“I was sitting in a tavern when the messenger arrived.
I told myself tonight was going to be a special night, I figured I could make some quick coin there singing songs of ages gone by while drinking down my fair share of grog. I was well on our way to my famous, drunken stupor when a young lad burst through the tavern doors. Mud had already caked the bottom of his pants, I remember that vividly, and we all could see signs of a few cuts and bruises taking shape on his arms. A look of exhaustion painted his face and he braced himself against a chair as he strained for each breath; he must have run for hours to reach us. Somehow, through the crowds of people and loud noises, his message was heard by all.
“The great King Baelnorn marches on the Mad King Vyshaan; he has our enemy corned and requests that all bards and anyone able to bear witness to his triumph to make their ways to the Fields of Amarillis.”
The kid nearly fainted after he told us his message, and not a second passed after he finished did a loud cheer erupt from the mouths of everyone in the tavern. Everyone scarfed down what alcohol and food they had and made for the door. These were simple folk, they feared the Mad King so much so that they were willing to brave the wilderness and possible encounters with bandits and the Mad Kings soldier just to catch a glimpse of his demise. They remember all too well the fall of the Lavas capital and the rout of the 10th Legion of the Firen.
But we got more than we bargained for. We all did.
It took most of us only a days ride to make it to the outskirts of the battle and we were all left with a sense of awe in what we saw. An army, many thousand strong, made up of all the races of Arvandor all fighting under one banner for the first time in recorded history. Even as I crested a nearby hill my eyes strained to take in everything before me yet even as far as I was away from it I saw the battle being engaged in earnest ahead, with the Firen King charging the cultist and their demon army head on. On the far edge of the field, where Amarillis met the Cold Mountains, the Mad King as his army found themselves backed into a corner. Escape was no longer an option for Vyshaan, and my fellow bards and I recorded what we witnessed as our forces slowly advanced on their position. Their bright armor shining out in stark contrast with the darkened armor of the cultist before them, and the terrible demons beside them, we all had a sense of glee flowing through us.
My fellow bards and I were writing down poems and stories when we first felt the ground shake beneath us. My first thought was it was as simple an explanation as a siege engine's projectile flying high into the cliff.
And then the ground shook again, this time twice as strong as the first.
Quickly, we all rose to our feet and looked out onto the battlefield below us. The soldiers nearest us looked just as surprised as we were, and the sound of combat in the distance was soon replaced by the worried whispers of all. The front-lines of combat were now replaced by a no-mans-land as the combined armies backed off their assault; unsure as to what was happening.
Then the ground shook a third time, even harder than the last. The sound of rocks breaking bellowed out from the mountains in the distance as if itself was being torn asunder. Large rocks fell from the mountains, much bigger than a house themselves, descended on the hapless souls underneath; crushing them with ease. All of us, perched onto of our little hill, could see everything happen ever so clear. And that's when we heard it. At first, it's sound was muffled from the stone prison that encased it. But as more and more rocks fell, the beast bellowed louder until there was no mistaking what was actually locked inside that mountain.
“Dragon,” I said in disbelief. The others looked at me like I was crazy, dragons were creatures of myth and legend or so they say. The earth shook once more, this time the side of the mountain breaking apart in a torrent of both stone and fire as the beast burst free from within. The soldiers caught in the massive blast were buried under an avalanche of rocks. Even from the distance I stood from the beast I could see clearly the crimson scales that covered the beast from head to toe as it crashed down to the battle below. I could even make out the massive muscles shifting under its armored hide. I stood there for a minute, watching as the beast coiled it's neck back, facing our beloved king, before letting out a sea of fire that melted the flesh from the bones of all unfortunate enough to be caught within its reach. Their screams were loud and cut short. Our king and hundreds of his faithful warriors were reduced to ash.
From what I was told, we lost almost half our army in the first battle. Of those, another half was lost in the days that followed. Hope had vanished and a sense of dread fell over the few survivors that banded together. That is until Magnus spoke. The Northern General has a bold plan, one that I know not if at all possible. He wants to venture into the canyon of the gods, a place where no living soul has returned from, and find the rumored staff of the God Farnier himself. With this staff, Mulad thinks we can end this in one swift battle.
A few idiots were stupid enough to believe him and his fable.
They ride to the north, heading straight for the canyon along the edge of darkness. He told the rest of us to head to the castle Estel, to hold the ground there. The walls are tall, with only a single bridge in and out that could withstand the hordes of chaos. If this is to be our last stand, I will stand confidently along side the soldiers; knowing full well I made the right choice.”
~Found on dead a Bard early one morning; many miles from the castle.
