"Have hope when there is none to have."

-Unknown

"The role of a king is to protect his subjects."

- King Granos III of Veler (before the Great War of Man)

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Bodies fell to the floor with every punch and kick as the arena guards failed to stop her onslaught. The dwarfs near blank eyed as they fought, knowing if they failed their fate was sealed. The tunnels snaked and curved as they traveled through the arena's underbelly. More slaves joined them as they passed their cages. More guards met them as they went. They would not be stopped, for Cestriums wrath was great.

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Darkness had long already fallen over the fortress in the mountain. Brazerres and torch being the lone sources of light on this moonless night. Soldiers stood atop the two walls watching the horizon grim faced. The lord and his advisors stood upon the second wall, the highest wall at that, for a better view in their shiny armor and weapons. The soldiers near them were some what more relieved than those elsewhere, for their only hope of salvation on this night was with their lord. Soldiers held spears high, butt on the ground. Bows laid upon the wall as some checked their quiver and arrows individually to keep their minds off of the inevitable.

The lord stared ahead, his eyes unwavering between his golden locks. Though he knew the tales of his ancestors of how 'the Blasbort has never fallen to assault' as his father was prone to say. Though in face of these foes, even he could not find comfort in these stone walls. His eyes glanced away from the horizon as he traced line by line the various cracks and breaks in the stone his eyes could find without turning his head. His advisors on either side spoke no comforts to their lord, for this was not a night for sweet lies to lull one to sleep while monsters knocked on their doorstep.

Coughs were heard on occasion as the sky slowly began rumbling, before rain began first with a trickle, a drizzle, then a full downpour as lightning cracked and whipped the sky, the lord looked the heavens taking this as some ill omen indeed, but he would not let it show as the rain pelted and dinged off the arms and armor of him and his soldiers. Then it was heard. Thump thump thump thump. Left right left right. Torchlight began pouring like magma over the horizon as dark figures walked side by side and a dark horn resounded within the valley of the south. It was a sea of red and black approaching the massive walls. Soldiers continued to stare at their approaching opponents who stomped some 500 yards away. As they approached, flags bearing a symbol became clear in the dark. A symbol long was forgotten. A symbol, of an old king. The dark soldiers made no sounds as they stood, no one turned to look at the figure standing in the middle upon the sole rock in the field, who watched his foes as they watched him. In his hand was a golden sword bearing a silver glow, striking against the dark to be certain. The face of the figure was covered beneath a black cloak, billowing from the storm winds, and soaked from the drenching rain.

The two armies stared at each other. Upon the wall, the various commanders gave words to raise morale, even if slightly. Then came silence. even the rain stopped for this moment. Water dripped from armor and stone. Drip drip drip. Then returned the wind. It was slow, then grew like cats mewling, before becoming a wolfish howl.

"Eliouet!" The elves drew their bows towards the enemy below, waiting for the signal to release.

Thunder growled low and slow, then returned the rain, and it all began.

"Teries! Pavla Eliou!"

The golden sword hung to the sky, and the army moved as rain fell pelting the onslaught. Their spears high as ladders slammed onto the wall. Crossbows launched up onto the wall in response to the arrows, defenders falling over the wall as they found a nest in the necks and chests of unfortunate elves. They began climbing the ladders one by one, many struck down by arrows as they went, but the defenders could not stop them all. They wormed their way in a growing group to the top of the wall blades ready meeting spear, axe, sword. The defenders shouted warcry after warcry with each slice, parry, and block. Heads rolled, arms fell, and legs were tossed in the hodgepodge of combat upon the wall. Metal clanged upon metal. Death throes joined the chorus of metal, elf, and nature. The lord gave order after order as more and more found perch on the wall, slowly but surely routing the defenders.

Bodies stacked and mounted before and on the wall. Some elves shouted numbers of those they killed as some sort of competition, almost as if in a form of rebellion against the notion of this being a very dangerous time. Arrows continued to fly from both sides as a shield wall approached the main gate, as a battering ram was carried in the middle. However, slowly the tables were turning in the favor of the defenders.

The lord of the fort smiled in defiance as he looked at his opponent in the distance, challenging him to do his worst. Something he would regret. The old king took his blade and pointed it towards the wall, and a section suddenly turned to dust, opening a portal to the inner keep. They poured in from the newly made hole, obliterating the defenders on the wall in a pincer maneuver. The elves no longer had the leisure of counting kills, for they had no breath in their body to do so left.

"My lord we must retreat."

The lord stared at the scene before him, wide eyed. Whatever went through his mind, indiscernible as he mumbled something beneath his breath.

"My lord?"

"Where is the horse and the rider?" He leaned onto the stone before him, the lords grip tight upon the stone. "Where has the wind gone blowing? Where is the man and his son? Gone early in the pasture. The spring had brought new. The Sun has long descended. The storm has fallen." Upon the wall, a dark soldier aimed a crossbow, the eyes meeting one another "And all is in ruin." The soldier fired, and the Lord of Blasbort was no more.

"Retreat! The lord has fallen! Retreat!" horns sounded as the elves fell back inside the central hall, barricading as they went. They stacked chairs and tables, and readied their weapons, pointed to the doors that lurched more and more inward with each push of the dark soldiers. Muffled cries came from some, as their morale had become fleeting. They were doomed. Some resigned to die and take at least two more with them. Others rapidly tried to think of a way to escape with their life.

The first advisor looked to the second and nodded.

Where is the blade that remained unbroken

Enough room had been made for the helms to be seen from within.

Where is the lady of the east

Cracks in the wooden frames of the door appeared.

A shadow so black has fallen

The remaining defenders gripped their weapons tightly.

The dawn shall never see

The doors had almost been opened enough for a man to step through.

For dark he shall rise

Arrows flew from the few remaining arches towards the gap.

And true he shant fall

The doors opened and the dark soldiers began pouring in.

For the old king has come

The two advisors shouted a war cry and charged, the rest following suit.

And all he shall be

Then silence fell upon the keep, as the thunder died out.

Awakening

Very curious. Very, very curious.