Fanfic:The Ancient Strife

Good

 * Fyrulosor-Leader of the Wyverns for Peace effort, and the ancient land that was taken over and destroyed by the Guild Wyverns. Name: Fyrulosor Age: Ancient
 * Autis21XT-Rathalos-Second-in-Command of the Peace Effort, and a veteran of the wyvern's wars. He was in the Forest of Honors when the land of was destroyed, including the forest. Name: Blaze Age: 27
 * Cottonmouth255-Fairunokku-Advisor to Fyrulosor. He was in this position pre-destruction, and has many great battles behind him. Name: Fulgur Age: 18 years
 * Pesky elderdragon-Barioth-Doragokuni Warrior. A young Barioth that left home in search of better lands, only to see his old-and new-homes be destroyed. He now wanders the land in search of a movement to slay the beasts who destroyed his homeland. Name: Furosoto Age: 15 years
 * Tenebra-Alatreon-Wise Sage of Doragokuni. An ancient dragon who is even wiser than Fyrulosor himself. He chooses to fight because he has grown weary of his kin being slain by Guild hunters. Age: Ancient

Bad

 * Tuskurai-Male-Leader of the Alliance of Wyverns and Hunters, the pro-hunting movement bent on eliminating all competition with its members. Name: Tuskurai
 * CaptainMcToasty-Male-Guildmaster (Human)-Advisor to Tuskurai, and the head of the military branch charged with destroying Doragokuni. He is also gradually becoming stretched in his mind, and being torn between what he thinks is good and evil and what truly is. Rumor says he may become insane. Name: Artex
 * Agent-Dex2-Agnaktor-Male-An old Agnaktor that wandered far from the Volcano. It was a terrible mistake, one that almost cost the wyvern his life. Since this experience, he has known nothing but war and destruction. Name: Ragnorack Age: Ancient
 * FatumCorvus-Goravior-Shadowed Assassin-An ancient wyvern that went insane after finding his home mysteriously destroyed. Now he follows power, and only power can tame him. He no longer has any mercy. Name: Voril Age: Ancient
 * FatumCorvus-Ryunouksas-Grand Executioner-One of Tuskurai's oldest allies, and his trusted wyvern for executing any and all who dare rise against him. Name: The Punisher|REAL NAME: Eurios Age: Ancient
 * Corru-Coilron-Tusk General-Tuskurai's oldest General, and a wizened old wyvern. Despite his age, he still wishes only malice against all. Name: Corru Age: Ancient

Neutral

 * Giant enemy crab 11-Hermitaur-Watchcrab of Dragon Bay-A strange young hermitaur living along an isolated shore. He wants nothing to do with the wars, but he might just get drug in... Also a friend of Setheo, the Plesioth. Name: Taur Age: Unknown


 * Setheo-Plesioth-An older Plesioth who tries to avoid any confrontation, but has a temper of his own. However, he's also reckless, which some see as a weakness. A friend of Taur, and his unofficial bodyguard, he is also native to Dragon Bay. Name: Setheo Age: Unknown

Themes

 * Fyrulosor: Jackie Chan I'll Make A Man Out Of You Chinese
 * Blaze: Monster Hunter - Main Theme
 * Fulgur: Monster Hunter 3 Ultimate Port Tanzia Theme
 * Furosoto: Monster Hunter Orchestra - Frozen Tundra Battle Theme
 * Tuskurai: Monster Hunter 3 ( Tri ) G - Guran Miraosu Theme OST ( Extended Version )
 * Artex: Song of healing (piano version)
 * Ragnorack: Monster Hunter 3 (tri-) OST - Volcano Battle
 * Voril: Monster Hunter 3 (tri-) OST - Alatreon Fight
 * Eurios: Monster Hunter Orchestra - Deviljho's theme
 * Corru: Monster Hunter tri Ceadeus Theme part 1
 * Setheo: The Beatles - Octopus's Garden (Lyrics)
 * Tenebra: The Dragons - The Legend of Zelda Skyward Sword

Story
Fyrulosor looked gravely at the remains of his kingdom, the ancient land of. It had almost all been destroyed in the invasions of the Guild Wyverns, also known as the Alliance of Wyverns and Hunters. Fyrulosor had attempted peace negotiations, to no avail. They came with the force of elder dragons, destroying everything in their way. Even now, Fyrulosor could detect some of them searching the old grounds of the Castle. It was still standing, in a way, but the courtyard, stables, and Great Hall had been relieved of its beautiful trees and plants, replaced by dull, brown, horribly smelling dirty cobblestones and soil.

Behind the great Pseudowyvern stood a proud Rathalos, Fyrulosor's Adviser. His name was Autis, and he was a young warrior when was destroyed. He had fought bravely, to no avail. His name was Blaze, and he had lived in his entire life.

Blaze walked up to Fyrulosor and nudged him. Fyrulosor looked gloomily behind him, staring down the Flying Wyvern. He sighed and looked back.

"It's so depressing... We have fought for so long to keep a free land...and here it stands, amid the flames of evil and destruction. Tell me...Blaze...Do you not wish to see it stand again in control of the Guild? Do yo-" Fyrulosor began.

"I wish that more than anything, my liege. I want to see the guild and Guildmaster himself fall from his usurper throne." The young Rathalos growled.

"...Very well then. You shall be the top general of the Doragokuni Military. I shall ready a base of operations; you gather the best warriors of the land, who share our wish." Fyrulosor said, a broad grin erupting on the ancient wyvern's face.

Suddenly, the sky went dark. A fell wind blew through the land. Fyrulosor craned his neck to gaze above him, and was enraged at the sight. A large, highly decorated Coilron was slowing himself, hovering in front of Fyrulosor. The pseudowyvern knew the Coilron well; it was one of the generals, in fact the top Wyvern general, that had led the invasion of Doragokuni.

The Coilron gave Fyrulosor a baleful look and flew around him. He gazed bemusedly at Fyrulosor's old body, and finally landed.

"...Fyrulosor. It has been a while, yeah!? It seems like just yesterday I had smote you upon your mountain. Yet here you stand...not in pieces, nor flattened. You must be quite the wyvern." The Coilron teased.

"...Corru. You dare challenge me, at the height of my rage!?" The Fyrulosor rhetorically asked.

"Of course not. I come to deliver a message from Tuskurai." The Coilron began, but Fyrulosor was no longer listening.

The name Tuskurai sent shivers down the Fyrulosor's back. It was the only creature any Fyrulosor had ever feared, and it was known to be the most powerful force that humans had ever tamed. Fyrulosor did not doubt this. He had seen Tuskurai's damaging capabilities.

"...I expect you and your forces to be at my gates within the half year. Do not keep me waiting, or thy and thy mean all shall be relieved of thine lives." Corru finished.

"...Tell Tuskurai...That... He shall see me. Most assuredly, he shall see me." Fyrulosor said, glaring at the Coilron.

"Now, GO!" The Elder Dragon bellowed, creating a burst of wind strong enough to propel the Coilron away.

Fyrulosor just sighed.

In the Tundra

A young Barioth stood silently inside a cave, watching the flames of from afar. A chill went down Furosoto's back as he watched the gloomy scene. It was the only place that Furosoto could go for peace when things got tough, and to boot, in a twist of fate none could have predicted, he was born there—in the Woodland Swamp, strangely enough. His parents had fled to, fearing a massive hunt due to their child and the rest of the Barioth who had taken residence there. He longed to be back.

The Barioth slowly walked away from his cave, and jumped wildly into the air, headed towards Doragokuni...And where he knew the Emperor of Doragokuni (Fyrulosor) would be, on Looktop Cliff. Furosoto flapped his wings through the cold air, squinting as the Tundra took its typical toll on flying. In the Tundra, moving was 4 parts effort to 1 part purpose.

The horizon slowly changed to a grey, dull visage, to accompany the cruel flames. The Barioth twitched angrily as he descended to Looktop Cliff. He saw Fyrulosor approaching the exit, and dashed towards him.

"Yo...You....You're.. *gasp* Fyrulo...sor...right...!?" The Barioth choked out.

"..Yes, Tundra Wyvern. What do you need?" Fyrulosor responded slowly.

"...I want to join the Wyverns For Peace. I... I have seen my home destroyed. Will you accept me, mighty emperor of Wyverns?" The Barioth stated.

"By all means, Tundra Wyvern. But I must ask your name." Fyrulosor told him.

"Furosoto. That is my name." Furosoto calmly said.

"Furusutu. Correct?" Fyrulosor tested.

"...No sir, it is Furosoto. Not Furusutu." The Barioth began, irritated.

But Fyrulosor was testing him. He cut in again: "And what will you do if I refuse to call you such?" he calmly stated.

"I will beat you, my king." The Barioth exclaimed angrily.

"PROVE IT! PROVE IT NOW, WYVERN, FURUSUTU!" Fyrulosor roared.

The angry Barioth blasted a tornado of freezing air at the aware Fyrulosor, who dodged it easily. Furosoto decided to cut in to a different approach; charging and blasting, a technique he had learned from Rathian and Rathalos watches in old forests. The Fyrulosor did not expect this, and he reeled in astonishment. He attempted a charge of his own, which the Barioth narrowly dodged.

"...Enough! You have proven yourself. You are worthy of your true name, Furosoto." The Fyrulosor began.

"Thank you, Master." The Barioth replied.

"You shall join our forces, and aid us in guiding them. You are our first new recruit." Fyrulosor said.

"Very well." Furosoto gladly growled.

On Looktop Plateau...

A Fairunokku stood glancing all around his home. He was not surprised to wake up to the old stones and trees burned and tossed. He slowly made his way towards the Wyvern Dome, where the Wyvern Council was meeting. He was to call the meeting while Fyrulosor took attendance.

He took his place on the stage and roared twice to draw their attention. He began to speak, introducing Fyrulosor.

"And now, the Emperor of Wyverns, the ancient king himself, Fyrulosor!" The Fairunokku said.

"Thank you, Fulgur. Now, all of you well know our issue... We must rebuild our home, and contemplate retaliation. These wounds the Guild has dealt us are like nothing else. They want nothing besides destruction for our peaceful land. We must rise against them. It is our only hope to survive!" Fyrulosor began.

The crowd cheered zealously with those words, and Fyrulosor used them as leverage to continue.

"So, here is my plan of action. We rally our greatest forces into one army, and we go forth at the end of the half-year. We have until then to gather our forces. I shall select three generals to gather this military. One will be for the ground, one for the water. Barioth, Furosoto of the Tundra. I summon you to be our commander of the Land. Blaze, Rathalos of . I summon you to be our commander of air. And Fulgur...you shall assist them both." Fyrulosor broadly said, smiling at his choices.



Somewhere on Dragon Bay...

A giant red shape blotted out the sun over a large rock for a moment. The "rock" was a brilliant color, strange for the rocks this close to the bay. The blot was none other than the Flying Army's general, Blaze. He landed next to the shape, and roared for attention from all creatures.

But there was another shape coming as well; a Barioth, Furosoto to be exact. They were coming to recruit more soldiers into their king's military force, and figured Dragon Bay would be a good start, for most of the beings there were brave, stubborn, and powerful.

"Attention, all flying wyverns and land wyverns of any sort! We require every young male to join our military. Any that have reached maturity, come forth!" The Rathalos shouted.

"Come at once, land wyverns, for I shall recruit you into Fyrulosor's army of Land!" Furosoto shouted.

Nothing.

"WE SAY COME FORTH, NOW!" They shouted in unison.

Furosoto, as he roared, knocked over the "stone". Several legs emerged from it and a wild-looking face, too.

"What......what on fucking DORAGOKUNI could be SO FRICKING IMPORTANT!?" The Hermitaur exclaimed.

"Join us, young Carapaceon!" Furosoto began.

"No! I'm a peace lover. I want to stay here, with my friend Setheo. I'm Taur, nice to meet you... And your name is?" Taur asked.

"....Hmph. A crab in an army...quite trying, aren't we, Furosoto?" Blaze chuckled.

"Oh, shut up. You Raths are so arrogant." Taur said angrily.

"And you crabs are rather irritating, no? Yes, very similar to the likes of a vespoid or bnahabra, you are." The Rathalos growled.

"Say as you may, I shall never falter." Taur said, quoting the words of his father.

"Be at peace, Lord Blaze. Master Taur, I am Furosoto and that is Blaze. You know each other, I presume. Now, join us. We require you." Furosoto explained.

"Only if I may bring Setheo." The crab slowly said.

Just then, out of the water from which it had been listening, a great Piscine Wyvern shot out.

"I'm Setheo," The Piscine began. "and Taur, are you out of your mind!? We don't care what they do, huh? It sure as hell seems you do!!!!" Setheo ragingly finished.

The Rathalos glared at the Piscine wyvern, but backed down upon realizing he was in fact a Plesioth, which his kind (in secret) hated and feared with deathly passion.

"Taur, we've everything we need here. You are staying. Don't argue." Setheo coldly said.

"...Well...Won't the wars come for Dragon Bay eventually, Setheo?" Taur said.

"...Yes...But....Gah, you're going, are you not?" Setheo sadly allowed himself to say.

"...Ayep. I am. Coming, Setheo?" Taur asked.

"..If I don't you'll fucking die, so yeah, I am." Setheo said, grimacing.

"Ha, a Plesioth guarding a Hermitaur instead of feeding upon the likes of him! How entertaining!" Blaze said.

"Shut your mouth, fire wyvern." Setheo breathed, like breath of the tundra.

No further words were mentioned.

In the Nightfire Forest...

Several figures came through what remained of the woods. There were two flying wyverns, one swimming through a river that went through the woods, one a crab. It was the army of Fyrulosor, having come searching for more soldiers.

"Awaken, all Land Wyverns!" Furosoto said.

"But no Hermitaurs, we have one too many!" Blaze shouted back.

"That's it, I've had enough. Shut the hell up, now." Taur said.

"And you shall do what, little master, if I refuse?" Blaze questioned.

The next events happened in a flash. The end product was a Rathalos with one less head spike. In his immense rage, Taur had punched him in the face, extremely hard.

From that point on, Blaze had a presumed silent respect for Taur. "I'll do that, big, stupid wyvern." Taur angrily hissed.

Furosoto watched with silent enthusiasm, thoroughly entertained by the spectacle.

"All right, all land wyverns!" Furosoto said again, louder.

From out of nowhere, all sorts of massive wyverns appeared. Forest Barroth, Duramboros, Brachydios, Great Jaggi, Great Wroggi, and an array of others appeared.

And then something appeared that sent the wits from all of them. (They still joined the forces, for they knew the drill-war had, after all, set in before). It was a Garigia, the mighty tree-wyvern that was thought extinct.

"Who dare set foot in Gargair Forest!?" The tree roared.

"That would be I, Master Gargair. We require aid from the likes of those here in the forest. Do pardon us, and allow us passage." Blaze said.

"Prove yourself. At arms!" The tree shouted, slamming his arms at the Rathalos.

Blaze flew back and launched fireballs at the tree, which he batted away like flies. However, there was one that hit him square in the face. He reeled, and relented.

"...At ease. Very well. I wish only for peace. You have my leave. Take this as proof..." He said, producing a perfectly round orb of glowing dark green. He then placed it on Blaze's head, instantly giving him a Crown of The Forests-an ancient status symbol worn by the rulers of Doragokuni's Forests.

"Thank you, Lord Gargair." The Rathalos said respectfully.

"It is time for us to go to our last destination, into the Blazing Mountain." Blaze said.

In the Blazing Mountain...Near Alatreon's nest...

"Alatreon! I summon thee! Cometh from thine fortress!" Fyrulosor, who had came along this time, shouted in the old tongue.

"Under what command, Master Fyrulosor?" A dark voice replied from the shadows.

"The command of the Wyvern Council!" Fyrulosor slowly pronounced, remembering the old Alatreon's bad ears.

"Showeth thine proof!" The Alatreon called.

Fyrulosor produced from his horns a crown of obsidian, a scepter of wood, and a blade of water and shell. He allowed the Alatreon to summon it to him, the Elder Dragon utilizing his power of magnetism to bring it forth.

"...Very well, well indeed," The Alatreon began. "My name is Tenebra. I am the wisest of the Elde in Doragokuni. What bringeth thy to my fortress of stone?" Tenebra finished.

"We must have your aid, Elder. War is upon us. We fight the Hunter's Guild." Fyrulosor told him.

Tenebra walked out of the cavern in which he had taken to staying, and they finally got a good look at him. His horns were scratched and scarred from battle, and his face was ragged. On his legs, the claws were outgrown and blood-red from the lava of his nest. His chest was all but ripped, and the spikes had been dulled over the years. However, they all knew that under this seemingly fragile exterior was an ancient, wise, and demonic killing machine, if he so chose to be.

"...I am old, Fyrulosor. I am not able to fight as I once was, and you still ask me to fight a war? Have pity on an old dragon!" Tenebra said quietly, so his comrades in his cave (little known to the Wyvern Council) would not hear.

"Please, Tenebra. I beg of you." Fyrulosor cried.

"You cannot expect me to do this thing! I have my own lands to guard!" Tenebra growled angrily.

"You do not understand. If the West falls, all lands-including your peaceful Volcano-will fall in ruin. This Hunting guild cares not." Fyrulosor said quietly, the last few words falling like great stones in an avalanche.

"...Ah well... I will come. But do not expect much fighting. I am more of a navigator, an advisor, and a magicmaker." Tenebra relented.

Suddenly, much to the surprise of the Wyverns, a young human dressed in Alatreon scales came out of the cave, accompanied by a long and serpentine pseudowyvern-leviathan. The hunters instantly readied themselves for battle.

"No! Wait! I am on the side of the Wyvern Council!! I am the Descendant of Fyrulosor! My name is Kir." The girl shouted as Blaze lifted up on his wings and began to ready a fireball.

The Rathalos descended, blushing, much to the entertainment of Taur.

"As am I." The Ferrok told them.

"Very well, join us, so we may leave!" Furosoto growled. He hated Volcanoes, fitting of a Barioth.

And so the wyverns gathered all flew back to the Hall of the Wyvern Council. Two months had passed.

Chapter 2
"To order! To order, all the Wyverns!" Fyrulosor roared into the horn.

The Wyverns in the hall slowly calmed, listening to Fyrulosor's words. Taur, Blaze, Furosoto, and Setheo climbed upon the stage and recited their speeches. Each made the crowd even stronger and more excited, and as Setheo finished his, the crowd was in an uproar. When Fyrulosor took the stage, and finished, however, it became a plain furor. Eventually, the wyverns settled and the speakers left, headed for the Guild Gate.

The wyverns were flying, jumping, and swimming each in their own way to the Dead Valley, the only land standing between mainland Doragokuni and the Guild Gate. There were the mountains, of course, but they were not to be worried about; Fyrulosor ruled them and opened the mines at need, allowing them to pass easily under the land formations.

Finally, they reached Dead Valley. They set up a camp for the night, which had descended upon them like a wraith. The fire wyverns kept a fire going, and the rest kept guard. While they were tired, they had enough energy to sing an ancient warring melody:

Wyverns of War

All wyverns unite

Right through the cold

We shall fight;

Till we are too old.

Now all dragons are here

Our night is nigh

We needn't fear;

We are but of power high

All quake in sight

Of our mighty force

For we are the might

and the strength of the storm.

The night seemed to go on forever. The wyverns swapped guards several times through the night, each one retiring as soon as they lost full alertness. The flames of the Guild Gate watchtowers licked the sky, visible from Death Valley. All of the wyverns glanced at each other in worry. They knew that this was their sole chance.

The next morning, they awoke to the beating of fell wings. From Blaze's glance and immediate look of fear, the entire platoon of wyverns was alerted to the presence of it. They all turned, all one hundred plus of them. The wyvern and his rider, a young-looking hunter wearing some sort of strange Guild armor topped by a wondrous tricorne, barely noticed. They did look, however, and laughed gutturally at the wyverns.

"Dare ye swipe a look at us? Thine eyes be dirt, and thine minds, they be of shame! Lower thy look, foolish ones." The human growled at Fyrulosor.

"...I fear thee not." Fyrulosor said.

"Perhas, but ye might as wel'n't; aye, I be the mightiest man ye ever seen. The most deadly the ye evar did meet. Yer nothing to me. My name is Artex, and ye shall fear me or die!" The tricorne donned man laughed.

It was at this point in which a watching Nargacuga decided she had enough. Aiming carefully and making her way through the tall grass, she aimed at the tricorne sitting royally atop Artex's head. She blasted a tail spike, launching the tricorne away. He yelped and backflipped off of his mount, running towards the hat. The "young" man was too slow for an observant Tigrex, however, as it pounced and took the tricorne in its jaws.

"My hat! That be part of my armor! Give it back!" He demanded as the Tigrex used a roar to blast it across the plains.

"Fetch, bitch." The Tigrex said.

Artex glared angrily and motioned the Coilron away. Pleased by the direct follow of his command, he turned back to the wyverns. He spat at the Tigrex, and drew his blades, a pair of Jhen Mohran weapons that were likely custom built to his preference.

The Tigrex took a battle stance, and roared at the Guild hunter. The hunter, with his grand talisman, passed right through the roar, and slashed the wyvern's face. The Tigrex wasn't phased, as he had dealt with this sort before; they weren't affected by much, but when you could hurt them, they took quite a bit of damage. Tigrex growled, almost laughing, and lunged at Artex.

Artex half expected this, and dodged it easily. He slashed again at the Tigrex, full of energy from a pre-consumed Dash Juice. He looked carefully at his watch, realizing the dash juice had about five minutes left. A burning red entered his eyes as his body entered Demonization mode. He slashed angrily, demonically, at the Pseudowyvern. A gash in its wing developed as the powerful weapons sliced through, and Tigrex wailed in dismay. Artex heard this not as he delivered a fatal blow to the head of the Tigrex.

Tigrex angrily spat blood, and body slammed Artex. Artex righted himself quickly, and lunged again at the wyvern. By this time, the Nargacuga finally came back to its senses from the roar, which it had gotten too close to. It gave a forgiving look at Tigrex, who responded with an apology. The Nargacuga began to hack at Artex with its powerful wings, leaving dents in the guild armor. Artex gripped for his Blademaster pouch, and grappled a perfectly round, spiked blade from it, and launched it rapidly into the mouth of the Nargacuga. She cried and winced at the amazing pain, and retaliated by lunging blindly at Artex. He felt the move full force, and was launched back. When he finally got up, the two wyverns stood over him.

They reared up, and both readied bloody attacks; the Tigrex was going to attempt to crush him with sheer weight, and Nargacuga intended to spear him with her wing razors.

The fell move almost ended the life of Artex...

But at the last moment, the Coilron arrived. He grabbed Artex in his talons, flying him a few feet away and placing back his tricorne. Artex smiled evilly, commanding the Coilron (in the Wyvernian tongue) to kill them. The Coilron faced no opposition, as they were still wedged in the ground. He quickly ended their life with a burst of thunder from his horns, and descended on his weak legs, to take meat from both of them. He smiled a psychopathic grin as he ate.

Chapter 3
The Guild Gate was before them, and it glared at them with its hateful panels of stone. The doors opened slowly as Tuskurai slowly walked out, accompanied by Artex, in a new and improved armor set. They glared hatefully at the wyverns, searing hate through them as a blade would, with the force of ancient powers.

"Welcome to my fortress." Tuskurai said quietly. "I did not expect you so early. You come already to give up?" He finished.

"...Your wisdom recedes, Tuskurai. For art thou not the wisest of elder dragons? Surely you wouldst know the reasons we cometh to thine fortress. What hath changed thee unto thine form, where thy cannot museth a reason? Hath thy truly been lowered? Finally, what giveth thy the power and ability to overrule an ancient ancestor land such as ours?" Fyrulosor replied softly.

"And why is that? Allow me, Fyrulosor, to tell you a tale of ancient strifes." Tuskurai began.

"Long ago...My people...our people......the Elder Dragons... were betrayed, Fyrulosor of Doragokuni. They were betrayed by the Guild, who, at one point, were allies with wyverns. The Guild warred with them, overrunning Doragokuni as if it were nothing. They trampled our people and killed many of them. Now, I stand with them, as they are conquered. How can I? I have conquered them and their ancient ways. You...You betray the race of Elder Dragons. You rise against us, and attempt to conquer our people. Do you not remember your race's roots? We were once wyverns ourselves, and the humans were our comrades. The force I use, you ask? Surely you do not believe it is...our old magic and power?" Tuskurai began his story.

"Indeed I do." Fyrulosor told him.

"Wrong! This power is given to me by my comrade and fell sorcerer, Necromancer of Wyverns, Darkness Swimmer, Shadow Bender, Dragon Feared... The Fatalis. It is the power to build an empire over you traitors, and to invade at will...and finally...to take over the entire surrounding regions, from the Central World to the Minegarde Region. I shall first conquer the rest of Moga...and then I shall conquer...I shall invade and conquer Minegarde...and finally....The Central World. Then and only shall I be satisfied." Tuskurai finished.

"None of this shall come to pass... for you shall not live to see it. All Wyverns at arms! All wyverns, charge!" Fyrulosor roared.



There a bloodiest battle ensued. Tuskurai expected none of the hordes of anti-guild wyverns that appeared from over the horizon at the end of Fyrulosor's roar, and he flew off early, deciding to spare himself from the torture. He did, however, leave Artex to deal with Fyrulosor, who was commanding in his humanoid form, very similar to a human.

Artex growled angrily at Fyrulosor, lunging at him with his two blades. Fyrulosor gave him a deathly glare, drawing his Dark Claw "Demise" and slashing to the east, ripping a small gash in the Guild armor. Artex grimaced and threw one of his blades at his side, slicing through the wonderful golden hair of Fyrulosor. He choked out a growl before launching at Artex, spearing him in the side with his Long Sword.

Artex's blood dripped heavily from the wound, but he did naught to it save for heal it with a mega potion (his last) and drew out a dagger from his hand that was caught too close to the blade and thus was injured. He sheathed his now-useless dual blade as he did so, placing it carefully on the hook which he mounted on his back. He growled and the blade glowed with power, as did his armor. Artex laughed as he ran to Fyrulosor, jumping over him and slicing his back in three strokes. Fyrulosor, meanwhile, had concentrated on an especially irritating Jaggi from the Guild's side.

Fyrulosor tried to cry out, but could not as the knife split across his back and into his lungs, and thus to his heart. His mind fluttered and he turned to Artex. Roaring, he began another onslaught, cutting Artex in several places, and denting his armor. The man still challenged him, much to Fyrulosor's surprise. He finally decided to end it, as he called down his archers.

His fighters he brought were not any semblance of a normal man. They were ruined, and goblin-like, more reptile than man. They growled, and when spoken to replied with burps and yelps, but rarely anything resembling common speech. The ones who could speak were larger, and they perhaps were different than the others. They commanded their underlings with a cruel language which some said was an ancient, ugly, and spoiled variation of the language of the Liméstæn. They also threatened all in their path with their ugly speaking of English. They were known as Ruknurk.

It just so happened that his deadliest one, Drimbul, dropped to a tower that had been brought up in the middle of the field, and angled towards the battling duo of Fyrulosor and Artex. Drimbul took a careful aim at Fyrulosor, loosing an arrow into his chest. He fell backwards, panting as Artex gathered himself, waiting for the onslaught of self-power to slow. Artex rose and began again, when Fyrulosor righted himself.

That was when the most unlikely of things happened. One of the most ancient demons of the world, known simply as the Unmentionable Abomination, came lumbering into the battlefield. He growled his unbearable cry to the field, enticing fear to the hearts of men and wyvern alike. The monster drug around his mace, searching for the remaining wyverns who could prove a challenge for him. Noticing Fyrulosor and recognizing him immediately, he walked at him. Fyrulosor got up and with a mighty stroke felled several Ruknurk, before he was smote with another arrow.

He finally managed to get up one last time, engaging the Abomination. He slashed across the beast's belly, encouraging it to roar and slam his mace into the ground near him. Fyrulosor stabbed the beast, allowing blood to pour out while he battled it. Finally, a fell kick from Drimbul ended the battle, sending Fyrulosor to his knees. Fyrulosor commanded a nearby Duramboros to slay the beast, and watched as Drimbul nocked another arrow, ready to end his life. Before Fyrulosor died, he saw the saddest thing he had ever seen. His supposed allies and friends, the Liméstæn, approached over the horizon, on the cliff. Fyrulosor smiled for a moment, before catching the Liméstæn kings, Ellnor's, eyes. Ellnor gave him a look of pity and shook his head, muttering a silent prayer of fortune to Fyrulosor. Finally, he turned his people around, and headed back. In his prayer were these words:

O, Master Fyrulosor! Forgive our haste We must leave this battle And we mustn't ourselves waste

Our people grow thin In number and blood The new might of men Is but might of mud.

We must now away Ere break of day So we may come again to help some day.

Fyrulosor and his people never forgot this. To this day, it is said they cannot bring themselves to talk to any Liméstæn until they get to know them; this is a paradox, of course, that almost prohibits them from socializing completely. However, you will see how they did help, later.

The arrow pierced Fyrulosor like a heathen blade of old, finally reaching his frail heart. His men and wyverns fought on, oblivious to their lord's condition. In his last breath, Fyrulosor told his men to not forget him, and never forget the Limestaen who did not help them, and to fight until they could not hope to any longer. Finally, Fyrulosor the Silver Dragon was dead.



Upon the ground, his wyverns cried their mourning. The ground shook, the earth quaked, and for a few minutes, all were in furor, and it seemed that the Doragokuni Wyverns may win after all unlikeliness.

But it was not meant to be. The Duramboros and Abomination were still fighting. Suddenly, the Abomination slew the Duramboros and continued towards the masses of wyverns and men alike who were fighting. There was no hope left.

"THE SILVER ONE HAS FALLEN! FALL BACK! I REPEAT, FALL BACK!" Fulgur said, blowing the great horn of Fyrulosor to rally them and call them to attention.

"TO THE MOUNTAIN CAVES! ALL, GO TO THE TENEBROUS CAVERNS, THE WYVERNMINES! FALL BACK! DORAGOKUNI, LAND OF WYVERNS, HAS FALLEN! ALL IS LOST!" He shouted above the furor.

Inside the Tenebrous Caves, the wyverns rallied and began to deliberate in Wyvernian about what to do next. They looked around at each other. There were twenty of them left.

"Is this truly what we have to stand against Drimrud*?" Asked Beema, a young but clever wyvern who knew the history of Moga and Doragokuni. He was a Zinogre, very aggressive but very kind to a point. By now, everyone knew him, and his fighting skills, what of them he had that he could use after the battle.

"So it is. For now, we must deliberate. Do we choose a new leader, and restart our lives in Doragokuni, or do the former and simply go into battle again? I, myself, prefer the first idea. We do not have number nor knowledge to simply battle them again. Even if we attempt to assassinate the King of Darkness, Tuskurai, one does not simply walk in to Drimrud. There are huge gates, which you lot have seen. It is surrounded by a wall, a great wall, and mountains. It is folly to try to fight them once more." Blaze said.

"Indeed....We must choose a new leader. It should be Fulgur. All in agreement?" Furosoto asked.

All raised their wings and paws for yes. Thus Fulgur son of Rulgun was made the Second Lord of Doragokuni.

Chapter 4
Long years passed. Fulgur's line continued through the ages. They rebuilt Doragokuni, using the old wisdom and the materials that had been left. Forests were replanted; mountains were again sown with the seeds of industry by the Minru, a Lynian species about no more than five foot tall, with long beards and hair and great (though unarguably stubborn) personalities; beaches again were graced with the hard shells and smooth scales of Carapaceons and Piscine Wyverns; again were the skies populated by Rathalos and Rathian, watching their nests, picking meals, and guarding the land.



For two hundred years the land was guarded by Liméstæn rangers who apologized to the line of Fulgur (and, when the time came, the line of Fyrulosor, though at this time all believed them dead). The Guild left them to their devices, though their arm lurked ever closer, watching with the threat of war. Many left Doragokuni, in hopes for a better land known as the Tiel Lands, an ancient haven in which death simply did not occur. Many more, however, stayed, and made new life among the Liméstæn and the other wyverns among them.

Thus passed good ages. Five hundred years passed since the death of Fyrulosor, and it no longer hung over their heads. They remembered him well in song and tale, but never again did someone assume the blame of his death. Until the child of Fyrulosor came of age and ventured to his destiny, no one even spoke of who could have caused Artex to have slain Fyrulosor. But when Fyrul the Second was born, he quickly came of age and requested to know where he could find his father. He, of course, searched in vain for years upon years, without luck, before he was finally told at the ripe young age of 60 that his father died in the ancient wars.

By this time, he had gotten over the death of his father. His ancestral home on the Plains of Arrur, known as the Dale of Doragokuni, had passed to him after his mother's death, and he lived their as a human for many years. At the still very young age of 74, a wandering wise one by the name of Elrasil came to him, bearing with him a scrap of his father's (and little to his knowledge an actual part of Tuskurai) legacy. Fyrul II knew well of Elrasil; they were great friends through many dangers. Elrasil came very welcome to Fyrul, but not the rest of Dalur (the shortened name of Dale of Doragokuni).

You see, there is something I must explain before continuing. Elrasil was one of the three that convinced Fyrul II to go on his assorted adventures for his father. For this, Elrasil was labeled as a "disturber of the peace". He rarely came to Dalur, and came for short times-the inhabitants were no trouble and caused him no problems, but he did find it amusing and somewhat unsettling that they viewed him so darkly because of his "disturbing the peace". When he did come, however, he had the respect and love of one group; the children.

As Elrasil made his slow way on his horse-drawn cart, bumping and bumbling along, many children picked up his trail. He laughed and released some of his treasure, some beautiful friendly insects. The children laughed and screamed and some ran for and others ran from the insects! It was truly a sight.

At this time, Fyrul noticed him from afar, while he was sitting on his porch. He recognized him instantly and rushed to greet him. The young man jumped over log and stream, running swiftly to greet the old conjurer. He finally reached the old man's cart as he was rounding Fullriver Bend. "...You're...Early! That's a first, my friend." He laughed. "..." was the silent respond of Elrasil. "...Fyrul of Dalur... An Earthweaver is never early. He is never late. He simply comes as he goes and goes as he comes and he comes and goes as he pleases, which involves quite a bit of coming and going at whatever time." The old man grumbled, looking up at Fyrul with wizened eyes under stiff brows.

"... well ..." Fyrul began. The man began to grumble again, but a smile reached his wise old face wrinkled with age, and he-they-laughed together for a full five minutes. "Elrasil!!! It's wonderful to see you again!!" Fyrul yelled, jumping into Elrasil's cart. "Oh-ho-ho, my boy! It's excellent to see you're still jumping! I would have expected you to mellow down by now," he began, coughing lowly, "but I don't suppose I should expect that out of what Dalur folk do decide to rustle themselves, like you." He continued, laughing. "So! Tell me everything. All news of the world." Fyrul said happily. "Everything...Oh...That's a wide order...very inquisitive for a Dalurian. Ah well, what can I tell you..." He began.

"Things go on in the wide world much as they always have, and likely always will. The great eyes of our enemies on the other side of the mountains have yet to see anything this far..." He continued, breathing under his breath "and for that we have but thanks." He said. The old Earthweaver continued. "It seems the Gate may be breaking down. Our good friends the Limestaen should be able to tear it down with little-if any-opposition, for it seems the Guild has left its hall there." He told him.

"Ah, well, that's good news! Perhaps we'll be able to go see all of the country at some point, aye?" Fyrul laughed. "Well, of course!" Elrasil laughed. "You can't expect me to let your old uncle take care of you forever. Besides that, you wouldn't expect me to miss Gladril's birthday, surely! He's 200 today! A very odd age for any of you folk." He continued, chuckling. Then, whispering under his breath, he made a note-"and an age which I find very curious..so curious that I should like to investigate it." He muttered, Fyrul taking no notice. "I'm quite happy that you've returned, and none too quickly to boot!" Fyrul said, grinning and jumping off the cart.

The cart rolled for a way before stopping at a huge shade tree under the shadow of a great rising hill. It stood amidst the ivy and white rose-bushes and rose up to a giddy height. Or so it was to any who looked upon it; for it was fair through all the years and this fairness was not dampened by the architecture. The ancient home of the Fyron family had never been forgotten, not in all the years which they long prevailed as the chief leaders of the town where the house had been built.

The home itself was delved through rock and stone, and earth, directly into the side of the hill. On the green, grassy, smooth hill itself, which was quite large and akin rather to a volcanic cone in steepness and rise, there was a shallow terrace cut that wound about the western side of the hill and ended on the east. It ended directly on top, right on the tree which stood above the house, offering shade for any who would sit under its cool eaves. The roots, deep though they were, had been manipulated to stretch around and sometimes through the house to offer strength and furnishing as needed, though this had been rare in construction. It had not grown since, due partially to the impossibility of such.

In the terrace was laid a deep comb that stretched into the wide hilltop. The well-kept cut was always filled with the flowers and the garden of its keeper, who tended to hire young farm-lads to care for it. With this generation, arendii (an old Limestaen plant), forget-me-nots, roses, and peonies and lilies had been planted. A small stream flowed through them, for at the top of the wide and strong hill there ran a spring. It ran straight from the very foundations of the earth and emptied into the Deeping Stream, which in turn emptied into the River Sendeol, and that empties into the ancient seas. If one walked from this point, where the garden and entry door stood, across the house unto the other side, which opened to little more than a vent for old lungs, you walked no more than twenty feet. It was perhaps lacking in space, but the rooms had been manipulated for use-and it had several stories, each one in turn supported by tree roots. Trees surrounded this place and lent their strength to whomever would use it.

Inside, the house was all wood-and-stone, with nary a patch nor spot of earthen make to be seen, save where roots peeked out from their hiding places in the deep roots of the world. The wood had been laid carefully so that you could not seperate the pieces, not by any strength yet left in the world. Their foundations were smooth and the laying was smoother, stretching across the hallowed walls into older times when the home had been seemingly wrought from earth itself long ago. It was pleasant. From the north, three windows looked out onto the old Wyvern Hall and past, into the Central World's distant edge-wood. To the East, the fires of the guild were long seen before the good wind from the forest drove the smoke from it away, and the guild gave up its post there to save funds for more important and rewarding conquest. From the South, one could see the mists of the ocean, if you had the eyes of Fyrulosor the Old. None yet had. Some, however, utilized devices of every make to see from this view, this highest hill in all Dalur. From the West...Few had dared look there for any length, but those who did told of an ancient land on their borders, where deadly wyverns had yet to move themselves.

There were no windows or out-ways doors on the lower floors, but there were many more rooms. Only one floor had the semblance of an outward vent, and it was only open during certain times of year when that part of the house (which was used for cooking large meals and storage) was in use and required need of quick cooling. Otherwise, it stayed stone-cold and did not change for weather nor temperature. Some called it a stronghold of the Fyron Family for its lower stories, the first of which, aforementioned, contained food and storage. The lowest story, however, was even deeper than the base of the hill and had been built first, some say. In the darkness underneath Dalur, an ancient path to the Wyvern Hall had been built and long had it been guarded, left to none outside the Fyron Family.

The man slowly rose, and got out of his cart, looking beaten by the harsh weather he had endured. He knocked on the old, black, solemn door and called for Fyruon. After roughly five minutes of a wait, he knocked again. "FYRUON FYRON, OPEN THIS BLACK DOOR OR I SHALL BLOW IT FROM THE WEST WALL TO THE EAST!" he roared, to catch the old man-wyvern's attention. "Gah, hold yer tongue, lad! I'm comin'!!" A cranky voice answered. "I am no lad." Elrasil answered. "All you Branards are lads, or I be but a lad meself!" He yelled from the cellar. "Nor am I a Branard." The old man laughed. "I'm coming, quit it." He said, finally closing in on the door. Without a moment's wait, the knob quickly spun and out lurched an incredibly tall man-wyvern. "...Elrasil? Surely it isn't he, no one's seen him around these parts for one hundred years on the least!" Fyruon mumbled. "Alas, my dear wyvern. It is I. And I return at the time most needed, I warrant." He replied, in a laugh. "Yes, yes, but please, do come in! I've got some ale in the cellar; I was just fetching a barrel." The man-wyvern told him. "Yes, do you need any help with it?" Elrasil called after him. "No, no, I'm fine!" he responded.

It was a few minutes before he responded, and came back up the stairs carrying a barrel of ale. Opening a cork in the side, he leaned it on the rim and poured him a pint. "Please, do make yourself at home, if it can be called such, old Elrasil!" Fyruon said, grinning. "It is as homelike as many a place I have stayed ere I came." Replied Elrasil, bitterly shaking at his encounter with a Kurora in the Forest just east of the land of Dalur, and over the Plateau of Dalur. "Ah! Good then! Now, sit, and we'll talk." Fyruon poured himself a pint of ale, sitting back on a bench and kicking his feet onto the table, made of expensive dragonwood. "Well, go on!" He laughed.

"You're just as inquisitive as your nephew." Came Elrasil, intent on changing subjects. "That may be so, but perhaps I could judge better if you would give me news of your journey! At least, give me news this side of the Stone!" (The Stone was a byword for the Mountain range that divides Doragokuni.) the old wyvern demanded. "Fine then! I will do as you please. Ah, where to start..." and thus began his telling of his journey. Following is the account of it from his point of view.

Elrasil climbed down the stony ledge that jutted towards the Swamplands, atop Leamen Amen, Mountain Crescent. It was the west end of the Stone, or, as better known in Elder Tongues, the Leamen Arie. The stone ledge itself was actually part of the Leamen Stairway; it had fallen into decay and now on occasion pieces would fall apart and crumble. Jaggi, Qurupeco, Kurora, and other mountain creatures were no help for this decay, causing much damage and spreading of debris. To his right stood the path that lead directly down into the Swamp, and thence through the narrow trade routes that carried goods from the East Leamen Arie to the West Leamen Arie, and thence north-west through the Unqare Swampland. Then, the path turned due north, and thus came to the Old Tower, within which stood a ramp that wound for many miles upwards. Then, a bridge built in the prime of the Limestaen transferred the traffic from the Old Tower to the Plateau. There was also an ancient staircase that was made under the span of the bridge, atop an ancient natural causeway.

To his left yawned the Chlorhe Downs, an area renowned for chasms, small streams, and a river. They were covered by dense forests of dragonwood and oak, with occasional pine and elm, and were considered sacred to many who lived around them-primarily due to hunting there, which was exceptional for any area of them. The forest was also thick and green throughout the year, housing many animals and monsters that keep it alive and awake year-round.

But he knew his path was to his front, which had no path. Indeed, though a staircase grandly had been built there long ago, long wars and monster abuse-as well as a tendency for fighting-slowly destroyed the ancient hall that led down between the downs and the swamp, and this area was known as the Dale of Numenrui. Dark was the name of the Dale of Numenrui, which was but a very narrow valley below sea level that gathered the brunt of evil and war; for when the tribes of Numenrui (of which they were named; Numenrui is Limestaen for Lost.) would war against the Plateau tribes, both sides had equal advantage, such as the end of the Dale being within shooting range of the Rockfence, a low jutting path of rock delved right into the side of the Plateau, offering bowmen a safe area of shooting and offering defense to the upper stories. However, from the East side, the Numenruians had the masses of rocks to hide and to throw and to shoot from, and they controlled a good deal of the Downs, which they cut some for wood and others for equipment. Some of course were left as a last defense, and it was known that a series of bridge networks and small homes were set up in the strong trees-and there the ancient places remain, devoid of human life but full of that of animals.

So he descended down the first broken and faded step, covered in old blood from various wars and hunts, not to mention guard fights. There was a mile-long journey completely down to get to the area where the Hall ended, and were less stones had been scattered. At the pace the Earthweaver had to go, it took roughly an hour's worth of a descent to get him to the final place where he could rest. Here, where part of the arch remained and the doors ever closed stood guarding their lands, symbols of the strength of old. Elrasil rested under the shadow of these doors, the deepening shade comforting him. As he noticed, it was getting later with every minute he spent under the arch; he got up again, and began another descent down the hill. Elrasil covered roughly two miles in an hour in this way, still going down the slope until he finally reached the Easternmette, the east arch-doorway of the Numenrui Stone-fence that surrounded the valley (though not all the way around, just the East and West ernmette. Any who dared come from the north or south was deemed worthy to come within the borders, anyway.). Finally, he took his rest for the night and drunk another sip of his Jhen-liquor, provided to him in a gallon's worth when he had passed through the Mohran Tribe's desert. For the most part, Elrasil preferred water, but as none could be found that was viable for drinking, he drunk the liquor. It was soft, and sweet, as if borne upon the wings of spring and yet strengthened with years of hard sand; it was a very empowering drink all around, and well-loved by all.

He set no guard, not even asking his Felyne to watch. A general rule with him traveling was that nothing is forced to lay awake while others lay asleep. This was no exception, if not less, as no living creature to date had been seen after Bloodreign. There, all living things in the valley were hunted and tortured and mutilated before being released, in attempts to breed Shadowed versions of monsters. But none have come to pass. The night passed uneventfully and the morning dawned with the light of the sun swimming through the bars of the Easternmette. Elrasil got up, and, stretching, he picked up his sword-n-shield, and set out again. This time, they were to take a road ten miles straight down the valley, until they got to the Westernmette, in which they would board for a night at the House of Flight, a local inn.

They set out at once, walking swiftly past the archway and down the seemingly solid and well-built (not to mention well-kept by the weather) stone steps, that descended around several trees and into a great path between two mighty rock faces-the beginnings of the Chlorhe Downs. The steps wound down from the archway directly to a split in paths, where the Limestaen had quite a few battles, especially with the monsters of the Downs and the neighboring tribes that sought to war with them, in false attempts to take their fortunes and people-as well as gain ownership over their lands. Here the Limestaen, in the days of their youth and the building of this way, had tarried; signs of their population were everywhere.

Elrasil looked ahead of him, straight into the sudden massive stone that frowned upon him now; he placed one of his hands on the stone and spoke a few words. The great pillar change shape and color, revealing a great many relatively smaller stones and boulders around it. They stood around the outer edge of the left and right paths. Another arch opened up in the door; Elrasil ignored it and they rested there for a moment, pondering. "...Long years has it been since I have passed through Outer Leamen Arie, and I have lost memory of this place, Harna." he mumbled to his felyne, who pricked her ears at his gruff-but kind-voice. "Nya! I have never been here! Don't look at meow!" Harna sweetly mewed, sharpening her small sword. Elrasil got up and paced a few steps ahead, looking around at the bushes before turning and contemplating the two paths. Suddenly, as if struck down, he fell to his knees and searched within himself.

Chapter 5-All is Dark
For a long time he did not speak. Then his voice came, as if speaking from the Stone themselves. "All is dark...and I cannot see ahead. I have no memory of these paths." He rumbled. Then he began to sing.

My path is dark
 * The way is ahead

The stones lack mark
 * Known things are said

Our path ends near
 * And fires clear

To all ends thither
 * I cannot see.

For a long time, he was silent. Then, with a cock of his head, he got up slowly, picking up his things. "Harna," he called, "come! We set out northwest." He muttered, beginning their walk into the descent. The path swiftly went between to rising rock walls, and they continued marching for several hours, practically taking no notice of the sudden walls that surrounded them. In time, they came to a wide canyon's true opening that was so wide, ten men could've walked abreast with much room to spare; and it gradually got wider until it hit a point that it could not, and then there was room enough easily for 18 men to stand abreast.

It was the Lifeless Lands, the huge canyon that stretched far until it went into the hills and became a cave, and then a tunnel, and the tunnel was shaped to the specifications of the Darill-the ancient people who now live in Dalur that had once lived in the mid-west of Doragokuni. Lifeless it was, and yet ever pressing was the feeling of living dread, of hate that never slept. The two companions feared for themselves, yet stood strong against the feelings of death that emenated from the canyon.



"We shall rest here tonight." Elrasil muttered, contemplating his surroundings. He reckoned it was six miles and thus a three-hour's march, if they went at their current speed-which was not by any means fast. They sat down on an old dry log and looked around. Their surroundings were baren, even more so than the highlands had been, and they were not glad, for plants would do them well. The rock faces where grey and black, frowning upon the two travellers with evil eyes. Plant life was little, and what there was of it was rotten and dead, or dead and dry in the typical exhausting heat of Oron-Numenrui Canyon. They disliked the feel and smell of it. After they had eaten, Elrasil warned Harna: "You shall sleep first, as I do not need sleep for hours yet. I shall guard. But do not trust to kindness or good here, in any way! It is very evil. I can feel it in my bones. Trust me..." Elrasil said quietly, as if the rock walls had ears.

Harna slept well for her allotted time, and then awoke and allowed Elrasil to sleep. He slept even better, happy to be sleeping in the comfortable sand of the canyon, rather than on top of a hard rock face. It was soft, and smooth, almost like grainy and dry butter. It was silky and yet stony, very unique and comfortable. Nothing came around for four hours while Elrasil slept; three hours he did, and then for an hour after they had peace.

But a certain Dark Nibelsnarf, which was but a half mile away, thought differently. The little felyne loaded a small bowgun and aimed it at its throat as it approached, while Elrasil took out his longsword. They got to see the Dark Nibelsnarf in all its glory; it had bloody teeth, from its fleshy and bleeding gums and lips. It seemed to have wild, ever-hungry eyes, searching for anything consumable. The back of the creature had changed into an array of spikes that were very sharp and could slice many things in half on simple touch and push. The tail was very much mutilated and changed, now equipped with a heavy ball-and-chain extension, designed to slap blades into any who would come near. It was fearsome and looking for food.



It came within sight range of its foes; baring its teeth, the Dark Nibelsnarf rushed for them. Adjusting her aim, Harna readied a Poison II shot in her bowgun. As the Nibelsnarf rushed towards them and finally was in three lengths of a blade away from them, she shot the small gun, landing the Poison round directly in the back of the Nibelsnarf's throat. Writhing in pain, the creature tumbled out of the sand and laid down crying in pain. Elrasil lunged to the side of it, and quickly launched a deadly series of attacks on it.

Getting up slowly, the Nibelsnarf looked daggers at Elrasil, slapping him with the massive ball-and-chain attached to its tail. Elrasil crashed into the wall, winded for a moment. Drunkenly, he looked ahead, noting deliriously that the Nibelsnarf was in a tug-of-war with Harna, in a desperate effort to throw her into the rock wall. Harna was quickly growing weary of the strain; soon she would faint, most likely, and become lodged within the Dark Nibelsnarf's teeth. But Elrasil managed to rush to her aid, scoring a blow on its spikes. Wheeling around, the Nibelsnarf charged at Elrasil, who dodged and cut off a small piece of its tail. The Dark Nibelsnarf seemed not to notice and came again, this time at Elrasil.

Elrasil had just enough time to block, and kick at its throat before being overtaken by the blow. The leviathan sailed over him and disappeared into the sand. All around him, Elrasil and Harna felt a strange silence. For a few moments, they thought the Dark Nibelsnarf had left them. But it was not meant to be, and the creature lunged another time, to their immediate surprise. Elrasil was launched across the ground several yards, and was bleeding from many areas on his face and left side. He growled viciously and leisurely tossed an Arcane Knife into the creature's belly, doubling it over. Harna quickly got to work on the creature's belly, slicing open its abdominal cavity, before Elrasil got the opportunity to remove even more of its tail.

Now weakened greatly, the Nibelsnarf attempted his final trick in the throes of death; he swam away and readied a charge, that Harna and Elrasil did not detect. Elrasil slashed and managed to get himself away quickly enough. Harna, however, was not so lucky. The hard protrusions on the lips of the demonic leviathan, which basically created vicious horns, slammed hard into Hanra. The battered Felyne flew against the wall, and fell near-lifeless to the ground. Elrasil looked on the Nibelsnarf with hate. Skewering his blade inside the brain of the beast, he killed it and sheathed his sword, running for Harna.



Blood trickled down his arms and on his face where the late Nibelsnarf had scored him on the side and cheek; no wound to fret over. However, he looked upon his fallen comrade with panic, and rushed to her side. She was barely conscious. "Nya.....Nya....El...rasil.......Come here...Nya...Come meow..... Please..... nya.... I want you...to hear...my last words..." harna cried out. "I'm here, I'm here for you. Do not think bad thoughts!" Elrasil cried. "I...want you...to keep my sword...even if it is a knife to your kind...let it ever serve you...good bye..." Harna said. "...Very well. See Darkness no longer, traveller, warrior, great friend. ... Look upon shores of white and trees of green, and skies of blue. See Darkness no longer. Go to sleep. Go to sleep as you did when you were in the house of Elrasil. Sleep now. See Darkness no longer. Sleep." Elrasil said, sobbing into his robe and taking the knife.

The Felyne died in his arms that night, free and breathing the air of a victor. He was proud in life, and in death, and was one of the few who laid claim to the honor of that era. Elrasil began to wear the knife wherever he went, and would never take it off for any reason-save to bathe.

As he took the knife and snapped it to him, he stood. Looking across the field, he began to roar with anger and sadness. "Death! If death come to those who lived so valiantly, I wish to die as one of them! Death! Death to us all! Death! This ravine is dead, this world is dead! All is dead! Death!" roared the Earthweaver, once again revealing himself as a mighty wyvern called the Terralos, in his last moments. "Let death take me if it take she who I considered my ally and friend in both battle and home! Death! Death to all! Death shall most certainly come, so why should we not die together!" He cried lowly into his robe, falling to his knees.

But it was not meant to be. He decided against dying right there, in an inane spur of ignorance to take his life, and decided that Harna would have wanted the quest completed. After burying her with her proper honour, he carved a small stone for her, and set the Nibelsnarf alight. It was a grand fire that lasted for an hour that Elrasil knew of; it was still burning cruelly when Elrasil stopped at the Depths of Oron. He did not rest, and instead went directly inside. In the darkness, he marched for several hours, still occasionally crying at the loss of Harna. For that was his one companion, his one trust, and now it was lost. But after the third hour of slow ascent, it was near to sleep and to night; he pushed himself under an edge of the rock face that stretched inwards and pulled a Limestaen blanket over him that mysteriously camouflaged him from all danger. He slept through the entire night, and then began again when he awoke. It was daytime, and that could be told by one of the unblocked straight clock-vents, ever present in these caves. They were designed to tell the time in the darkness of the Stairs of Oron. Finally, after a long walk, the Earthweaver was in the last dash for it, as they say.

Ahead lay about a half-mile of slight ascent and solid, smooth, well-built road; it would take him roughly a half-hour to find the end, at the pace he decided to walk at. After all, he had a good two months to go before he would be expected. He continued at the pace for twenty minutes. Then, he rested at the chosen area, a mere ten minutes away from the exit. From here, he fancied he could see the details of the outside. He slept for an hour before proceeding outwards. He looked down upon the valley at the fair trees. They had long stood as a welcome form of life in the ever-lifeless place; though it ceased to be so now, and it was rather full of life and very green, as though the dale had awakened from its past evil. "So good has returned to Numenrui," Elrasil muttered happily. The Earthweaver descended the slopes, stopping momentarily to eat under the trees. The lights of Westernmette were close; Elrasil was within a two hour march of it.

With a day's march ahead, he continued on, hoping to get to the West Hall by sundown. He saw little animal and monster life, leaving him to assume that the land was living very frugally and that it was not yet beginning to totally heal. As he came closer to the hall of the West, he noted a large gate relatively close; he walked up to it and unlatched it with a key he had kept secret, and walked inside.


 * Drimrud is the Old Tongue's name for the Guild controlled area of Moga. It literally means Dark Place.

TO BE CONTINUED