Editing BW XV

A man dressed in burnished field mail stands, legs astride, leaning on the pommel of his massive two-handed sword.  The armour and the sword are covered in blood and strewn around the room are the corpses of all manner of fell beasts.  The visor of his helmet is raised revealing deep-set piercing blue eyes, high cheek bones and a full, blonde moustache and beard.  He is a human, in his mid-thirties judging by the laughter lines which are beginning to appear around his eyes.  

“What new manner of Devilry is this?”  His voice is strong but his words are a whisper.

“I know not, my friend.  I believe this is the origin of those that came from within.”  The deeper, louder reply comes from a dwarf standing a couple of yards away.  

“Think thou that this is his creation?” the man asks pointing his sword at the remains of a Demon which decomposes rapidly before his eyes.

“I know not” the dwarf replies moving forward towards the light which bathes the man in hues of red.  The dwarf’s armour is as bloodied as the human’s but the rune, ﭣ, is clearly visible on his shield.  He carries a large battle axe, supported on his shoulder, and moves cautiously towards the human.  It is difficult to discern his features as they are buried beneath an impossibly large red beard, the ends of which a plaited and woven with multi-coloured gem stones.  His eyes reflect the burning red light before him, “…but it is like nothing that I have encountered before.”

The vision expands and Milai becomes aware of a large wall of flame, which extends the length of the cavern in which human and dwarf stand.  The man leans forward and extends an arm, “It is hot…as it should be perhaps.”

“Lastar would know of this…Perhaps we should leave it to his counsel.”  The dwarf is altogether more suspicious.

“We have secured the Sea, and now the mighty Crag-Ûn stands like a beacon to our followers.  Victory will be ours soon, Crianmach Dor, my friend.  Fear yea not this wizardry; verily, thou hast used more powerful dweomer in your time I have no doubt.” 

“Less certain am I, Gundleus Paladin…This is not of our world.  Lastar has told tale of the enemy’s use of portals through which evil hosts can be summoned.  I dare say that this is one such opening – a rift to the very bowels of Hades, I’ll wager.”

“Thou hast become a most cautious dwarf Crianmach Dor.  Look!  Thy kin hath fought well; the enemy are vanquished.  And should this be a rift to Hades, then I say let us enter it!  Let us do now unto those that dwell in eternal fire what they would seek to do here on the Prime!”  The dwarf stares at the man, incredulously, “Oh come, master dwarf, no need to look so worried; I will wait for Lastar’s counsel fear yea not.”

“Ahh, for a moment, Gundleus, I thought that you meant to enter that flaming hell and drag me with you what’s worse!” his relaxed tone belies his dubious expression, “Yes my kin did fight well, as did all free folk.  Come, let us join the others in the Minas…We have to prepare the victory banquet!”

“Thy thoughts never stray long from food, Crianmach.  Besides, Bavarik will have all in hand by now.  He will be mightily disappointed to have missed such a great battle as this!”

“Aye, Barass would have not let him forget the banquet…”


“Asshh grabn grimbotuluk; Asshh grabn umberluk; Asshh grabn margrab….” a huge hissing voice booms in Milai’s head.  It reminds her of the terrible nightmares in Nagrad.  That voice…it is so familiar, yet different and incomprehensible.  

A vision appears a split second after the sound fades into echo.  A young Red Dragon emerges from a shimmering fiery wall into the cavern in which the man and dwarf had been stood.  Only the horns on his head were fully developed, those on his nose and under his chin were much smaller in comparison (just 3’ long).  His scales had not yet become encrusted with gems and jewels like other more senior of his breed.  Despite his immaturity, this was an immensely powerful evil.  As its huge carcass emerges, it spreads its wings as if stretching and then lets out an enormous triumphant bellow of smoke and flame.  “I am here!” 

In front of the Dragon, placed on a pedestal, is a Palantir next to which, on the floor, is a crown with 6 points each holding an indigo gem.  “I see the spoilt Mage continues to make mistakes that his race will long have cause to remember…Ha, ha, ha, hahhhhh…”  

With tremendous care the Dragon picks up the crown and hooks it onto a horn which ascends vertically for over 8’ from its head.  Then it turns its head to the Palantir.  Cocked to one side like a dog waiting for human reaction, the dragon stares at the orb.  The first flash of light surprises the beast which jumps slightly, lifting its head 20’ into the air.  It never takes its eyes off of its subject.  “There you are…and who is this?  Aha, he had a son…who now seeks to regain what was his father’s…”