The mist covers the valley The warrior king clad in armour blue leather streaks of silver The crest on his chest, A dark Z Zandikor, the eternal light The horses whinied, the skys violet Thick with ash of war and pain Her, in black leather, hair pinned Sweet scent of cherry blossom on wind The battle maiden, mistress of war “it begins” deep guttral his voice a suprise to even he, she nods “Another nightmare Koraki?” Tightens her gauntlets and readies the bow Is it? He wonders silent, bodies all around “War, constant in my head I fight.” “War, Koraki, it is real. We both fight.” “Where are you? With me?” She shoots, her target struck in the heart
“Waste no time, Damien, the day draws.”
“Sora?!” She runs into the fray
Sora the day draws and night ends Lady of shadows my life I spend Seeking your soul’s mortal shell If you are out there say you are well Here I am waiting, waiting Aniya My troubled moon find me soon
“It was a vast burning field where no flowers grew blood covered the embers where no bodies were strewn
Who could do this to a land that committed no crime a place that had peace In a time before time” Anika describing the devastation Arajuan caused through out Aldaria
That morning Anika awoke as the sun peeked into her tent. With the darkness gone the sun beamed the brightest she had ever seen. Only a slight trace of sulfur was on the wind much to her relief. She sat up, her stomach had a dull ache, but her legs healed except for scars on the back of them. Her shoulder where Arajuan gripped her had no wound at all. She had fallen asleep in her travel armor, so she did not need to dress. She left her tent, found Tarnink was already up and had prepared a fire.
Tarnink pulled out a pack of food and handed it to her. She tried to eat but her stomach felt numb. The food just sat and rotted. She tossed the food away from her in frustration.
“Arajuan, that vile beast, he is trying to starve me to death,” she exclaimed. Continue reading →
The march was a three-month journey, a winter season. Early on the surroundings had been snow-covered. Now patches of flowers peaked from the ground. The capital was to the north-west of Lenagard, the land of the elves. A trail of destruction lay behind them. They had avoided the cities, but the forests were soaked in blood rain mixed with melted winter snow. The icy wet drips fell off the trees and clawed down Arajuan’s back. He shuddered from the cold. The unit was close now; a stench of dragons wafted on the wind. Arajuan was one of the few who could distinguish dragon blood, that made him invaluable to the emperor.