Chronicles of the Brotherhood: Genesis

Act X: The Fall of Tenbarge

 The sun set on the bleak day as a hundred lights dotted the frosted landscape around the walled city of Tenbarge. Within the city had gone quiet, save the routing and marching of armored militia that moved with a dreary pace. The shiver in their bones and the quake in their souls was almost audible.

The houses were built strong, but the setting sun cast the longest shadows, alluding to the long night ahead of them. Never had the city been so quiet. Never had the walls been so cold. Never had the eyes old the old general, Armenius been so dismal in his weary brow as he gazed out over the walls to the trees that lined and decorated the roots of the rolling mountains that encircled the city.

Tenbarge sat in the Frosted Peaks, West of the the Sacred North and east of the Storm Reach. Often it had suffered raiding attacks from Urls of that barbaric tribe, but being so well tucked away from the rest of the world, It was often seen as a gem in the north; a Diamond in the frozen rough. In the days of the united Mundaran Empire, Tenbarge had been the bastion of order in in the north. It was a city unlike any other. Now, in the winter of it's life, the once great and shining city sat a pale, bleak shell.

Armenius puled the bear fur pelt over his shoulders and stuck his hands closer to the pathetic fire in his quarters. The fire wood hadn't been restocked in days. His breath was visible, escaping in large puffs from beneath his weathered beard. His face carried the lines of age and an anxiety that all men and women had come to know in this hour.

The walls of his quarters were once decorated with the value of material wealth and prestige, all earned in his lifetime by the sweat of his back. Most of it now lay on the ground in taters or shards, the result of a most unbecoming evening. In his crisis, he threw his sword into the wall, cleaving the tapestries in twain, smashing the glass and wooden frames of his refined station. Even his prize trophies and pelts were not sparred the wrath of his emptiness.

Now, he sat alone.

There came a knock on his door.

"Enter: he said in a gruff tone, born of discomfort.

A young man, dressed in chain mail stepped into the room. A sword sat at his hip, slung around his shoulder. The chain cowl laid across one shoulder, a buckler was strapped to his dominant arm. He saluted Armenius before stepping into the light. His face was the same as Armenius, however lacking in years. His eyes were absent light, mirroring the bleak cold of the outside.

"General," he said.

"Report, Marlowe," Armenius replied, not giving him the courtesy of a glance.

"All companies have been outfitted and sent beyond the wall," he said very plainly. "They have all pitched camps and await the night. Food and drink has all been dispersed. What could be sparred of pelt has been given out as well."

"And what of the gates?" Armenius asked.

Marlowe took in a deep breath before speaking. "They have all been locked and barred from the inside."

Armenius shared a quiet moment with the fire before nodding his head. He coughed from his own illness and struggled to keep the pelt over his shoulders. "Well done, Marlowe.," he said. "May the Divine have mercy on us all."

"Are you certain there was no one else, general?" Marlowe asked.

Armenius shook his head. "Every rider we sent out that returned all had the same story to tell," the old general spoke. "The south was in flames. The fields were all burned, the cities and villages were all in ruins. Anyone they found they sent here. If they made it, their fates have been sealed."

"We could have sent to Arch Antosia," Marlowe said.

"We could have," Armenius replied. "But the Angels weren't prepared for this cataclysm either. Their ranks have suffered as well."

"Not as much as our own," Marlowe replied with a grave tone.

"Make peace with yourself, Marlowe," Armenius said. "Better to do it now than be left to the mercy of those creatures."

"Then bid me slay myself, general," Marlowe said dropping to his knees and drawing his sword. "I would rather die by your word than be made dust by the hate of what lies beyond the trees!"

Armenius looked at Marlowe with a forlorn expression. He starred deep into his subordinate's soul before he opened his mouth again. "Go out on your own terms if you so wish, Marlowe," he said. "No one will blame you."

Marlowe was speechless. He poised his sword, waiting for the man he had come to love and respect to command him to put up his sword, but the order never came, only the look, the glance he had been depraved upon entering.

"Would you really witness my suicide? " he questioned.

"I would witness your choice as a free man," Armenius replied. "As a human."

"You would not give a single word in protest?" Marlowe pressed.

"What reason have I to rob a man of his right to choose?" Armenius asked rhetorically. "We stand on the brink of our own destruction, our complete eradication. I would not ask you to do as those who stand outside of the walls if it was not as you so chose. We all have to choose in this hour, Marlowe. What do you choose?"

Marlowe held the pint of his sword at his flesh for a long moment. A trickle of blood ran down from his shoulder. He looked into the eyes of that general, clad in tattered clothes and armor, drapped by a bear skin pelt and wished he would say more, yearned for the solidarity of a command. Then he looked into the fire, such a gentle thing in comparison to those he had seen in the past few months.

His eyes, at last fell in the window and the cold snowfall that blanketed the world outside. All else had become a distant, far off land, absent reality. It was as if Tenbarge was the only city in the wolrd and all else had been fabricated as a story, told to him as a child. Those trees he had once run through as a child had become so frightening, so haunting were those peaks against the dark blue sky that even the stars would not grace on this night. They had shunned their own gaze.

"Make your choice, Marlowe," Armenius said again. "No one will blame you."

Marlowe took one last look at Armenius before plunging the sword deep into his abdomen. Blood splurt from the wound and from his mouth. He coughed and gagged, choking on his own breath. Like a dog, he whimpered and squirmed, feeling his heart stop in his chest and muscles seize up, never to move again. He fell forward, limply twitching for a few lingering seconds before he became still.

"And no one will remember you for it," The old general said to the corpse on his floor.

- -

In the old days, Tenbarge had been a bastion in the north,. A beacon that sat steadfast against the rugged and bleakness of the north, but now, it was only a shell of it's former self. The light that is once held had all but faded in these last few days. Years of strength and awe lost in only a few snow storms, in only a few days.

Tenbarge was not a large city, but it was well constructed and maintained in order to house its residence. The walls were not exceedingly high, but tall enough to withhold a siege. From it's three gates, the main roads ran all the way back to the citadel. Smaller streets branched off to connect the whole city together. Being set in the valley of the mountains, Tenbarge had a gentle slope downward to bowl at the citadel. Many efforts had been made to level the ground, but even more were made to compensate for the terrain.

Lamp posts dotted the walkways and stood on every corner. Sidewalks had been built, raised from the street level. A shallow gutter system set between the sidewalks and the streets, running along every road and path into gutters set at various intersections and annexes. It was advanced for being so far north, most assumed that the cold and constant snowfall would hinder much advancement, but they had compromised in the harsh conditions. Even the landings before every door was elevated and covered to thwart snow from packing before their doors.

Most of the houses in the city were built with stone foundations, only a select few in something of a slum were wholly wooden. Similar to the foundations, having set there for generations, many of the houses had stood since the city was first erected. Tenbarge had stood since the Seventh Chimera, also known as the Dragon of War, took it from the barbaric tribes that had loved there for centuries. The citadel was said to have commissioned by the legendary warlord, himself, with every intention of holding the north from this seat of power.

The citadel was nothing spectacular. It was wider than it was tall, more like the foundations of a mountain. It could be seen from the mountain peaks outside of the city, but by the time any opposing force had entered the valley, the garrison would have been deployed to counterstrike. The stone pillars and terraces were carved from the very mountains that surrounded it, not a single part of that city was from outside of the north.

However glorious it had been before was hidden behind the dull grey and darkness of this snowy night. The lamps were all lit as they always were, but the houses sat cold and quiet in the night. How long it had been since music flooded the streets and the clamor of iron on stone, or the horns of the rangers returning home after a fruitful hunt. All those days were long behind this city.

- -

Outside of it's walls sat camps, bands of soldiers, or at least, what one could pass off as soldiers. They were men and women, all human to their very bones, but their souls were that of beasts, of dauntless creatures that refused to fold. Former enemies sat around dreary campfires together, sharing drinks and stories to sate their parched senses.

Banners stood and blew about in the winds, then hung still. The gusts would flurry up and fall, kicking up loose powder from the ground and swirling it around only to fall back onto the ground, or atop one of the many tents that made up these camps. Some of the flurries would even fall on unsuspecting watchmen or wandering sentries, caking their cloaks in the blanket of white, compromising their warmth. It was a dreary sight to see such a beaten and battered host of soldiers that had not yet fought.

Though many camps there were iconic sets of armor and recognizable trappings. Mercenary companies and royal guards, household vassals and even a number of orders of once proud knights, not to mention the surplus of farm boys and their fathers, armed with pitchforks and shawls of hide, bound around their waists starred into the fires, or the skies, remembering a better time, when the sun shone brightly over their homes. That old life was gone for each and everyone of them. Most of their houses were piles of ash, still perhaps smoldering, how could they know? Guild Halls and barracks lay in ruins, the towers to the orders had been brought low, their foundations lost to craters and scorched earth.

One camp sat silent in comparison to the rest. Seated just outside the Almond Gate, one company kept a quiet vigil on their fires and the ones sitting with them. They were dressed in an array of royal colors, none of their armors matching save a general design, what identified them as a company were the identical trappings they wore and the emblem emblazoned on their backs. A great Drake, a beast of myth, stitched and woven in red upon the black of their trappings, stood with it's wings outstretched to embrace the chaos of their bloody business. The duster of sorts had no sleeves, freeing mobility of their wearer's arms. The collars and interior was lined with fur, to help keep out the cold. Everyone knew of this company, they had been one of the most feared and sought after groups in times of war.

The Dragon's Company had, at one time, stood ten thousand strong. The truest of mercenaries, they traveled together, fought together, ate together, and died together for almost three generations before the sky began to rain down fire and stone and flesh. They had operated as a perfection of democracy, there stood no commander of their rank, the cohort itself never acted unless there was a vote cast and majority ruled. There numbers would swell in the war times, but the ones who would stay were the ones allowed to wear their trappings. At this point, there stood no more than two hundred before Tenbarge.

They had come from all over the world, these last two hundred dragons. Their color, their culture, all that they were shone through in their individual being. Not one was identical to the other, despite the garments of their company they all sported. The bright firelight shone on their faces the wear of their journeys, the journey down to the last sleepless night of sleep.

Meladona, the strongest female dragon in the company sat near to the campfire, clad in her trappings and armor, her trusted greatsword held close to her, sunk shallowly into the ground. Her armor, like her mood was heavy, plated, polished not too long ago, bearing the scars from battles past. Her large pale green eyes peered through loose strands of her golden stands of hair. Her features, like her figure were full, but shapely, she was visibly one of the few that did not wear a grave expression.

Her greatsword was called Oargathaul, the Tower Cleaver. A weapon forged by an Elven smith before her time. It had been carried by many a warrior, but always by a woman of great courage and virtue. Meladona was no exception to this lineage. The story goes that the first to wield Oargathaul had been pinned down in the midst of a siege, alongside her allies. Caring not for her own safety, the warrior broke from her rank, charging the nearest tower and with one mighty swing from the blade, hewn the foundations asunder. The tower crumbled to the ground, making way for the warrior and her allies to storm the keep, the only damage Oargathaul has sustained was the slightest bend in the tip. A blemish it carried even now.

Fortis was the strongest man amongst the Dragons, standing a head taller than most in the company. He kept a waterskin full of wine close by, as he kept close to the fire. He was a weathered man, rugged looking despite his clean shaven face. He had always made a point to be so, even in the heat of a long campaign. He held the sternest gaze upon the fire, his back leaned against an upright log occupied by another of the Dragons. His arms were wrapped in his heavy cloak, shielding his plated armor and warhammer from the crisp breeze.

His warhammer had been called Band Breaker. Fortis had always fought with a warhammer, even when he first joined the Dragon's Company. On one particular job, the Dragons had been employed to root out one of the notorious mountain tribes that had been secretly building support and coalition between many other tribes with the intention of raising the capital city of Western Mundara, Elysium to the ground. The chieftain of this gathering band of tribes carried the warhammer before Fortis wrenched it from him and sunk his face into his neck with the very mallet of the weapon. Fortis himself renamed the weapon Band Breaker, he carries the honor of having broken the rebellion before it had time to catch fire.

Mikaelo was the craftiest man amongst the Dragons. Tall and lanky, he kept his blonde locks greased back out of his face. A well groomed mustache sat on his upper lip. He wore the biggest grin amongst all those gathered. He occupied the log Fortis leaned against, recounting and recanting fond memories from journeys and jobs the Dragons had endured before now. Even drinking as he was, his nerves were no where near dulled, not for lack of trying. As he engaged his fellows in singing and recitation, he flipped a well sharpened dagger up in the air, only to catch it with two fingers at a time.

The Dragon, Mikaelo, had become known as the Grinning Wyrm. Even in the bleakest of times, he has always worn a grin on his face. He wore it as he single-handedly scaled the wall of a keep he and the company had been employed to take. It is said he scaled the very stones of the wall, slipped into a window, killed every guard in his path between his entrance point to the gatehouse. Before the lord of the Keep knew what was happening, the Dragons stormed across his draw bridge and through his front gates like they were invited guests. Mikaelo kicked the doors to the lord's quarters himself, the grin ablazen on his face.

The most curious of the women amongst the dragon's rank was the sorceress, Antigone. A younger woman, not overly attractive, but with a wit unlike any other in the Dragon's rank. She dyed her hair many colors from various berries and flowers she had picked up on her travels. She wore very little armor, but carried with her a number trinkets, which she had grown fond of and accustomed to referring to as her treasures. She kept close to the fire, wrapped in her heavy cloak with a rather large wolf pelt slung over her shoulders. An ornamented staff sat against her shoulder, protruding from her tightly compacted self.

All of the Dragon's heavy cloaks carried a pelt of some kind over the shoulders in order to contain more heat, but Antigone's held some greater worth than all the rest. She had been born across the Severed Sea in a territory of Gwiren nearest to the Pack Lands that had been taken by the Seventh Chimera. It was a plot of land now dominated by the Northern Imperium, but many families of Humans had still been present at that time. In her youth, there had been a Were-Wolf loose in the countryside, biting women particularly, spreading his curse with no mind to the lives he was destroying. The women had not been sparred as victims, they had been hunted down like the dogs to the south and burned at the steak. Antigone tracked the Were-Wolf down and slew him in his wolf form as punishment for his crime. She kept the pelt as her dearest and greatest treasure.

Oslowe was a sturdy man, a well loved member of the Dragon's Company, and one of the brightest men that yet lived, despite his speech impediment. He was not a well spoken man, he grew up in the far east, surrounded by a wealth of culture, but was raised on the streets. He could barely read, had tried to learn to write, but had given up after a short time. He never forgot a face, however, never forgot something he ever saw or was told. In his spare time, he could have been found in libraries across the world, wherever the Dragons may have been, being read to by a stranger. He sat outside of the fire's ring, laughing and eating with Mikaelo. He wore the heaviest armor, even more so than Meladona or Fortis. Leaning against his stool was his trusted battle-ax.

Oslowe was fondly known as the Voice of the Dragons, he would speak on behalf of the company in many circumstances where words were valued above the ability to kill. Not only this, his favorite author that he had memorized in the steel trap that was his mind was the great author of the Age of Kings, Autoris Fidelis, the bard whose songs, poems, and stories enticed the ears of millions, even to this day. Oslowe would often recant favored tales from the legendary bard while on campaign, even some of his compatriots had learned most of the tale, word-for-word as he had from the repetition.

Dermech was one of the more well known Dragons in the public eye. Some even went so far to say he was a commanding officer, but the Dragons answer only to their collective, never one Wyrm in particular. Dermech, however, was highly regarded amongst their rank. A dark skinned man with long twisted locks, that he kept tied back behind his head. He sat nearest to fire, wrapped tightly in his cloak, as well as a number of blankets. Under his breath he complained bitterly at the cold, it was nothing like his home in Eastern Mundara. He kept a spear close to him, the shaft of which was pure, refined iron, with a wide head and adorned with many gold details that ran from pike to paumelle; it was his prized possession.

Dermech was said to have skewered ten men on the end of his spear before flinging them into the front lines of the rear guard from where he stood. He had been called the Gold Dragon by lords and ladies across the Mundaran Empire. His armor was light, but weighed down by a number of gold insets and inlays. Such a thing often attracted the attention of many enemies on the battlefield, but very few could close in Dermech's person, his spear's reach was hard to avoid. However, being so praised, Dermech held none of those feelings of grandeur now, sitting around this fire. This legendary dragon's gold was losing it's luster.

Lief and Arefel sat together beside the fire, the last of the Dragons within this circle. Two more well known members of the company, they were one of the few romances born of this nest of wyrms. Lief hailed from the Storm Reach, raised a reaver and raider by his people. On one expedition, he had been taken captive by the lord of the land his raiding party had attacked and instead of beheading the boy of only fifteen, he was conscripted into military service. It was not long before he had won the respect and respect of those above his station. One summer, the raiders came again, Lief, himself, led the counterstrike to drive them back. It was said that his father was in that raiding party. Lief returned from the battlefield with his father's greatsword, Dark Storm, slung over his shoulder, and the slain man, himself, in his arms.

Arefel had been raised in the mountains bordering the Sacred North. It was there she learned how to fight, how to hunt, how to survive. She had tread in the places where angels walked, had even come face to face with an Arch Angel it is said. One day while hunting she found a wounded Arch Angel in the mountain pass between her home and the small town on the west side of the peaks. The Angel was being assailed by a mountain lion, bigger than any the young girl had ever seen. A sense of duty took her and she charged the great cat, a spear pointed at it's chest. Arefel was clawed after making one devastating jab into the cat. Her spear was snapped from her, but the attack had given the Angel enough time to deal a killing blow. Together, they ventured back to her home, where their wounds were tended to. Before the Angel departed they left a cross guard spear made of Sacrum steel. The Angel also left her the name Arefel, a name, which to the Angels means, fearless. She never let that spear leave her sight, even in the pressence of her lover, Lief.

The two had met while enlisting in the company many years ago. Some would have said it was love at first sight, but the two had very poor skills when it came to wooing the other. They fought better than they spoke, but one way or another, these two dragons found a love for the other founded in respect and adoration. They would spend long hours at night talking, debating, conversing about philosophy, tactics, rhetoric, and swordsmanship. They were evenly matched and found time on the battlefield to compliment each other, both verbally and physically. Lief was close with all the dragons, but Arefel was his greatest treasure, no horde of gold could eclipse his love for her.

With all the Dragons, the ones that sat or stood beside them were their horde of treasure and gold. One was foolish to think they would come between a Wyrm and their kin. The contract signed upon enlistment was binding for life to a brotherhood of warriors. They would travel together, they would eat together, they would fight together, they would mourn together, they would die together. That had been their way since their founding, and even in this darkest hour, their duty to the company had not faltered.

"Oi," Dermech sneered through gritted teeth. "When will this blizzard let up? I can barely feel my fingers."

"Stick em in your pants, ol' boy," Mikaelo replied.

"Careful, he might get other ideas if he does that," Antigone shot in jest.

"Keep fucking talking," Dermech snapped. "The cold won't mean shit."

"Calm yourself, Dermech," Meladona said tossing a sack of cooked meats to him. They weren't very warm anymore, but the little amount of heat was enough to make them appetizing. "Get something in your stomach."

"I have plenty of ale swirling around," he replied.

"That's why you are so cold, ol' boy," Mikaelo said. All you got in your belly is fluids. The cold air is freezing it inside you."

"Pretty sure that's not how that works," Meladona said.

"It most definitely is not how that works," Oslowe cut in.

"Thank you, Oslowe," Antigone said poking at the fire enough to get it to fluryr up for a moment and distract her companion from speaking.

"Maybe you should stick your fingers closer to the fire so they don't catch frostbite," Fortis said.

"I I lose feeling in my fingers, I'll just wrap my hands around my spear," Dermech said. "If need be, I'll drive a nail through them to keep the damn thing fastened to my hands. A bit of fucking cold ain't gonna halt my spear."

"Spoken like a true dragon," Lief cut in with a warm smile. The deep brown of his eyes sat heavy under his brow.

"How much is left in that sack, Dermech?" Oslowe asked.

Dermech gnawed at a piece of meat and casually looked down at the inside of the sack. "Bout a dozen or so pieces, not including the scraps that broke off."

"Good shit, got enough for us all to have another piece." Oslowe said. "Fortis, I know you want another piece."

Fortis shook his head and lifted the waterskin of wine up just enough to show it off. "I'm set."

"You'll need more than wine, my friend," Oslowe pressed.

"I'll be fine," Fortis replied.

"I'll have another, Oslowe," Meladona said.

Oslowe took a piece from the sack before tossing it to Meladona. She dug around until she found a piece that fit her needs. She threw the sack back to Oslowe, but Mikaelo caught it in mid air and dug for a piece for himself.

"Antigone, you still got that ocarina on you, right?" Mikaelo asked.

The sorceress drew forth an ocarina carved out of bone. "Of course I do."

Mikaelo swung a leg over Fortis' head and sat facing the fire. He began to beat his hands against the stump to make a percussion beat. "Oslowe, your fingers too frozen to pluck me a melody?"

"I think I can manage something," Oslowe said getting up from his stool and running into a nearby tent to fetch his old wood guitar.

"A song?" Dermech questioned bitterly from the cold. "Right now?"

"Of course," Mikaelo said. "I feel like it would bring the dreary mood of the night to something at least tolerable. Sing my harmony, Oslowe, Antigone, you begin."

"What song?" Antigone asked poising herself.

Mikaelo hummed and thought. "Old Green Meadows!"

Lief chuckled, "how ironic."

"I like this song," Arefel said punching Lief in the side.

"Hit him again, for good measure," Meladona joked.

"Antigone," Mikaelo urged with a gesture of his hands, as if to conduct her. "If you would."

Antigone started slow, her lips and her fingers cold and stiff. As she began to fall into the groove of the tune, it became so clear, so beautiful, so moving, like the gentle embers set deep in and amidst the fire logs. Her melody was soft at first, simple, genuine, lacking in many dips or bumps of action, whether joyful or sorrowful. After about sixteen counts, Oslowe chimed in with a harmony on his old guitar. His fingers danced, absent any fatigue from the frost that covered the land. Whereas Antigone was soft and mellow, Oslowe added the bump, the vivacity, however subtle. At the end of an eight count, he would pluck and dampen the strings for rhythm. Then Mikaelo came in with percussion and then he began to sing.

"Oh I long, oh, how I long," he sang sweetly, "for that meadow by the sea, for the place I once called home. As quaint as it could be. From those days when I was young and I would chase after the sun, how I long for that old green meadow by the sea."

The other Dragons were silent, listening as they closed their eyes.

"How I long, oh how I long," Mikaelo began the second verse. "For that meadow by the trees. That simple place where all was one and nobody sought to see that which loomed off the horizon, but still we kept our peace, how I long for that old green meadow by the trees."

The tune began to carry on the wind, invading the camps of the other Dragons and fellow companies in attendance.

"How I long, dear friends with me," he sang, "For that meadow by the mountains. Bathed in glory and in shadow of stone guardian after mentioned. That safe place where we did stand and never once took back our hands. How I long for that old green meadow by the mount."

Wherever it carried, ear sat silent and listened.

"How I long, oh, how I long, for that meadow by my home," Mikaelo paused and swallowed hard before continuing. "Such a place of want and worry. Where my hat forever hung. Someday soon, shall then stand, before my father given land. My friends, I long, for that old green meadow by my home."

None spoke as Mikaelo stopped his hands, or as Oslowe strummed the last chord, or as Antigone blew that last note on her ocarina. All were still silent as the fire crackled and began to die. Eyes slowly began to flutter open, one-by-one. The eyes of the Dragons fell onto their dying fire, the embers that sat amidst the logs. The snow and night bearing down on them.

"We aren't going to make it, are we?" Fortis finally broke the silence between them gathered there. No one could speak quick enough to catch the Dragon's Giant from beginning to weep. Mikaelo placed a hand on his shoulder and gripped him hard. He was bitting his lower lip hard enough to hold back his own tears.

"No one ever said we'd see those old green meadows again," Meladona said.

"We can still dream," Lief replied. "There is no law saying we cannot dream of those grassy meadows to take us home."

"I fucking hate that song," Dermech said bluntly.

"It's a wonderful song," Antigone said.

"Autoris wrote it fondly thinking of his homeland," Oslowe explained. "It was meant to be a cheery song, one of lasting memories of fonder days than the bleak ones that lie ahead."

"One," Dermech said. "Bleak one that lies ahead."

"Dermech!" Arefel exclaimed kicking at him.

Fortis began to sob.

Dermech shot up from where he stood, taking hold of his spear in his right hand. "What? What, Arefel?" he shot back at her. "What do you want me to do? Forget the fact that we are all that is left? Do you want me to mind my tongue of the truth so Fortis, the strongest brute amongst us, won't weep like a baby for the reality that has finally set in? He has every right to weep! Let us mourn our imminent passing in whatever way we so choose!"

"You go too far, undermining Oslowe," Arefel replied.

"I only speak the truth!" Dermech proclaimed. "Do not paint me as a villian because I choose to mourn myself with anger. We humans are the most fragile of beings, is it any wonder we clad ourselves in armor even in conditions we know it can be detrimental? This doom has been brought down on us, on all of us, you know this to be true!"

"We don't know that for sure," Antigone replied.

"It is hard to swallow, child," Meladona said. "But we can't deny the reality of our dire circumstances. Do you honestly believe the reports are false?"

"I think they have been exaggerated," Antigone replied.

"In the west, in the east, in the Riverlands, Riokuvia, the Storm Reach, The Archon Ilses, The Angel-lands, even in the Elven Imperium, north and south, they are all gone," Mikaelo said placing a secomd hand on Fortis, trying to hold him upright.

"We don't know that for sure," Antigone shouted.

"What would you have us believe, Dermech?" Lief asked. "Would you have us believe in this hopeless situation? Would you let our race fall?"

"I would have us embrace death as we always have," Dermech replied. I would not have us sit idle and fanticize about a future or a past that we cannot have by the next dawn. I would not have us sing songs that would rob us of our very fortitude! I would have us roar."

Lief stood up. "I stand with you, as I always have," he said. "We each stand here, knowing of our fates. Not one of us would cower behind those walls. Why would we? What awaits us behind those structures of stone? We have all seen them fall like dust in a gust of wind." he chuckled. "What use does it matter? For us to be here, to stand outside of those walls is to accept the glorious death we have carried on our backs since our enlistment. I know I am going to die here."

"Then you mourn yourself in silence," Dermech said calming down.

"I don't mourn for myself," Lief said. Of all the hell I have wrought in my short time on this green world, I don't have the luxury to mourn myself. I have made peace."

"I don't want to die," Fortis said through his tears. "I don't want to die, but I know I will!"

Dermech stooped to place a hand on Fortis' shoulder, next to Mikaelo's. "My friend," he said, then paused, realizing he did not have the words. "I am sorry."

"Which is better?" Oslowe asked. "To mourn or to make peace?"

"What does Autoris say?" Meladona asked.

Oslowe searched his thoughts for a moment. "Nothing. Autoris says nothing about them, mouring or making peace."

"No other philosopher or scholar makes an argument of the like?" Mikaelo asked. "Derces, Montis, Aber Rehli?"

Oslowe shook his head. "I don't remember mention of it."

"Then we have reached an impass," Meladona cut in. "Mourn yourselves or make peace, it won't make any difference by the morning."

Dermech sat back down and after a long moment of silence between those Dragons, he spoke again. "We really are the last ones."

"So it would seem," Lief said, again taking his seat next to Arefel.

"Oslowe," Dermech called.

"Yes?" Oslowe replied.

"What songs do you think they would sing of us?" Dermech asked. "Of our people, of our race, what do you think they would sing?"

"I'm not sure," Oslowe replied. "I'm not sure of how well loved we are by the other races."

"They might hate us," Meladona joked. "Might be saying 'good riddance' to our doom."

"Elven and Riokuvin families, as well as even vampirres and were-Wolves have been slaughtered trying to protect us," Arefel said.

"You read that in a report?" Mikaelo asked.

Lief and Arefel nodded. "This world has tried all that it can to keep us here, even while it seems like it is trying all it can to wipe us out."

"That's deep," Dermech said.

Fortis suddenly stopped weeping and found his voice. "I don't want to die," he said. "I don't want to die, but I know I will."

"Fortis, please, you don't have to dwell on it," Mikaelo said.

"No!" Fortis shouted, slamming his clenched fist into the snow. "I refuse to dwell on it! I refuse to be a candle so easily snuffed out! If I am going to die here, I am going to die as I lived, with my warhammer in hand, a fire in my eyes, wine in my belly, and a dragon on my back! I refuse to die any less! I don't care what songs they sing, I don't care what songs we sing to the end! One day, I will stand in the old green meadows and smile. In those meadows, dragons roam, and songs never end."

Mikaelo couldn't help but grin. All the Dragons there did.

"Well said, Fortis," Lief said.

The warm glances shared around the campfire was soon broken by the low horn blast that echoed from behind the walls. Breaths were taken in and held still for what seemed like an eternity before the next blast came. Their faces fell into a mellow shock, an almost disbelief. The second horn blast brought their senses back to them.

Dermech turned his nose up to the sky and sniffed.

"What is it?" Oslowe asked.

"Sulfur," Antigone replied sniffing the air herself. "They are very close."

All around them, outside of the Dragon's camps there was a mad clamor and hurried rush. Captains and commanders shouted orders in tones befitting that of frightened children. Weapons were brandished and lines were beginning to form.

A third horn blast echoed from within the city.

Lief rose first, followed by Arefel and Dermech. Antigone and Meladona soon joined them. All of the Dragons stood, gazing into the fire. Long breaths broke the night air. Squires from a nearby camp ran into their tents, redying their weapons and hoisting banners aloft, never once stopping to watch the stillness each Dragon held around their fires.

A fourth horn blast echoed from within the walls.

"Oh I long, Oh, how I long," Dermech began to sing. "For that meadow by my home."

"Such a place of want and worry," Lief added his voice.

"Where my hat forever hung," Mikaelo added his voice.

The remaining Dragons joined for the final line. "Someday soon, shall then stand, before my father given land. My friends, I long, for that old green meadow by my home."

Once the last note had been sung, Dermech shook his head, wipping the tears from his eyes. "I fucking hate that song."

A fifth horn blast echoed from within the walls.

"Salt," Lief said. "Bring salt and let us prepare."

With a nod, the Dragons all took to action. Squires brought buckets of salt to the inner circle of tents. Whetstones were run along the edges of blades to keen them. Thereafter, each Dragon took their turn bathing their blades and bludgeoning in the salt. The campfires were put out allowing the trees across the valley to become clearer as their eyes adjusted. Even now, they could see the tall trees begin to shake.

There came no sixth horn blast, now the bells began to toll. From within the walls there could be heard alarmed shouts and cries of citizens and peasants, Humans frantically running and baracading themselves within their homes and whatever safe places they could find. The lamps were all put out and windows were boarded up and shut tight, letting no light escape.

"Rally to me! Form up loose!" Lief shouted taking to the field.

The host of three hundred Dragons fastened their armor and took hold of their salt washed weapons. They stood in no lines, nor formation. They spread themselves out in loose clumps. Together they took pace to be just beyond the faint shadow, cast by the stone walls of the city. The other companies and troops of soldiers formed tight ranks or bands, stepping out to about the same distance. Atop the wall, Tenbarge militia stood ready, bows and arrows in hand.

Lief surveyed all of this before turning his attention back to the trees, that shook not so far off. The bells still rung in his ears, but now, the pounding of many heavy steps began to ripple through the crisp air.The very understanding of what approached seized him in fear, he was frozen. His hands began to tremble, his knees became weak. Inside his head it was loud and chaotic, all the things he wanted to say, all of his hopes, his dreams, his fears all clamoring at once to be heard one last time. It was madness!

A deep rooted roar broke him from his trance and he took in a breath as he returned to that frozen valley. He could see them. His company could see them. Coming through the trees were horrifying demons dwarfing the very walls of the city. Each stood at least a story higher than the walls by themselves. These behemoths were scaled and covered in fur. They moved slowly, lumbering through the trees, never once breaking pace or gaining more ground than any other. They came from the depths of the trees, more than a hundred of them. Even Fortis stood no higher than their ankle.

Arefel took hold of Lief's shoulder, biding for his attention. The young Dragon turned to her with a look she had grown all too familiar with. He was afraid, but resolved in his purpose. Of all the things he could be afraid of, those behemoths emerging from the trees were not one of them.

"I love you," she said, taking his head in her hand and pulling it to touch hers.

Lief closed his eyes for a moment and took in a deep breath. "And I love you," he said, letting out the breath.

The two broke their embrace and turned to face their destiny. The Dragons striding beside them, bearing their teeth and claws. The wings of their coats and cloaks beat in the wind as they began their steady advance. No torches graced their rank, they moved in darkness, black dots against the snowy white of the valley.

Lief brandished twin cavalry sabers at his sides. The hilts of which were decorated with engravings of stars and a dragon, each reaching for the brightest star. They had simple etchings on the blade, not reaching past the stock of the blade. Their gentle curve and light wieght forms hung loosely in Lief's hands. A tassel swept about from the pommele. One his back he carried a great sword without a hilt. The blade was double-edged, bound by a leather wrapped handle the length of Lief's forearm.

Arefel carried a spear, the shaft made of a polished and stained oak. The head was long and heavy, detailed with etchings and engravings that resembled scales. Four hands down from the head of the spear sat a cross guard, handle, where she would place her forward hand to thrust. She walked with her head held proudly, her eyes fixed on the lumbering beasts approaching. She eyed and schemed the best place, the easiest places to plunge her spear into their flesh.

Meladona strode with Orgathaul in hand. Fortis carried Band Breaker. Antigone carried her staff, mumbling to herself incantation, every couple moments a light would emit from the trinkets and gems on the halft. Dermech spun his iron shafted spear to sit under his arm as he walked, merciless intent in his eyes. Mikaelo carried a battle ax in one hand, a longsword in the other. On his hips, he carried a number of knives, his prized possessions. Oslowe carried a double headed battle ax and shield.

"When men hear thunder on the battlefield, they run," Dermech shouted.

"Dragons press on without fear," the Dragons replied in a loud chorus.

"When men see the fires of destruction, they cower," Dermech shouted again.

"Dragons bear their teeth and show their courage," the Dragons replied in a loud chorus.

"When men die on the battlefield, their spirit flies to paradise," Dermech shouted.

"Dragons rise again, more terrifying and ravenous before," the Dragons replied.

"Across the countryside," Lief shouted.

"Kingdoms fear the roar of great wyrms!" they replied.

"Across the seas," Lief shouted again.

"They pray our wings never encroach the horizon!" they shouted back.

"Roar!" Meledona shouted.

"Roar!" Fortis shouted.

"Roar!" Arefel shouted.

"Give 'em hell!" Mikaelo shouted.

"Or take 'em there with you!" The Dragons all rang up in a chorus accompanied with the ringing of blade on shields, or tasset, or chestplate.

Starting with those who strode out front, the Dragons began to pick up their stride. Their armor caused them to sink into the snow just a bit, but from a distance, no one would have noticed. Their charge was legendary. They roared like those mythical beasts from their first steps of the charge to the point of collision. Some scribes had sworn by account that they had seen some of the members truly breathe fire upon the land or even fly. The Dragon's company had never held anything other than humans amongst their rank, so these accounts only added to their myth.

"Burn," Lief snapped at himself through gritted teeth.

The Dragons kept their pace, never breaking, only outrunning each other in the loose lines.

"Burn," he snapped at himself again, breaking out from the jog into a run.

Dermech and Arefel pumped their spears forward as they ran. The rest of the Dragons began the pace to keep up with them.

"Burn," he snarled looking up to meet the eyes of the behemoth closing in. Those hungry eyes, full of blood lust.

They made his anger rise with every passing step. Before he knew it, Lief was sprinting, letting a breath with every step it felt like. It had been some time since his last foot charge, not long enough to have quelled that drive in his eyes and the spirit in his step. He charged straight for the behemoth, his kin in tow.

"Burn!" he snarled.

The lines of the Dragons became sparse as they neared, within one hundred yards. At least five behemoths walked within their reach. Aremenius watched from the wall, accompanied by a platoon of archers. The worry stricken looks on their faces were visible only in the torchlight. Fingers trembled on strings with knocked arrows, not a single one drawn.

"Sir, we can't risk a volley, it would catch all of them," the standing Sargent said, his mouth agape.

Armenius felt his own hands begin to tremble. All along the wall, he could hear Sargents and captains calling for archers to knock, draw, and loose, littering the valley with arrows. The other companies marched slowly across the snow, waiting for the behemoths to suffer as many volleys as they could before engaging. That had been the plan. The Dragons hadn't waited.

"Those damned Dragons," Armenius muttered under his chilled breath. "They mean to meet their end so soon!"

"What should we do, sir?" the Sargent asked.

"Hold here," Armenius commanded. "When their lines break, it will be up to the aim of you men to bring these demons down."

"Aye, sir!" the archers rallied.

Armenius stood his ground. H ecould not break his gaze from the Dragons, even as he saw the jaws of the behemoths begin to ignite.

Lief noticed this as well, but did not break stride. "Scatter!" he called out.

The order rang up from voice to voice as the Dragons began to scatter, none of them breaking stride. They broke away from each other, from the wall, they looked like black specks on the white valley. All eyes went up to the jaws of their adversaries, so close now, the stank of sulfur was almost overwhelming. The behemoths swung their heads around, their fur whipping in the wind so high above. From their abdomen, there was visible surging as their aimed down at the charging company and let forth pillars of ash and molten bile.

The behemoths breathed and belched up that foul vomit onto the snow and the Dragon's Company. It was then, the other companies made sense of those loos formations they held. Lief and many others of his kin ran out of the way, dodging the attack, missing it almost entirely. The few that weren't so lucky rang out in pain as the molten bile melted them and eroded them away into piles of liquified flesh and bone and metal. Still, the Dragons charged onward, keeping to their formation. They were almost underneath them, only a few more steps.

"Keep pace, don't break off!" Dermech shouted. "Cut them where you can and rally on the other side!"

Lief never took his eyes off his target. Meladona was the first to make contact, despite the weight of her armor, she had dashed with such a fervor unmatched. She took hold of Orgathaul in both her hands and as she passed under the behemoth, she swung, slashing through the beast's thick flech. There was a spray of the boiling blood and a hissing as it hit the frozen ground, then came the howl from above. The behemoth had been cut. Meladona ran behind the beast with a triumphant grin.

Next came Mikaelo, hacking at the beast's ankles as he dashed by. Then Lief, leaping up with his stride and leaving behind a number of open cuts in the behemoth's flesh. Fortis took a second behemoth, his hammer landing such a strike it was heard around the valley as it cracked the very bone beneath. Arefel drove her spear in between the toes of the first behemoth struck and vaulted over onto it's very foot. Dermech ran past, saving his strike. Oslowe joined Fortis' attack, hacking at the sole of the beasts foot as he passed. Antigone ran on, muttering to herself and holding her staff at the ready.

"Rally together and hold!" Mikaelo shouted. He reached into the pack he carried on his back and drew out an arrow with a tightly bound pocket near the head. A fuze was wound around the shaft of the arrow. He strung a bow from off his back quickly and knocked the arrow. "Ignite!" he shouted.

From across the way, Antigone aimed a singer finger at him. "Tar pus!" she said to herself and a small ball of flame rocketed towards him.

The flame caught the fuze and began to cackle and spark. Mikaelo waited, aiming the arrow high in the air. He waited till the fuze was all but spent, climbing towards the pocket at the head. The arrow flew, soaring up to just above the behemoth's eyes at the three the Dragons had engaged began to turn to face their enemies. Before they could react, the fuze reached the pocket and exploded in brilliantly blinding light. Again, the behemoths cried out from pain.

Armenius and the wall caught this with astonished looks in their eyes.

The old general turned to his Sargent. "Fire! Fire now!" he commanded.

The Sargent turned to his archers on the wall and cried out. "Loose! Rain a volley while they are distracted!"

Finding their courage, the archers turned back to the valley and raised their bows. They let their arrows fly, one volley after another, each arrow finding a resting place in the backs of the turned behemoths.

As the Dragons took a moment to celebrate their momentary triumph, Lief took in the rest of the valley. The other companies had not yet engaged the behemoths, and yet, they grew near to the city. He gritted his teeth, knowing there was nothing he could do to help them now, he had to focus on his own kin. He looked behind him to the treeline,, not too far off. He could just make out the visage of the only thing that could make the pit in his stomach grow, a second wave.

"Dermech!" he said, catching his friend's attention.

The Golden Dragon looked to Lief, who cast his attention to the trees. When Dermech saw the second wave approaching so close, he gritted his teeth and fumed with anger. He turned to his kin. "Oi! Focus, you fucks!" he shouted. "They are still standing, bring them down! Burn them all!"

"Burn!" Lief hollered in response.

"Burn!" the Dragons shouted in reply.

Mikaelo fired another arrow into the sky, Antigone having come to him moments earlier.

"Antigone!" Meladona called.

The two met gazes.

"Take over the signaling from Mikaelo, we need his iron," she said pointing to the trees. "Try what you can to slow down that second wave!"

Antigone and Mikaelo looked to the trees, both of their faces becoming grave with the new threat looming towards them. Antigone snatched the bow from Mikaelo's hands and gave him a hardy smack on the back, forcing him back towards the valley.

"Antigone," he said, stumbling.

"Go, Mikaelo!" she said beginning to move her staff in a ritualistic manner. "You will only get in my way!"

Meladona gave Mikaelo a look before going to join the other Dragons. "Prepare to charge again!" she commanded.

Mikaelo looked back at Antigone. "You better come back to me," he said.

"I'll meet you at the old green valley," she replied.

Mikaelo did not reply, only took in a breath, let slip a grin, then turned to rally with his kin.

The signal shot up was enough to halt the fire from the wall, they had riddled the backs of the behemoths with arrows so full, they almost resembled quills on their backs. The Dragons waited and watched as the behemoths made a full turn, to once again face them. Just before they had made the full move, The order came out.

"Move!" Dermech shouted, and again, they charged.

It was a much shorter distance, but the idea remained the same. As each dragon passed under the legs of the beasts, they hacked and slashed and pummeled away without breaking stride. Some fresh wounds were opened, some old ones were defiled and savaged. All the while, they kept their pace, rallying together on the other side, keeping a weathered eye on the other behemoths nearby.

They started to route and close in. Another volley of ash and molten, unspeakable, pain and death rained down on the Dragons from all sides. They routed and changed direction as best they could, but still a handful would be caught in the attack, it was inevitable. One behemoth had stooped to catch one of the running dragons in his claws. That poor man was lifted high into the air and devoured, mashed between the beasts long and grotesque teeth. Yet, the Dragons fought on.

"One more pass will do it!" Oslowe called from his position on the snow.

They had begun to stagger, the pain inflicted on their feet began to ache and slow them down, even more than they already were. They were fat and slow, but they were powerful, there very steps a thunderclap on the ground. Even so, they could barely support their own weight. One well placed blow would render them immobile. The Dragons' plan was working, slowly, but surly.

Fortis saw them begin to falter. He tightened his grip on his warhammer and shouted as loud as he could. "No! Now! Hammers, charge, bring them down!" Without a second thought, he charged the nearest behemoth.

Arefel ran after him, calling back to the others, "Get under their legs! Watch where they fall!"

The Dragons charged, Fortis in the lead. They rallied behind the other carrying warhammers and mauls and other such weapons of war. Fortis would not let them suffer another pass, he would keep to his honor and bear the name of his weapon before all to see. The others could only fall in line with him, beaming grins on their faces.

Fortis hoisted himself onto the foot of his quarry and ran along the bone. He saw his target, a protrusion, that had not yet broken skin, but it was unmistakable, almost identical to the human anatomy; the ankle. Picking up as much speed behind him as he could, he took Band Breaker in both his hands and wound it back behind his head before swingig it forward as hard as he could, slaming it into the bone, dead on. The momentum carried him off the beast's foot and back onto the snow, but the crack and sunder he heard as he hit the ground was all he could have asked for.

A howl rang up from that behemoth as it's ankle cracked and splintered under the force of Fortis' blow. So painful it was and devastating to the beast that it raised it's injured foot on instinct and lost it's balance. It whined and moaned as it came toppling down, kicking up the snow nearest it's head as a great, thunderous, thud echoed across the battlefield. All paused to take in the sight. Some in shock, others in horror, others in pure awe.

"Pounce!" Arefel shouted, leaping up and using the lodged arrows to hoist herself into the chest of the downed behemoth. She made her way to the center of the chest and without a moment's hesitation, plunged the point of her spear into the beast's flesh.

It was seen from the wall, a magnificent and terrifying sight. After the first came donw, it was only mere moments before the second and third came down beside it. The Dragons climbed their fallen foes and with the furry of all mankind, began to brutally hack and stab away at the behemoths till their bodies were like flowing fountains of blood and ash and flesh. The demons' blood was hot, hotter than any other, hot enough to singe the very fabrics of their trappings, but the Dragon's Company was relentless till they were sure the last breath had escaped their foe.

The numbers of dragons divided themselves as the periphery behemoths came to bear down upon them and hopefully catch them unawares. They acted too quickly to be caught in such an asinine trap. Though their companies had split, the fewer dragons that routed themselves under the coming beasts were easier to avoid the belching up from the foul creatures. They continued the practice, pass after pass till their quarry toppled to the ground.

Antigone stood alone on the snow before the trees and before the second wave. She muttered to herself in the Arcane tongue, conjuring great force of aura behind her words. She moved her staff gracefully, drawing the symbols in the air as she spoke. Chanting over and over the incantation till the very air and ground around her began to glow and light up, till her very essence was visible in light.

Her very glow caught Mikaelo's eyes as he gashed and hacked away at a felled behemoth. A smile spread across his face. "That's our Starlight Dragon," he muttered to himself. "My starlight."

Antigone opened her eyes and let the power flow from her and rush over the ground, soaking deep into the very bedrock. With a gesture, the earth began to rise like a wall up before her. It rose high and reached long down the treeline, obscuring the second wave from the Dragon's Company. The wall was thick, enough to hold back an army if needed, even Antigone did not know how long it would last against those coming beasts. She placed her staff in the ground and held her hands up to the wall, feeding it her very will to survive as strength.

"Rally to me!" Dermech shouted. "To me!"

The Dragons dismounted their fallen quarry and rallied to their comrade. Five more of the demon behemoths stood before them, unchecked and unchallenged. A quick glance around the valley betrayed the reality that the other companies were not as successful as the Dragons had been. Whether they lacked the nerve or resolve was not their concern, they had their enemy yet before them. Mikaelo noticed something that suddenly gave him cause for concern. Two of the five had begun to change direction, almost without a thought towards the wall, towards Antigone.

"We need to move now!" he shouted. "They are making for Antigone!"

Lief took off through the snow, followed closely behind by Arefel. "Split the company, keep their attention on Tenbarge!"

"Aye, stand with me, to the ugly one on the left!" Fortis shouted setting off with a portion of the troops.

"Which ugly one, you oaf?" Meladona scoffed. "They are all hideous!" She broke away with a platoon towards the right.

"Keep it tight, drakes," Dermech shouted overhead, joining the charge with Lief.

"Mikaelo, don't go off alone!" Oslowe shouted, running after the Grinning Wyrm.

The Dragons had split their forces, but not their might. Even in that first encounter with the three now lying dead upon the snow, they had lost a fifth of their total number. Somewhere deep in the backs of their heads, that weighed on them, but they refused to let it slow them now. They couldn't afford to. Too much hung in the balance.

- -

That night, Armenius watched from the walls. He must have walked around those stones a dozen times before he finally stood before descending to the streets. Tenbarge did not look as it had hours ago. He walked down the road, leading to the citadel. All was quiet, even beyond the wall, he could barely hear the chaos, only the howl of the wind.

He stood before the statue of Marcellus Parish, the founder of the city, the Tamer of the North. A friend to angels and men, a bane to beasts and barbary. How proudly his face was, caked in snow and soot. The statue had stood for centuries, longer than the walls of the city had stood. A reminder of what the kingdom of Men was capable of.

It seemed so far off now. Armenius fell to his knees and wept before his forefather. Armed soldiers ran about the square, making for the wall, for the gates, for the snowy fields beyond the city. None stopped to acknowledge the commander there. Their minds were set to their destinies, to their tasks. There was nothing left to do.

"Send word to raise the gates!" one soldier took another to the side. "You send word to all the gates to open. Those men and women need us out there!"

The young boy nodded and sprinted off, making for the gates.

"What are we to do against those things out there?" another soldier asked in a panic.

"Whatever we can!" the soldier replied. "I won't wait any longer to die behind these walls while our brothers and sisters re dying out there! Who is with me?"

A clamour went up as the soldiers rallied, then broke and made for the gates. They weren't armed like those outside, but they were fresh. Frozen to the bone, but burning with a hope, a flickering hope. Something so common in humans. Even if it was unlikely, the thought of running away had left them all but entirely.

"Damned fools," Armenius said through his tears.

He drew out his sword and pointed it at his own gut. He pressed the point against him, feeling it's sharp edge through the chain mail and the leather. Through his tears and gritted teeth, he watched the fires rising from over the walls in the reflection of the blade. It only filled him with more sorrow. His hands began to shake violently. Almost to the point of loosing his grip.

Before he could, he mustered what remained of his senses and drove the sword through himself, the point protruding from his back, having pierced through his innards. He coughed up blood and slumped forward. He did not remove his sword, but laid there as blood seeped from both sides. No one stopped to examine his body, or lend their aid. Children took up wood cutting axes and pitchforks, women took up cooking knives and tilling hoes and passed by him, making for the gates. So marched the last citizens of Tenbarge to the tolling of the bells.

- -

Fortis brought the head of Band Breaker down on the eye of one of the Behemoths. The sray that followed was vile and gelatinous, but that didn't stop him from crying out in a hard fought victory. He and his small group that remained hopped back down to the snow and made their way to Mikaelo and Oslowe, who ducked and dodged against one that had taken to swinging it's claws at them.

"Charge!" Fortis called, picking up his own speed.

Hammers cracked bone, axes cleaved flesh, and swords pierces tendons as the next behemoth fell to it's knees. As it swiped at the dragons again, it's wounds caused it to cry out and wail. Another heard it and turned to aid. That felled one began to fall forward, face first to the snow. The dragons scattered. They ran to the sides in order to avoid being crushed.

Before he had made it, Oslowe tripped on a root under the snow. He fell flat on his face. The behemoth didn't move to catch itself. It was going to crush Oslowe.

Mikaelo had made it out of harms way, then he caught his friend's blunder. "Oslowe!" he called out, sprinting to reach him. He was knocked to the side, hitting the ground hard.

Oslowe turned over and watched as the behemoth's breast fell to crush him. He panted and scrambled, but there was no escaping on his own. He was so frantic, too disoriented. Just before he anticipated the crushing weight, he curled up and held himself to the ground. He whispered a small prayer, seeing the faces of his comrades, wishing them well and good fortune, hoping to see them in the next life. He embraced his death. But it never came in that moment, only a grunt like that of an ox.

Mikaelo found his senses and looked to the collapsed form of the behemoth, expecting the worst, but his eyes suddenly lit up with relief. Oslowe looked up to find Fortis standing over him, bearing the weight of the behemoth on his shoulders and back. The strain was shown on his face, but Fortis would not let himself give in.

"Fortis!" Oslowe exclaimed.

"Hurry up and move," he replied through gritted teeth. "This isn't exactly light."

"Right, right, thank you!" Oslowe said crawling through what little space remained for him to make such a move. "You'll follow me out, yes?"

"Right behind you!" Fortis shouted and jerked.

Oslowe crawled all the way out from beneath the behemoth. Mikaelo was there to help drap him out the rest of the way. Fortis was not right behind him. Fortis had not yet moved. He couldn't move. Through his cries and the noise in his head, Oslowe did not hear the loud snaps that folowed when Fortis took the full weight of the felled beast. His legs had both broken, only his grieves and tassets held him upright.

"Fortis, come on!" Mikaelo shouted into the opening.

"Right behind you!" they heard him call back.

Moments passed, but still he did not show himself. The dragons breathed heavily, looking on with wild expressions, waiting, but Fortis never came.

"Fortis?" Oslowe called.

"Fortis!" Mikaelo shouted moving towards the opening.

"Right behind you!" they heard his voice come again, softer than the last.

"You already said that, are you injured?" Mikaelo called. Moments passed of silence. "Fortis!"

Before the mightiest of the Dragons could respond, the gnarled foot of another behemoth came down on the back of the other, plunging it deep, straight through, crushing bone and entrails and all that lay beneath. All eyes looked up in horror, while Mikaelo was knocked back from the opening.

"Fortis!" he shouted frantically, but Fortis could not hear him, not anymore.

Meladona hacked into the foot of another behemoth not so far off, still close enough to see, and close enough to hear the cry for a fallen friend. She watched as the behemoth drew it's foot up from the corpse of the other, dripping with blood. She saw Mikaelo and Oslowe scramble up and back, calling out for Forits, but no reply came.

"That damned oaf," she muttered to herself as her heart began to sink.

"Meladona!" Lief's voice came before his prescience.

Meladona felt Lief collide into her, knocking her to the ground, just in time to miss a claw sweeping past them. Lief rolled off of her and got to his knees before he turned to help her up.

"Don't drop your guard," he said clasping forearms with her and helping her to her feet.

"Fortis is dead," she said looking him in the face."

Lief paused and looked towards the felled behemoth. "How do you know?"

"I know Lief, I just know," she replied brandishing Orgathaul.

Lief swallowed hard. "We'll sing a song for him when the night is over."

Meladona took in a deep breath and reached out to touch him. When he turned to meet her gaze, she hesitated. She had often feared looking into those eyes. The moment their eyes locked lasted far too long, and Meladona knew it. She reached back behind his head and brought it to hers. Before they touched, she turned her chin up and kissed the top of his head. Lief was speechless.

Meladona pulled away a moment later and took one last look at his eyes. "I'll see you when the night is over."

She took off, running passed him to engage the nearest behemoth to her. She rallied with Dermech and Arefel. The three exchanged no words, but leapt up onto the foot of their quarry. Meladona hacked and stabbed, plunging Orgathaul deeper and deeper into the beast's flesh. She kept her eyes forward, never looking back, never looking to the side. As she moved from place to place, rallying and charging, she would not see anything but the beast she meant to slay.

She charged, followed by a group of other dragons, Arefel had gone off with Dremech to a behemoth that had begun to close in. She found her target, soft flesh between the toes. While the rest of her party ran on through, she dove between the clawed toes and drove Orgathaul into that soft tissue, the spray was so hot, it scolded her flesh and singed her clothes, it even began to melt her armor. Some of the blood had splattered into her eyes and she fell out from between the toes.

She forced herself to her feet and wipped the blood from her eyes as best she could, tossing her gloves to the ground. What greeted her gaze was Lief, striding across the snow towards her. Behind him, she could see a claw coming for him, sweeping and closing in fast.

She opened her mouth to scream, but before the words came, Arefel leapt out of her perifery and tackled Lief to the ground. Before the words could come out, she lost her breath and felt her body propelled up, only to come crashing down.

Lief scrambled up to see Meladona lying on the snow, missing her whole left side. The snow was streaked with the red of her blood. Arefel pulled him to his feet. And smacked him across the face to grab hold of his senses.

"Lief, Lief!" she called to him. He finally met her gaze. Her worry stricken eyes filled with water. "We have to keep going. She would smack you if you let yourself get killed because you are losing focus!"

"They are dying, Arefel!" Lief replied.

"We all knew what could happen!" she shot back. "You knew what could happen, but you led us here anyways! We know what we must do! The night isn't over!"

Lief took her hands and pulled her into a kiss. "To the end of the night, he said, pulling away from the kiss quickly.

She nodded and looked hard at him. "To the end of the night."

"Dermech!" Lief called. "Rally the Dragons to me, we have to keep them off Antigone!"

Dermech heard the call and turned to nod. "Rally to Lief! To Lief!"

The Dragon came from their scattered positions on the snow. Four Behemoths remained on their side of the wall Antigone had erected, maybe fifty Dragons still stood amongst them. Lief didn't even glance over his shoulder to count, knowing that he would see the other companies and their condition. He didn't need to look back, he could feel the cold creeping up his shoulders. The dread was all too real in his nerves.

"Burn!" Lief shouted.

"Burn!" Arefel shouted.

"Burn!" Dermech shouted.

"Burn, the dragons shouted as they charged again, breaking up their lines and making for their quarry. Mikaelo and Oslowe joined the charge with their group as quickly as they could. Their cries ringing up with their brothers and sisters. As they had done so many times before, they charged through, cutting, hacking, and hammering at their feet, routing, then charging again. They would not let up, they would not fold, no matter how many of them fell. Not until the end of the night.

Antigone felt the crushing blow after blow as the second wave bore down on her wall. It had held, but just barely. The second wave was beginning to through itself against the wall itself, knowing that it would not hold against their very weight. She stood in a sweat, panting, having poured most of her energy into maintain that wall. She was reaching her limits.

Mikaelo caught a glance of her as a claw stuck it's way through, the menacing points coming mere inches from Antigone. He broke from the pack and dashed towards her. Oslowe took to his heels, trying to keep up, but Mikaelo was much faster than he was.

"Mikaelo, stay with the company!" Oslowe called.

"I'm bringing Antigone back! They have almost broken through," he called back.

Just then, A blast of molten bile splashed down beside Mikaelo, sending him flying to the side, his right arm burned from the impact. He cried out in pain as Oslowe reached him and drug him away. The behemoth pursued the two as they scrambled to get away. Oslowe took his friend to the only safe cover there was on the field, the corpse of the felled behemoth what crushed Fortis.

Oslwe threw Mikaelo down amongst the bile and blod, even mixing with the snow, it was warm to the touch. It melted everything around it, right down to the soil. Mikaelo and Oslowe took cover as the behemoth began to circle them. There was no way out. They had their backs up against a wall of burning flesh.

"Damnit, Oslowe," Miakelo panted, clutching his burned arm.

"What was I to do?" Oslowe shot back.

Mikaelo kicked him weakly. "I'm kidding, you mad fuck," he said looking at the beast. "We can't stay here."

"Where are we to go?" Oslwe asked. "It's covering our only exit."

Mikaelo looked at the wall of flesh to his back. After a brief moment, her rose to his feet, absent a help and began tearing off his armor. "Give me an axe!

Oslowe handed him the small hand axe he held on his belt. "What are you doing?"

"Making us a door," he said hacking and digging his fingers into the flesh of the corpse.

"Are you crazy?" Oslowe questioned.

"Glad you are finally catching on, friend," Mikaelo replied stepping into the flesh, hissing at the burning. The smell was revolting, it almost made his vomit, but he dug his way into the chest cavity. "Come on, Oslowe!"

Oslowe looked and saw the behemoth beginign to build up another wellspring of molten bile in it's jaws. He looked back to the opening Mikaelo had gashed and took in a deep breath. He jumped in just in time to miss the splashdown. When he entered the cavity, he did throw up., tissue brushed past his face, he couldn't take it.

"There went your dinner," Mikaelo said, continuing his grotesque work.

"This is mad!" Oslowe replied.

"And don't you fucking forget it!" Mikaelo said, then he began to sing. "Fallen away from good hallowed mornings, shall I bend the days of an old manner's grove. Shall I brave away to the burning soot farthings, for I cannot be home, till my duty is done!"

"Singing?" Oslowe called, stepping up to him. "At a time like this?"

There came a sizzle and a cracking noise from above them, but still Mikaelo hacked on, pushing and clawing his way through to his jovial tune. Oslowe looked up to see the layers of flesh being ripped away. The whole cavity shook and jostled about as he tried to keep his barrings. Molten bile seeped in from above, ripping apart the fleshy roof. Mikaelo could see tell he was close, closer and closer he came with each swing and each hack, but even his fingers were beginig to sieze up from the pain.

"Mikaaelo," Oslowe called out. He got no response. "Mikaelo!"

"I'm going to see her, Oslowe," Mikaelo called back. "I'm going to see my Starlight at the Old Green Meadow and no fucking demon is going to fucking stop me!"

Oslowe leapt across the cavity, just in time for it to break open and let forth a pool of molten bile drown him in pain and anguish. The pool overtook the cavity and slammed into Mikaelo's back, eating away at his very flesh. The pain was unimaginable. He cried out as hie forced his hand through the outer layer of skin and breathed the clean air one last time. His head and arm hung scorched from the flesh.

Antigone turned at Mikaelo's cry of pain at breaking through the skin. Her heart hit the cold, unforgiving ground when she saw him hanging out of the skin like an insect trying to escape. She screamed and cried out, knowing that he would not respond, but desperately wanting to hear that sarcastic and musical tone one last time. She took her mind completely off the wall holding back the enemy. That was all it took.

One monstrous hand broke through the wall and enclosed it's clawed fingers around Antigone like a cage. She could not react in time to escape, or cast a spell to give her an opening, before she knew it, the claws were digging into her skin, plunging themselves deep into her flesh. She squirmed and twisted before she heard and felt her bones breaking under the pressure. The pressure became so great she lost her breath and could not get it back.

Moments later Dermech watched as blood splurt from in between the behemoth's fingers. A moment later, the ice wall came crumbling down. The second wave was upon them. The Dragon's had held out as best they could, but there was little they could do now.

"We need to fall back!" Dermech shouted. "The second wave has broken through!"

A behemoth fell to it's knees, but then proceeded to catch itself with it's hands. It reached down with it's neck and snatched up one of the dragons with it's teeth. The dragon howled in pain and struck at it's teeth before being chomped in half. The behemoth reached down to snag another, but instead was met by Dermech's hardened gaze and resolved spear.

As it brought it's teeth down to chomp, Dermech lodged the spear in between, to prevent it from closing down. The Golden Dragon held onto his spear as the behemoth reared back in pain. He held tight, standing in the jaws of the beast itself. He gritted his teeth and pounded his chest.

"Come on, then," he shouted. "Fucking eat me! Fucking burn me! You're fucking with Dermech of the Dragon's Company! If I die, I'm taking you with me!"

"Dermech, get out of there!" Arefel called up to him.

In it's flurry, the behemoth swung it arms forward, trying to lift itself up. Arefel dug the end of her spear into the soil and braced for impact. Her spear head pierced it's flesh, but the pressure against her arms suddenly rang out a sharp popping sound. Arefel screamed and fell to her knees. The shaft of her spear shattered in her hands, splintering them. Moments later, she couldn't feel them.

"Damnit!" Dermech said to himself. He punched one of the beast's teeth until it was loose enough to pry free. He drove it into it's tongue and kicked it down into his lower jaw. He roared, overcome with rage.

There was a whine, then a lurch, then the shaft of Dermech's iron spear broken in half. Dermech was crushed by the teeth, but the point of his spear plunged upwards, piercing the behemoth's brain, so as Dermech disappeared behind the teeth, the behemoth fell forward, collapsing dead onto the snow.

Lief watched it all happen, even as he drug Arefel's bleeding and broken body from the battlefield. The Dragon's were in a full retreat. A gaping wound in Arefel's side oozed blood, a stray claw had caught her when she lost her spear and dislocated both her arms. She shivered in the cold and murmured to herself.

"Stay quiet, Arefel," lief said. "Don't say anything. Save your strength! We are going to make it! We are all going to make it!"

He made it just beyond the camps outside of the walls before he finally stopped to hold her. He held her close and placed his hands over her wound, trying to stop the blood. She hissed at the cold and at the pain. The color was fading quickly from her cheeks.

"Arefel, stay with me, please, stay with me!" Lief pleaded. "We'er going home, remember, to the Old Green Meadow. I promised I'd take you there. We can retire, we can put our swords away, we can be together, remember?"

Arefel said nothing, she couldn't even raise her hand to touch his face.

"Look at me, look at me, Arefel!" Lief continued as the remaining handful of Dragons began to rally near him. "Stay warm, think about it, we're all going. You, me, Dermech, Fortis, Mikaelo, Meladona, all of us. Mikaelo is going to finally court Antigone. It will be warm and beautiful. You and I will get married and the wedding will be beautiful, just what you deserve, a beautiful wedding, isn't that what you want? Arefel? Isn't that what you want?"

Lief didn't realize that he had been pleading with a corpse until it was too late. Arefel had died with her eyes fluttered open, gazing up into his eyes. Tears ran down her cold cheeks, but no more would follow. She was gone. She had lost far too much blood, the trail was visible proof.

Lief couldn't bring himself to let her go, or even close her eyes. The dragons that remained had to pry him from her body and close her eyes for him. They laid her gently down and folded her arms over her chest. Only after she had been settled did Lief approach. He fell to his knees and reached down to brush the long dark locks from her face. He left one last kiss upon her lips nd rose, hot tears in his eyes.

"Till the end of the night, huh?" he said looking up with sollemn and hateful eyes at the approaching host. They were so close.

Arrows flew once again from the walls. They didn't slow the Behemoths, only angered and annoyed them. The archers of Tenbarge knocked, drew, and loosed, arrow after arrow, relentlessly, without any sign of slowing down. All around the city, the behemoth's were almost upon the walls. The citizens that had rallied within took to the walls if they had not made it outside and braced for them.

Lief drew Dark Storm from his back and took in long breaths, testing the weight of the blade against what strength he had left. There were so many of them left, there was no way to beat them all, much less one more. The city couldn't withstand them. All this he knew, all this he felt, but his heart did not sink in his chest. He could only feel the beat of it, the rest of himself was numb or absent.

He took in one more breath and then began to walk towards the oncoming behemoths.

"Burn," he muttered to himself.

As arrows rained down, sticking into their flesh and the ground around them, Lief began to charge, followed by the last of the Dragons, not a look of fear on their faces. Even as a stray arrow took one of them down, or a blast of molten bile engulfed them, they charged on.

Lief would not be stopped. "Burn," he muttered to himself.

He took Dark Storm in his mouth and once he reached the nearest behemoth, he began to climb, using the arrows stuck into the very flesh as lifts to carry him up. Whomever made it that far followed suit, carrying themselves up. The climb was treacherous, the behemoths fought back, but somehow, Lief and his dragons would not be felled so quickly or easily.

To the shock and awe of all who watched from the wall, Lief made it all the way up to the neck of the behemoth he scaled. He alone remained, the Lone Dragon clung to an arrow and the flesh of a behemoth. He took Dark Storm from his teeth and hacked and slashed away at the neck of the beast, blood bursting forth like a fountain. His attacks were wild and random, splitting tissue where he could, wounding wherever he could land a blow.

The blood washed over him, so hot it began to melt the metal of his armor and burn his flesh, but he kept on hacking, forcing himself through the pain till his whole body flet white hot. His once glorious armor melted and ran over him now molten, the burn was far too painful to endure any longer.

Dark Storm fell from his clutches, sticking up from the snowy field below. A few moments later, Lief lost his grip and began to plummet from the beast's neck. The cold air of the blizzard coole his armor so quickly it became fixed in a singular position. Lief's last breath left his lungs before he hit the ground.

Armenius lay bleeding on the corner till the first behemoth peeked it's head over the walls. He had no words left in those last few breaths. Only regrets. He closed his eyes on Tenbarge and the city closed it's eyes that night, buried under fire, ash, and blood.