Blood Immortal
Chapter Fourteen

Raiding Chevirith

The voyage to Lar’a’dos was indeed long and treacherous. During the six weeks of journeying southwest, the armada experienced numerous, horrendous thunderstorms. Since the prince had warned Earamathras of the deadly hydra he’d faced while sailing with his former comrades, he made sure to occasionally fly above his fleet and protect them in case an atrocious sea monster attacked.

Fortunately for them they didn’t come across such a creature. They did, however, lose a few ships to the weather; they had capsized what with the violent waves produced by the many hurricanes that had occurred. Though some warriors drowned in the process, most were rescued by their comrades, brought aboard other nearby ships.

Another week had passed. The storms waned during this time as they finally approached the elven continent. Though the armada couldn’t see yet, Aarian and his fellow guardians were able to spot the distant land from the sky.

“At last,” said Falvorn, returning to the dragon’s back.

“Those were supposed to be my words,” said Aarian, his eyes fixed on the enchanted continent.

“Remember what I told you before,” said Earamathras, his voice booming while hastily gliding toward the sand-littered shoreline of Gaeldein. “Keep your wits about you and always be ready to help each other.”

When they drew closer to the seashore, as they had predicted, there was a brigade of dark elves guarding the beach. In addition, seven watchtowers stood several feet apart, each with an archer observing the ocean for possible incoming enemies. Earamathras snorted at them and their pitiful structures, his eyes glowing green.

The dark elves eventually spotted him in the sky and panicked, readying their arrows as fast as they could. They weren’t, however, prepared for the might of the imperial dragon who swooped down, breathing a poisonous blaze of orange-green fire. Within seconds one of the towers was incinerated, along with its archer. And those on foot beside the tower were poisoned, unable to breath due to the noxious breath of Earamathras.

“I’m so glad you’re a dragon, Your Imperial Majesty,” said Aarian.

“So am I,” replied the emperor, turning around and blasting another structure and group of Mor’vyi’dou with his lethal exhales.

Not a moment later, the dragon lowered his snout at an approaching brigade of dark elves on black-furred unicorns and gave out his most deafening roar yet. It was so brutal and loud that it frightened the unicorns away, forcing the Mor’vyi’dou to dismount their steeds and aim at the emperor on foot. Before any of them could do so, however, Earamathras descended, spewing his toxic breath over them. In that instant, the regiment of dark elves fell to the ground and choked to death.

“Get ready for battle,” said the emperor.

Since the most dangerous groups of dark elves were dead, Earamathras briefly landed on their corpses. He whipped his tail at an elven swordsman running away while the Guardians of Xen dismounted him. Without delay Shakar pounced on an archer, mauling him with her fangs. Aarian and Varkagorsa unsheathed their swords, charging toward the remaining regiment of elves while Zavoba readied his axe, hurling it into the back of another foe attempting to flee the shoreline. Falvorn, in the meantime, flew over to the top of a watchtower and grabbed an archer at his post. He then dropped the elf down a hundred feet, causing him to break half the bones in his body.

Satisfied with the guardians, Earamathras returned to the heavens and scouted ahead; he wanted to see if any reinforcements were approaching. Since no other regiments seemed to be coming at the moment, he turned and flew over to the armada that could now see Lar’a’dos from afar. The Guardians of Xen, meanwhile, continued to fight together and defeat the remaining dark elves. Once they were dealt with, Aarian and his comrades grabbed bows and arrows and then scaled watchtowers that hadn’t been burnt. Falvorn didn’t need to do this, but he preferred to hide rather than accidently be seen flying around in the air.

During the next couple of hours the quintet fixed their eyes on the southern land leading to the village of Gaeldein, arrows ready to be launched. If any Mor’vyi’dou were coming to try to take back the coast, they were in for a surprise. Fortunately for the five guardians, no elves approached.

Aarian wondered why the enemy did not attempt to come. He eventually started thinking the dark elves were probably waiting at the village for enough reinforcements to launch a single, glorious attack that would wipe them off the face of Yunedar. Aarian yearned for the legion of Niratredam to arrive, hoping that wasn’t the case.

“They are coming!” barked Shakar.

“What?” said Aarian, gazing at the forest. “Who?”

“Our brethren,” replied Varkagorsa. “Who else?”

Aarian turned, seeing them sailing in the distance. “Thank goodness,” he said. “I feared the worst and thought another regiment of dark elves was approaching...I suppose old habits die hard.”

“You may be the Dralekar,” began Falvorn, “however, as the emperor stated many moons ago: you’re not invincible. That is why Earamathras brought us together.”

“Wise words for a gargoyle,” said Aarian.

“We are much smarter than you think,” said Falvorn. “Just because we look monstrous doesn’t mean we are monsters. It is unfortunate other humyns were never able to discern this. Instead they allied themselves with races appearing pretty to their eyes. Yet it is we who may very well save what’s left of this world.”

“Th’is be the downfall of all races, gargoyle,” said Zavoba. “I say we be sharp ‘n ready fer anythin’ no matter what ’cus any race can be mons’ters. You ne’ver know who you be a’ble to trus’t.”

“Very true,” said Aarian.

“Spirit of Xen, can you all shut up?” said Varkagorsa, grunting. “You talk too much. Just focus on the perimeter and keep your eyes peeled for anything that may come. We cannot afford to lose this area.”

“We be wit you, Varka,” said Zavoba.

“And stop calling me that,” scowled the orc. “I am Warlord Varkagorsa. I’m not to be trifled with. None other than the Dralekar has bested me. So take that nickname and shove it up your—”

A loud horn blew, muffling the orc’s remaining word. At first their hearts raced, but they were able to discern that the sound originated from the sea. The ships just reached the shoreline. When the anchors dropped, gargoyles broke free of their statue forms and joined the myriad waves of orcs, trolls, werewolves, and ogres flooding Lar’a’dos.

“What an incredible sight,” said Aarian, never more proud.

“We have arrived, legion of Warenyth,” said Earamathras, descending from the sky. “The voyage through Crey’falen was only one of many obstacles. Now we must march and crush our foes and send them into oblivion.”

The swarm of savages cheered and praised their emperor, beginning to march toward the village of Gaeldein. It was so crowded below that Aarian and his comrades weren’t able to climb down their towers until at least ten minutes passed, at which point they descended ladders and joined the legion. Aarian couldn’t help but grin while jostling through the army with his fellow guardians, anxious to raid Chevirith.

His excitement, however, ended when he left the shore and entered the purple-colored forest where the village of Gaeldein resided. Not more than a minute of traveling through the wilderness, they were ambushed by dark elves hiding atop the trees that stood higher than the cyclops Aarian had fought against. The swarm of savages staggered and were thrown off guard but nonetheless retaliated. Countless arrows passed back and forth, both factions being wounded by the sharp projectiles.

“Falvorn!” called out Aarian, looking overhead and noticing him flying. “Take me to the frontlines.”

“Straight away, Dralekar,” said Falvorn, using his gaunt feet to grab him.

It took some time, but Falvorn flew past the legion and gently dropped Aarian down to the ground. Just then, elven reinforcements arrived. They charged toward the livid swarm with double-bladed scimitars and fought as vehemently as their foes. Armor sundered. Flesh ripped. Fingers, hands, and limbs were hacked off by axes and swords. Necks and chests continued to get pierced with arrows. Heads were bashed by spiky clubs and maces. Bodies lay mangled in the grass, showing severe scratch marks. This was an all-out war.

“We are the might of Niratredam!” shouted Varkagorsa, gutting a dark elf. “Show these pathetic fools no mercy!”

Within seconds the enchanted forest turned into a forest of blood. Despite the backup of dark elves, against the might of the swarm, they were completely outnumbered and slaughtered. The legion of Niratredam pushed forward, reaching the village of Gaeldein where homes were nestled into gargantuan, abnormally thick trees.

Aarian fell in love with these nature-friendly homes, wondering if he would have lived in a setting like this if he’d married Parla’vasa. Yet this wasn’t the time to think about such things. He blocked multiple arrows with his shield and struck down every elf in his way. Many of the elves who saw him looked bamboozled, wondering how a Vlydyonian humyn could possibly be a part of this swarm. They were, however, killed long before they could discover that he was none other than the prince of Vlydyn.

“Don’t let up!” yelled Aarian, lacerating an elf. “Mor’vyi’dou are nothing compared to our legion! March onward and make them regret everything they have done!”

Shakar howled at his words, mutilating numerous enemies with her paws. Her dense fur was blood-soaked as she ate her victims’ innards. In the meantime, Falvorn periodically swooped down so fast with his claws extended that he easily decapitated his foes. Zavoba fought alongside Varkagorsa, splitting bodies in half with his titanic battleaxe.

“If po’sessed, they be joinin’ spirits of the da’mned,” said Zavoba, licking blood off the edge of his double-bladed weapon.

“Let’s hope they stay there,” said Varkagorsa, slitting open an elf’s stomach with his lustrous katana.

Here in the deep woods, where the canopy covered most of the sky, green-furred dryads with flowers blooming on them and Quel’de’nai druids shape-shifted as animals in order to hide from the Mor’vyi’dou watched the swarm of savages march through Gaeldein, obliterating their archenemies. What they witnessed wasn’t something they had expected to see happen, especially a humyn fighting alongside them. In fact, this inspired them so much that they decided to join the battle.

While the druids changed their forms and used their nature magic to heal wounded orcs and ogres, the dryads cantered out of hiding and defended their tree homes by launching arrows at several dark elves perched high above, who were anxiously waiting to ambush the advancing swarm. Sighting dozens upon dozens of corpses randomly falling from branches, Aarian and his companions found it to be humorous.

Even though the legion was succeeding, Earamathras was frustrated since he had no way of joining them lest he crush a large part of the forest. He sulked, continuing to glide ahead and watch the sky incase a hostile creature of flight would come attack him or his mighty swarm of savages.

Aarian, meanwhile, reached the largest tree home in Gaeldein and scouted the area. Since the Mor’vyi’dou regiments had been defeated in this vicinity, he halted and turned his attention to his comrades. He noticed that only a few of them looked haggard. And though several ogres and werewolves were wounded, they were being tended to by the druids.

“We have successfully conquered the shore, as well as Gaeldein,” he said elatedly. “This is a major victory, but there is still much to do. Farther south lies the village of Vomara, where I am sure another few brigades of Mor’vyi’dou await our arrival.”

“What do you propose, Dralekar?” asked the warlord.

“I suggest we rest here for now,” said Aarian, sheathing his talon sword. “I’d like scouts to take position at the top of these homes. By nightfall we should move forward and strike again. It’ll be harder for us to see, but they won’t expect us to attack at night.”

“I’ll notify His Imperial Majesty so he watches over us,” said Falvorn.

“Excellent,” said Aarian, nodding. He then looked back at the swarm, realizing quite a lot of them wore ferocious expressions, yearning to keep mutilating the dark elves. “I know many of you crave carnage. This is good. But we must clear our minds and rest so we’ll be able to fight at our best tonight.”

“Me kill more!” bellowed an ogre.

“No, me smash ’em all now!” shouted another.

An upheaval started, worrying the prince. He wasn’t sure if he could quell their frenzy and find a way to convince them that this was the best solution. Closing his eyes, he lifted his blade, hoping for Xen to bless him with peace of mind. That instant, the voices lowered, some even hushing completely. Upon opening his eyes, he witnessed the strangest thing—the legion was staring at him as though willing to listen.

“Trust me, fearless heroes,” began Aarian, “I, too, want to kill.” He gazed at the mighty ogres wielding hammers, mauls, and colossal clubs as he said, “And above all, I want to smash them until they become a part of the ground for what they did to my kingdom.”

A few orcs and trolls cackled while many ogres sniggered.

“But if we do not rest now, we will be more susceptible to making mistakes and dying in vain,” continued the prince. He took a deep breath and said, “I am sure we all follow Xen; let us follow her wisdom of balance. Savagery with intelligence combined together will always make us triumph.”

Most of the ogres didn’t know what the word “intelligence” meant, but when they heard the Dralekar mention “Xen” they praised him with monstrous grunts and finally agreed to rest until nightfall. Aarian sighed with relief, walking over to an elven home nestled within a tree consisting of enchanted bark and branchy balconies with violet leaves. Upon reaching the top terrace, Aarian sat down and rested his back against the wooden balustrade. He then closed his eyes and took a nap.

Nighttime came swiftly. The denizens of Niratredam were wide awake, eagerly awaiting Aarian to give the word to march forward and create another massacre. When he left the tree home and stepped outside, he was greeted by a cheer of grunts and howls. Waving his hands at the swarm, they quieted down.

“Vomara is our next destination,” said Aarian, his gold-tinted armor shimmering in the night. “It is quite a distance away but nothing we can’t handle. Remain vigilant and be ready to crush some skulls.”

The multitude cheered him on. He grinned at his companions and pointed south. Roaring with delight, they readied their weapons and sprinted toward the next village. They marched as if not an ounce of fear lingered within them. Aarian, amazed by this, fearlessly charged with them. He soon reached the frontlines without Falvorn’s assistance and kept his shield raised lest he be attacked from a distance by arrows or magic.

Although the dryads stayed behind to protect their trees, the Quel’de’nai druids proudly joined them. The longer they journeyed with the savages, the safer they felt. Yet it was Aarian’s presence that truly made a difference to them. While the wilderness leading to Vomara was filled with countless wildlife, no dark elves were discovered along the way to the village. The legion traveled for hours throughout the night, Earamathras flying high above and continuing to guard them.

When dawn came, the swarm set up camp in the woods. Almost all of them were edgy since they didn’t have a chance to kill any dark elves. Many of the savages managed to sleep until nightfall while only a few had trouble, yawning frequently when they moved out. With the exception of the insects’ chorus, it was another quiet night. Several ogres sporadically grunted, desiring to bash one another out of boredom.

“Patience is a virtue,” said Aarian. “Be on your guard; the Mor’vyi’dou could attack us at any moment.”

Despite him trying to quell their edginess, the ogres became more restless. Before they started fighting among themselves, however, they were surprise attacked by several groups of dark elves hiding in the southern bushes. Now the ogres had a chance to clobber some skulls, stomping toward their enemies.

In the meantime, the rest of the swarm met with the Mor’vyi’dou in the wilderness and brutally fought back. Between myriad parries and ripostes, the woods resonated with clinking and clanking reverberations. Within minutes the vibrant leaves, flowers, grass, and fertile soil were littered with blood and appendages from both factions. Even tree trunks were decorated by the battle, crimson spraying all over them.

This time a lot more savages lost their lives. However, the dark elves were being wiped out. And with the four moons visible, the packs of werewolves scuttled and pounced on their foes with ease, mercilessly ripping their enemies’ throats open.

“What’s the matter, elf?” asked Shakar, watching him choke on his own blood. “Can’t breathe?”

Shakar howled smugly and then galloped ahead, continuing to maul as many adversaries as possible using her sharp paws. She eventually saw Falvorn snatch an elf, heaving him up, at which point she leaped in the air and fatally gashed his chest.

“Damn you,” scowled Falvorn. “That one was mine.”

“Next time kill quicker,” she grumbled playfully, returning to the ground and galloping toward a group of swordsmen. She then stood up on her hind legs, mangling their faces. “These elves are pathetic. Where is the real threat?”

“Don’t get too cocky, Shakar,” said the warlord. “We have yet to reach the capital, let alone Vomara.”

Shakar snorted and kept quiet, attacking wildly and intermittently preying on her enemies as Falvorn often did. She was having as much fun killing as the ogres were. Though vicious most of the time, she remained cautious and tactful.

Aarian, in the meantime, had slain dozens of dark elves with his talon-hilted sword and titanium shield. Many times he used his embossed buckler as a weapon, slicing throats with its rim, bashing heads to daze his foes, and hurling it at elves’ necks, decapitating them. Though the Mor’vyi’dou were known to be swift, Aarian proved to be even more agile. When the skirmish was over, he didn’t have a single scratch on him.

“By the eternal light of Xen,” began Aarian, gazing at the wild swarm, “we have earned another victory.”

“Dralekar be praised!” bellowed many in chorus.

They decided to create another camp here. Starving, they roasted the elves’ corpses and ate their flesh. Aarian and the Quel’de’nai druids were the only ones who didn’t eat them. They simply ate fruits scattered around the dense woods; however, they often had to clean them first—there was a lot of blood on them. After eating fruits, Aarian sat by a bonfire and leaned against a tree.

“Hungry?” mumbled Shakar to the prince, a roasted hand in her mouth.

“That’s disgusting,” he said.

Shakar released the hand, laughing sadistically. “You don’t know what you’re missing, Dralekar,” she said. “These elves are delicious.”

“Huh,” he uttered. “So, what does their flesh tastes like?”

“Hmmm,” she groaned, pondering about it. “It depends. I ate a few limbs and each one varied. But this one tastes like humyn flesh.”

“Why did I bother to ask,” he replied, lowering his visor to sleep.

Giving out another sadistic laugh as she lay next to the prince, Shakar continued chewing on her food while he dozed off. When she finished eating, she, too, fell asleep.

Over the next few weeks the legion continued traveling south. By now Shakar knew the smell of dark elves, preventing surprise attacks. They experienced several skirmishes during their journey. Only a few dozen savages had been killed. Aarian was saddened by this but pressed on, filled with even more conviction to remove Saldovin Keldoran from his throne and exterminate him from existence.

By the fifth week, they were beginning to approach the next village. Here in the forest of Vomara, the leaves were a blend of ruby and amber hues. Fauns with spiral horns and brown fur dwelled here, deciding to join the swarm in order to rid their land of the Mor’vyi’dou. More high elf druids joined them too, disguised as white-furred unicorns. When the druids reached Vomara, however, they morphed back to their normal elf forms. Orcs gave them bows and quivers full of arrows, so they readied their weapons and remained alert.

Aarian and his fellow guardians examined the village that was, similar to Gaeldein, a part of the forest. Each home had been built within a tree. Some of them even had staircases along the balconies and wooden bridges leading to other homes nestled within the trees. It was a gorgeous sight to behold, at least to Aarian. The swarm, however, preferred their hoarfrost kingdom.

“Am I going crazy or are there no dark elves here?” asked Aarian, carefully looking around on one of the balconies.

“I wish you were,” said Varkagorsa, grimacing.

“Somthin’ be stirrin’ in yer mind?” asked Zavoba.

“Mor’vyi’dou aren’t mindless,” answered Varkagorsa tersely. “They probably withdrew from the region, realizing by now that they’re no match for us unless they have a legion of their own.”

“Chevirith?” said Aarian.

“I suppose it’s possible that the smaller brigades have rallied with the main army at the capital,” said Falvorn. “But they may also be hiding here.”

“Not a chance,” grumbled Shakar, sniffing the air. “I can’t smell their stench.”

“By all that’s cursed,” said Aarian. “This means we’re going to have one hell of a battle on our hands when we reach Chevirith.”

“So what?” said Varkagorsa, snorting. “We vastly outnumber them.”

“True,” responded Aarian, tilting his head. “But we still need to be cautious. It’s good we gained reinforcements,” —he glanced at the fauns and Quel’de’nai druids—“though, it wouldn’t hurt to be prepared for anything. Right?”

“I enjoy being overconfident, Dralekar,” said Varkagorsa.

Aarian laughed, amused. “Have it your way.” He turned to the others and said, “It seems the dark elves have smartened up and may have rallied at the capital city. If that is so, then we will face a battle unlike any other since our arrival here. Now, normally I’d be scared. I mean, there could literally be thousands of Mor’vyi’dou waiting for us there. Yet for some reason when I gaze upon the legion before me I don’t feel afraid.”

Many of the million cackled.

“I thought you’d all get a kick out of that,” said Aarian, smiling. He took a deep breath, turned southward in the direction of the capital, and bellowed at the top of his lungs, “Onwards to Chevirith!”

Never more ready to spill blood, the swarm roared with delight and followed Aarian and his guardians farther south. Another few weeks passed. Though the capital city wasn’t across the entire continent—literally at the heart of Lar’a’dos—it was still taking them a long time to travel their by foot. During the day, as usual, they set up an encampment and rested. Then at nighttime they continued south.

After traveling on foot for another few days, they saw, in the distance, a vast stony wall with battlements on the top. Behind the fortifications of stone stood a majestic city of crystal spires rising higher than the trees, nearly reaching the clouds. Most noticeable and ominous, however, were the hundreds of dark elves lined up along the battlements.

“I can’t believe it,” said Aarian, gazing at the massive wall that stretched for miles. “It’s the famed Bulwark of Rueléy.”

“Never heard of it,” said Varkagorsa, spitting on the ground.

“Legend has it that it’s impenetrable,” replied Aarian, raising his shield as he noticed the Mor’vyi’dou readying arrows. “Legion of Niratredam, we stand at the foot of Chevirith’s door! Time and time again, Quel’de’nai have spread tales that this fortification is as immortal as them! I say we test that fable!”

The swarm cheered monstrously and then strode forward, at which point the Mor’vyi’dou launched arrows. Ogres charged ahead, their bodies full of arrows. Many of them died. Since the swarm didn’t have any catapults to strike the wall, they took cover behind trees. Warlocks hurled fireballs while others shot projectiles, killing several dark elves. Falvorn and his fellow gargoyles flew skyward, picking up Mor’vyi’dou and throwing them down.

Although many elves fell to their deaths, the vast majority of them along the battlements were releasing arrows at the flying gargoyles. Their numbers quickly dwindled, forcing Falvorn to temporarily withdraw. Warlord Varkagorsa and his fellow warlocks continued to cast fireballs at the wall; yet it remained unharmed, protected by magic.

When this occurred, Aarian signaled his army to fall back. There were simply too many dark elves along the ramparts, and since the Bulwark of Rueléy was immune to magic, it left the legion vulnerable. Even the gargoyles found it difficult attacking.

“We need battering rams,” said Aarian.

“If that barricade is as impenetrable as you claim,” began Varkagorsa, “then we will be slaughtered while attempting to use them. What we need are catapults.”

Grumbling in agreement, Zavoba replied, “We take ’em out from a dis’tance.”

Aarian cursed under his breath, realizing that they would probably have to spend another few weeks building siege engines such as trebuchets or ballistae by cutting down trees. Even the renowned bow-powered stone-thrower would take time to construct. They’d need other materials too, which meant they might have to return to Vomara in order to gather them. This was a living nightmare, he conceded.

Just then, the forest grew eerily dark. This would have normally been a strange darkness thought to be related to black magic. Yet when Aarian noticed the forest grow dark, he looked at the moving shadow of a titan and smiled. He then looked overhead, seeing the emperor passing him.

“Now it’s my turn to spill blood,” said Earamathras, gritting his teeth.

Flying fast toward the Bulwark of Rueléy, the dark elves panicked and attempted to shoot arrows at him. Earamathras laughed as the flimsy projectiles snapped when impacting his crusty body of scales. He then flew passed the fortification, landing on the other side of it. That instant, he diced dozens of Mor’vyi’dou with his claws and spewed noxious breathes of green fire upon others.

Not a second later, Earamathras twirled his enormous tail, bashing it against the wall. He repeated this again and again with fury, like a torturer fatally whipping his victim. In due time, the fortification chipped and cracked. Numerous brigades of dark elves approached to stop him. Many of them were struck down by his claws, stomped upon, and incinerated within seconds by his poisonous, fiery breath.

The Mor’vyi’dou knew that if they didn’t stop Earamathras, the almighty bulwark would surely crumble. Hundreds of dark elves rushed out of Chevirith’s skyscraping spires. Together they assembled at the heart of the capital city with every weapon imaginable—scimitars, two-handed claymores, halberds, hammers, axes, bows and arrows, morning stars, javelins, daggers, scythes, and enchanted scepters. Many even rolled out steel catapults, loading them with giant stones.

Earamathras snorted at them. Shortly after, he performed an abnormal inhale and then produced the most intensifying, ear-shattering roar that not only shook the very foundations of Chevirith but also blew the army of dark elves on the ground as though they were all as light as feathers. Even one of the nearby catapults tumbled over due to the earthen bellow, its boulder falling over and crushing a dark elf. With no one standing to entertain him, Earamathras swirled his tail again, shattering a part of the bulwark. Dozens of Mor’vyi’dou fell, screaming until they splattered on the concrete.

“Attack!” exclaimed Aarian.

He charged forth with his guardians, including the thousands of orcs and trolls who were still alive. Earamathras swiftly returned to the sky to attack the remaining Mor’vyi’dou along the ramparts while his vicious legion raided Chevirith, slaughtering the dark elves who’d gotten back on their feet, as well as other regiments who strode out of the many crystal buildings throughout the capital.

The beautiful city with gardens, fountains, temples dedicated to the Nine, marble statues of Quel’de’nai heroes, and homes built around gargantuan trees was now swathed with blood. Corpses of both factions littered the walkways, and the clanking of weapons became relentless until midnight when every Mor’vyi’dou outside lay dead.

Aarian stood in the heart of the capital city of Lar’a’dos, his face contorted as he gazed at the High Rulers’ palace ahead with a deadly glare. Even though many had died in order to breach the enchanted metropolis, the legion was victorious. Standing stock-still, Aarian wondered how he should kill the Mor’vyi’dou leader. There were so many ways he could slaughter the dark elf, he thought to himself, a maniacal smirk on his face. Successfully invading Chevirith, it was only a matter of time before he’d confront Lord Keldoran and obliterate him.

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