They have come as we thought they would," spoke a Phalderaiex; she was old in her years, a woman of the church of those who had forgotten the worship of dragons. She and many others had become the wives of the god Numarieh. Though his existence had not been confirmed, he was the undeniable holy being of the Tribeention race. "How many stand before our gates?" The Polawoue asked. He stood a tall and gaunt man of years not dared to be mentioned. He was the holy father of the church and all those who came to worship within it. "Hundreds of nearly every race we know to be capable of defeating us. I am not sure that this time the wall will protect us, Grand Heaiesto." The man turned to face the woman his hand coming to sit atop her head. "All will be fine, my child. We must simply secure the protection of the D'angeio Bruaya. Flee to their temple at once, see them from these walls and into the forest of Kaeiya."
The old man turned to hand her a rolled parchment. "Send them with their guardian and our fastest horses. I myself shall awaken the legions to come to our defense. If the time for Morgaideign to fall has come, it shall do so in a ballad of blood. Mu'aisho crunion fia'ato esh." Be safe my daughter, he said before turning her away. The old woman turned from him, her auburn robes fleeing from his view. "The time has come for me to at last be released from this life." The Polawoue moved to take hold of an ancient and hidden knife known as the Hukar. It had been the magical instrument that had come to command the masses of Otezla long ago. With it he would have to take his own life to preserve the life of those he served. Only through the sacrifice of a proper and respected Polawoue would the Legions of Otezla awaken. Off in the distance he could hear the sound of boulders hitting the wall in which stood so strong.
"I must see her before I carry out my vows," he spoke softly, his nimble fingers moving to cling to the hilt of the small knife. His feet carried him to the balcony of the Va'eihcrux tower. From its height, he could look upon the masses his people would face. His heart sank as he did. Never in his life did he believe he would witness a spectacle such as this. The Keeper of the Elements, the defender of the three life-forms, a hound of Drathell. In all the many years, there had been but one hound to storm the wall of Qwiloe. In his attempts, he had come to fail. But as the father of the church came to stare upon that hound's daughter, he knew in that moment the day had come. The blue and emerald cloaks upon his body fell limp as he moved towards the Eisifux. Within its iron forged walls rested the Sagre dae Malezfious. They were the last living creatures captured from the land of Otezla. In the years before his time, Otezla was known as the safe haven of the Tydran breed. A place all of magical blood could find refuge from the wars brewing in the times of the Embryonic Era. Unlike a Tydran, which bore the blood of a Tyliquin witch and a draconic father, these creatures were mere mutations. They were the offspring of a Tydran mingled with other species. Such a curse left them as mere misfits among their races. They stood nine feet tall, baring no flying abilities. Their flesh sat in a diseased-looking state of putrid brown. Scales often times of darker complexion sat spotted upon the surface of their skin, leaving it with minimal protection. Each and every one stood a man baring the deformity of a draconic skull battered into a flattened form. Their teeth sat outwards from their lips. They bore dark eyes and strong muscles that sat holding implanted spikes and horns. They had become the test subjects of the Tribeentions. Their arms hung in ill proportion to the rest of their body, leaving them to fight either as man or beast. Their strength, agility, and keen sense of smell would lead them into battle. Yet even as strong as they had been trained to be, the Polawoue wondered if it would be enough. "Sae'iyopo vurontrio maeiya sivon reapartae. Wuxta vowrnae hubaita mu d'ae cuzva Sagre dae Malezfious." With my blood, I offer protection. With my death, I pray the Sagre dae Malezfious serve us well, he spoke.
He came to lift a key of gold from his neck. Sliding it into its socket he turned it and saw the door come to open. Within the chambers lay the sea of brown misfortune. Each and every body, huddled together as one crouching in a never-ending praise. The Polawoue came to kneel slowly, his body old and ridden with the pain of bending bones. He felt himself ready to depart from the world once he heard the sound of cracking rock. "I will not live to see such greatness fall." Were his last words before he fell onto the blade and claimed his own life. Within an instant, his blood began to flow into the grooves so perfectly carved into the stone floor. Its force slithered its way among the sleeping giants awakening them one by one.
"Come now, hurry! We must see you into the forest, it is by the blessing of the Polawoue," spoke the old Phalderaiex. She went about pushing eight young boys toward the secret passages of the temple. Their guardian, Yo'ama, a small woman of but thirty years following close behind."What shall we do for food? What shall we do for protection beyond these walls? Morgaideign is all we have ever known! Why are we being casted out! What have we done wrong?" She shrieked through tears. The boys had been like her sons for the last decade, and now she stood fighting for their survival. "You have done nothing wrong. But you will find safety no more within the security of Morgaideign. I am sorry. The wall is to fall at last, and we must see our only hope to the best safety we can manage," spoke her elder shoving her too through the hole. The group traveled down a dark and wet passage their only light coming from a lamp Yo'ama held.
"Follow this path as far as it will take you. At its end will rest a carriage large enough to transport you all into the hills. Whatever you do, do not look back and stop for no one. Now run!" The nine did as told; leaving their elder mother to fall to whatever foe threatened them. Moving as fast as she could muster, the old woman returned to the main hall. She sealed the doors shut and barred them. Her lips touched the door now standing blended with the walls. "Mu'trioe Numarieh foestrae dezamo huva." May Numarieh provide you time to flee, she spoke, her eyes now to beginning to fill with tears. Crashes could be heard, the war calls of their sworn protectors filled her ears. "Oh Zeafran, bless your soul. May your sacrifice not be in vain." The legions of Otezla charged through the city streets, war hammers and maces in hand. They wore simple loin cloths and chest armor. Their leader, the largest and most scarred of them all, Sqiex, pressed them forward. They could smell fire and taste smoke upon the wind. But one thing was certain to them all, the past had come to haunt them in another form. They came to take a defensive stance along the front closure of Qwiloe.
They could hear their enemies surrounding, feel the weight upon the soil. "Yui trui huxna wexo trivan! Today we fight the chosen. "O'tri aquies vurtuya, eixto yutriyoe ezpio." "Tomorrow we bury the bodies of our dead." "Yucaei g'aro ispaei luvan'caei, piola xentri waxlaipo." "But in this moment we fight to protect those we were sworn to," yelled Sqiex. "Kasto meigarae sanstpi qeai mwartwie." "Hold formation until they break through!" He screamed again, his war hammer coming to smash at the ground below him. The time had come after nearly a thousand years to fight the chosen once more. Fear sank into the heart of the Sagre dae Malezfious. The last war with an Elemental had brought their ranks to near extinction. They were to repeat history once more and this time the hundreds that had remained feared this would be their last stand. Out there somewhere within their foe's ranks stood the Chosen, and without fail, their only mission was to seek it out and destroy it.
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