the end. He could see all the elves in the arches where dressed as librarians and historians. He was passing the hundreds of rooms full of manuscripts from ages lost. Some believed to be done by elve himself as he watched the first Dragon blast it's way out of Hatch Mountain, or as refused to in old Fuliear Mountain. He could no longer lift his leg up and just yanked it up the stairs. He continued up struggling to make it through the passage way up. To an elf the stairway was extravagantly huge and majestic with artwork done by those who were long dead or forgotten all the way up. The carvings were painted over with amazing precision and every once and a while a series of statues would continue the tale. It was so long that most of the few who had been able to read the entire thing forgot most of it once it was finished. Some attempted to write it down but all died before accomplishing the writing of this epic.
To the dragon Delicthia it was a nightmare. He had to walk hunched over to avoid hitting the ceiling, his sides tapped the walls scraping the great story away with his scales leaving a whitish powder some of the oldest weakest scales had just fallen apart. The only good thing that kept him going after leaving the previous nights camp in the roots of the tree was that tale. He knew he would have no problem remembering the tale but knew what he was destroying things that could not be replaced.
He reached the top. A plump cherry cheeked elf stood at the top. "Your royal, hmmm, have they thought of a title yet? Oh what was it?"
"Ahh, Pilor my good friend, royal titles are not needed here." He took another step only a few more until into the trees great atrium. A place where all the leaders of all races and all nations had attended for many occasions, even though the official table for the dragon lords was in Hatch Mountain. "How is your royal library coming?" Delicthia had been quite fond of Pilor who ran the royal elven library for many years. He knew where every document was in the massive stores of the tree, even those that we cataloged thousands of years before he began his work as head librarian Yet he was now aging as Delicthia and slowly losing his memory. Last time Delicthia had come Pilor called a royal guard declaring him a foul beast from the north.
"Oh, the meeting is underway no time for chit chat now move on, move." Pilor opened the great doors which were carved up with interesting designs. Beyond them lay the tree's atrium. A great table stood like a mesa in the middle. A wall of branches all around and the blue sky above. At the table sat in a high serene chair marked for the Royal Yurk was Shroto legs crossed, serious expression on his face. Belrek dragon lord of Sathroko, muddy yellow scaled with small sleek wings and Blith dragon lord of Themdras, a semi translucent blue who had fins down his neck and webbing between his toes.
"Yes, you see, Gowain has yet to arrive. We are unable to get any messages through the Hiathorne Forest either." Gowain was a forest green color and the smallest of all the 8 national heads. He was led Puereska with a noble yet firm hand. Puereska was home to the first dragons after they came from the center of Hatch Mountain and ancient lake. He also had to deal with the rebellious war hawk elves in Hiathorne forest. Delicthia's ears opened to the words from the three already in conference. A heated argument was already in place.
"We have been saying all along that you needed to do something about the elves over there!" came the attack from Belrek, mostly aimed at Delicthia.
"Oh so I am just obligated to look into the future and tell what is going on on the other side of Hatch?"
"Yes! They are your people! You are an elve. You know them! Not to mention you can actually see into the future unlike us and say what will be going on!" Belrek was fuming. "He turned to Delicthia who was still in the door way. "Why did you let him on the council anyway. There was good reason that for all the millennias the great council was only dragons!"
Blith spoke now. "Sibling, you mustn't treat others like this." He and Belrek are both brothers of the same mother yet different fathers. "Especially now that we all must remain intact with factions with bad intentions roaming around."
This was Delicthia's chance to ask the question that had been nagging him the entire journey north to he tree and would have struck him like a club all the way up if it weren't for the pain in his leg being so nagging. "So are all the others...well, against us?"
Blith looked at Delicthia. His eyes though much younger than Delicthia showed a sadness beyond his years. "It is. Ronz and Wazkanai have always worked together, and mainly against us. And who knows what has happened to Gowain."
Belrek jumped in as Shroto opened his mouth to begin cutting the elf off. "And who know bout Krackrate. He hasn't left that frozen tundra known as Amurente for dozens of years."
Keeping his usual calm Blith added to the idea of Amurente, "He died a while back. Last I heard some drake named Dricas is in charge their now. Apparently he is huge, and against the idea of having council." an
Shroto finally got the words in he wanted to say. "Red scale and black back are off doing who knows what, what's his face is snowed in, and Gowain was never useful to anyone this side of the White Wolf River. We need to wrap our fingers into Exitorn!"
"I agree with the idea, but not the elf." Belrek looked to the others who had displeased looks on there faces at the comment. Shroto was fuming. "What? All he will do is put an elf in power, or himself."
"I can not believe you. Just because You don't like the elves in the north of your nation doesn't mean we should move! Bilvr is elvin land, don't like it then give the land to Delicthia. At least he can do foreign policy. We need the land" Shroto glared at Belrek who did not like being accused.
"I think we should just support a leader. With the councils approval they are sure to be promoted into the position. We need to find someone who will stay with us." Blith's words flowed like a soothing laquoir into the ears of all, except Shroto who was still quite angry.
"No, leaders can be bribed, we must take it for our selves before the other nations do."
"Shroto what happened to being peaceful. Since when have you been like those in Hiathorne?" This coming from Blith. Feeling all were against him Shroto made a defensive stand.
"I am not hunger to kill. I strive to help my people." under his breath "and hinder those who have abandoned us." Back to the proclamation voice he continued, "No I am not hungry for land, yet the young elves are hungry. Hungry to rise up. You do not go into Bilvr, for if you do, sad day you will have. The people hunger. The once proud pointed ears drop like that of a filthy human. They want more than what they have. And by Elve himself I will not stop. We will not fall! We will take Exitorn, without you or with. But first I will destroy that living cancer that is Hiathornians. When the last of those have fallen the epidemic of war will be over. And you will have your god damn peace!" He hopped out of his chair and slammed the doors open knocking Pilor down a few of the stairs. He just kept walking as the doors shut behind him.
Delicthia sat quite as the tremors began shaking him. Flashing of white and black rocked him, strength was sapped fro his veins. He fell out of his chair in seizure. The tree faded from view and a plane of war came, bodies piled high. Crimson rivers flowed. A body took his attention. The face of which ridden with blood. A gash flowed down his forehead, nose, cheek, and chin. His head was smashed open against the rocks. Familiar face, but who. The boy the one from the dream. Ripped back forcefully. Whiplash of the neck streaks of light tore the image.
He awoke in the evening twilight with many around him. He remained on the floor in the top of the tree. He mustered the strength for one weak sentence. "The future, is grim." darkness faded around him as he fell into a sleep like state, elvin troops marching hundreds of feet below.
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