The Land Of Rohan

Flamechild: Epilogue

Castle of ice, imprisoned in Flames.....

Krieger chided his aide-de-campe, both smiling as they finally met after the haphazard ordeal. His scaly hand met the soldier's.

"Bleed, Garrick, everybody's doing it."

A handshake from the Dragon was more than appreciated by Garrick. The outlandish compliment was borne of a loyal understanding brought about by violence and tempered by ire.

"Lord Dragon. I thank you, that I am nigh impossible to bleed now." He had arranged for the rendezvous at the old citadel of the Paladin order, a place frequented more by monsters then than the human clergymen it once cradled. And hurt as he wanted, he could not, for the by the last Great Dragon's power, he was made unassailable. With him was the messenger that they filched from the wild passion of Flox's herald, the Flamechild. Mordekai flew to his master's side, and waited for the exchange and explanation.

Garrick spoke, "Thy messenger, sir. She does not speak to neither me nor Mordekai, but to you she's likely to be more than just a pretty doll face."

Wise and scheming, Krieger replied. "Minutes before you arrived here I already knew what she had to speak of. Quash your weariness, for we make for the skies next."

While he was obviously bewildered by the statement, Garrick justly sought to know more and follow his master's command, however strange. "We fly, milord? The Firmament is an awfully lonely place. What doth we seek up above?"

Mordekai spoke in chase as he pieced together what might have gotten Krieger this eager. "Master, we go to the rakk'on?"

Krieger uttered a guttural grunt of approval, and then continued with his reveal:

"The Celestial Palace of Rakhon, yes, one of the hideously corrupt havens of the Five that sit comfortably high above the world they look down upon. Its golden halls have long been bloodied far beyond recognition from its original purpose back in the All-Father's days. That is where this doll was sent from. Servitor, cleanse this empty shell and bury it. No further shall her message travel. No other soul must know that a Dragon sent her to find kin among the betrayers."

Garrick's brow rose behind his gleaming helm. "A Dragon sent her? Did you not just receive her, Lord Dragon?"

Krieger educated Garrick further: "Yes, I just did. And I am telling you now, that a Dragon sent her. That Dragon wants to speak to me. To go get her. A Great Dragon. I am certain of it, from the mindspeak, the possession of dolls, and other reasons you may not be privy to. Understand now, Servitor?"

"Alright then, master. Then are you not the last? This might be a trap; it stinks of it. Shall we believe it further fast?"

Krieger looked at Garrick while having a faint aura of remorse, "If you were told face to face by murder and a murdered friend that you were the last of your kind, and then ages later receive word that that might be wrong - I don't think traps are an issue here, my friend."

The Servitor's armour shone weakly in the sun through blood and dirt. "Well then, my Lord Dragon. Can thou at least let me scour my mail before we depart? We'd want to give the royalty of the palace a grand impression wouldn't we? I have to keep up appearances."

Garrick felt his pomp rise right back from his bowels as Krieger appeared to him as certain as ever with his movements. Krieger sneered at Garrick's immediate enthusiasm, but still eyed his servant with praise.

"Oh, don't mind that, we're not going through the front door, good Garrick." From Krieger's dark facade, a smile broke out, as malice-laden as the Great Dragon's row after row of sharp fangs, portentous of an undoubtedly fateful affair to come.

- Northeast Ignis -

Rache took refuge in the amethyst fields east of the Temple. She dared not show her face at the altar while she tended to her wounds. She had failed miserably and she was afraid of the punishment that was to occur; when mere conversation was painful, reprehension was worse than death. She expected Flox to already know of her disappointment, but she wished against it with all her fiery will.

She regretted that her spells could not dress her wounds rather than cauterize them.

"Spurious mongrel lizard! Burn in the Void!" Rache screamed at the top of her lungs, breaking the stony silence of the magentic plain.

"I will settle this score when you least expect it, false prophet. You will die with your tongue limp between your teeth."

- Far above the continent of Rohan -

Marea sat again with her brother, both of their eyes cast upon an unknowing world.

"Oh, look at her, dearie, she's been there hiding from you all day. She wants to say sorry, brother." She could not resist the opportunity to incense the volatile Flox. "Or should I say, teacher?"

The father of the Dark Elves knew better than to walk right into Marea's verbal snare.

"If she wishes to feel the pain I will give her, then she only has to ask. Right now, she's dealing enough harm to herself without need for my expertise."

"Ah, ever the romanticist, brother? She's mad over mad for you, and yet you pull her strings so."

"You should know, sister." Flox's heterochroma shimmered like beads of liquid metal in the deep pools of his eyes. He looked at his conniving sister deeply, and began to laugh.

"We have them right where we want them!," he exclaimed. "Krieger, was he? He thinks he's slipped one over me. And now he's rushing to our holiday Palace to rustle up the leaves and bones littered there. What silliness, ha!"

Marea chuckled in resonance, returning her beloved brother's gaze. Flox continued on in his own cryptic repartee, as the two held hands.

"The locks have been unbolted, and the trees made fruit-bearing. The Garden waits for us to play in it, my exquisite darling. Your feet and your skin would not bruise even when you walk there unclothed. We will cherish this even more than when we played with Armenes and his flock of repulsive mutant birds."

The elfin maiden, eons old, giggled like a babe with but handful of years. "Even I can marvel at the eccentricity you so handsomely flaunt. Silva can only be jealous, and Eldest can only be pleased, at first."

"Ha! No other but us can fully comprehend the greatness we are set to unleash before these troglodytes below. Dance with me sister!"

"Yes, Flox, but before that, you forget your disciple."

"Ah, yes, the Flamechild. Amusing title she took so willingly from my tongue, don't you agree? Well, let's see how fiery she really is. When she's on fire.'

End of Chapter III