The Conquest of Mytheyr

“I’m sorry, sir,” said the armor-clad guard in a tone that said he was not sorry at all, “but the King is holding court, and can not be bothered right now. This famine takes precedence over foreign lords.”

“I see.” The pale elf answered wearily. The guard had faithfully served his King for fifty years, and he had never seen an elf like this. Tall and slim, that was not so unusual, but his pale, waxy skin stood out against the gray skin of the Dark Elves that populated Mytheyr. His hair was white blonde, which was rare among all races. His face was almost too bony. Most of all, it was his eyes. They were such a pale blue that they were almost white, and they had a cold, intense look in them. There are subtle things that the Fey can see in eyes that mortals can’t, but those small details were not present in the gaze of this stranger. The guard didn’t like it. Moreover, he didn’t like him. This ‘lord’, as he introduced himself, was obviously pompous and controlling, traits that the guard associated with mortal humans, who were long gone from this world.

“You must understand,” the pale elf informed him, “I have no intention of waiting. I have done far too much of that.”

What the guard wanted to say was “Get this through your thick, perfumed head…” but instead, he said, less then politely, “I am afraid you will have to wait. The King is not. Taking. Visitors. Sir.”

“Ah, well.” The pale elf sighed, “I tried it the easy way.”

The ground shook. Cracks tore the palace’s courtyard into jagged sections, and the Dark Elven servants scampered away from the faults in fear. Horses reared and whinnied nervously, but they were well-trained and didn’t run away. The guard staggered back a few paces, though the pale elf stood undisturbed.

“Fine horses.” The pale elf commented, “Such is the virtue of our species, yes?”

The earth exploded as stone golems ripped their way out of the ground. They moved with incredible speed for things so heavy and bulky, for in seconds they had pulled themselves out of the ground, charged across the courtyard as one, and broke the gilded palace doors. There was a moment of shocked silence. Then cries of pain, fear and confusion rang out. An alarm bell began to chime in the guard tower.

“Send your soldiers, my King.” The pale elf chuckled to himself. “I’m afraid it’s all in vain…”

He stepped lightly over the broken body of the former guard and strode into the palace’s main hall. He crossed the long hall with long, confident strides, and he soon reached the council room. The doors were smashed into dust by his stone golems, and a ferocious battle was taking place within. The Dark Elven nobles and lords of the council were too smart too blunt their swords against stone, so they attempted to disassemble the golems with Wind and Fire magicks. But neither glyph, nor word, nor energy spell seemed to be able to touch the golems as they wrecked havoc, smashing the tiered seats and blocking the exits, not caring who or what was injured and killed in the process.

The pale elf surveyed the carnage for a few moments before speaking.

“Stop,” He did not speak loudly, but his voice carried. Every ear heard it, and the golems froze mid-action. A thick silence filled the room.

The King was not a violent man. But now he was feeling pretty violent.

“Who are you to dare attack us? I will end your miserable life!” the King conjured a sword of Dark magic, and charged at the strange, pale elf. The elf lifted his hand lazily, and the King was grabbed by the neck and held up in the air by an invisible force.

“I am Semele. I came here to challenge you, my King,” he said calmly, smiling faintly at the struggling royal Dark Elf, “but you have spared me the trouble.” Semele’s smile widened into a bloodthirsty grin. His raised hand went from a relaxed position to as taut as a bowstring. The King’s neck snapped, and the Queen screamed as the King’s two sons drew their swords and rushed to avenge their father’s death. Two golems grabbed them off the ground, and swift, ugly crunches rent the air. They dropped the princes’ broken bodies to the ground. The nobles all cried out, some in anger, and some in cowardice.

Semele let the King’s body fall and strode to the throne. The Queen still stood by it, and by now the others in the room had begun to recover from their shock.

“Kill the Queen.” Semele said dismissively. The nearest golem grabbed her, and her body was flung across the room.

Semele stood in front of the throne, and turned to face the gaping elves. He flung out his arms, a maniac grin on his face.

“In case you missed it,” he announced, laughing, “I just became the new king of Mytheyr.”