The Conquest of Mytheyr

They got halfway across the clearing before the chaos began. The few with horses were in front, Morgan just ahead of them. Nightshade reared back as the golems pulled themselves violently out of the ground, spraying mud everywhere.

“Get back!” Morgan yelled. She tugged the reins and Nightshade dodged to the left, her soaked mane flying.

The Dark Elves’ horses shied away in fear, someone of throwing their riders. A dragon swooped in, breathing a river of blue fire at the golem nearest to Morgan. The acrid smell of ozone filled the air, drowning out the smell of molten metal. The army scattered around the golems, giving the dragons plenty of room. When the dragons were finished with them, all that remained were twisted piles of boulders and metal. Maybe they could be passed off for modern art, Morgan thought.

She and Nightshade swung wide around the dragon fire. Morgan was determined to reach the entrance to the palace’s courtyard. She knew that Semele would be inside. She knew that he’d hide the moment he felt threatened. She wanted to be the one to kill him. Damn her visions, damn her memories, she was going to kill that pale bastard. No matter what, Semele died today.

The gate to the yard was closed, but Morgan’s Dark magic blasted it open. The doors nearly flew of their hinges when the lock was smashed, and Nightshade barreled through. The mare wasn’t deterred by the rubble that still littered the yard, she simply danced over it. Morgan jumped off, taking to her wings. The front doors were still smashed to pieces, even after all these weeks. Morgan flew straight through the gaping hole, her eyes narrowed in single minded concentration.

Thralls arrived through seemingly every hallway. The first few were slain quickly, felled by Morgan’s blade and Nightshade’s deadly hooves. The makeshift army surged in to meet the rest. The main hall was narrow enough to have become a choke point, but the living elves were making too much progress. The thralls were pushed back by an overwhelming tide. One by one the dragons came in, landing among the ranks of undead, tearing them apart with their teeth and claws.

The battle spread like a fire to other parts of the palace. In the halls, on the stairs, and in several rooms. It was difficult to go five feet without having dodge at least six blades. Amidst it all, Raven fought with Timbltin, both of them having the time of their lives. Raven’s face was twisted in a terrible smile as she cut down the thralls with a short sword. She ducked under the swing of one, rolling between his legs and cutting the feet off another on as she came up, stabbing that one in the chest to finish it. She lopped the head off another one, and twisted around to block the strike of yet another.

Timbltin was having his own fun. Tripping up the thralls, tearing out throats or eyes with his little claws. Small puffs of flame, resulting in debilitating burns.

“I think you may have some issues we might have to discuss.” Raven commented as she finished off a thrall that Timbltin tripped.

“Me?” the little dragon protested, landing on Raven’s shoulder. “What about you? Hypocrite.” No sooner did he finish his sentence did his claws tighten on Raven’s shoulder as he let out a hiss of pain.

“What’s wrong?” Raven said fearfully as she blocked and parried another attack. “Something’s wrong.” Tim hissed, pushing off Raven’s shoulder and soaring down the hall. It was not his pain he had felt.