For the glory of Ulthuan

The winds rushed through the fluted helmet, its howl mingling with the cries of the ridden beast. The unearthly sound pierced the ancient slopes of Caledor, haunted the mountain ranges in a dozen echos and dispersed the peace in the misty vale.

With languorous flaps of its leathery wings the beast circled above the valley entrance. Its bluish scales reflecting the azure of the sky, its slitted unblinking eyes reflecting the blood lust in its heart.

The mailed rider slowly stroked the base of the Dragon's neck. Still staring at the approaching column of white and silver, the rider whispered soothingly in an ancient tongue that elf and dragon had shared, since days of Caledor Dragon Tamer. A language only a Dragon Prince could speak, in a tone only the Dragon could hear.

Tvar felt the tenseness in his mount, and though his words were soothing, he too felt the tenseness. After all, they were still his kin, however diluted they may be, he did not want to shed elf blood. However, as proven many times before, fate was fickle and cruel, and his destiny was to be awashed with blood of his kin. He sadly watched the approach of the column sent by the Phoenix King, a column of silver, approaching his domain, a lance honing to his heart.

Once, he would have joined such a column to actualize his oath to the Great Phoenix, to destroy any ursurpers that threaten the peace of Ulthuan. Now, he saw the delusions for what they are, the decline of old elven ideals. Once Elves ruled the Old World, a race almost immortals, and it would have been an honor to have defended the Old Ulthuan. Now, though the Phoenix Throne is weak, ruled not by the might and wisdom of Caledor, but a compromising tradesman, a mere merchant, who politics with lesser nations of lesser creatures. Now elves are nothing but a supporting race. Assiting in the affaris of lesser creatures, even as the Phoenix King sends this punitive expedition into the heart of Caledor, he occupies himself with affairs of mortal men, like squabbling children, the empire of man has entered a civil war.

Tvar had advised the King to take this chance and take the realm of man, which would add great resources to Ulthuan, one of which would be a great population to levy and reconquer the world. The King had the nerve to expel him from court.

Tvar had declared the secession of Caledor from Ulthuan, as a display of his displeasure under the leadership of such spineless elf. To his dissapointment many other Dragon Princes, Imrik, who's judgement is already believed to be diluted (just look at the useless lance he carries) being the most prominent, were the first to condemn him as a traitor. Tvar, to his horror, than realized the spinless taint has not only been exist in other elves, but also to his own brethren in Caledor. Caledor, once the mightiest land in Ulthuan, now its prideless children, bastards no less, readily kneel to the weak.

Only with a handful of the enlightened Princes Tvar has held onto his vale in the heart of Caledor. Arming the loyal servants with bow and spear, Tvar and his princes awaited the approaching army. He was ready to kill for freedom and die for liberty (only a yank would write something like this right?).

His thoughts were interuppted as he felt the approach of a presence from the land below him. Then the piercing cry of another dragon reached his ears. His mount, Falzor, responded with a sharp screech, trying to establish its dominance over the approaching younger drake.

The newcomer, though lacking in size that Felzor had, emanated a strong determination. Its rider, un-armored with billowing robes and cape reigned the beast in beside Tvar. Bringing it in slowly, and close to a distance only a wing span away.

The pale haried rider palmed the small brooch that hung from her neck, and a silent sound reached his mind. *Uncle, the troops wait restless, and the princes argue on who shall bare the standard*

Aesiso awaited with her pale silvery hair billowing in the strong winds of caledor. Her pale skin gleaming in the sun, and her green luminous eyes flickering with light. In the Poet King's age, her young face would have been painted and sculpted as an example of elven beauty.

Any Uncle would have been proud to have such a niece, but Tvar could see the taint in her, a different taint, not a taint of weakness that pervades in other elves, but a taint more dangerous and insidious, a taint that is whispered only when talking of the dark ones, the cruel taint of the heart an mind. Tvar has seen her beautiful face contorted in rage, seen her beautiful lips twisted in cruelty, and the fire of anger burning in those emerald eyes. He also felt the power of the sorceress talisman she wore, a crown of black wrought from some accursed metal that seems to writhe with pain. Tvar has already conigned himself into killing her. If it were not for his need of a mage, his resident mage - the ungrateful retch - having abandoned him, he would have killed her.

She has proven to be adapt at sorcery, though her spells and practices leave very little to be desired. Her magic dark and forboding, her chants terrible and cruel, and her sorceries unleash dark powers of magic and not the familiar pureness of the mages of Hoeth. He knew she was the reason for the presence of the Sword Masters in the approaching force who serve as agents to track down any practitioners of the forbidden lore.
*Uncle, I await your orders*, he could feel her irritation.
*Tell them our wait is almost over, march out in Sorenso's formation. We shall crush them at this bottleneck in the entrance*
*What of the princes? You know they only bear with me beacuse of my powers*
He noticed her implications that he was part of the "they".
*Tell them to unite for Caledor, and let Ya-nan hold the banner, but Inareth to lead*
*After this join me here atop this cliff, we shall take them from above while the main force stops them from the fore."
Aesiso silently guided her dragon towards the LAC (Liberation Army of Caledor)