#5 Ironthorn

The sky bled trickles of blue fire. He made his way to the Gates of Gruumsh to claim his birthright, his mother’s blood drying under his nails. Through the rapidly melting first snowfall of the year, he trudged through the mountains, scorching rock where his feet and tail touched. In his path, both leafless oak and needled pines became husks of wood not even fit to burn. A lone T’Karran elf stood sentinel over the gorge where
the army had travelled not three day before. In the light of the dying sun he saw the six lights. Pink as a preternatural sunrise, yet unsettlingly arcane. Six eyes, placed in a head that had been obscured by its own sickening countenance. He realized the creature’s eyes could not see him, for its gaze was fixed on the horizon and surely it must have stood as tall as five oaks. Nestling into the scrub he dared look again. No mortal eyes had gazed upon it in a thousand years and a terror gripped him beyond reason. Something in his blood knew a fear that echoed through his ancestral lineage. Before the abomination passed, the elf’s heart had stopped and now he too lay as a husk, a visage of pure panic was all that remained of a once proud warrior. Somewhere Titania began weeping uncontrollably and Oberonn’s memory faded into blackness just a step more.
The Ironthorn was reborn.

Category: Fantasy