This is the end.

[The Betrayer]

It was fitting. Evening drew closer as more and more force accumulated; rank upon rank of polished steel drawing into rows orderly like a living epitath to the city they gazed upon. Loth'Meril: The ocean's gate. Backed up against the western coast, the smooth towers of rose-quartz were beautiful against the orange sky. Millenia of artisans had worked to perfect this craft, in tandem with architects as skilled to create cities so breathtaking, so wonderful, as to fill every elf who lived there with a sense heaven. They had built their own paradise, it would seem.

What a pity.

Loth'Meril was the final hold of elven power in this world. Loth'Elgar, and Loth'Deris were sister cities to Loth'Meril - they were present as rubble and dust in the wheels of the approaching cannon. Upon the walls of the city, archers of a quality the world had never seen equaled stood ready for the human line to advance within range. Spearmen guarded the battlements from ladders and seige towers. Their steel was folded, blended with silver and enchanted as only elves knew how to hold an edge so masterfully. The soldiers wore scarlet cloaks and tabards; a white phoenix emblazoned over a sun thereon in an ironic way - for if this city fell, there would be no triumphant rise from the ashes. Arcanists in robes the color of clotted blood patrolled nerverously, waiting for the engagement to begin.

A forest of spears made a toothed jaw of the horizon to the east, a black and silver maw poised ready to swallow up all the magnificence and grandeur of this place from the annals of history. One hundred years of painful stalemate, and under this new leadership the conclusion snuck closer in less than a decade. Cannon batteries secured their positions, flanking cavalry prepared to exploit the gaps in the enemy lines. The outcome was clear from the lines drawn. This was the end - save for a miracle, the elves would be pushed into the sea. Regiment musicians kept a tense drumbeat, ready for the signal to quicken the beat and accordingly the army's pace.

The sun sank behind the rosey elven bastion and behind the ocean's merciful curtain; ashamed to see the end of the people that loved it so.

This was it. This was the end.

[FireAngel]

"Custodian."

It took little more than that husky word to draw several sets of eyes to the tall woman settled comfortably on the back of the huge, muscled griffon, its scales like plates of onyx layered over rippling muscle and huge, feathered black wings like brushes of coal. The beast shift restlessly, lifting one clawed talon and leaving chunks of earth and dirt dangling from its deadly grip, its eyes glittered hateful crimson as the sharp beak clacked together fiercely as if feeling soft gut rip open under the powerfully hooked curve and tasting bright, metallic crimson blood on its tongue. The griffon appeared as blood-thirsty as the woman sitting in cool poise atop its back was rumored to be, and one would have to look closely to see the shimmer of blood-lust sparkling in obsidian-black eyes. But it was the thickly muscled, scarred man who acted as her voice among the army's captains that appeared the most alert when that voice summoned.

"It will be as it was at Loth'Elgar and Loth'Deris. Every third female between the ages of 10 and 130 will be brought to the castle courtyard and killed. Every male will be branded with an 'E' and the middle finger of their right hand will be removed. Everyone alive will be made slaves."

Elysia's eyes did not shift from the ramparts where the scarlet droplets marched back and forth nervously. Her lips slowly split into that cold, cunning little smile that brought a cold chill down the back of the men mounted on coal black horses and dressed in the brushed midnight armor of the Warrior Queen. I will crush you that smile said. It gleamed of a fervent promise waiting to be kept.

"Bring the mages forward. Let them taste their own magic. I want that lovely pink wall crawling with black flames."

A soft murmur was heard as the order was relayed, the play of supple leather between her fingertips drawing cold black eyes to the gleaming creature, the scent of anticipation ripe on the air, bursting on the back of her tongue, near-tangible. She felt it, and so did Dyne. It was not long before a line of cages were broken through the thick ranks of men armed and waiting for the signal to attack. Elven men in purple and scarlet robes glared in ripe indignation out from bars enchanted to hold their powers close in hand. She could feel their hatred, fear, rage and terror radiating in waves, and it was like a warm caress over pale white skin, a lover's embrace.

"Good. You will do as I say, or I will have you killed." Elysia left them no room for arguement. Her gaze swung from the captured wizards and back to the shining city waiting to fall. Waiting to fall as her sister's had done; waiting to fall to this woman's knees.

[The Betrayer]

"This is... surely the end." Telantheros said; his elegant hands shaking on his bowstring for the first time in.. centuries. "There are too many of them. A tide of the vermin..." The prince, who paced back and forth on the battlements in his crimson cloak with golden clasps, smiled comfortinely at the ranger captain. "Have faith, my young friend. I think you'll be ... surprised with the outcome today." He smiled as though he knew something the captain did not, and was rewarded with a touch of confidence in the captain's face as he turned back to the crenelations. The prince moved on, however; and began descending one of the turrets with fleet steps. "Very surprised." He murmured.

He saw the cages. That was his signal. Prince Solaer's descent was to the rising panic of his soldiers above, as black seige fire - elven casting - began burning the stone. There was a pounding on the turret's door, as the captain and his men tried to flee the fire, only to find it locked and barred from the inside. How... surprising.

Solaer wandered into the courtyard, where proud, golden helmed nobles sat astride their steeds, watching the enemy lines through the gaps in the porticulli. They had no reason to doubt their prince, who passed infront of them, nodding to the officers, towards the small unit of guards keeping watch over gate's crank. They were there inside their little stone room to prevent spies from slipping through the walls and opening the gates. No dark clad humans had even made this attempt, however; they were beginning to feel.. secure.

Under his cloak, Solaer drew a short, jeweled blade of steel - the blade of his station, as son of the King of Days. It had not tasted elven blood before, but... he felt no regrets as he prepared for the next stage of the seige. "When you're ready, madame..." he said to himself, smiling coldly as his brethren burned above.

[FireAngel]

"If we do not do as she says, then she cannot win. We must not let her succeed." Fine gray eyes glared outrage at the other mages held in the cages surrounding him, the hard-pressed pace of the army showing in the tears and dirt staining what was perhaps a gloriously crimson robe over finely boned features. His desire to rally those of his brethren around him met with a slow turning of finely crafted human features as the griffon seemed to shriek in its throat.

"If you do not do as I say, you will be killed. Do you refuse?" The question was so calmly spoken that it drew a chill down the elven back of a young wizard captured from the top-most turret at Loth'Elgar. A black-armored knight drew an inch of shining black blade from the sheath at his waist. When the mage nodded boldly, Elysia simply looked at Rom and nodded. The black blade whistled cleanly through the air as the men furthest to the front of the armed humans saw the wizard jerk and then spasm as a blade protruded from his back. He sagged to his knees, gray eyes dimming slowly as her features remained unchanging. It was not until he breathed his last until she spoke again.

"Does anyone else wish to be brave?" her cold voice cut across the field of men. Silence met the warrior queen and her head nodded once, clipped, curt. Her eyes cut to the wall again. "Burn it."

Elysia knew what would come for those guards in the thick quartz walls when the black flame began to scrawl a dark pattern up the side. She could hear the first echos of screams coming spiraling out as the ebon flames licked higher and higher, shimmering and wrapping around the city in a dark heat, a blazing lust of bloody wrath. After so long, so many years.. so many decades.. of fighting - now, here, Elysia held the ending within the palm of her hand as she watched the black flames burn.

"Custodian. Have the captains move into their flanking positions. When I give the word, we will advance like a wedge, driving them to the middle. The calvary should come from the Northern Gate."

The horsemen of Loth'Meril were known for their unsurpassed skill on horseback, but she was prepared for them as well. A legion or more of griffon-mounted warriors waited beyond the forest-face to sweep through them when the mounted elves emerged. Elysia felt her crimson lips curl into a smile as the sound of thousands of men marching in armor sounded like thunder echoing against the walls, mingling with the screams of the dying inside.

It would seem the Prince had upheld his word after all. Elysia felt the heady bubble of victory dance over her tongue.

[Solaer the Betrayer]

The knights of Loth'Meril readied themselves at the gate on the northern face of the walls trundled open. The prince's gambit was dangerous, but had great potential. A full hammerblow to the northern flank of the human army might be enough to disrupt it. Then, if the weight of fire from the battlements was accurate enough, they might even.. win this one. At that point, they would need to flee across the ocean... but this battle was first. Torgadil, Knight-Captain of the Cavalry, lead his mounted warriors through the gates, lances raised and horses at a slow canter, using the walls of the city as a visual barrier. What they didn't see, as they began to break into a dash to the enemy's flank, was the happenings at the western face of the city - at the main gate.

Solaer looked upon the dead elves at his feet. He knew them, passingly. The first had fallen quickly, the second took a moment's struggle but fell when the royal blade he had kissed at his last promotion cut through his neck. The spray of blood was warm on Solaer's face, but he didn't mind it so. Still, he wiped it off with his robe, which covered the incrimination in its own crimson folds. This was the reason elves dressed in red for war - the stain of blood upon them was distasteful. Solaer didn't mind the taste of blood, so; the stain of it on his clothes would be welcome, but a priveledge for later enjoyment. He paced from the small room and shut the door behind him. Before him was a sea of elven warriors with glittering mail and glaives that shone in the early moonlight. None of them understood why the Main Porticulli had just raised, giving them full veiw of the advancing human lines; chilling in their discipline and drive. Solaer nodded to Rastelamier; the Infantry captain of this last bastion of elven civilization. Rastelamier hesitated. This was not sound! The archers had not time to even soften the ranks, and the cavalry was not quite in position yet. "Advance! There is no victory in treason!" The prince had supreme miltary control here, and was known for his risky but advantageous strategies. What choice did Rastelamier have? follow orders to possible victory, or stand here for certain death. The elves, unsure and disorganized, marched out of the gate on to the field of conflict, prepareing to face a more numerous, better regimented foe. The troops drew heart from the sight of the knights riding around from the north; only Rastelamier had the tactical knowledge to see they were too far away to help.

There is no victory in treason. How strange Solaer should say that, for Treason was precisely where he sought victory. The Greater Courtyard now vacant of troops, he triggered the gates and the porticulli slammed shut behind them. There was no where to fall back to, now; only victory against all odds or, more likely, death, between silver spears and the burning walls of their home.

[FireAngel]

Row upon glittering row of upraised, curved blades shimmered in a sea of bright silver metal before her eyes as the gates slowly swung open at the heart of the shining city, the gleam of bright armor brilliant against the shimmer of black metal waiting against a field that had once been lush and rich before an army advanced over it. The astonishment in the eyes of the elven army was visible, even from across the field, as they seemed to gaze upon an unending, rippling sea of humans in black and silver breastplate, captains at the head of ranks in a bright silver plate with the rampant black dragon spiraling up from a shadowy mist. Black flame rippled and crawled in a hissing undulation over the walls, reaching with greedy fingers for whatever it could touch and then catching hold to burn like a tar fire spreading over skin.

With the body of their companion slumped in his cage in their midst, the elven mages felt every scream as it came from their own kind and knew an arrow of agony for it that came almost as great as the threat of death from those cold black eyes of the Warrior Queen. These five would be dead err they were done, their bodies left for the scavangers to feast upon for the treachery to their own elven brothers and she would not mourn their loss for a moment. Elysia waited until the portcullis yawned open wide before drawing the long, gleaming blade from her side, Dyne's golden-black eyes piercing the delicate gray gaze of the first ranks of elven warriors to gaze upon the scene of that slender woman with loose hair flowing like flames in the black moon mounted on the massive griffon.

"Signal the calvalry."

The mighty thunder of mounted hooves passing over hard-packed earth was like a vibration moving across the ground, signaling the coming of the elven calvary long before she could actually see the first of those finely blooded steeds come sleek around the curve of the city wall. An arrow was dipped in pitch, then lit as a helmed archer jogged near the side of the griffon, the small troop surrounding the mounted queen moving just out of reach from those swiping talons or the snap of a powerful beak. Oily smoke trailed in a thin wisp behind the arrow as it arched high into the sky. Elysia marched the head of that army forward still.

"That is the signal. Remember, Bramus, do not ignite until after they have released..." The words were growled in half-reminder, half-threat from the massive man settled on a black-gold griffon, his gaze glaring down at the human mage in the black robe scrawled with silver thread along the edges. Before reply could be given to the indignation of the suggestion that the wizard could not perform his part properly, simple yet vital as it was, the huge talons were scoring the earth as the forest face came alive with outstretched wings and rippling, scaled body after another bursting from the tree-tops, each mounted by an armored rider, a massive rock gripped tightly by each of the beasts, bows and arrows held by those atop the vicious creatures.

The first scream of panic came as the rock was hurtled from the sky into one of the slender columns of horse and rider galloping across the field, realizing that the elven troops were advancing from the city. Like flaming metors, they rained a fiery destruction from the sky as the mage spread his arms wide and turned the well-trained troops into a burning field of chaos and fear, terror from horses suddenly rearing upright and crushing their rider's underneath.

"Have the outer North flank come around to trap the calvary. Signal Vanyea to bring the ships around the Point and block any water escape. I want all ships in their port seized and everything will be taken as tribute."

Orders were issued in a voice pitched to be heard by those captains closest to her while the griffon moved at a steady pace forward, the last minute orders before the silence of the battle came like a quiet chill over her. From the very edges of her gaze, she could see the flank peel off to box in the scattered calvary while a second arrow pierced the sky, leaving a trail of smoke in its wake.

They pressed forward as the elves came out to meet them, a rippling ocean of polished black and silver steel, blood curling their lips, intent hardening their eyes, fingers gripping axes and swords, clubs, spiked maces, pikes and shields. And at their head, Elysia sat atop the mighty griffon like a black star glittering on a velvet night sky, an easy target, untouchable as the world stilled to a heart-beat and her world locked into focus on the eyes of the elf four rows back from where Dyne's powerful claws ripped up the earth. Almost as if eager for the coming battle, the Warrior Queen lead her army to the war with the silver of the moon glittering along the gleaming black curve of the blade.

Solaer had kept his end of their bargain. And now, Elysia would keep hers.

"This city will bleed..." The words fell in a whisper from her lips as if to renew the vow, and then in a powerful clash that shook the very foundations of the burning wall, the two armies came violently together, sword and glaive ringing out as they came crashing together as a rippling wave of humanity came like an ever-moving forward wall to crush into the elves, trapping them firmly between the black flame and the Warrior Queen's army.

[Solaer the Betrayer]

Solaer looked a final time upon Loth'Meril as a citizen. It was a marvellous city. He enjoyed the notion that he might wrangle custody of it from Elysia in subsequent dealings and reshape it more to his liking. Keen elven sense cut through the shroud of night like a blade through air, revealing to him the bastions still present as obstacles in the coming seige. In the eastmost portion of the Greater Courtyard, The Temple of the Sun; home to the Mal'eni - Elven Paladins of some repute in their resolution and skill. Blessings on ever-sharp elven steel make for a deadly combination in battle, but it was not enough to prevent the destruction of their primary cathedral in Loth'Elgar. The Temple of a Sun was a pale cousin of the Cathedral, but within it somewhere was Elania, Matriarch of the Mal'eni and eldest daughter of the King of Days, and she would not perish without cost.

To the East, closest to the Main Gate, stood the Windspire. Seat of the elven nation's greatest magical minds and arcane thinkers, it emanated a near palable sense of power. Every now and then, a stray arrow would miss the wall and soar toward the Windspire, only to be crushed to dust upon approach by some unseen force. The spire was inpenatrable by conventional means but Solaer had his plans for this place. Thousands of years of magical study lay within its secure core - a resource which had been a primary bargaining chip in his agreement with Elysia. This knowledge would fire her kingdom to a greater comprehension of the arcane beyond any human acheivement... Once they had disposed of the Archkeeper, Emaraline - Youngest daughter of the King of Days.

To the North, near the Cavalry Gate, was the Munitoria - barracks, stables, and training grounds of the elven elite. It was from here the knights poored before making their doomed charge around the outer wall. Something about this vexed Solaer. His older brother, Amanon, should be leading the charge. With his rank of Champion, he had the 'honor' of being the tip of the spear in all cases, and yet he had given Rastelmier the charge. The reason was made clear as a massive form hunched low to escape the confines of the Munitoria. Solaer blanched, and took up the bow of one of the slain sentries. He took three arrows, dipped them in lamp oil, and fired them alight high over the wall on a single draw of the fine bowstring. It was a signal to Elysia - something is awry.

Now dragons, in this place, were simple creatures. There was intellect behind their feral eyes but they rarely shared it. Legendarilly contankerous and unforgivingly powerful, it was a rarity upon rarities that one such creature would bond with a lesser being insomuch as to be a mount. It was for this reason that Solaer was not prepared for the sight of his brother emerging, clad in golden plates to match the elaborate, jeweled barding upon the scarlet wyrm below him. This was unacceptable - and may even be enough to turn the tide if left alone. The betrayer concealed himself as the Champion and his terrifying mount took to the sky with an earsplitting roar. A highly unfortunate turn. Solaer turned a small whistle over in his fingers as he waited for his brother to leave earshot.

Elysia's prize would not be so easilly won after all.

[FireAngel]

"Bring forward the ballista!"

Somewhere over the surreal silence of screams and metal striking metal, Elysia heard that order given in the loud, raw, hoarse voice of the Custodian, the huge grizzled man swinging a mighty double-bladed axe with powerful strokes of meaty arms, beads of sweat rolling down his scarred face and the finely crafted arrow-haft broken and dangling from his thigh. She knew when that huge axe found purchase in the softer, frailer elven bodies by the 'thunk' that would immediately come before a shrill scream spiraling out of control from a flung, broken, bleeding body. He moved tirelessly at Dyne's side, somehow able to always be just out of reach from the wings when they would lash out to strike at a rushing enemy, the ground beneath the griffon's claws turning to a red mud flecked with bits of flesh and bone cleaved from the mass pressed into the oncoming human army.

One hand held the slender, gleaming black blade of the Warrior Queen, etched in azure blue and bloody red runes along the blade that seemed to vibrate and resonate in her grip; her other hand gripped a great shield with the rampant black dragon reared back and with eyes smoldering ruby fury, the leather straps tightened on her forearm, the rounded disc surprisingly light and mobile as it turned away yet another arrow aimed at the flame-haired woman mounted at the tip of the overwhelming force. Like a dark dream, the mortal men came continuously forward, pressing ever into the ranks of the elves battling valiantly for their freedom and home.

The Captains manning each of the three trebuchets would have already received their orders - first to collapse would be the barracks and armory of the Munitoria, a loss that would not be easy to replace but would be a strategic crippling to the city. Next would be the Temple of the Sun that a few well-placed volleys that would send the center of the city's religion crushing to the ground, then the Palace and Governmental houses, until what would be left would be little more than housing structures as they would survive the destruction that rained. The first massive stone had not yet been lifted from the wagon, however, before those three trailing tails of smoke curling through the sky drew her onyx-black eyes up and hardened them. Trouble. Elysia did so hate it when things went... awry.

It was only because she had her black eyes lifted to the sky that Elysia saw the crimson streak glittering across the sky with the bright golden drop perched upon its back, the massive wings of the wyrm stretching wide to grip the air and send it hurtling into the sky in a crested arc sending dragon and rider curving over the black armored army. The tightening of her lips was almost imperceptible as the gleaming black body of the hugely muscled griffon shift and rocked back on powerfully bunched hindquarters, gleaming golden-black eyes finding the slender, sinuous body of the dragon like a predator stalking its prey, a ferocious shriek coming loud and piercing from its hooked beak.

”Mount four archers behind four riders and have them follow me to the sky!”

Dyne rose on his hindlegs like a stallion fighting a restraining hand, his muscles hardening like iron with the urge to explode up, to come with talons and beak at the wyrm, to feast upon its natural prey. There was a beauty and grace to the fury the beast moved in when the hold was released and those mighty wings were allowed to send the griffon hurtling to the sky, the tall, slender beauty proud upon its back with red hair streaming loose like some valkrie of olden legend, the naked black blade whistling as it was held aloft and the shield protecting the tender flesh of her side in the hand gripping the leather reins belted to the leather collar around Dyne’s throat.

As a quartet of bodies arched high into the air to spiral against the black sky at her side, the Warrior Queen felt the wind tearing at the chain mail clinging to her slender curves, pulling her lips back into a near feral smile as the powerful creature beneath her surged closer to the golden-armored rider. The silver glitter of the moon cresting the horizon gilded the armor of the elven Champion of Loth’Meril and spread greedy fingers over the gleaming ruby scales of the dragon.

”Aim for the rider!”

Her words left nothing for interpretation as her glittering black eyes fixated on the eldest Prince of the elven city – a Prince her own royal alliance had not revealed as a dragon-rider, an oversight she would have to attend to – as the distance closed between the mortal riders and their elven enemy; that brazen Prince would tumble dead from the sky and as soon as they were in range, four arrows came swiftly winging for the single elf, one shot wildly off course by the surge of the griffon the archer sat upon, one sailing high over-head, while two split the twilight sky over the fighting armies in a tight corkscrew towards the figure mounted atop the crimson beast.

And swift on the trail of those twin arrows came Dyne, his foreclaws outstretched, flexing as if already rippling muscle from bone from the wyrm, and she, Elysia, ready to swoop across the sky on the back of that huge, coal-black griffon and lop the elven head from his armored shoulders.