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That was fun!

Can our heroes hold out until reinforcements arrive?

Will we find out tomorrow?

Hopefully, the answer to both is 'yes'.

I would not get to optimistic for both, I have just started the next and possibly fianle part. Depending on how far I am willing to go with just one massive block of text. may break it up in two bitzs so to ease the reading. And knowing me, do you think all the good guys will survive?

 Trondheim wrote:
knowing me, do you think all the good guys will survive?

There's a first time for everything!

So yet again I update! Expect no fierce figthing on walls this time,that part will come next. And yes, I have not forgotten to start killing of characthers in next part But Enugh with that, enjoy this next part. C&C is always welcomed.


The grim figure of the Draconian marshal stood in amongst a circle of stones that had been erected so long ago that the memories of whom had placed them here was long gone. He stood with his king and a man whom leaned upon a tall staff that made his sword arm twitch. He had never understood why some men imagined that the gods, whom seldom if ever took interest in the affairs of mortals, could be swayed to do their bidding. But he was not so blind that he disregarded the primordial power some men like the old man could summon with their dark rituals.
Had not the fool been one of his majesties favoured followers he would long ago planted a dagger in his spine and left him to feed the carrion beasts of the land.

The site of this meeting lay some distance away from the camp itself, and the outlines of the citadel he was attempting to break could be seen barely trough the mist that had rolled in as the assault by the war hounds regiments had begun. He had expected most if not all those in the first waves to die. The damned royalists where not about to die without a brutal and lengthy siege he knew. They where far too many, and far too well provisioned inside their citadel. For now at least.
He stood there and listened to the two drone on and on, while the prattle of the other rabble that followed the old fool made his annoyance rise as his aids milled about preparing for the ritual at hand.
He gripped the hilt of his sword so hard that his fingers throbbed with pain, but the pain served only as a focus to keep his façade up until the moment came to fly ones true colours so to say.

While this took place, events had begun to unfold that would make every man, woman an child cower in fear.
Far, far away from the raging battle stood a ruined citadel. Its walls broken, and its gates that had once guarded those whom had dwelled inside lay broken and shattered by the armies that had long ago sacked it.
Now however its walls and parapets where guarded not by soldiers or hired swords, but by something far more dark and sinister lurking deep inside.
The shadows seemed to dance and flicker as torchlight illuminated the towers where dark shapes stood guard with their hooded eyes wandering across the bleak lands around.
If a lone wanderer dared to make it past their fell gaze, and find the will or courage to step inside the first ruined gate. He would see the rusting arrows deeply embedded in the shattered remains of that gate. He would see the the signs of the effort taken by the masters of this place to rebuild it, and the tools left behind by slaves herded back to their cages where left for all to see.
If the brave wanderer was to press on, and stole along the dark road running further inwards, he would begin to see the traces by those whom now lorded over this place.
Stables where massive war horses were housed and the sheds that held the gear needed to dress such beasts for war. He would also at this point be aware of the rancid smell of something smelling like wild beasts, then he would see the cages. Made from solid steel that housed the bloodthirsty hounds whom roamed the place, acting as both alarms and hungry guards. These massive beasts whom where the product of mixing of the great war hounds found in service to the Kels army with wild Wargs or more foul beasts captured and brought here by the feral Picts.
Pressing on he would see the barracks where the slave overseers and the common guards slept and ate in between duties that would be the least of his concerns.

This foul place, once a proud and steadfast bastion of good that had fallen into the hands of evil was the ruined citadel of Mourgheim. Since its fall at the hands of the Draconian guard whom had claimed it as their seat of power and guarded their most dark secrets from anyone whom wished to spy upon them. It was here that their lord and master commanded the dreaded Draconian knights. And even now, as the last battle in the horrendous civil war raged on far, far away. Those whom remained kept a keen watch over their fortress, and all whom dwelled within.
Their master knowing the cost of the battle to come had taken almost a thousand of their numbers upon the march, but still there remained a mighty host to walk upon the walls.
But mere numbers and a siege in some far of land was far from the mind of the man whom now governed in the place of his master. He was more a beast robed in the skin of a man, than a knight. His foul temper was well known, and his willingness to apply the most horrendous torture and mutilation to the slaves and poor wrenches that where held in the dungeons below knew no bounds.

He was however for all his faults and deranged ways a most able caretaker. But he was not at peace, from deep, deep below came words from the men whom stood guard over the thing locked away down there that was beginning to stir. The rattling of massive chains and the sounds of a hot breath rolling over the stone walls fromthe depths did little to ease his worry. For if the darkness down there was indeed stirring, he would have need of every man he had.

He crossed the inner courtyard followed by two of his most trusted men, flsnking him like shadows. Guarding their master against the blades of assassins and would be rivals alike. He came into the massive halls that would lead him to the tunnels that plunged deep down into the earth. Tunnels that where so massive that he found himself awed by how they had been cut from the roots of the earth.
He passed by guards whom dared not meet his gaze, all bowed before him before continuing their silent watch over the darkness that lay round.
He could hear the screams and wails of agony from the torture chambers where his skilled men where busy applying royal justice upon traitors, criminals, and other unfortunate souls whom had landed in his cold grasp. He would indeed make a point of stopping by there on his return. It was far to long since he heard the sweet cries of men and women screaming for mercy.
As he and his two shadows passed the last pool of torchlight and walked onwards into the near darkness, he could almost feel it now. As if someone fanned rhythmical waves of warm air up from the deep. That sent a chill down his spine that was at odds with his hot and clamy flesh.
This was a place only a handful of men and women in the kingdom knew about, and these few individuals would hold it secret unless they wished to see the inside of the torture chambers he had passed not long ago.

The trio of wraith like men stopped in front of a massive gate, the doors where decorated in ornate brass motives that displayed creatures from the sagas of old. And the gods whom had created this world.
As he was about to lay his hands on the great gate the low snarl that emitted from the darkness around him made him pause and raw a deep breath. He knew of course about the guards that where posted down here but still. Such beasts made any mortal made grip for his sword.
For out from the darkness came a score of bull headed beasts. Clad in ornate golden war plate and gripping massive two headed axes the Minotaur’s looked at him with poorly concealed hunger. They eyes radiated hate for all but their master whom was away and fighting a war now.
The largest of the beasts whom easily almost stood three meters tall and with a body that seemed cut from obsidian stepped so close that the smell of of ox was almost overpowering.
“Pale one! You seek entrance to the hall beyond the gates yes?” the leader said in a very broken form of the trade tongue most commonly spoken in Kels. As the Minotaur awaited the response it swung its massive axe idly, almost if of boredom. But the casstellan knew better it was a display of the sheer power and also a way of demonstrating to its underlings that he as their chief bowed his neck to no one, not even the feared pale ones.

“Yes why else would I come down into this damp and decrepit cesspit! And before you do, I brought the standard fee as agreed upon between you and my master.” one of his shadows left his side and walked back up the tunnel for some distance before he whistled sharply.
Then the distant sound of chains and the shuffling of feet could be heard mixed with the sounds of the occasional whip crack as guards herded a large group of slaves down. Almost two hundred recently purchased slaves had been taken down into the darkness. This herd of human cattle had been brought here for one reason.
“They are all yours. Try not to eat the chains this time!” the pale one said and gestured towards the great doors. The slaves however had by now grown accustomed to the dim light, and could see the monstrous shapes that closed ranks around them. They screamed and wailed for mercy but to no use. Their fate was as good as sealed. But not one of the great bull men lunged for the fresh meat just yet.

Instead they took the chains the slaves where bound to, and fastened them onto great slabs of stone. So that not one could hope to escape his or hers fate. With that done they grabbed their weapons and with practised and efficient pace they took hold of the massive iron rings that where mounted upon the doors and with a inhumane effort began to haul them open. Slowly the doors opened and a smell of heat and something else washed over the casstellan whom stood and gazed at the dark abyss that lay beyond.
“Stay here!” he told his two attendants and signalled the Minotaur chief and his most able warriors to follow him. The great obsidian coloured beast snorted and hefted his axe in both hands. A sour smell of rancid sweat began to rise from the Minotaur’s as they walked on hoofed feet after the Draconian.
Waiting outside the other beasts seemed also to not relish the idea of the massive vault doors being opened. But they kept a keen watch and waited for the return of their chief.
Their kind was a rare sight these days, hunted and killed by the men of the North and south, hounded to the ends of the earth and to places humans seldom ventured. But the fierce pride they carried was not lost, nor was the utter loyalty they had to their leaders. Anyone whom survived a encounter with them, and gained their respect had indeed found new brothers in arms whom would walk into the fires of the abyss itself alongside his or hers side.
The casstellan drew a deep breath when he saw what he had come to wake up from its deep slumber.

For before his eyes, held in place by immense chains lay a beast whom could reduce armies to ash, smash castles to ruin and leave whole provinces as noting more than charred ruins. Its scaled head was as wide as a ox cart and massive yellow fangs could be seen. The scales had the colour of a dark ruby, or some other precious stone. And its two curved horns had the same colour as the finest ivory.
“Wake the wyrm” he said to the Minotaur’s whom fanned out behind him, and with caution took up positions around the great vault.
The leader of the bull men strode across the stone floor and layed down his axe, and picked up a great hammer. The hammer lay beneath a great bell, that had once stood on a old temple. But now it would be used not to call the faithful to worship but to wake the great beast.
Raising the great hammer he swung backwards and with great fierce struck the bell. The deep chiming of the bell seemed to make the very air vibrate and the casstellan could feel it deep in his bones.
At first it seemed the beast had not noticed the tolling of the bell, so he was about to order a second toll when the chains holding the beast began to move, and with a deliberate show of drama the great drake opened one eye and glared at him.

The wyrm whom was called Cuelebre had ever since it had been lured down into this dark place, and by sorcery most foul and treachery bound in chains. But for a wyrm the passing of several years was noting more than the passing of a few heartbeats so to speak.
Now its slumber and brooding was disturbed by that horrid bell, but its mind that had seen aeons go past noted something else...the chains that held her seemed weaken almost as if someone had stolen the sorcery and let only the cold iron remain in place.
As she felt the fire in her form beginning to spread throughout her massive body a plan formed in her mind. Yes he knew now that it was time to show the mere mortals that deceit and treason did not go unpunished when played upon someone like herself.
She knew however that her mind would be her most important weapon to start with, so deciding that playing the part of the docile beast they thought her to be for now would make things run along much easier she opened one eye and glared at the human and his baleful minions.
The stench of sweat and fear from the Minotaur’s whom had sworn service to the mask clad man in front of her made her bile rise. Several of those beasts had made the mistake of thinking that her chains made impossible for her to lunge forwards. But they where more than long enough for her to come within range with fang and claw of those beasts. The taste they had left her with in her mouth was not something she cared to repeat she had decided after that distasteful meal in the time after her capture.
Her memories f their screaming and the panicked rush of their comrades was interrupted by the cold and cruel voice of the human whom had assisted his master in luring her down here.
“So wyrm, I see you have decided to wake from your sleep. I have a proposal to make to you if you care to listen.” the man said and took a step forwards.
He drew a scroll from his cloak and drew a dagger from his belt and bent down, with one hand he held the scroll and the other he jabbed the dagger into the cracks between two of the great stone tiles so it kept the scroll unfolded.
“That scroll contains what my master is offering you wyrm in return for your aid in dealing with the rebels. Either you accept this or you will rot away down here until only your bones and scales remains!” he said and seemed to believe himself her master.

She replied to him in a deep rumbling tone, she kept up the role as the bound captive very well she thought and almost smirked at her own devious plots.
“If I may have a moment to read what your oh so glorious master has penned down I shall give you a answer.” she said and with a deeply concentrated look upon her scaly face read what the bastard has penned down for her on that piece of paper.
The message penned down with black ink and pen was very straight forwards, either she would swear allegiance to the Draconian and let herself be bound by spells and other foul means to his will. And be rewarded with a new place to dwell and the right to devour every, man, woman and child inside the walls of the great citadel that would become hers to occupy. If not she would be sealed of inside the place that now served as her prison. The tunnels leading down to her be collapsed and starvation and madness would claim her life eventually.
“Well what is your answer wyrm! Servitude or eternal damnation!” the casstellan said with a sneer to his tone as he expected the beast before him to accept her fate, and thus recognizing the power his master wielded over all living things.

But the answer he got was far from reassuring, instead what he got was a deep rumbling laughter. It seemed to come from all around and the sheer force of it made his ears hurt. His other servants seemed alarmed by this, and the bull men began to bray in alarm and fear. Even their massive leader took several steps backwards and started to bellow to his kinsfolk.
Then with her reply still ringing in his ears the enormous beast rose to her feet, her yellow eyes with the serpent like pupil wide open as she almost seemed to smile.
Then she roared and the whole world seemed to shake as the great she drake with muscles building under her scaly skin began to break free from her bonds that had kept her chained up for far too long.
The man whom had just moments ago thought himself her master stood there and did not move. Most likely he knew his coming fate, or maybe the primordial fear all men had for the great wyrm had seized control of his mind and body.
As the last chains broke, and the remains of them fell to the cold stone floor the wyrm crept forwards with her long tongue flickering and a stench of sulphur emitting from her nostrils. The Minotaur’s where by now mad with fear and fled before her, she payed them no heed. They would not get far anyhow.
She stopped directly in front of the man and before he had time to even scream she belched fourth a torrent of flames that enveloped him like a wave may cares a swimmer in the sea.
She stomped fourth like a god of the old myths as she broke down the great brass doors and emerged into the halls beyond. Her angry roars echoed up the tunnels,and her footfalls made the stone floors shake as she began her slow crawl up to freedom.
As she paused for a moment she saw the slaves destined for the cooking pots of the now fleeing Minotaur’s and knew this would indeed be a grand day.
The human cattle screamed in absolute horror as she opened her fanged maw and with one massive paw grabbed hold of the nearest prey.
It was a long time indeed since she had tasted man flesh she mused as her great teeth crushed bone and chomped down on the flesh of the screaming victims. Blood and strips of cloths soon decorated her lower and upper jawline as she left the chamber behind her.
As she made her way p the maze of tunnels and grand halls she left behind a scene of utter carnage. Mangled corpses, smouldering remains and a strong scent of sulphur hung in the air as the vengeful drake took her revenge.
As she did so the bells begun to chime on the surface, where those whom had been able to escape the horrid scenes below came pouring out and raised the alarm with frenzied cries and smelling of smoke and charred flesh.
Then Cuelebre whom now could smell freedom and fresh air reached at last the finale massive gate leading out into the inner courtyard.

Outside the great gate the remaining Draconian knights, regular Kels army troops and the few that remained of the Minotaur’s had formed a wall of steel. If the beast wanted to escape their wrath she would need to kill everyone of them.
As the casstellan was noting more than a heap of smouldering ash the command had fallen to the highest ranking knight left alive in Mourgheim.
He was a veteran of many wars and battels, from the brutal wars of suppression against the Picts to the blood soaked sacking of Kaupang.
Now he stood and waited for the beast to emerge from the darkness of the realm below their feet’s.
“Archers! Aim for her eyes and her mouth! The beast is most vulnerable there!” he said to those armed with longbows.
Then suddenly the moaning of iron and wood slowly splintering as something truly massive put her full might into it began to be heard. Then with a roar that shook the very ground the doors where ripped clean of their hinges and the beast emerged with smoke billowing from its nostrils.
“LET FLY MEN!” the commander barked and a cloud of arrows shot across the courtyard and hammered into the beast whom bellowed in anger.
How these puny mortals dared let their metal tipped arrows scratch her beautiful scales she thought as she swiped across their front ranks with one of her great paws. The talons that could rip apart stone reduced men to a red mist or cut them in two.
Then suddenly a sharp pain jabbed trough her left lower jaw, and looking down she saw a either brave man or a incredible stupid one having delivered onto her a swipe from his gleaming sword.
As he pulled back a second strike she bellowed in rage and reared up on her hind legs while her great lungs drew in a huge gulp of air.
Then with a great whoosh she spewed fourth a wall of raging fire that engulfed the courtyard and set men ablaze like morbid torches she put the rest to rout as men simply could not bring themselves to face such a godlike creature whom could engulf their comrades in fire that melted steel and left only behind charred ash.
The only ones whom still dared to oppose her wrath was the black clad knights armed with blades that stung her oh so badly when a blow managed to pierce her hide.
They where foes she did not dare leave alive, for even a wyrm o0f her age and power was not immune to steel blades like the ones they carried.
So not with burning hot rage but cold calculating hate she turned her attention to the ones whom still lived. Let them spend their few moments of life left in awe of her might and dark glory.
She wailed as a blade stung her side. Swinging her frame around and stomping down hard upon th swordsman she reduced him to red gore spread across the cobblestones.
The few men till standing now gave ground to her, and thus came the chance she had been waiting for, as they looked on in awe and terror she flexed her wings, and with a massive demonstration of the sheer power she possed she rose up on beating wings into the heavens above.
Below her the citadel lay thee smouldering, he flames spreading across roofs and between the wooden houses that in between the walls.
With a deep and ear-splitting roar she dived down with flames trailing her wake. Let the cattle run! Let them see the full wrath of a drake whom was enraged and thirsty for revenge.

In the great pavilion where king Erik and his court sat and where busy with the dinner being presented to them, and all seemed peaceful in their shielded zone of comfort while their men died at the walls not far away.
Just as the serving pages where beginning to bring the main course in the old court magician suddenly screamed in absolute terror and fell backwards from his seat near the king.
The man whom was viewed by many of the assembled lords & generals as a man to kept at arms length and who was wise to not openly disagree with, lay on the floor of the pavilion and while blood began to trickle from his eyes and ears wailed like a newborn child as he alone could see a great evil slowly crawling across the floor towards him. His two acolytes whom stood nearby rushed over to his side and tried to calm the old man and to get something meaningful from him had to restrain him with brute force as he began to scream with utter fear taking hold in his voice.
“The darkness! It comes oh it comes crawling fourth from the veil. The chains have been shattered and the beast is once more unbound!”
As he lay there shouting and frothing the king and almost everyone else had gotten to their feet and where looking at the spectacle with raised brows and worried looks.
“What darkness and what beast is he rambling on about! You two make some sense of it or there will be hell to pay! Now get him out and get him to his tent” king Erik said in a tone that left no room for questions.
The remaing men and women looked on the two acolytes whom lifted the by now almost hysterical man between them and hauled him away like someone carrying a wounded man.
As he did however a moment of clarity seemed to pass over him, and with a voice firm with authority as his post gave him the old man spoke.
“The beast we sought to keep chained down, and enslaved has broken her bonds. Now she once more haunts the sky! All will learn to fear her name....beware the scarlet red terror know as Cuelebre!” was the few words he managed to speak before the madness gripped his mind once more, and the struggling acolytes finally managed to drag him out.

Great entry! Nice to see the introduction of a new factor into the power struggle (cool name too ).

Really liked the description of the citadel and thought the depiction of the dragon really did the legends of the old wyrms some justice.

Bring on the gory finale ...

Minotaur's and Dragons! You are spoiling us now. Will we be seeing this beast haunting the skies above the besieged Dunhelm soon? And how will our favourite half troll manage to over come such a foe? I think shes going to need a bigger axe me thinks.
A few missing words but nothing the mind couldn't fill in.I enjoyed this jailbreak. good job, it was a fun read.

Necroagogo wrote:Great entry! Nice to see the introduction of a new factor into the power struggle (cool name too ).

Really liked the description of the citadel and thought the depiction of the dragon really did the legends of the old wyrms some justice.

Bring on the gory finale ...

Glad to hear you approved of the anme, but a helpful spirit wishped in my ear that all would be okay And yes, I wanted to stick to the feel that a dragon is a foe so immensly powerful that mere mortals have very litle hope to stand before it.

Themanwiththeplan wrote:Minotaur's and Dragons! You are spoiling us now. Will we be seeing this beast haunting the skies above the besieged Dunhelm soon? And how will our favourite half troll manage to over come such a foe? I think shes going to need a bigger axe me thinks.
A few missing words but nothing the mind couldn't fill in.I enjoyed this jailbreak. good job, it was a fun read.

Yes i do spil you all dont I? And well.....who knows

Up on the walls a eerie silence had taken over from the clatter and scrape of steel clashing with steel, and the wails of men screaming in pain. Instead there was only the cawing of carrion birds feasting on the heaps of bodies below the walls, and the odd sound of the guards posted there exchanging a few words in hushed and weary tones.
The stones of the ramparts where coloured a deep red, and dotted with broken pieces of weaponry lay all around that no one had taken the time to remove.
Instead the defenders where busy tending to the wounded and seeing the dead off from this cruel world that had ended their life’s. The flames of funeral pyres rose high into the air as the men and women of Dunheim burnt their dead kin on the great central courtyard of the keep.
But even as they fuelled the hungry flames with their dead kinsfolk everyone knew that the pyres would burn long into the night and for many nights to come. Regardless of whom won, many would still pay the ultimate price and be sent of into the after world from this place.

Standing on the walls his men had payed so dearly to defend, the duke of Kaupang stood by his old friend Thorvald surveying the walls. The first ring of walls where still in their hands, and if it should fall they would fall back to the second ring of walls.
Their men where still in high spirits, and although their loses in the terms of dead and wounded had been significant. They still considered themselves lucky. The sheer numbers of their enemies had allowed their archers to hit with almost every arrow and bolt fired.
And the dukes had stationed their most veteran troops on the walls that first day of the siege, allowing the enemy to hurl their far less skilled and trained troops onto their swords. Thus thinning the enemies numbers without too much in the way of losses of their own.
But that had all changed when the war hounds had been let loose. Those devils clad in black armour and savagely trained in the brutal arts of combat to become some of the best, if not the best troops in the north, had lived up to their name. Fighting like a massive pack of war hounds they had dealt the defenders a stinging blow, and only the presences of the boyar upon the walls had stemmed the tide of carnage. That and the giant half troll whom alongside the reluctant queen had acted as a source of inspiration and courage to their men.
In their eyes the young soon to be queen seemed to have undergone a dramatic change. She no longer doubted her origins or her self, but it was clear she had doubts how she would do as a queen. But that fact was a good sign they agreed upon, being nervous about such an important duty as that was no poor character trait.
Then there was her consort....now that was one soul none wanted to cross. Anyone whom happened to anger that hellish woman would most likely be dead before they had finished speaking. And the fact that she had cut down several troll mercenaries, and afterwards hurled herself at the war hounds. Killing the gods only knew how many, made her something of a idol to some of the soldiers. But those traits alone did not make up the legend that was being woven about her. Some of the citizens spoke of her as a demi god, whom had come down from the north to aid the royalists. While other less friendly minded folks called her noting but a rabid barbarian with a very short fuse and habits that left much to be desired from a royal consort. But those whom spoke such options out loud soon found themselves kindly reminded by their friends or comrades that if such words reached the ears of said barbarian. Or most if not everyone of those whom had stood by her side up on the walls, they would make sure they never lived to regret such foolish words uttered in their presence.

“I bloody hope those devils catch some fever and all die down there, it would make this siege much more enjoyable. Not to say a bit easier to live trough than if they keep at it like they have until now.” said Einar whom once had called Kaupang his home, and turned away from the walls.
He left the Thorvald standing there with his thoughts and worries. The two plus duke Brage, had been discussing the day to come. And witch regiments were to man the walls. The archers from the woodland realm of the calm and soft spoken duke had proven to be a key part of their defence. Their skill with the bow was great, and the footmen he had brought with him had also proven their worth.
They had decided it was the turn of the two newly raised regiments and two more seasoned regiments to hold the walls while they kept the other troops in reserve. Plus two regiments of halberds stationed near the the places where the fighting would be the hardest. The knightly order of the Boyars would hold the gate alongside the household regiment of Kaupang.
But the brave men manning the walls could never imagine the events unfolding in the realms marred by the long war, and the grim news that would reach the ears of the false king in two days time.
But when the new day began, and the rain returned. The skies above became witness to the preparations for yet another assault upon the walls. And the hours to come would prove to be a horrid affair.
Down below the royalists could see banners flying in the wind and rain, and much to their dismay they could make out that the enemy had gotten their siege engines into place under the cover of darkness.
Captains and sergeant at arms called out orders to their men just as the first of the massive stones were hurled into the air by the enemy war machines to come whistling down from the sky to fall among the defenders.
“TAKE COVER!” someone yelled as the stone slammed into the wall, and shook a whole section of it. The stone had not breached the wall. But it had done its damage still. A large piece of the parapet lining the wall fell down alongside pieces of stone and masonry.
Then a hail of stones quickly followed in it's wake and began to fall around the men whom scrambled to get clear of the wall.
“If they keep this up they will breach the walls! By the gods may they have mercy on us!” said duke Brage and drew his sword as he stood by the other two dukes and their personal guards and attendants.
“ We must make ready to hold the breach when they do. Brage, Einar. Take your household regiments down there with all the reserves! Do NOT let them enter! I will makes sure the gates do not fall!” said Thorvald and lowered the visor on his helmet as the two men left his side and called their men to their banners.
The rush of men running down the streets were matched by the whistling sounds the massive stones that rained down made as they smashed into the walls or overshoot and sowed havoc in the castle town as they smashed houses. Or struck the streets and showered those around with razor sharp fragments of stone.
It was clear now to all the soldiers, from the most seasoned knight to the raw recruits of the spear regiments. The walls would soon be breached! And then the enemy would flood in like a great wave of anger, steel and hatred.
A group of raw recruits where running down the street, following their comrades with fear gripping their hearths. These young boys and girls whom had never used a weapon in anger had very few illusions of what awaited them when they reached the hole in the wall.

Ashild stood in the cover of a massive tower near where the wall would soon collapse, and the fighting would begin in earnest. Beside her stood Charsi and the large detachment of Boyar knights whom had taken a vow to guard her with their life’s. These men clutched swords and heavy bladed battle axes as they stood and listened to the impacts of massive stones upon the wall that by now where clearly close to collapse.
Over the last day or she had come to terms that she would more likely than not die here, of course she had not told Charsi this, but she suspected that her lover knew none the less. Sometimes words was not necessary between two whom was as close as they where.
Almost whispering under her breath she began to pray to the gods of her people, it was not for comfort or hope. But more for the strength to face her foes, weapon in hand and fury burning in her veins.

“Hear me spirits of the wild, the giants sleeping under the roots of the mountains and the wolf chained up until the end times! Give me the strength to meet my enemies and to split their skulls and send their screaming souls into oblivion! Do this and I will grant you glory” she finished just in time.
For at that moment a massive stone ripped through the wall and sent broken masonry and stone tumbling down as the great wall finally collapsed under the relentless bombardment unleashed by the army outside the walls.
Dust flew everywhere and all around her she could her men coughing and spitting dust.
Then the voices of captains and sergeants at arms sounded and the ranks rushed forwards to plug the gap.
But then everyone standing there heard it, coming closer and closer where the hoarse chanting of countless warriors and the rhythmical stomping of boots.
Then as if by magic the dust got swept away by a gust of wind and the army of Kels could be seen as it came forwards. Howling in unison as they surged forwards.
At the front of this massive army came the black clad war hounds, these men whom renowned for their iron hard will and fanatical loyalty to the false king. Always at the front of any major offensive these men had proven to be more than a match for anything the royalists could muster on several occasions over the years.
They hammered into the defenders like a hammer striking an anvil, their howling and sheer blood lust made the line strain under the fierce assault they mounted. Behind them came the regular Kels soldiers, carrying ladders and other means to scale the walls beside the breach that had been opened.
As they closed the finale few meters up the heaps of rubble and the remains of men whom had no gotten clear of the wall in time their maddening howling reached a peak, and then they slammed into the defenders.
The fight was on and the defenders repayed their hated foes in kind, all along the walls and in the breach itself the shouts and war cries of the defenders rose up to challenge that of their foes.

She ducked under a wide sweep from a axe man and came up hard with her sword leading the way, the gleaming blade slashed across his left hand and then buried itself in his armpit. Where the strong steel point forced the chain mail apart and bit his exposed flesh. He stiffened and sank down with a look of surprise on his face. But there was no time to savour the kill, she kicked him hard in the head with her sabaton and drew the blade free.
Her shield stopped a blow aimed at her chest and her sword intercepted the next. Then she found herself receiving a hail of punishing blows from a very skilled sword fighter, whom where as quick as he was brutally strong.
As she ducked and weaved and half expected to find his sword buried in her own guts she heard a sickening crunch of bone, a sound of something wet giving way and then with a scream of pain her foe fell forwards. A Boyar had buried his heavy battle axe in his spine, and ripped it out. Taking with him chunks of bone and gore.
However her saviour never lived to swing his axe again, for suddenly and with great force several crossbow bolts slammed into his upper chest, and gurgling blood and with a panicked look the man dropped dead onto the ground beside the man he had just killed.
Charsi knew she would mourn the man and all the others whom died later. But for now she was more focused on just keeping herself alive, all around here a gory and brutal fight was swirling back and fourth. She saw the dukes and their personal household troops in the thick of it. She also saw the Boyars with their banner sporting the golden bear stand beside them. And the common soldiers hurling themselves at the enemy whom never seemed to stop coming. The piles of dead where already high and the moan of the wounded and dying added a nightmarish flavour to it all.
Then a loud snarl got her attention and she a wild eyed war hound come at her. His eyes flared with blood fuelled madness, and his mouth frothed as he swung the two axes he carried in a wild but deadly pattern at her. He did not even slow down to measure her worth as a foe as he bayed for her blood.
She snapped her shield up, and tried to break up the swirling pattern his axes weaved as well as avoiding those razor sharp blades. But then as she lunged forwards when she saw a opening he did too, they crashed together, and with panic setting in she realized her grip on her own weapon had gone. When this....beast had somehow avoided impaling himself on it as he had lunged forwards.
His iron hard grip on her sword arm made her almost wince in pain as she desperately tried to pound him with her shield, but before she did he raised his axe and with a evil gleam in his eyes swung down hard.
She jerked her head to the side, and thus barely avoided the blow that would have split her skull like a sword splitting a water melon.
Realizing he had missed he head butted her hard square in the face, and she felt blood begin to flow from her nose and split lip as he continued to pummel her with blows. Then the war hound trooper raised his axe for the finale blow.
But just as the axe was about to fall a looming shadow fell over them both, and with massive force the man was struck directly in his face. The shower of gore, hair and brain fell down on the downed queen who spat and almost vomited from the foul taste.
“Charsi! Are you hurt?” asked a voice she knew from the first word spoken whim it belonged to.
With one bloodstained gauntleted hand Ashild pulled her stricken partner up as fresh troops poured into the fight from both sides.
Her companion looked horrible, bleeding from several gashed on her face, a broken nose and her armour stained with blood and dirt.
Her hair was a mess of sweat and gore, clearly the fighting had been savage and she had not come away unscathed. To be honest she looked like she was about to drop to the ground due to her wounds and sheer fatigue. Speaking with a low voice as they both caught their breaths she said.
“Damned bastard managed to catch me unaware, nicked my left side the devil did.” Ashild said and gestured to her left. Her armour there was stained red with blood, and the padding beneath could be seen.
As Charsi was about to answer her a crossbow bolt came out from no where and slammed into Ashild, the blow knocked the great warrior woman clean of her feet and sent her tumbling backwards with the bolt shaft sticking out from her shoulder.
Charsi stood for a split second and felt terror grip her soul and hearth. But then she regained her senses and with a burning rage and desperation driving her forwards she raced to the side of her downed lover.
A Kels soldier tried to block her way, but that proved to be fatal. With a blood-curdling scream she lifted her sword with both hands and struck him directly in the shoulder and in that one wrathful stroke hacked his limb clean of. He screamed in agony but only a few words managed to leave his mouth before the blade came back and separated his head from his shoulders.
Driven by a anger witch she had never felt before the woman whom never had thought herself a warrior at hearth could almost feel the red mist creep into her mind, all she could think of was to get her beloved away from this madness.
She barely avoided a brutal swing from a sword man and when he swung at her again she blocked with her shield, and used it to deliver a blow to shoulder and while he was recovering from that brief set6back she drove the sword into his leg and kicked him free of the blade.


Ashild lay on the broken rubble and tried to push herself up. But her shoulder hurt like someone had poured a dart of molten iron into her wound. And her vision was blurry and she could feel her whole body screaming for rest. This maddening battle was unlike anything she had ever experienced before, gathering all her remaing strength she tried to rise to her feet. But they would not carry her, and she fell back down again with a groan of pain.
Then she heard the sound of metal shod boots on the rubble, and when looked up she saw Charsi kneeling beside her with several Boyars standing guard around her with more common soldiers taking up the guard too.
She could only make out bits of the words Charsi spoke, and she could see the worry plain to see on her face. She tried to form the words to speak but her strength had by now completely failed her and all she managed was a hoarse moan that sounded something like yes.
Then she felt several pairs of hands grab hold of her and gently lift her up. After that all went dark as the night as unconsciousness claimed her.
As Charsi watched the soldiers gently lift the still form of Ashild up, and with all the speed they could manage carried her away to the temple of the healers she felt s cold spike of dread gripp her guts.
It was the fear of loosing the one person whom she had ever dared to lay her emotions bare to. And the one whom had given her the strength to break free from the bonds holding her.
But alongside that cold fear she felt the hate, the anger and outrage aimed to her foes. Who even now dared to set foot here in this once peaceful place.
Suddenly it was as some unseen force washed away her weariness, her doubts and her fears. She picked her sword up once more. And with a blood lust she did not know dwelled inside her she rejoined the fray.

Duke Einar swung his pole axe down hard, and caught his foe in the knee. The heavy hammer head crushed bone and broke sinews and on the return blow he drove the spiked end of the weapon into the chest of his foe.
All around him the men of his household guard where fighting like lions. Standing like a wall of steel and armour they had cut down all those whom had sought to take this place. Behind them the banner of Kaupang flew proudly in the wind and dared anyone whom thought themselves their equals to come and test their blades against them. They where the amongst the finest soldiers to be found in the north, and even the frothing mad men of the War hounds knew better than to doubt their skill at arms and valour. But even their unbreakable will was not enough, his men had bled and died here today. And he knew of those whom had marched to this place with him few would see the end of this nightmare.
“Here they come again!” he called with a firm voice as a new wave of foes came at them, these men where no raw recruits or regular soldiers, these where the knights of the enemy force that had dismounted and now fought on foot. Clad in solid plate armour and armed to the teeth they came forwards backed up by armoured sword men and halberds.
Then with a massive crash the two lines came together, and the killing started once more. All around he could hear the crash of weapons and thud of blocked blows.
The two sides tore into each other like rabid dogs fighting over territory, the army fot eh king had formed a wedge and sought to break the lines of the royalist with this powerful charge. But the men they meet knew how to greet this.

Blows rained down and men cried out in pain and fear as cold steel bit into warm bodies. And bodies dropped down without a sound when a blade delivered instant death to the receiver of the blow. The fighting was at its most brutal near the royal banner where Charsi, whom had chosen to stay behind and fight rather than to go with her wounded lover stood. And around the banner of Kaupang.
Then as the royalists had managed to hurl back yet another frenzied charge at their now thinning ranks the Kels army seemed to take a step back. And held its men back instead of charging once more into the ranks of their foes.
As they did the pounding of great drums could be heard and the ranks split up to make way for something or someone, then the defenders saw what was marching fourth.
Ranks upon ranks of black clad knights marching under a single baleful banner depicting the gaping maw of a great wyrm, with faces hidden from the eyes of those around them and gauntleted hands gripping cold steel the Draconian guard took up formations and stood silently as if awating the signal to begin their attack.

But despite the fear these wraith like men spread wherever they went none of them could hope to rival the man whom ruled their order with a iron fist. He was the one who had put countless thousands to the sword when the armies of Kels crushed the armies of the city states during the last war with them.
To say he was a feared man was to understate his reputation as a carrion lord. Someone damned to rest in the darkest layer of the abyss when death finally claimed his rotten soul.
He walked along the path that had formed between his men and looked up at the ruined walls and corps strew hill leading up to the breach.
Not a word escaped his lips as he surveyed the task that lay ahead of him. He then turned to look back at the ranks of the assembled Draconian warriors, drawing his sword that seemed to glimmer with unholy light he spoke a few chosen words to his nearby attendants. And with the blare of horns and pounding of war drums the black tide began to roll forwards like a avalanche of evil.

While the dark horde began its assault upon the royalists still standing tall a being far older than any of the petty kingdoms of the north where devouring her latest meal. The stench of sulphur and burnt flesh hung heavily in the air. The wind picked up grains of the sooth and sent it flying.
The large party of men, horses and carts hauling supplies to the armies laying siege to Dunheim had been ambushed by Cuelebre as they had begun the slow descent down from the border mountains.
The great female drake had caught sight of them as she followed the trail of devastation left behind by the armies she followed. The burnt down towns, farms and desolate landscape below told her that the prey she seeked had come this way. As she placed one scaly paw upon the partially burnt carcase of a horse and ripped the dead animal apart in a shower of gore and ruptured guts she savoured the taste of the horse.
But her mind did not rest as she ate the remains of men and horses, she knew that to confront an army of the size that the devil had had imprisoned her was a foolish thing to do. But she had no allies nor did she have a mate to aid her.
But so set on revenge was the old drake that her more reckless side won more and more ground in her mind.
“Fear me human, for death is coming for you!” she snarled to no one in particular as she was about to take flight. And in sheer vengeful lust she let a great roar echo in the silent valley.

Not looking good for Ashild is it. And I liked the savage fighting of the breach.
Oh, and DRAGON! Having one of those in a story is always a winner IMO.

No it definitly dose not look good for her.....And yes it is always nice with a DRAGON as you so nicely put ut.

Ashild won't let a mere scratch like that slow her down!

Having a Drake on your side helps in any battle ... just look at the Armada

Great entry Trondheim - the ending's going to be epic.

Nice new entry. You've done a great job of depicting just how chaotic combat is. I can't find any problems with the story as a whole. That said, there are a few sentences that need some work.

"They hammered into the defenders like a hammer striking an anvil" is redundant. It would work better as "They hammered into the defenders".

"She ducked under a wide sweep from a axe man and came up hard with her sword leading the way, the gleaming blade slashed across his left hand and then buried itself in his armpit." is good, but it would work better as two sentences, as in "She ducked under a wide sweep from an axe man and came up hard with her sword leading the way. The gleaming blade slashed across his left hand and then buried itself in his armpit."

"A Boyar had buried his heavy battle axe in his spine, and ripped it out. Taking with him chunks of bone and gore" would work better as one sentence, as in "A Boyar had buried his heavy battle axe in his spine and ripped it out, taking with him chunks of bone and gore."

"Ashild lay on the broken rubble and tried to push herself up." Lay is present tense. It should be laid instead.

I'm eager for the new entry. It'll be interesting to see Duke Einar fight Charsi. Einar is an experienced warrior, but Charsi has something he doesn't; fury.

Yea, i know some of mmy sentecens needs working on. I do try however, but I fail to see why the Duke Einar would figt Charsi. Since they both figth for the same cause, I think I may have mixed a name or two up. But Charsi will none the less be figthing a foe that will push her to the edge of her survival.

Sorry about that, I think I got some names mixed up.

No worries LL, it happens to us all=)

*Bump*.

Where's the epic finale?

Sorry for the very long delay. Life has thrown several spanners in the works, mixed with a massive case of authours block. But I have been trying to get it done, as this is being typed I am at the finale few pages. I hope to have it done soon, sorry to all my fatefull readers that has been so extremly patience with me.

Best regards, Trondheim

So here it is, the conclusion to the long, maybe far to long story that I have been posting on and of here on dakka. I hope it comes across as at least okay. If not well you all know the drill. Due to events over the last few days the story may not live up to the hype. Anyhow onwards to the end eh?


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The sound of rushing feet was all Ashild could hear as they carried the stricken royal consort to the healers of the solemn church. They passed the great oak gate decorated with ornate scenes taken from the mythology of the monks and nuns whom dwelled inside these white limestone walls.
As they did so they passed the small but highly dedicated and trained warrior monks whom stood guard over the stricken.
Their ornate suits of heavy scale armour and full faced helms gave them a almost inhumane look, but these silent guardians of the temple where no strangers to war dispite their snow white robes. Each one a veteran of long years spent defending and aiding the down trodden and the needy. But also of countless bloody battles waged in the name of their religion and zeal. Though in this war they had not taken any sides, nor would they. For when the argument between nobles ran hot and steel where drawn, they held themselves above such conflicts. Their sacred oaths forbidding them to aid the powerful to lay waste to the lands they had sworn to defend.
The men carrying Ashild, whom by now hovered on the edge of the real of this world and the dream world, crossed a small courtyard where the silent forms of those whom had lost the fight to cling to life lay under white linen on the cold ground.
A lone monk clasping prayer beads walked slowly from one shrouded body to the other whispering a silent prayer, and granting each man absolution for his past sins to send their soul to the afterlife with the blessing of the church.
She drifted into a semi waken state and became aware of how weak and helpless she felt. The steady trickle of blood from the wound in her left side, and the crossbow bolt wound in her shoulder had continued to flow freely.
Each time the ones whom carried her took a step a small jolt of pain flared up somewhere in her ravaged body. Forcing her to grit her teeth to bite off the groans of building pain.
Just as she was about to drift of again she could hear the muffled voices of someone that was clearly not a soldier. She was carefully shifted from the stretcher used to carry her over into a table of some sorts where she felt someone beginning to undo her armour.
Then darkness swallowed her, and she could no longer sense anything but that blissful darkness and the soothing effects of the dream realm.

As she drifted she felt as if someone was watching her. But when she tried to look about for any onlookers all she could see was a dark sky above, and the feeling of heat caressing her bruised skin.
I see even war and ruin can not make you sleep poorly said a voice that she instantly recognized. Stumbling up on unsteady feet Ashild saw the robed figure of the man whom had visited her dreams on that gruesome night in the cold and wet woods.
Leaning on his staff and gently stroking a golden hawk, Toth Amon looked like he had aged since their last encounter. His bronze tinted skin had faded into a pale greyish tone. But his eyes still burnt like two roaring furnaces.
'As I told you on that first night when we crossed paths so to speak, it has taken a definitive turn for the worse. As you may remember I told you of the coming of the lost heir, and the role you would come to play in making sure she got the chance to seize her throne. Even as we speak she fights like a lion to defend it, and more importantly side by side with those whom would bow before her.' The old man said and with a clap of his hands conjured a image of a swirling battle that raged on below them.
In the strong wind that had come howling down from the mountains around Dunheim the royal banner flew defiantly beside the two banners of the two noblemen standing beside her displaying their loyalty.
The men whom were still standing had formed a wall of steel and burning anger to hold back the tide of darkness that was pounding them like a smith hammering a piece of burning hot steel fresh from the forge.
At the very front the proud woman from the north could see a distinct figure trading blows with a black clad wraith before planting her sword in his skull. Beside her a man slammed his two handed pole axe down upon a another foe that had been knocked to his knees.
Although the royalists where making their foes pay for every inch with blood and a staggering amount of fallen soldiers, they where not far from being put to flight.

'Why have you taken me here dream walker! To make me beg for aid? Or to reward me with yet another prophecy any drunken fool could have told me instead!' Ashild snapped. It stung to see Charsi standing against such horrid odds without being able to grab her weapon and wade into the fray beside her.
These words seemed to only make the man smile, but it was a smile that made her shiver with primordial fear. It was definitely something with that man beside his considerable powers, both with sorcery and other things that made her shiver even in this dream scape.
'I see even the bite of cold steel can not bind that tongue of yours...... but I suppose every saga needs a hero that seldom knows when silence is gold. But seeing how the gallant defenders below us will sooner or later be washed aside by the sea of darkness I will do something I seldom even consider doing.'
the man raised one skeletal hand to display a ring. It was a very ornate gold ring with a stone that seemed to change before her eyes. In its depths she could have sworn she saw flashes of fire and the ghostly reflections of light.
The man clad in simple yet finely dark cobalt blue robes standing before her then slid the ring off his finger and placed it in the palm of his hand.
'You wish to once more feel the brush of the wind in your hair, the song of arrows and swords around you. And the rush of blood as you clash with your foes? Then claim this ring as your own. But know that doing so may cause you to walk paths not foreseen.'

She hesitated for a moment and fixed him with a baleful glare. Her mind filled with countless questions and doubts. But those trivial things where cast aside by the pounding feeling her hearth gave her. Damn the consequences, damn the old fart if she could once more stand by Charsi, to feel her small hands in hers and to lay beside her in bed watching her sleeping rythem(?). Reaching for the ring with one hand, she said not a word, nor did she speak when she slid it down onto her finger. A tingling sensation spread across her body as the ring came to rest on her finger. She adjusted the ring with one hand, and to her surprise she felt herself visibly tremble as she did.
As she was about to ask the man what awaited her now she became aware of the sense of raw power flowing trough her veins. A burning lust for bloodshed and mayhem boiled away in her mind. Never had the warrior from the north felt such raw power fill her body. Almost as if by instinct she reached for her axe, but found it not to be there.
'I see you have made acquaintances with the powers within the ring. Good, very good! Those very powers will grant you the strength to do what you wish. But know this, take heed when the wyrm comes!'

'Wyrm? A fancy name for the bastard who started this bloody mess. Or is there something else you have causally failed to mention' The half troll asked glaring at the wizard with suspicion in her eyes.

“No I have not, I trust you have heard the old legends and folk tales? About creatures so massive and so powerful that armies crumble under their wrath. And kingdoms perish in ashes and flame. Their lust for blood and gold, and their scaled bodies being lifted into the air by great wings.”

“By the gods man! Do you think me a fool? The tales of old men and drunkards seldom carry much truth in these realms. But I will look out for any such 'beasts', just in case.”
Her response seemed to have bitten home with the old man, he let out a deep sigh and spoke in a suddenly weary tone.


“ I do not blame you for viewing my words with a sceptical view. But I do wish you would heed the warning I gave you, the drake is coming! There is no doubt about it. The destruction unleashed by the mad throne robber would alone be enough to draw its attention. But the beast comes not for plunder, fresh prey or material gains. She hungers for revenge too, I have for many long years quested for the answer to the riddle of her sudden act of departure from her lair near the top of the world. With means most foul did the king and his henchmen inflict great suffering upon the beast, and forced her to do their bidding. And in doing so their nearly ruined her mind, she is for all intentions mad with grief. But by some unknown miracle or divine intervention the bond that held her to their service where broken a few nights ago. Her wrath will not stop burning for a long time to come.”

This open hearted and frank statement of something similar to despair, or maybe just the weight of many long years pressing down upon him made Ashild behold the man with a new sense of understanding.
She looked upon the ring with a new sense of urgency, and looked at her host in this dream scape with her ice blue eyes and spoke.
“Then tell me what I must do to ensure that my beloved Charsi lives to see a new sunrise, no matter the cost to myself.”
While Ashild walked in the realm of the spirits and dreams the nuns and monk tending to her wounds where working hard to save her, although they did not know that someone else was already giving them a hand in making sure the brown haired tempest of destruction survived. They cut away the bloody padding under her armour, pulled gore stained boots of and removed the other cloths she wore under the heavy armour.
The wound in her side seeped blood in a slow trickle that dripped down onto the white marble floor. While the wound in her shoulder where being carefully mended and sown shut after the bolt had been removed by a steady handed monk. For hours the servants of the church toiled away until every wound, scrape and cut had been tended to, then they summoned two of the temple guard to aid them in getting the unconscious woman into a bed that stood beside a great fireplace.
As the nun whom had been given the task of sitting vigil of the sleeping royal consort had finished making sure the patient was comfortable, she took her seat near the fire and sat there sorting various medicinal herbs.
Under the sheets Ashild began to twitch, as if someone where preforming some sort of rite upon her mauled form. The only clues to this where the occasional low moan or slight movement of closed eyelids.

The duke of Kaupang stood with his men as they cut down the filth that dared to set foot in this place. But the number of men that wore his colours where now a far cry from the number of men whom had been with him when the walls first fell.
But by the gods had they given the enemy a bloody nose, great mounds of enemy dead lay before them and the steady rise and fall of axes, swords and hammers added to the tally of the dead with each fall of the steel.
He swung at a man with his pole axe and caught the black clad warrior in the side. His foe fell backwards and howled in pain as the gore stained steel crushed bone and cleaved flesh after having ruined his armour.
Then suddenly a shadow fell over him and as he turned to face his new foe he knew he was going to die now. Because there before him stood the looming and horrid figure of the Draconian Marshal, his blade gleamed with a evil light and his face mask set in a grin that displayed dark iron teeth.
Before the proud and noble lord could raise his blood stained weapon to defend himself the foul blade found its mark, driven home by the hatred, the burning fury and cold murderous joy his killer carried in his dark hearth, as he watched the duke of Kaupang gape in horror as his sword ended his rebellion.
As the duke slid down from the cold blade his men cried out in horror and rage, and as if a collective madness had gripped them hurled themselves at the foes with no sense of fear or wish to survive. Despite taking many of their foes with them the last few men of the household regiment of Kaupang fell before the hammers, axes and swords of their nemesis, whom walked over the dead and dying without taking notice of the ones that had given their life’s for the royal cause.
With the death of their lord all resemblance of order vanished from the ranks, and the battle went from two ordered lines of men hurling themselves at each other to a mixture of men fleeing and those whom where determined to die standing their ground.
The few of the banner guard that still lived closed ranks around the banner of Kaupang and meet their deaths with grim faces and silence.
But the common soldiers showed no such attitudes, when the battle turned many where gripped by despair and fled the fight, seeking to reach the second gate, and thus evading death for a time being at least.
But in doing so they only invited mayhem and bloodshed to follow in their wake.

If a spectator to this gory and bloodstained chaos where to look down from up high in the sky he or she would have seen the great breach in the wall, where the war machines of the armies of Kels had made a great hole in the once majestic and sturdy wall. Beyond that the great heaps of dead and dying men would be seen, the moaning of the dying and wounded mingling with the sound of weapons rising and falling as they where dispatched by the waves of blood thirsty Kelsmen that now swarmed into the city that lay beyond those massive walls.
The fight had gone from a valiant defence to a rout, the fleeing soldiers of the royalist army ran with blood pounding, and their enemies at their heels.
They left behind the poor common folk that had seeked shelter in the town that where now being put to the torch.
But to say that the enemy now had free reign and all was lost would be wrong. From the second set of walls arrows and crossbow bolts zipped down and cut down many of the men that where hell bent on plundering and all out mayhem. There where also those whom tried to rally their comrades and to try and stop the advance of their foes.
The Draconian marshal stood and watched the smoke begin to billow up from the burning town houses and other buildings. His blade had drunk deeply and his armour and dark robes where splattered with the deep red stains left by blood and gore. He had thrown away his face mask. And his horribly mutilated face was for all to see. But it was his eyes that spoke of the burning hatred bordering onto madness that raged in his dark hearth as he ordered his men into the city. With a voice from beyond the grave he spoke.
“ Move into the city, slaughter all inside and bring me the beating hearth of the whore they dare call queen!”
His underlings motivated by the promise of plunder, women and vengeance did not hesitate to attend this task with unholy zeal.


Charsi gulped for air as she felt her legs sting with pain, running in armour was damned hard. But that paled to the other reasons that made her almost wet herself with fear and panic. She and the remainder of the men holding the breach in the wall with the two dukes had reached the second gate. And now she tried to catch her breath and ready her mind for a new bloody fight for this gate too. The scene of Einar dying at the hands of that black clad mongrel made her bile rise, and she suddenly felt very sick. Bending over she vomited and tried to rally her herself, in the background she could hear the barking of sergeants and the calm and steady voice of the old duke Thorvald that tried to form what remained of his men into a somewhat decent battle line.
But from beyond the gate and down in the now lost castle town the stench of burning flesh and the screams of the unlucky souls to be trapped down there with the army that was surely making ready to try and breach the second gate there was noting to be done for.
Those thoughts made her gag once more and she felt the sting of bile in her mouth.
Her whole form reeked of blood, sweat and fear and the smell of it all did not do much for her. But as she stood there feeling ready to just let some Kelsman hack her down and be done with it all. She heard the faint but distinct sounds of the great slaughter that where unfolding behind that massive gate.
The screaming and wailing gnawed at her nerves, and made her blood itch with a lust for the death of those devils that where running rampart amongst the defenceless.
Feeling a surge of strength she did not know she had in her, the batherd and bloodied queen stood up and drew her sword.
Her mind where a tattered mess, and she was sure at one point in the not to distant future the horror of this madness would leave her a weeping wreck. But she knew she needed to be strong, and to keep her guard up. She owned Ashild and her other companions that as well.
As she brooded over those things a familiar voice reached out to her.
“My queen, are you wounded?” The man whom had spoken where the old duke of Noregard, he looked ragged and battered but his eyes still glimmered with a will to fight.
His armour was covered in blood and the sword he carried seemed to have seen heavy use in the desperate fight near the first gate and in the fighting withdrawal back trough the city to the second gate.
The response he got from the young queen was about as grim as she herself looked.
“I do not know Thorvald, nor do I think that any wounds I may have will be my biggest worry. I fear the enemy will bring that gate down before I drop dead” the gore stained woman said and used a rag to wipe blood of her face before gulping down a large cup of water handed to her by a pale looking serving girl.
“Hmm I see, I would still feel better if you would allow someone to look you over. Cant have you missing the last piece of this dance of death” the old man said and looked at her with eyes that showed his genuine worry for her.
So with a mixture of weariness and perhaps the weight of all those whom had died fighting to hold the walls Charsi allowed herself to be examined by the healers that looked almost dead from exhaustion themselves. As they removed her battered armour and looked the young queen over her mind drifted to Ashild, and she wondered if she would ever she her lover again.
But the longing for her lover, and the baying horde at the gates would soon cease to be her biggest and most lethal problem at hand.

The sky was dark with the gathering storm clouds and thunder rumbled far away of the mountains as the drake Cuelebre soared high above the mountains below. She had feasted on both horse and man, and she was for the first time in many years not plagued by the feeling of hunger. But the fiery hatred towards those whom had imprisoned her, those whom had kept her chained up like a mere wild animal still burnt bright as the first time those cursed chains had been locked around her neck.
As she soared in the company of the gathering storm she could have been mistaken for grinning from ear to ear, but the grin revealed great teeth. And pieces of armour, weaponry and bone stuck between those massive fangs.
Then a opening in the clouds below revealed to her something that made her blood rise. Down there she could see smoke rising, and the massive walls of a citadel that seemed to be under siege.
She had pieced together what her prey was looking to achieve, but that the fools would gather themselves in one place for her to bathe them all in flame was surprising to her draconian mind. But then again, humans did lots of things that made her wonder how they had managed to evolve from whatever primitive creature that had spawned their wrenched race.
But she knew that she would need to pick her moment to strike, even for a drake like her death could come calling. So merely growling she began a slow descent down towards the great mountain peaks that looked down onto the besieged citadel.
They would never seen their death coming, only the sound of her massive wings and the burning fury she intend to unleash would be their warning.


In the church where Ashild lay, the nurse that sat watch over the sleeping royal consort looked up from the heap of medicinal herbs she had been busy sorting, and preparing for use later on.
She could have sworn she had heard the massive warrior woman moan in her sleep, deciding that it was better to see if she had by some divine miracle awoken or if it was mere dreams troubling the wounded woman.
Getting up from her wooden chair and walking across the cold stone floor with her back to the fireplace that kept the worst of the night cold at bay she stood by her side, and layed one hand carefully on the forehead of her charge.
It was like touching a warm rock heated in the fires of a camp fire, as she reached for a cold cloth to wash the sweat away and to provide some relief from the fever that no doubt was raging inside the poor woman.
As she was about to start her care her hand was suddenly gripped by a battle scarred and bloodstained hand. She cried out in shock and fear and then she starred directly into the wide open eyes of the woman named Ashild.
Even if the grip of the brown haired woman hurt the nurse, whom was experienced in dealing with those wounded in battle could see that the fever still hung on, but still she called out for someone to come and help her with the sudden awaking of the royal consort.
The doors where opened and several robed monks and nurses entered the room, and gathered round the bed where their charge lay.
As they began to examine her and discovering both to their amazement and somewhat worry that the grievous wounds the woman had suffered where already beginning to mend, and that her fever seemed to receding.
But in their amazement they failed to notice the rind on her left hand, the dark stone set into the gold swirled with light and what seemed like golden coloured mist. As the mist and light continued to swirl and glow a strange light began to appear in the mist.
But this was not seen, or if it was maybe the ones tending to the feverish woman thought it noting more than a piece of jewellery from some strange part of the world.

Ashild felt as she was watching herself from above, she could feel the hands of the nurses and monks tending to her mauled form as they examined the wounds she had felt healing since the moment they ceased their examination and care of her. And left her to rest in silence and with the now somewhat stressed nurse at her side.
But she could also sense the presence of something else around her, it was if she was in the company of some ancient and massively powerful spirit. She could feel this being reach out to her and touch her very soul, and the notion of just that made her almost cry out in primordial fear. But someone she sensed that whatever was reaching out to her was not of a hostile mind.
She suddenly sensed a shift in the mood of the spirit as images began to form before her eyes. She could see the whole citadel burning, the smoking remains of armies ground to ashes. And to her horror the mutilated corps of Charsi laying in between great piles of dead and dying men.
This nightmarish scene where then drowned out by a earth shattering roaring followed by the beating of massive wings, and a sense of utter dread.
Then she saw it, scarlet red as the morning sky after a bloody battle and with eyes that radiated pure hate and burning madness the beast landed on top the of the crumbling wall and let out a rolling wave of flame and black foul smelling smoke.
Then the vision passed and she felt the being that shared this state of limbo in time with her almost make a demand. It did not speak but she felt its thought non the less in her mind. '
“What do you say? Will you allow the day of fire and despair to be fulfilled, and to condemn your loved one to such a undignified demise....Or do you wish to fight with all your strength and maybe stand a chance to feel her embrace once more.”
Then the pain bit down hard, and in a fever driven nightmare she screamed, making her caretakers almost jump in shock and surprise.
For within her body the transformation had begun the moment she had answered the spirit.
Cuelebre took in the smell of the carnage that had unfolded both outside the now broken walls of the citadel. And in the gaping breach in its once imposing walls, the smell of carrion made saliva drip down in massive foul smelling drops as she allowed her eyes to drift down to the immense city of tents and pavilions erected down upon the bottom of the great valley the citadel overlooked.
Her sense of smell informed her that there where gold to be found down there, and in great amounts. The treasure would be a modest beginning to her new horde of looted and stolen treasures she decided.
Such where her dreams of rebuilding what she had lost that she almost lost her self in dreaming, but the wind blowing hard on the mountain top she had landed woke her from her moment of solitude.
“Let us dance then wrenched beasts” she growled as she began to spread her wings and took flight.
With a roar so loud, so fierce and filled with so much unrestrained animalistic rage she dropped from the sky like a hawk, her massive wings propelled her trough the air like a massive bird of prey. She swooped low over the tree tops as smoke and fire began to seep out of her great nostrils as she banked hard to one side and rose up over a low mountain top.

The first sign of her coming to both noble defenders and to those whom seeked to end their resistance was the gale that came out of the mountains, it was a wind unlike anything else those whom felt its embrace had ever felt. As it swept along the corps filled streets and now silent ramparts of the outer wall a deep rumbling could be felt, it steadily grew until it exploded into a roar that made the very ground shake and men to look to the sky in utter dread.
Then came the sound of something ancient beyond the understand of mere men flying trough the cold air carried upon great wings.
The first ones to feel her wrath was those whom where still either resting, or preparing down amongst the countless tents and shelters erected down on the valley plains. The scarlet terror struck like a mountain bear striking a hunter that has angered it. Men and women screamed in utter terror as she flew low over them and bathed them in fiery doom and death. Arrows zipped up to greet her but those that struck her could never hope to pierce her scales, not did those foolish enough to insult her in such a way live to take aim again.
As the great beast swooped down low and crushed men, horses and carts in her massive jaws she felt a surge of pure unrestrained lust well up inside her. Oh what she would not have given for the company of a massive male drake at that moment of slaughter and fire.
She rose up and turned in the air and looked down upon the trail of ruin she had left behind, the great camp was a blazing inferno by now, the fires had spread and she could see the pitiful humans scatter before her wrath and seeking to flee into the mountains.

In the citadel utter mayhem reigned now, men where shouting in fear and confusion as the great beast reduced their camp to ash and cinders. That mixed with the raw primeval fear a dragon awoke in all but the most cold hearted or brave of men.
As her shadow eclipsed those fighting in in the burning remains of the castle town, and those whom where attempting to beat down the the second gate, and thus breaking open the last obstacle to their victory there where those whom looked up at her and felt noting in the way of fear. The black clad Draconian knights gripped their blades and made ready to greet the foul beast when it decided to land. Leaving the lesser men of the army to either flee or take their chances with the rebels. Whom where also looking to the sky with fear gripping their hearths and minds.

The marshal of the Draconian guard stood and watched the beast engulf a whole column of foot soldiers and knights in a torrent of fire and smoke. His features expressionless as the screaming of burning men filled the air, but his air of utter emotionless where disturbed when he heard a voice he knew all too well call out to him.
The voice belonged to the coward of a king he had been forced to serve, to watch over as the spoiled whore son ruined the land with his mad schemes and deranged ways. To think he had ever thought of the now wine soaked fool as a man worth swearing his sword to. But oaths where not easily broken, now even for one whom had raised his sword against the old king. And killed countless of those whom had sought to make him pay for his betrayal.
It was at that moment he decided it would no longer be allowed to continue, let the drunk oaf spill his swivel first thought. So to make the shock of what was about to come so much more unpleasant.

King Erik looked worse for wear, his cloths stained by sooth and he reeked of smoke and the stench of charred flesh hung heavily around him. Although the throne robber himself had escaped the fiery carnage without any wounds those whom had swarmed around him, jousting for his attention had been blessed or maybe more fittingly cursed with less luck than their monarch.
Many of them had been reduced to ash or horribly burnt as their tents and pavilions had gone up in smoke.
The man look on the verge of going mad, his eyes wide and he coughed as he swore most foul and seemed to want to call down the wrath of the gods themselves upon the collections of foes arrayed before him.
With eyes red from the acrid smoke and a shaking to his voice he addressed his marshal.
“The beast....the drake! She is loose! How in the nine circles of the abyss could this happen! YOU SWORE SHE COULD NOT ESCAPE HER CHAINS!” the now clearly deranged monarch shouted with a almost panicked voice at his marshal and the surviving nobles in general that had taken refuge inside the breached walls alongside their king.
The marshal to his credit kept his silence as his king continued to berate him.
“You who swore to serve me unto death, to enforce my will and obey my every command. But you failed me! You failed the lands of Kels and thus you are of no further use to the kingdom. For your failures you will be hung, drawn and quartered when this madness is dealt with”

when the mad king, whom had fallen from the heights of power when the scarlet beast came down to let her fiery breath sweep his massed armies away, had finished speaking it was the turn of the marshal to speak with his cold voice that seemed to come from beyond the grave. His eyes seemed to radiate the promise of a fate far worse than death.
“ Oh my king, you no longer hold any sway over me and mine, My oath to you where noting but a hollow lie! I would rather carve my own hearth out, and toss it onto the sacrificial fires than to serve you with honour and pride.”
Pausing to bark a command in a guttural tongue, that sounded more like the angry snarls of a beast than words spoken by a man.
The surviving Draconian knights drew in unison their cold steel and began to walk slowly toward the nobles, common soldiers and assorted consorts and women that had fled with their king from the mayhem that lay behind them.
“Treason! Treachery from my own beloved guards. So your scheme has been for the throne you mutilated devil!” the king spat , and with drunken bravado and perhaps fear gripping his black hearth drew his own seldom used sword. As the now disgraced king, and his shirking court of honour-less dogs faced betrayal and their own bloody demise, someone else was also suffering.

Ashild screamed as the pain kept on ravaging her body, and the searing heat that had begun to emit from the ring made her arm feel as if it had been dipped into molten iron.
Driven almost mad by the pain, the fear and the feeling of despair the warrior woman began to push herself up from her sick bed, her caretakers whom tried to force her back down, discovered much to their surprise and shock that the woman they tended to still had considerable strength in her body.
With one backhanded blow she sent a nurse reeling while a monk dropped to the ground when she head butted him. Those whom did not feel her murderous strength fled before her, deciding that between she more than likely was a lost cause. And that to risk injury trying to save her broken mind was futile when the very floor shook as the beast that had come down from the mountains flew over and let out a fearsome howl of glee as she spat fire down onto those whom covered below her.
She stumbled out of the room she had been laying in, and when she did the smell of smoke, brimstone and the raw scent of fear washed towards her primeval senses. Deep inside her she could sense both the legacy her father had given her, and that of the thing that was even now transforming her body, causing her her to weep and moan in pain.
But even in this ravaged state she would not lie down and die, taking one painful step after another while the fever and the transformation that now began to show in several ways tormented her body she staggered out onto the open courtyard with its white marble floor that once had been pristine and decorated with ornate mosaics. But now it was covered in the bodies of the dead and sooth blew trough the air as the distant roars from the great dragon sounded over the fading sounds of battle coming from the walls and the last gate still in the hands of the royalists.

As the tormented and haggard woman looked up with eyes that where filled with tears, and she felt the barely mended wounds she had sustained sending fresh waves of agony trough her body. With a scream of despair and with that last act of defiance she allowed the spirit that had resided inside the ring she had on her hand to overwhelm her.
The pain was such that she in between the waves of fresh pain felt something warm trickel down her legs and pool beneath her now prone form.
Memories started to swirl past in her mind, she saw the man that had tried to claim her as his bride. She saw herself desperately fighting his drunken advances of, and her own hands driving the blade into his guts.
Then the warrior witnessed her tribe judge her, and forever condemn her to a life alone in the windswept wild. Then more recent memories passed her by. She thought that this was the last moments before her death. Then she saw the memories of the thing that had resided inside the ring for so very long. But the being that had escaped its prison inside the ring had other ideas, it could feel the presence of the dragon that had layed waste to this place. The transformation already under way now started to show, her hair started to fall from her head.
Sickening sounds of bone, skin and flesh being ripped and broken apart by the force of the change filled the air. And with the sound similar to thunder the courtyard became awash in a eerie pale light that would have burnt the eyes out of anyone foolish enough to look on.
Then the light began to fade, and in place of the wounded and battered woman there was now something truly more massive.
A great body covered in pale almost golden scales that ended in a long powerful tail, and with strong limbs that ended in talons that could rip a man apart with the slightest move dug into the now stained and pitted marble. Above this great wings unfolded.
The head of this beast that had once been a warrior woman from the north was scaled as the rest of her new body, with teeth like great knifes and eyes that where unsettling blue and human in their appearance.
Then as the pain subsidised and the sensation of raw power began to be felt the spirit spoke to her.
“Now I have granted you my true form, and the means to save your lover. And to end the tyranny one way or the other. How you do this is up to you” the aeon old being said with a voice that sounded like the cold wind that used to sweep over the north lands.
As if to answer her now silent ally the beast that had once been Ashild howled and began to beat her great wings, and as the draft from the wing beats began to fan the flames that had taken hold in the war torn monastery. The fleeing nuns and monks looked up in dread at the beast that now joined the mayhem in the skies above their heads.
Meanwhile this dreadful new actor took the stage the last of the still living royalists, and their kindred looked down at the remains of the Kels army. The fighting had died down when the beast had swept down from the mountains and unleashed her fiery wrath. That and the sudden disappearance of the black clad knights alongside their king had seemingly robbed the soldiers of Kels of their will to fight on. Instead some fled while others took the chance at looting and robbing what remained of the smouldering castle town, and its inhabitants that had not made it to safety beyond the last gate still to stand.
The royalists however did not break into cheers of victory or relief to see their enemies mill about, instead they looked to the skies and felt dread gripp their guts. For the great scarlet beast where now returning to the citadel she intended to claim as her new lair. Behind her the farm lands and the utterly ruined encampment of the once massive armies of Kels where noting more than a ash and carcass strewn field of sorrow.

Charsi stood beside the old man and those of the nobles that had survived the battle so far, she was almost half dead from exhaustion and she felt her guts churn with the mixed sensation of worry and a sense of impending death. But still, she had to play her part as the queen these brave men had died to defend.
Now all that remained of the once proud regiments that had been at their command at the start of the siege was a fewer than four badly mangled ones. And those where not knights in shining armour and equipped with their noble war horses. There where also the as expected sole survivors and wounded of other fighting units, but not enough to oust the enemy. Of the Boyars there where less then a hundred still alive and in any shape to lift a sword. Those iron willed warriors had bought the rest of those alive enough time to flee and regroup. But in doing so they had been badly bloodied. Now the survival of their knightly order looked grim.
Their ad hoch leader was a young man, with a face set in stone. But with eyes that showed his grief for his now dead comrades that lay as crow fodder. But he stood by her side as she spoke with the lord of this ruined citadel.

“Damn this war, damn these wrenched walls and trice damn that beast! I would give my very soul for a single moment of clarity and peace before I die here like a trapped beast!” the old duke said as he looked down at the soldiers of Kels acting like rabid dogs. He had seen all the hard work laid down by countless of his underlings ruined, his lands set ablaze by a false king. And his old comrades die on the end of a sword. One would not be wrong if one thought the old man had reached his limit of endurance and will power
Then as he looked up his face went from a slight shade of pale to as if he had seen the goddess of death appear before him.
Those around him looked up and saw the great scarlet beast break of her hawk like dive and climb up. As the dragon rose up back into the air she let out a howl unlike anything those below had heard, it seemed a mixture of anger and most unsettling of all fear.
Then from behind them the sound of stonework collapsing mixed with the shouts and screams of the ones gathered in the grounds of the keep where joined by a unearthly scream of defiance.
As the scream died down the sound of something massive and godlike rising into the air carried by strong wind drowned out all other sounds.
As the assembled humans looked up a pale beast rose up from what had been the temple where the wounded and sick had been tended to.
The young queen however did not need a wise man, or a prophet to tell her whom that great beast was. In her still beating hearth she knew all too well who that was. She drew her sword and headed for the stairs leading down to the courtyard, as she did panic caught hold of the battle weary men and women. And all hell broke loose amongst the royalists that now had reached their breaking point, the appearance of yet another beast of old legends pushed them over the edge. And tumbling down into the abyss that awaited them all. The only one to keep his wits and follow his queen where the Stygian Argai. He walked with a purpose and his head high. As he walked behind her he could hear her speak in a low voice as if speaking to someone unseen or far away.
“Fear not my beloved, one way or the other we will be together once more. You do not walk the path of sorrow alone, I am done being afraid.”

As she rose up trough the air, and looked down upon the burning ruins beneath her the pale one felt anger swell up in her massive chest. Looking up again she could she the one that had helped push this place to the edge of oblivion.
Her scarlet foe hung in the air and looked at this would be rival for her domain with a unearthly fire smouldering in her eyes. Smoke billowed from her nostrils and her paws flexed the great claws they ended in.

very few where the records that could claim a legitimate observation of two such great beasts doing battle, but such things where the last things on the minds of the mortals that watched the two demi gods clash in the sky above them. The events that followed would one way or the either find their way into the realms of legends and sagas of those that survived this madness.
It started with Cuelebre diving like a hawk to greet her foe that was rising to greet her with talon and fang.
They crashed together with bellows that shook the walls, and made men scream in terror. Great maws snapped and claws that would have killed a ox with a mere prick raked along scaly skin.
Ashild roared and accepted a bite on her left shoulder just as she dug her claws into the flank of her foe. Her veins boiled with a animalistic rage that felt like someone was driving white hot lances of steel trough her great body.
As Cuelebre released her grip on her shoulder and the two combatants pushed back from each with powerful strokes of their massive wings it dawned on her. Even if she somehow managed to beat her foe, and somehow avoid sustaining mortal wounds herself she would be trapped in this form. But instead of despair or grief there was just silent acceptance of her fate.
So it was then her mind, in silent cooperation with the spirit whom she shared this body with that the plan to strike down her foe came to be.

The scarlet drake felt her anger simmer within her whole form, never had she faced such a foe that now hung in the air a mere bow shot from her. How and where this wyrm had come from was not something she cared to think about. Nor did she in her mixture of hubris and blood lust care to think of her foe as anything more than just a dragon. But she knew that her foe was not some young and foolish drake, her body now carried the evidence of this, no this was a beast just as old and devious her self. But as even as she was thinking this her foe made her next move.
It began as a deep intake of breath, as one may do before lunging into battle, massive lungs drew in huge quantifies of air. And with the sound of a avalanche a great gout of flame rushed fourth from her maw.
When the other serpent saw the coming storm of fire rolling towards her she swung sharply to one side, and avoided the worst of the heat and damage. But the flames still stung her like a sharp blade biting her flesh.
She let out a cry of rage and answered her foe in kind, summoning all her hellish fire ina long rolling tide of fiery death that failed to strike the intended target, and instead slammed into the citadel below. Engulfing a massive section of the already ravaged castle town in flames and thick smoke.
Now the beast that had seen aeons come and go truly enraged. She speed towards the upstart wyrm and slammed into her with the force of a hurricane rolling in over a small ship caught at sea.
But as she did she came to realize her dreadful error. For the other serpent began to speak with a voice that was distinctly human, and from her mouth came a chant the scarlet beast had known to exist. But never dreamed of hearing spoken by a wyrm or any other living soul for that matter.
She tried to push away, to get clear of this mad one and to escape the fate she knew awaited them both now. But even as she tried she could not. In stead the cold embrace of fear took hold and did not let go of her mind.
Then in a brilliant white glare that blotted out the sun, made the air tremble with raw power and the scarlet beast wail in utter terror the spell took effect.

Down amongst the ruined houses and heaps of corpses the silent forms of the Draconian knights stood gathered around their master.
He stood with blade draw and a evil gleam in his bloodshot eyes, before him the king that had once ruled from his stolen throne over the lands of Kels stood. Shaking with fear and outrage over this betrayal he found himself on the receiving end of.
Around him lay the butchered remains of his court and his loyal soldiers. Cut down by his very own house hold knights.
The king spat at his soon to be executioner as the dark one raised his sword to strike him down in cold blood.
But the blow never came, instead all those whom still lived inside and outside the ruined walls and smouldering ruins where bathed in a eerie pale light radiating down from the sky where the two great beasts had been locked in a struggle of life and death. Along the unearthly sounds came a scream of absolute terror and fear from one of the great serpents.
Then the Draconian lord seemed to feel something grip him with great unseen hands. The man that had once been a noble soul screamed in horror as he fell to his knees, from where his eyes should have been blood began to flow and as he fell to the cold ground gripping his throat while his men looked at the king that pissed himself in fear. Instead of hacking him apart they turned as one and left him there, in silent unison the dark ones began to make their way away from this place.
Behind them they left the fallen form of their master, now that his dark soul had departed this world these men where freed from the bonds that had tied them to his service.
When they reached the slopes that would have taken them down to the remains of the ruined army encampment they formed up into neat lines before kneeling down with steel drawn. Then in silence the last men of the Draconian order freed themselves from this world. Leaving behind a line of still black clad corpses for the vultures to feed upon.
Such ended the the blood soaked days of the order of the Draconian. Lost to shame and disgrace.
They where not the only ones to be blinded and feel the cold hands of utter terror grip their hearths as the two beasts up in the sky disappeared from sight for a brief moment.
The young queen and her few remaing followers and supporters all stood on the walls and looked on, their minds already all but broken by the sheer loss of life and bloodshed.
But instead of falling back into the panic that had threaten to overwhelm them when the second great beast had risen up to the skies they simply felt a strange sensation of peace and tranquillity take hold of their hearths.
Their queen fell to her knees, with her eyes closed in silent morning when she realized the fate of her lover. Whom had made the ultimate sacrifice for her, tears of mourning and a feeling of closure now slowly began to take hold in her hearth. She knew she would never feel her touch again, or lay naked by her side when the sun rose up from beyond the mountains and the last of the mist disappear as the sun bathed the lands in its warm embrace, while they lay under warm furs.
With sorrow in her voice she spoke to those around her that could her trembling voice.
“Goodbye Ashild, may your spirit find its way back home to the icy lands you once called home. And I will see you again when my remaining days are spent, and life leaves my aged and mournful body.”

Such ended the days of Ashild of the north lands most scholars agreed upon in later years after the realm was rebuilt. And the new queen had taken her seat as the new ruler of the lands of Kels, but some individuals of a varied nature did not agree with this. For those whom had dared venture back across the now desolate mountains and silent valleys that had once been the lands of Noregard. They could tell stories of a shadow that would occasionally sweep across that bleak realm with ice blue eyes keeping a keen watch for any signs of danger. Or maybe looking for a sign of her lover

That was worth the wait! Some really powerful descriptive tracts in there, picked out with nice individual details. Although it was quite a long episode, it flowed nicely.

Epic ending. Top work!

Glad it lived up to the expectations!