Serpentis Family/Durion/Symphony of Destruction - Part I
Dürion laughed after receive the news. His father had been elected, but the election was a fraud. Duke Alexander was still in position despite popular results. He heard it from the mouth of one of his soldiers covered in black while they dragged out a family from their house in a small farm. The Dark Ones were impassive and infernal figures. During long hours they dragged the families out and confiscate the spoils of war. After that everything was burnt they celebrated the fire brought by their master, the Black Dragon of Trinbar. They were finally bringing chaos and death to Westmoor, making the miserable opportunists and profiteers pay for attacks committed during the war. He looked toward Oligarch. Soon the population would be starving with each field burning into a funeral pyre around them. That stupid line of kings would collapse along with their church. Mainly Jor, the jerk who accused the Sirionites of mutilating their ears. Where was the little king now to see the House of Serpentis destroying his regions!? The young Margrave spat on the ground in face of that small and stupid humankind trembling with fear while Bruck burned to the ground.
The fire attracted the mobile forces prepared to defend Oligarch in a vain effort. If even behind the walls they had few chances, in the open field the Westmorians would be decimated. While the men formed a shield wall, Dürion ordered his banner to echo a familiar note that soon after was answered by the Stormwalkers. The Silver Legion had not marched, leaving the battle tastier with smaller numbers. A demonstration that Sirion not need all its strength to crush those insects. The great machines of destruction were behind the last row. That would be a clash of swords.
Dürion Eyolf: “Look at that stinking mass assuming position. They have been a coward force of weaklings in the heart of our continent. They emerged from the gaps left at the beginning of the Great War and grew strong while we were busy. But we crushed our enemies. They can no longer hide from us. Those are the ranks defending the king. He’s not a warrior! He’s just a diplomatic ambassador. Worse .. he’s only a Priest! You will not find him here. What moral can have such a kingdom, fighting while they King preach like a woman?”
A torrent of laughter swept through the soldiers. They were murderers in dark armors with swords ready to kill and maim. Dürion had not lost time in useless tournaments or learning the art of dueling. Instead, he stayed with his soldiers, turning them into hungry wolves, thirsting for the enemy blood.
Dürion Eyolf: “That retarded King said I’m not an elf. Today he could not be more right. Today we are dragons. Let's burn this land and decimate the enemy. Today we will give the first slap in their King’s face... this is how we teach a dog to be quiet! Kill them all and push the prisoners back. They are just sheep. Bleed them like pigs!”
Offend the traditional houses of Sirion was not a good idea. Wars could be fought for many reasons, but when the King completely lost his composure and turned the conversations into insults, then he should pay, preferably with his tongue torn out of his big mouth, attached to the Black Dragon’s belt.
Dürion Eyolf: “Kill them all! After that we will celebrate in their temples with their women. They need something real much more than a bunch of religious warriors. Let's make Lady Giselle cry for her old father!!!”
