The Chronicles of Onyx Book Two - Fight of a Hero

Chapter Six - Part Two - One Century ago

Modrorrud Zendrissorth. He was deemed the greatest king to have ever lived. His power, his armies, his reputation unmatched by those before him, and those long after him. Known for his mercy upon all the kindred, his reign was a golden age, marked by peace and prosperity, his wisdom and strength casting a long shadow over Druzatria.

But eventually, all good things come to an end. Peace always comes with a cost, some greater than others.

-ooooo-

Dezenym stood before the edge of a sharp cliff, the harsh wind whipping around him, carrying with it the distant roars of dragons. Below, the valley stretched out like a tapestry filled with the Ebony, Crimson, and the fiery gold of dragon scales.

The valley, known to many as the hollow of Dragon bones, marked the edge of the Dragonkin territory, leading into the sky kingdom, Ouwragon. There, on the other side of the gaping crevasse, stretching high into the horizon was a looming tower. Its monstrous appearance similar to the extending talons of a hawk. As though reaching for the great ball of fire that made the days possible, and the nights short.

His burning eyes found their way towards a bridge that led from the edge of the valley, directly to the tower's entrance. Even more, to the king he so desperately wanted to confront. He was void of an army, with only his wits and his thirst of protecting his new bride, to guide him through this confrontation. One that could possibly change the fate of Druzatria itself.

Dezenym turned his head north, seeing nothing more than the rugged land that brought him here, which seemed to remind him that the only path now was forward.

I'll come home darling, I swear

He took one leary step on the dilapidated wood bridge. Its frail frame was bound together by frayed rope, even the entirety of the bridge seemed to wobble beneath his single step. Shaky and unstable he continued forth, taking one quivering step after another. Slowly making his way until finally reaching his desired destination.

As his leather boot planted itself on solid ground, he released a breath he had unnoticeably been holding in. His burning gaze fell on two massive, iron doors. Each one had a striking serpent engraved in the medal, when closed, the two serpents were forced to face each other. Both looking imposingly at the other.

Dezenym placed his hands precisely on each of the serpent's belly. The cold iron sended shivers down his spine as his skin made contact with the steel.

"Fringri.." he breathed soundlessly in the thin mountain air.

Upon speaking his command the gateway opened, and a rush of stale air escaped through the gap as he was greeted with total darkness. He held out his palm, mumbling, before a ball of white flame ignited, granting him with light.

"Modrorrud, I know you're here" Dezenym called into the darkness, extending the flame so that it served as a means of protection.

Moments passed and the outline of a dragon could be seen emerging from the shadows. Ivory scales glistened as light reflected off the fiery orb in Dezenym's hand.

"I want to talk, a truse," Dezenym said as he spoke to the serpent in his native tongue.

Modrorrud's talon-like claws scraped along the bedrock as he advanced, revealing his full stature. The king stood tall and imposingly above Dezenym, with his massive head held high as he glared down at him. A sharp hiss emanated from his throat as his Crimson eyes bore deeply in Dezenym's.

"A truse says an elf? You and I both know that your kind is untrustworthy.. Yet you've come all this way, asking for a truse?" His voice rumbled.

Dezenym stood firm, meeting Modrorrud's fierce gaze without flinching. He could feel every ounce of intensity from the dragon's presence. From his crown of horns to the tip of his whip-thin tail; he radiated with power and strength.

"Yes," Dezenym replied, his voice steady despite the looming threat before him.

"A truce. For the sake of Druzatria."

Modrorrud's eyes narrowed, and a low growl rumbled in his chest.

"You speak of peace, yet you come alone. What guarantee do I have that this is not a trap? That you do not have an army lying in wait?"

Dezenym raised his hands slowly, showing they were empty.

"I came alone because I seek genuine peace. I have no army, only my word. The land suffers, Modrorrud. The kindred need stability, not more bloodshed."

The dragon king's eyes flickered with a mix of curiosity and skepticism.

"War will not end until all sides come to an agreement, foolish elf. And I know men still wear our skin, elves make spells with our spilled blood, and the orcs still feast upon our fallen brothers!" He boomed.

He lowered his head till he matched the height of Dezenym, "I will have reign over this land, and when I do, I'll lead you all to your demise. I can promise you that, elf."

"You speak of destruction,," Dezenym replied, his voice unwavering.

"But there is still hope for peace. Your reign was once marked by wisdom and compassion. I believe that part of you still exists."

Modrorrud's Ruby eyes flashed with anger. "You are a fool to think you can sway me with mere words. My patience with your kind has worn thin. Leave now, while you still can, or face my wrath."

"If you refuse to listen to reason, then you leave me no choice. Your lust for power has blinded you, and it threatens all of Druzatria."

Modrorrud reared back, preparing to strike, however Dezenym was faster. He uttered an incantation, and the air around them bore dark energy. The ground beneath the Serpent King cracked open as an unseen force coiled itself around him, binding him in place.

"What is this?!" Modrorrud roared, struggling against the invisible bindment.

"A curse, Modrorrud," Dezenym replied, his voice tinged with sorrow.

"One that will keep you and your kin dormant, so that Druzatria will continue to thrive without a threat such as you."

Modrorrud's eyes widened in realization and fury. "You dare curse us, elf!"

Dezenym's heart ached with the weight of his decision. With a final bow of his head to the king, he unleashed the full force of his magik. His eyes burned with the intensity of two desert suns.

As Modrorrud succumbed to the spell's dark surge he erupted in a shrieking roar. His body began to turn to stone, his form frozen in a moment of rage.

Dezenym staggered back, the exertion of the necromancy leaving him weak. His eyes dulled until they became their usual, dimmed, shade of gold. He looked upon the now-stone figure of Modrorrud, guilt evident in his gaze.

"I wish it hadn't come to this," he whispered. "But I cannot let you destroy everything we hold dear."

The echoes of Modrorrud's roar faded, that was until Dezenym turned his attention to the valley below. He could hear the screeches and hisses of the dragonkin as they grew aware of their fallen king.

Chanting once more, he extended his hands towards the valley, the dark energy spreading outwards. One by one, the dragons in the valley below were also defeated to the curse, their majestic forms becoming lifeless statues.

The valley of dragon bones now truly lived up to its name, a graveyard of stone dragons lying dormant at the bottom, hidden from the world.

Dezenym collapsed to his knees, blood trickling from his eyes and nose as he held out his hand, catching three stray droplets of blood as they descended.