Branch 8: Frazurrarth
*crunch* *crunch* *slurp*
The cold crisp night air tingles across the scaled skin of four lounging lizards with the remaining heat of the torched wood and burned thatch.
"Beloved? What's wrong?"
The female dragon turns to the mate she's been with for hundreds of years.
"The feeling is still there." The male dragon keeps squinting. "Something still watches us."
The winged reptile looks at him and shakes her head. He's always been a worry wart.
"For this far and this long? Its been days. I suspect something upset your stomach. You know how not peeling off the metal armor first can make you nauseous."
Their two sons feasting nearby both turn their blood and gore covered heads to him.
"Yum. So much meatier than the slaves those demons off- Eh? Father? Neither of us sense anything."
The horned adult turns his head again to the treeline. Stretching his sense to the utmost. He feels something is watching them. Following them... Hunting them?!
*FAAZZZHHHH*
A blazing stream gushes from the lizard's maw. Arcing across the air above the burned fields and charred livestock. Until it finally reaches the treeline hundreds of feet away.
Forming a flaming bride lighting up the ravaged terrain and connecting the ruined village to the distant forest.
*FAZH* *FAZH* *FOOZZHH*
Startled by the sudden alarm, the two sons and their mother join the barrage on the treeline. Trees dozens of feet tall and centuries old are turned into burning pyres. An inferno sweeps across the forest south of the tourinese village's ruins.
Hundreds of animals big and small are consumed by the sudden blaze while hundreds more flee in terror. Arcs of flame connect the village to the consumed forest again and again. Finally, drained, the dragons can throw no more.
*HAHHH* *HAHHH* *HAHHH*
Ragged breathing is all you can hear from the ravenous reptiles now. The wife is very worried.
"Frazurrarth! What was that?"
Angry over the dread he's been feeling for days, the thousands of years old monster snaps.
"Dammit! Why is the feeling still there?! Who are you?!"
"What are you saying? Nothing could have surviv-"
*clip* *clop* *clip* *clop* *clip* *clop*
All four of the scaly flyers heads snap to the road that passes thru the forest of flames. The cracking and bursting of hundreds of trees should drown out any other sound. Yet, somehow, the four can hear the noise perfectly.
Hooves?
What could possibly survive that? The thought of flight fills his mind. As does the fear of ambush if the woods are filled with crossbows and ballista.
*clip* *clop* *viririr*
A black horse proudly walks through the southern inferno and stops just passed the treeline. Both it and its heavily armored rider appear strange to the lizards. While it shares much of the shape of their meal? It lacks all of its heat. All of its, flesh.
The keen snouts of the draconian lords quickly home in on its sent. Not the smell of sweat, dirt, meat, and fear. Instead? Cold fills the nostrils. Iron is with it. Mint? Burnt perhaps? The wrongness of the odor stings their noses.
Sharp reptilian eyes focus on the newcomer. Instead of flesh it seems to be nothing but smoke and ink. Some parts glowing with an eerie purple light from within. The father is the first to realize what their stalker is.
"Undead."
His wife's expression distorts in disgust.
"An enemy of all? Here? Perhaps it was one of our meals?"
The adult shakes the head at the end of its long neck.
"No. Far to, strong. Raised, with intent."
His mate clicks her long tongue in distaste.
"Necromancer."
Most living beings have a revulsion to the unnatural. The undead. Dragons are no different. The father's eyes squint and scan the treeline.
"Corpse walker, where is your maker?"
The wall of flames which had been so tall, devouring tree after tree, suddenly gutters. Shrivels. Fails. Extinguished. Not even leaving glowing embers or smoke behind. Returning the world to darkness.
There is still smoke moving through the scorched woods. But it is no longer the kind fire produces.
The four peaks of the animal kingdom watch as undead after undead, some mounted, most not, emerge from the charred treeline. Dozens are facing them. Forming a skirmish line. The mother's concern deepens.
"We should leave. This is not a grave robber's shambling rabble." Eyeing some that appear to be smoke and, flesh? "Some are even worse violations of nature." She says what none of them want to hear. "This may be a Lich's army."
A shudder passes thru the two sons. Lich's are undead who were once powerful mages or priests. Their magical power and command over the dead make them very dangerous enemies that should never be underestimated.
"And if this is a trap?" The husband turns to his wife. "They hid this many from us. Who is to say there are not even more with bolt throwers waiting for us to clear the ruin's cover?"
His spouse is unconvinced.
"Frazurrarth. Lets just move on to the next village."
Her mate for centuries shakes the head at the end of his long neck.
"They been following us for days. Do you want to be caught between the next village's defenders and this legion of death?" His mate's eyes bulge. "We should finish them here. But where is their maker?"
*clip* *clop* *clip* *clop*
More undead mounts come out from the treeline behind the death champion. One covered in dark armor has a particularly dark and cold aura.
"There you are."
Frazurrarth