| Gnarled trees and twisted rocks surrounded the dark mountain valley.
Under the light of the rising moon the wild forms of the Forsaken danced
in chaotic union. But there was no love or joy in their savage tete-a-tete.
It was a ballet of blood and rage. Frothing lips and snapping bones and
red sharp teeth. The madness of their souls had once been kept in check,
if only barely. But the magic wards and glyphs that had stayed the Forsaken's
full fury were now gone. Buried with the Dragon-Mage that had made them.
The earth shattering roar that had tolled the death-knell of the mighty wyrm had sent the Forsaken into a soul despairing abyss of mindless fear and panic. They did not know what the fire and the hurtling rock that had consumed the far off mountain meant, but they felt it in their bones that this was the end of the world. And in their fear they reached out for the one thing they did understand: Pain. And so they fell upon each other as they had never done before. With a desperate passion born of animal lust and humanity lost, they ripped and chewed and tore into each other with a frenzy that might almost have been called Love. This last bloody banquet of death would be their greatest, for who knew what tomorrow would bring. Who knew if tomorrow would come at all. And on an overlooking cliff above their heads, a figure in the shape
of a man stared down at them. Two blazing ovals of red shone out from where
its eyes should have been. The golem simply stood there and watched. By
morning more than half of the Forsaken would be dead. Only the strongest
would survive. The most vicious, the most cunning. Without expression,
without expectation or anticipation, the golem stared. It was there to
gather information. It was there to see what would happen. It was there
to wait for the Enemy.
|
