The Conquest of Mytheyr

It was the small hours of the morning, yet the camp bustled with activity. Weapons were being gathered, village chiefs belting out instructions and plans. Amidst the chaos, the Dragonkin were surprisingly serene. They chatted quietly with each other, looking very comfortable in full battle armor. And no two of them had the same armor. Some wore silver chainmail, some leather, and others wore plate. Only two features unified their armors. Everyone wore some garment made from dragonscales, and they all wore some kind of hood. The dragons themselves were equally calm and lay drowsing, blue-gray smoke rising from their noses.

In a tent, Morgan, Raven, Bane and Marine were much the same, taking part in the calm before the storm. Morgan, leaning against one of the tent’s support poles, wore a hooded coat of Marine’s blue scales, and chainmail beneath it. A silver half-mask dangled loosely from her fingers. Raven had a breastplate fashioned out of Bane’s scales, and similar chainmail, and her hood was made of the silver mail.

“I suppose we should go.” Morgan said, bringing her mask to her face, “It’s almost sunrise.”

“Wait.” Raven stopped her. “Morgan, I want you to take this.” She held up Serpent, the second of the legendary Moonlit Silver daggers.

“Really?” Morgan asked, shocked. “Are you sure?”

“I’ll be too busy protecting our boys to be able to charge in and save you. Serpent will protect you in my place.” The dagger morphed into a sheathed sword, and she presented the sword to Morgan.

“Alright.” she said, taking the sword and strapping it to her waist. “Thanks.”

“Besides,” Raven said, walking out of the tent, “Giving you my blade is insurance. You’ll have to come back alive, so you can return it. Hey, and take care of that boy, okay? He really cares about you.”

As Raven departed the tent, Morgan had the feeling Raven knew something she didn’t. She left too, and Bane and Marine followed her out.

Vath stood awkwardly at the edge of the group of Dragonkin. He was wearing a borrowed set of leather armor which was a little big for him, but not impractically so. Still, he fiddled with the straps, desperately trying to get it to fit better. He had also been lent a sword and another crossbow. Vath had no idea how to use a sword. The crossbow was bigger and heavier than the one Morgan gave him. It did not help his apprehension. People were going to die today. They might lose. He felt the heavy weight over the camp the Dragonkin seemed to be immune to. He couldn’t keep still. He noticed the change as soon as it happened. The last vestige of calmness was gone. Vath looked up from the straps and saw the reason.

The Dragon Elves snapped to attention as soon as Morgan stepped out. The dragons themselves only delayed a second, raising their heads. Although they didn’t stand, you could see their muscles shift from relaxation to coiled like a spring, ready to react to anything, at any moment. The elves stood straight, their weight evenly distributed, their shoulders square. Their wings were vibrant, taut as a bowstring, twitching occasionally.

Morgan looked every bit the warrior queen surveying her troops. Her eyes were burning with a fierce light, and her mask made her look almost like a demon.

“It will rain soon. We will arrive at the battlefield in about forty minutes. I want us as spread out as possible, all dragons in the air, all elves within five feet of the ground. Should any of the golems make an appearance, I want to see them engulfed in dragon fire. These golems have Blood Iron in them, so none of the elves should attempt to engage. Leave it to the dragons. Are we clear?” Her eyes roamed over her people, and she nodded slightly. “Good. I want the elves in the thickest. Reduce the casualties. We’re all used to putting ourselves in harm’s way, so point in stopping now. Even though, I expect you all home in time for dinner. Any questions?” Silence and nods from the Dragonkin followed. Morgan nodded back. “Go.”

Vath stood in awe. He had never seen a creature as proud and fierce as the dragons and their elves. As they began the journey towards the palace, Morgan riding Nightshade in the lead, Vath took two steps to follow them and stopped. He didn’t belong among them. He wasn’t even close to what they were. He was just a Dark Elf. He wasn’t even here for Mytheyr. What could he do? What could possibly be so special about him?

A hand landed on his shoulder from behind. Vath turned to see the smiling face of Teren.

“Come with us.” Teren said. “The desert is always glad to have you.” Vath smiled back, and nodded gratefully. He was welcomed by the elves of the desert, and they joined the procession towards the palace.