Elaria rode closer to Renjiro, murmuring softly, "Your Majesty, these humans... they don’t seem frightened of us."
Renjiro glanced at the onlookers, his expression unreadable. "In so places of the continent, Elves are seen as legends – holy, noble, beautiful beings. We are so rarely encountered that human curiosity often outweighs their fear."
A flicker of coldness entered Elaria’s eyes. "It’s that lack of fear, Your Majesty, that emboldens greedy human nobles to hunt and capture our kin!"
A faint, almost chilling smile touched Renjiro’s lips. "They will learn soon enough. They will learn just how fearso the Elves can truly be."
Elaria nodded, her resolve hardening.
She had absolute faith that under Renjiro’s command, the Elves were destined to reclaim their forr glory.
....
The Mountains.
It was a vast, jagged range stretching nearly a hundred kiloters, a stark grey scar upon the land.
On one side lay the territory of the Human Empire, one of the three great human empires. Beyond the peaks, stretching out on the other side, were the steppes ruled by the orcs.
Technically, the mountains fell within the borders claid by the Human Empire, but in reality, they served as a harsh, unwelcoming buffer zone.
Many years ago, these mountains had belonged to the orcs.
Countless orc tribes had made their hos among the peaks and valleys.
Whenever their own lands yielded a poor harvest, the mountain orcs would form fierce raiding parties. Mounted on giant wolves, they would sweep down into the human territories, plundering food and supplies. This was how the fearso Blazing Orc Wolf Cavalry earned their na.
But that all changed one day.
An adult red dragon appeared, drawn perhaps by the scent of prey or treasure. It unleashed its fiery breath upon the mountains, burning everything. The forests, the orc settlents, the wildlife – all were consud by fire overnight.
The Orc Royal Court back on the steppes was furious!
They dispatched their most powerful champions, warriors radiating golden power, into the mountains. After a terrible battle, they finally brought the dragon down.
But from that mont on, a deep silence fell over the mountains.
Few orcs dared to return.
Partly, this was because the dragon’s fire had scoured the land bare. What were once dense forests were now just exposed, blackened rock.
Without cover, any orc venturing back was easy prey for the keen-eyed Golden Griffin Knights patrolling the borders for the Human Empire.
But there was another, more chilling reason. After the dragon died, its spirit, filled with rage and pain, did not pass on. Twisted by resentnt, it remained, becoming a powerful undead ghost.
The dragon’s ghost now wandered every corner of the mountain range.
Its terrifying presence kept everyone away – orc and human rcenaries alike feared to tread these paths.
But today, two figures walked through this desolate land.
They were completely hidden beneath heavy black robes, their faces lost in shadow.
From their shapes, however, one could tell it was an old man and a younger, slender woman.
The old man leaned heavily on a gnarled scepter topped with bone. A cold, unsettling aura of necromancy clung to him, and he walked with a shuffling gait, looking frail as if death was already knocking at his door.
The woman walked close beside him, carefully supporting his arm.
"Master," her voice was low and cautious, "are you certain? Is the story true? Is there really a dragon ghost here?"
"Hoh? Why, do you doubt my senses, girl?" the old man rasped back, his voice dry like rustling leaves.
"It’s just... it sounds like a legend. And if a dragon’s ghost was truly haunting this place, wouldn’t the Temple have sent their priests to purify it long ago?"
"Ah, the Temple?"
The old man let out a short, cold laugh. "Those hypocrites! What do they actually do besides bully and steal in the na of their shining god? Their main business is hunting down people like us, those they call heretics!"
Hearing him ntion the Temple, the woman tensed slightly.
The old man’s shadowed face seed to turn towards her. "What? Are you scared now? Or perhaps regretting your choice to beco my apprentice?"
"Never, Master!"
The woman’s voice was suddenly sharp with bitterness. "Since the day those Temple priests frad my sister, called her a necromancer, and burned her alive... I swore I’d stand against them! If you hadn’t saved , Master, the Temple would have captured too."
"Good. Rember that feeling!"
The old man’s voice was harsh. "You’ve chosen the path of undead magic. There’s no turning back now! But don’t you worry. When I finally shed this frail body and beco a lich, when I reach the power level of a demigod... what will the Temple matter then?"
"Master, I will learn everything you teach ! I swear it!" the woman vowed fiercely.
One old, one young.
They continued their journey through the bare, silent mountains.
Looking around, the peaks rose starkly against the sky. Grey-black rock, scorched and lifeless, was all that could be seen. No trees, no bushes, not even grass grew here.
Adding to the grim scene, large piles of white bones lay scattered in many of the valleys – the remains of orcs and beasts caught in the dragonfire or perhaps later victims of the mountain’s dangers.
Such a sight would make anyone’s hair stand on end.
But the old man and his apprentice showed no fear. They walked right over the bone fields, the crunch of splintering bone under their boots the only sound, treating the remains like ordinary stones on the path. To those who practiced necromancy, bones were perhaps no more remarkable than rocks.
They walked for what felt like a long ti, crossing several ridges.
Suddenly, the old man stopped.
The woman also halted, looking around nervously. She whispered, "Master, have you found it? The dragon’s ghost?"
"No!"
The old man stared towards the foot of a distant mountain, a dark, humorless smile seeming to play on his hidden lips. "A strange day indeed. I haven’t found the dragon ghost... but I never expected to run into elves here!"
"Elves?!"
Reviews
All reviews (0)