Serpentis Family/Durion/The Last War
Dürion gave the last orders to the Dark Ones while they still kneeled down on the bloody bodies, collecting their scalps after taking the usual spoils like weapons and rings. A great battle, finally. Enough to let his hungry wolves satisfied for some time. With his right foot on a loose neck he finished the decapitation with his scimitar, a blade very useful for the task and a good memory from the Sultanate.
Dürion Eyolf: “Regroup. I'll see my father and then we will burn Hagley to the ground. We will return when all the regions around the cities are burning and the people behind the walls are starving. Let's see what the stupid Priest can do about it.”
Theocracies. Dürion certainly loved the theocracies. The best part was close and burn the temples; a shame he didn’t have such permission. It would be a pleasure to see the Church designed for the mankind burn until its foundations with the cries of the priests in flames. Nevertheless, the victory was satisfactory. The Black Dragon wiped the enemy blood of his face and walked toward the tent where his father was receiving first aid from his healers. Dürion sat and watched as the old elves took care of the injuries and then a young gal cleaned his skin with a humid and perfumed piece of cloth.
Healer: “He'll survive. These humans are not very clean and this is not the best place to take care of him, but he'll survive. The injury will worsen before getting better. He will likely suffer a bit with the fever. My advice is to take him back. Your father is a great warrior, but he is getting old.”
Erik had his naked torso marked by old scars and new wounds. His armor was like a target encrusted with arrows and the cold steel had been battered by swords and spears. Even then his eyes opened in a feverish crack and his whole body shook over the campaign bed as if he were surrounded by enemies to kill. His breath came in a hot whiff. For a moment he remembered of another battle.
Erik Eyolf: “Karl! Where’s my brother?”
Dürion Eyolf: “Captain Andre is alive, gathering the Stormwalkers. You’re wounded, father. We are in Hagley. Try to rest a little, the victory is ours.”
The Silver Dragon of Sirion closed his eyes and relaxed a little. His people would suffer with the hunger while he was still unable to stand up and move back to take care of everything. His healers were right. Maybe that was his last battle of his last war. The last victory of a hero who built his entire career founded in the military successes. The warrior who wounded more enemies was now defeated by age.
Erik Eyolf: “Dürion... you are my heir. I will return to Avamar to take care of my wives and my people. Now you're my sword. Make these Westmorians remember our name with tears in their eyes. Just kill them all...”
The bastard son smiled. He was much more fierce and cruel on the battlefield and the people of Westmoor will certainly remember him at the glance of the bodies impaled, skinned and burned with the Dark Ones dancing around like crazy savages chanting hymns of death. The Margrave of Trinbar worshiped dark deities like him and it was quite evident in every massacre that came after each battle.
Dürion Eyolf: “Rest a little, father. And don’t worry, they will remember. I’m sure they will.”
