The Dragon Slayer

“King Pharlas is the greatest scourge of our age. His insidious acts and tenacious wartime tactics have more than earned him the seat of his people three times over. He hungers for greater conquests and has set his sights upon Amas. Dimahth’s voice sings in his head, corrupting his mind and subduing his soul to do his bidding. Gods be with all the brave of Amas, for this is not a man that will be defeated so easily.” – Ryn’ver’ayf describing the Ghovian King

The dragonelle foolishly believed herself safe, secluded and protected from the harshness of the Ghovian wasteland. She ignorantly rested in the abandoned mines of the once great Elven Dominion, hoping that the shroud of darkness would shield her activities from the prying eyes of those who would wish her ill will. Now, her blood was staining the ancient tunnels in glistening waves, pouring freely from the open gates of her rended flesh. 

About her, four Ghovians mercilessly laid siege to her underground sanctuary. She fought viciously to safeguard her nest but their malicious assault would not relent. They shielded themselves with walls of ice when she breathed her fire, they would acrobatically vault away when she lashed out with her claws, and they would charge and stab with inhuman speed when the opportune moment presented itself.

The dragonelle roared her defiance but a blade cutting at her throat limited her cry to a near piggish sequel. More blades and lances of transparent arcane energy silenced the mighty dragonelle as she reared up then collapsed on her side. With tear-stained eyes, the defeated dragonelle solemnly studied her attackers. They approached her, smugly and casually, leering at her with cruel, masked visages.

Choking on the blood oozing out of her maw, the dragonelle pitifully called out to one of the Ghovians. This man's demeanor remained calm and measured despite the rousing amusement gleaming from his comrades.

"I implore you, show mercy." She pleaded, whimpering away the grueling pain bolting across her body.

Without a care in his heart, the man strolled up the dragonelle's head, placing a gauntleted hand softly along her muzzle. She recoiled violently to the contact but the movement only gifted her with ripples of blinding agony.

"No mercy will be given, dragon." The man announced, his voice faintly muffled behind his thick mask. "My magelords and I are here for a singular purpose and that is to ensure your pain."

The dragonelle's distraught whimper could be heard all throughout the abandoned tunnels. "You are a monster in human skin, Ghovian!"

"I am no monster, not yet anyway. What I'm about to do could be defined as monstrous."

The dragonelle's brow arched, perturbed. The man gestured to his men.

"Fetch me her eggs. I know they're here."

With these words, the dragonelle's heart truly died inside of her. "I beg you, do what you will with me but leave them in peace."

The Ghovian ignored her plea and waited patiently for his magelords to retrieve her eggs. They lined the shimmering, golden eggs up in a row, dangerously close to the mouth of a bottomless mine shaft. 

The dragonelle began to cry and shudder. "Please, do not deny them their right to a life."

"Your blindness denied them their lives the moment you laid them. You believed you could just nest in the lands of Dimahth's chosen and not pay the consequences?"

The dragonelle gritted her fangs. "That's your justification for the deaths of countless innocents? You murder us in the name of your god?"

"Purge," the man said with the finality of a coffin lid slamming shut. "Dimahth raised us up from the ashes of oppression to evolve us into a kingdom of glory. The elves, the dragonborn, the ithyrast; all were brought to their knees and crushed under our boots. Do not be naive enough to believe your kind falls outside our reach."

"Why do you continue to justify the pain you've wrought? Look at what the fruits of your labors have brought you. Ghovia was a land of lush, green plains; now it's a blighted wasteland and it's all because of you."

He balled his right hand and placed it over his chest, bowing his head in some formal praise. "His divine travail. Dimahth marked the land according to his image, the image that we must represent."

The dragonelle attempted to rise but a hammer of pain struck her down, much to the wild amusement of the Ghovians before her. "Destiny will see justice. One day this land will no longer bear the shackles of your slavery, Pharlas."  

Pleasantly amused, the Ghovian nodded to the dragonelle in a show of meager admiration. "So you know of me?"

"That mask cannot hide the cruel fiend underneath." She balefully hissed. 

"Then allow this fiend to accomplish his mission without any further delays." Pharlas strained his head over to his magelords by the shaft. Their masks concealed smiles of sadistic suspense, however, Pharlas knew that his men were giddy to hear his next command. "Faithful brothers, would you be so kind and dispose of those things."

They nodded, not shedding a single word among themselves, and one-by-one they kicked the eggs into the shaft. The dragonelle screeched in protest, her tail ferociously pounded the rock into a cloud of dust, and her claws reached out in a futile effort to catch her unborn children from being swallowed whole by the voracious darkness.

Just when the last of the eggs was kicked into the shaft, Pharlas mustered up a laugh. "Hear how they crack and splatter as they hit the bottom? It's a melodic tune, if you ask me. It must be a terrible thing, knowing that your little unborn hatchlings now paint the pit's floor with their remains."

The dragonelle wept bitterly now, not even summoning up the willpower to move an inch. Pharlas basked in her suffering, doused himself in the pleasure of her grief, and applauded his own wicked actions. The dragonelle offered no further reprisal, no further action to halt the Ghovian king. She simply laid there, praying for the sweet release of death, and to be with her children in the afterlife.

"I know you wish for death," Pharlas said, as if reading her shattered mind. "You however are a gold dragon, the purest of your kind. So for that I will grant you your life but I can't just walk away from you, either."

With mist in her eyes, the dragonelle strained her head to look at the murderer of her children. His bone-plate armor and golden mask was almost hypnotic in appearance, but she knew of the darkness that lied beneath. If you were to exhume the man's innermost heart, you would find only death and suffering.

Pharlas brought his magelords to him, then pointed at the dragonelle. "Take from the dragonelle her wings, her tongue, and her eyes. She will wonder my land forever blind, dumb, and flightless. Let her be an example to other dragons who dare invade my kingdom, for they will suffer worse fates."

"Please," the dragonelle horribly wailed. "Have you not taken enough from me?"

Pharlas turned to her, his eyes wholly devoid of sympathy and remorse. "No."

The king then exited the mines, ignoring the earth-rendering screams of the dragonelle as his magelords took her wings, eyes, and tongue.