There it stood, the hidden and legendary city of Morgaideign, the home of the fabled warriors of judgment resting behind unbreakable walls of magic. It sat as if a cradled child within the arms of a new mother, it's every entrance swaddled by the wall of Qwiloe. The shine of Luna had fallen upon its rooftops of stone, the fluorescent glow of the stars above head igniting its streets with life. The flicker of torches burned in red auras around the entirety of the colony, from the southern gates to the citadel. Morgaideign's citizens had long fallen to their homes, leaning upon bended knee in prayer. Men, women, and children hid in fear leaving but the elected legions of Otezla to defend them. For months the rumors of war had come to rest in their ears and minds, and now it came as a promise knocking upon their doors. The knowledge of the native people had been uncovered, the worth of wisdom the only bargaining chip they had yet to hold.
The Talon army grew closer, the weight of righteousness joining enemies as allies. Forward did they march, the front lines consumed by the men and women of the Sek Isles, their chargers chosen for the mere purpose of their natural aggression bearing the weight of true Aurorian barding. Copper adorned them from head to hoof only rivaled by the Stygian caparisons beneath their leather saddles. Their riders, however, bore no more than hand- painted fabrics, those embraced with the bright orange and ruby pigments of indigenous plants and flowers. The female warriors remained hiding behind the wraps of their apricot hoods each revealing no more than the bright shine of disciplined eyes. Upon the backs of each rested their sheathed broadswords, some laced with poisons while others remained glimmering with the blessings of the sun gods. The men and brethren of Sek rode alongside each female two by two, the length of their charcoal hair mingling with that of the stallions manes. Riding into battle with no more than the comfort of red loose fitting trousers and javelins of obsidian, the male warriors pressed the lines into a faster pace, the night was their element.
From the sides of the formations came the rhythmic pounds of the drums of war, the breaths of horn blowers carrying through their golden instruments. The assassins came next, each wearing suits of black trimmed in sparkling platinum dragon hair. The night's graces came as welcome camouflage to the tribes of Tridonia. They were the unseen, the coiled snake at the feet of the enemy, the swiftness of their gifts unmatched by those of simple flesh. They bore pupils of white and weapons of steel. With grappling hooks and whips, the masters of physics made way toward their victims with an eerie silence.
The grasses of the mountains and plains came to yield beneath the weight of twenty traveling trebuchets, pulled by the heavy footsteps of the Skyline clan. Among a sea of mingling faces of both equine and humanoid came the dark stares of the first Edaric hounds, beings of strength and valiance creatures of both height and girth bearing no tails and no extraordinary skills other than brute force. They came as they always had wagers of war with wisdom in the arts of demolition. Upon their shoulders and waists came the tight fit of iron forged harnesses attached to the carts carrying boulders, explosives, and of course, the archers.
The Arcaisiean bow singers of Aleanthos rode proudly upon the decks of chariots, each and every bow loaded with arrows of precision. The capes of Aurore flew into the passing winds, the sigil of the land placed with pride upon the golden satin. Upon every back sat the dragon Incendartou, bowing his head in respect to the might of Xyrentak, the first hound of Halotia, both sown in blackened thread. Bodysuits of aged mahogany leather embellished the curvaceous bodies of the Arcaisieans. Embraced by the cool touch of silver coins over blind eyes, the ranged champions of the western lands came to feel the chariots' halt. They had arrived.
Standing proudly behind the legions she had come to command, Zacura examined the barrier before her. The walls of Qwiloe stood high. Its height and strength were built upon centuries of conditioning. For over four millennia no living being had been successful in demolishing it. Fallen clouds moved through the land before the city as if living souls, shades of gray and white swaying across the moist soil. The sky churned above head, its once blue hue now but a fragment among waves of green and amber.
"How are we going to get through that?" spoke Zacura, her dark and pulsating eyes turning to look upon Manuke. "I do not know. It is said that the barricade is unable to be scaled or destroyed, its power is held in the palms and minds of every living being behind it. Even your father could not break through, and the gods fought by his side. We must find another way to infiltrate, or we shall return empty-handed."
Maerick stepped forward from the darkness, his polished scales of maroon, the symbol of the fires to come. "If we are unable to climb it or tear it down, I will simply carry our men over. The books of legend hold not a tale of dragons using the gift of flight to surpass it. I believe we should give it a try." The keeper turned to face the dragon. "It will not work. Your kind dare not be mentioned, and for a good reason. Even if you were to survive the initial casts of dark magic upon your body, those who defend Morgaideign would slay you before you were given a chance to land. They may be peaceful, but they do not enjoy the company of outsiders. It is why their people came to these lands at the beginning of the first wars."
The air around the three commanders came to chill, blades of grass rotting around their feet. The twins of deception came to rest beside their leader, eyes bearing hints of smoldering blue. Raxseis was the first to speak. "Alpha, there is but one way to be granted your wishes. You must first weaken the wall and then see it reduced to rubble. My brother and I both witnessed the elders of Morgaideign forge the mighty walls of Qwiloe. It is not the stone and metal, which gives it strength...it is what lies within its hollow interior." The chosen came to bare her fangs before the small and yet forming hound. "What lies within it?" A growl of impatience lingered within her tone. "Spirits. Two hundred and eight to be exact—one hundred twenty humanoid souls, eighty draconic, seven trees of eternity, and one spirit quite like us," rattled Exsidious, his quivering tone wrapping around Zacura's neck.
"You must set the prisoners of Qwiloe free, and in return, they shall grant you entrance." "And how shall we go about such a feat? I have no means to break through that wall other than those tried centuries ago." "We have already brought our disease to this festering wound. Do remember this land had belonged to us before they began building upon it. See fire set to the seven holes. We have marked for you and see the mountains of old crumble before your eyes. We must bid you farewell, for now, we have enemies approaching." With that Raxseis and Exsidious collided as one and sank below the soil vanishing. The dim light of rebellion stared directly at her; Morgaideign was the only thing standing in her way of glory. The cool breezes of night blew through her thick, coarse fur, its touch upon her flesh bitter and sharp. The land had claimed her as its protector, and now all fear had gone; all that remained was courage and the sheer will to grasp what belonged to her.
"Maerick, take to the sky, locate the weaknesses left by the brothers, and set fire to them. I will send you my signal to strike. Remain hidden within the clouds. You are our last resort." "What shall the signal be then?"
"I will release the charge of Sekians. When they have surrounded the circumference, shoot your fire. Make it seem as if the loyalty the gods gave my father has now been granted to me. Stay from view as long as possible." The winds picked up and carried Maerick along with them his massive body becoming one with the clouds above. Your army awaits your command, go to them, lead them, see faith restored in your heart, and claim victory as your prize." She understood now; it had always been her, the power she possessed it was why she had been suppressed for so long. A half- breed commanding the strongest warriors of every region thought unreachable by the likes of a lowly hound, a Bloodclaw no longer a wanderer but a legitimate commander under the name of the very rulers of all Evernia. Pride filled her heart, but the thirst for blood filled her veins. "Sound the horns, Manuke. It is time we break the borders of old and replace them with the freedom of the just.
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