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Fall, 1391
“The dragon hit us again at Rotagen. Forty-seven died this time. When our reinforcements came the next day, they found that all the corpses had been burned. They were also missing their arms and legs. The dragon tortured them. Made them suffer heinously before they died.”
Majordomo Roland scanned the message for any additional information. It was all depressingly familiar. He read some iteration of the message as often as once a week for the last ten years. Besides him, the Lord of the Earth idly tapped on his throne with his good hand. The great ogre lord had never recovered from his fight with the dragon. Shattered, his right arm failed to heal properly despite the ministrations of the best healers in the cult and hung uselessly by his side. Widesytdrek’s walking limp was also now far more pronounced, and he now breathed very heavily from deeper, inner wounds during that engagement. The ogre’s cold, cruel humor however remained undiminished: Roland sensed bemusement from beneath his lord’s cracked dragonskull mask, a kintsugi now held together with crocoite steel nails and golden bands.
“Thank you majordomo, that will be all.” The Lord of the Earth casually dismissed the report with a flick of his wrist.
“Morale is flagging. We have to go after the Stanton Dragon.” Roland pushed.
“No.”
The majordomo was taken aback.
“But sir, we’ve lost some eight hundred members since this intifada began, nearly a hundred this past month alone.
“Increase recruiting drives, offer more incentives to the garrison commanders, tell our followers to avoid the lower Piedmont.” The Lord of the Earth shrugged, before adding: “I do not want the creature dead.”
“Why?” Roland hissed. “Does this not violate the very tenets of our faith?”
At that the cultist leader laughed.
“I will tell you this secret: this thing between the dragon and myself is a game. The dragon is beaten badly and it is desperately trying to cause me to misstep, to cause enough devastation for me to respond and go after him. That would show that in some way that he could still harm me. But I am too smart for that overgrown lizard. We have the resources; we are still great in strength and power, while it is just a sad broken creature that only has its offspring and this vendetta to continue with his life.” The Lord tapped his skull helm, its brittle hollowness echoing through the chamber.
“I want it to be old and weak when our cult finally raids its lair and deposits the heads of its children besides him. Ahhh. That anguish would be utter euphoria for me, wherever I may happen to be. Let the creature live, and let it suffer.”
“Our people are suffering as well.” Roland reminded his god.
“They asked for the blessings of the Lord of the Earth, and he has blessed them with the sweet embrace of death.”
The majordomo frowned, but bowed as he always did. “As my lord wills it.”
***
In the darkness of night that is the extreme early morning, two dozen cloaked figures assembled at a storage room. In the dim light of flickering candles, the murmur of the small crowd drifted like a slow wave.
“The Lord of the Earth has gone insane.” One of the figures declared. “He plays this game with the dragon, while our people suffer and lack direction. The faith is slowly crumbling unless we stop this bleeding.”
“He is the prophet of our faith. He is the one that directed us out of the darkness.” Another cloaked figure replied.
“It has been twenty years. The Lord of the Earth has made no new prophecies, called for no new ideas, given us no new directions, nothing since the dragon attack on Kavi. The dragon corrupted the Lord of the Earth.”
“We must continue to have faith.”
“What prophet sacrifices his flock?”
In the front the leader of the assembly abruptly silenced the mutterings by raising his arm into the air. Then he removed his hood. Roland gazed before the crowd of shadowy figures and nodded.
“The Lord of the Earth has outlived his usefulness. If he continues ruling us the Miscabbards will be destroyed.”
The concave muttered, but finally seemed to reach agreement.
“What should we do?” Someone eventually asked.
“We must remove him.”
“None of us are powerful enough to take down the Lord of the Earth, even in his crippled state. It would take a dozen men to just take down an ogre, even without facing the zealots.”
“That is a good question. I think we need the support of almost all of the crusaders, but that almost certainly risks alerting the Lord of the Earth to our plans.”
The conspirators went silent.
“What about the lord’s slave?” One of the figures finally asked. “What about Yelkcub?”
“She’s a broken beast.” Roland shook his head. “She won’t rise against her master.”
“Would she not?”
A hush fell over the entire room, that question hanging over the head of the plotters.
Finally Roland put on his horned helm and grabbed his war scythe.
“It’s worth trying.”
***
A few nights later the cabalists casually descended the Stairway of the Damned and entered the dungeon, the guards having already been replaced with like-minded plotters. Bearing torches, Roland and the others headed towards the first cell on the level. The cultist in front suddenly stopped, turning to their leader.
“Will she listen to us?”
Roland nodded, but waved his scythe. “I think she’ll be eager. If not we’ll just kill her and say she died of despair.”
“Understood.”
“Open it.”
The heavy chains cranked as the portcullis was slowly lifted. Roland stepped into the dark and musty cell, filled with the smell of blood and rot and decay.
And fear. The tangible taste of fear pervaded through the room.
In the corner huddled a large figure, trying to look small despite towering over the Miscabbard majordomo. Roland nodded and smiled. He could work with this.
“Yelkcub.” The human called out as he approached.
The figure shuddered, but avoided eye contact.
“Yelbcub. Look up at the Majordomo of Kavi.”
Slowly, apprehensively, the imprisoned creature looked up, the chains on her collar and shackles clinking as she turned. Yelkcub was a distorted mockery of all that appeared to be a dragon. Her copper scales were darkened and dull, as if all the energy had been rubbed out of it. Her horns were worn and chalky and drooped upon her head as if liable to fall out altogether. Most frightening however were her eyes: tiny and lifeless and cold.
The imprisoned wyrm shuddered at Roland’s approach. “W…Wha…what do you want from me.”
Yelkcub knew Auxian. The Lord of the Earth had beat that into her so that all humans could see that the dragon was broken.
Roland smiled. He knelt before the chained and tortured beast, who shied before his presence.
“We want to free you.”
The Hunchback of Notre Dame - Hellfire
From
evvonic!
“The dragon hit us again at Rotagen. Forty-seven died this time. When our reinforcements came the next day, they found that all the corpses had been burned. They were also missing their arms and legs. The dragon tortured them. Made them suffer heinously before they died.”
Majordomo Roland scanned the message for any additional information. It was all depressingly familiar. He read some iteration of the message as often as once a week for the last ten years. Besides him, the Lord of the Earth idly tapped on his throne with his good hand. The great ogre lord had never recovered from his fight with the dragon. Shattered, his right arm failed to heal properly despite the ministrations of the best healers in the cult and hung uselessly by his side. Widesytdrek’s walking limp was also now far more pronounced, and he now breathed very heavily from deeper, inner wounds during that engagement. The ogre’s cold, cruel humor however remained undiminished: Roland sensed bemusement from beneath his lord’s cracked dragonskull mask, a kintsugi now held together with crocoite steel nails and golden bands.
“Thank you majordomo, that will be all.” The Lord of the Earth casually dismissed the report with a flick of his wrist.
“Morale is flagging. We have to go after the Stanton Dragon.” Roland pushed.
“No.”
The majordomo was taken aback.
“But sir, we’ve lost some eight hundred members since this intifada began, nearly a hundred this past month alone.
“Increase recruiting drives, offer more incentives to the garrison commanders, tell our followers to avoid the lower Piedmont.” The Lord of the Earth shrugged, before adding: “I do not want the creature dead.”
“Why?” Roland hissed. “Does this not violate the very tenets of our faith?”
At that the cultist leader laughed.
“I will tell you this secret: this thing between the dragon and myself is a game. The dragon is beaten badly and it is desperately trying to cause me to misstep, to cause enough devastation for me to respond and go after him. That would show that in some way that he could still harm me. But I am too smart for that overgrown lizard. We have the resources; we are still great in strength and power, while it is just a sad broken creature that only has its offspring and this vendetta to continue with his life.” The Lord tapped his skull helm, its brittle hollowness echoing through the chamber.
“I want it to be old and weak when our cult finally raids its lair and deposits the heads of its children besides him. Ahhh. That anguish would be utter euphoria for me, wherever I may happen to be. Let the creature live, and let it suffer.”
“Our people are suffering as well.” Roland reminded his god.
“They asked for the blessings of the Lord of the Earth, and he has blessed them with the sweet embrace of death.”
The majordomo frowned, but bowed as he always did. “As my lord wills it.”
***
In the darkness of night that is the extreme early morning, two dozen cloaked figures assembled at a storage room. In the dim light of flickering candles, the murmur of the small crowd drifted like a slow wave.
“The Lord of the Earth has gone insane.” One of the figures declared. “He plays this game with the dragon, while our people suffer and lack direction. The faith is slowly crumbling unless we stop this bleeding.”
“He is the prophet of our faith. He is the one that directed us out of the darkness.” Another cloaked figure replied.
“It has been twenty years. The Lord of the Earth has made no new prophecies, called for no new ideas, given us no new directions, nothing since the dragon attack on Kavi. The dragon corrupted the Lord of the Earth.”
“We must continue to have faith.”
“What prophet sacrifices his flock?”
In the front the leader of the assembly abruptly silenced the mutterings by raising his arm into the air. Then he removed his hood. Roland gazed before the crowd of shadowy figures and nodded.
“The Lord of the Earth has outlived his usefulness. If he continues ruling us the Miscabbards will be destroyed.”
The concave muttered, but finally seemed to reach agreement.
“What should we do?” Someone eventually asked.
“We must remove him.”
“None of us are powerful enough to take down the Lord of the Earth, even in his crippled state. It would take a dozen men to just take down an ogre, even without facing the zealots.”
“That is a good question. I think we need the support of almost all of the crusaders, but that almost certainly risks alerting the Lord of the Earth to our plans.”
The conspirators went silent.
“What about the lord’s slave?” One of the figures finally asked. “What about Yelkcub?”
“She’s a broken beast.” Roland shook his head. “She won’t rise against her master.”
“Would she not?”
A hush fell over the entire room, that question hanging over the head of the plotters.
Finally Roland put on his horned helm and grabbed his war scythe.
“It’s worth trying.”
***
A few nights later the cabalists casually descended the Stairway of the Damned and entered the dungeon, the guards having already been replaced with like-minded plotters. Bearing torches, Roland and the others headed towards the first cell on the level. The cultist in front suddenly stopped, turning to their leader.
“Will she listen to us?”
Roland nodded, but waved his scythe. “I think she’ll be eager. If not we’ll just kill her and say she died of despair.”
“Understood.”
“Open it.”
The heavy chains cranked as the portcullis was slowly lifted. Roland stepped into the dark and musty cell, filled with the smell of blood and rot and decay.
And fear. The tangible taste of fear pervaded through the room.
In the corner huddled a large figure, trying to look small despite towering over the Miscabbard majordomo. Roland nodded and smiled. He could work with this.
“Yelkcub.” The human called out as he approached.
The figure shuddered, but avoided eye contact.
“Yelbcub. Look up at the Majordomo of Kavi.”
Slowly, apprehensively, the imprisoned creature looked up, the chains on her collar and shackles clinking as she turned. Yelkcub was a distorted mockery of all that appeared to be a dragon. Her copper scales were darkened and dull, as if all the energy had been rubbed out of it. Her horns were worn and chalky and drooped upon her head as if liable to fall out altogether. Most frightening however were her eyes: tiny and lifeless and cold.
The imprisoned wyrm shuddered at Roland’s approach. “W…Wha…what do you want from me.”
Yelkcub knew Auxian. The Lord of the Earth had beat that into her so that all humans could see that the dragon was broken.
Roland smiled. He knelt before the chained and tortured beast, who shied before his presence.
“We want to free you.”
The Hunchback of Notre Dame - Hellfire
From
evvonic!
Category Artwork (Digital) / Fantasy
Species Western Dragon
Size 2146 x 1717px
File Size 3.32 MB
You are a bit hazy, but mostly correct. They were there, but not much longer afterwards: https://www.furaffinity.net/view/42937014/ https://www.furaffinity.net/view/39040697/
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