Approaching were Dark Elves, a large group that seemed to have returned from a significant expedition. They carried large sacks, riding on Frost Bears, four-legged creatures with a large stature that were surprisingly rideable. The front paws were slightly larger than the back, with flippers hanging just above their dewclaws. The back legs were covered in a thick fur, and their paws were webbed. The Frost Bears had icy blue, rigid manes resembling those of Frost Giants, circling their heads and running down their backs to the center of the spine where the Elves were holding on for grip.
The Dark Elves, astride their Frost Bears, donned hooded jackets with long backs adorned with blackened Yeti fur, seamlessly matching the dark material that comprised the entire jacket and the leather armor across their chests and lower halves. Hoods shrouded their faces, leaving only their silver locks flowing freely as the wind plowed into them. With spears and bows held high, they surged forward into the fray.
"Friends of yours?" Menelik gestured toward Taharqa.
Taharqa turned, his eyes glaring. "You think I know them just because we're both Dark Elves? You think I know every Dark Elf just because I'm from the area? I really thought you were better than that, Menelik, really thought."
Menelik tilted his head, mouth agape. "Why I oughta come over there and knock the Dark out yo Elf ass, you blood clot."
"Blood clot? It's bumbaclot, dipshit," Idris interjected.
Menelik turned to him. "I'ma need your concrete wall looking ass to shut up for a second. I know it's bumbaclot, but when I tried to call Zero a bumbaclot, he didn't understand, so I called him a blood clot, and he looked really annoyed. So that’s what I’m saying for now on."
"I think that's just how he perceives anything you say," Taharqa stated.
"Yeah, I don't think he takes you that seriously. That's probably why he didn't understand you," Idris added. "I don't think he cares."
Menelik stood silently for a moment, the wind pressing against him as the distant battle raged and approached Nazzaroth. When he finally spoke, Oruldr cut him short by calling out in the distance.
"I AM ORULDR, AND YOU WILL FOREVER KNOW THY NAME!" A burst of blue erupted, sending its light into the air and illuminating the snow-ridden sky.
"Seems like the big guy is having fun again," Menelik said, but Taharqa didn't share the same smile. He shook his head, his face distraught.
"Come now," he urged, trying to gather himself before running forward. He stopped, looking back at his comrades. "That blue light wasn't Oruldr having fun. That blue light signifies the death of a Frost Giant."
The trio rushed forward into the snowy battlefield, where Yeti and Elf corpses littered the ground. The scene was gruesome, with both old and young Elves lying dead, and the Yetis displaying brutal savagery. The Yetis tore limbs off and feasted on bones, while the Elves' strikes were precise, leaving them either headless or appearing as if they were peacefully napping.
Among the fallen were scattered weapons—mostly Elvish—and it was those that each of them decided to tuck into their inventory. Idris took a bow and quiver, attaching the quiver to his waist, replacing his empty sheath from his shortsword. He tossed it onto the ground as he pulled the bow over his frame. Menelik dropped down and lifted a spear, the white metal blending into the storm, almost impossible to see if it wasn’t for the indentation it had made in the ground. He held it in his hand for a moment, looking it up and down, then turned his attention over to Idris and his bow.
“No spear this time?” He asked.
Idris looked at the spear in Menelik’s hand, examining it up and down before returning his attention to Menelik. “Not heavy enough, will throw off my technique if it’s too light.”
Menelik shook his head slightly with a raised eyebrow. “You haven’t even touched it, how you know how much it weighs?”
Idris pointed at the spear, his finger drawing from the end to the tip. “It’s not made from Red Steel, it’s made from hardened snow, enhanced by magic.”
Menelik’s confusion continued for a moment as he pondered another question. “You just now touched it, how could you have—.”
“Both of you, enough,” Taharqa chimed in, holding a mage’s staff in his grasp. “We don’t have time for a back and forth right now.”
Menelik nodded silently while Idris turned his gaze on the staff in Taharqa’s hand. “You sure that’s a good idea? A mage’s staff is tied to the mage, or is Dark Elf shit different?”
Taharqa shook his head. “No, I won’t be able to be at my full power until I replace this.” He ran his hand up the dark brown wood to the blue crystal embedded in the top. “My magic will be limited, but I’m not acquainted with a bow or spear to be worth any more than I am with weakened magic.”
Idris nodded in reply, and they began to look out at the array of weapons that Yetis had been using. As they examined more of the weapons, they realized that the Yetis' few weapons had succumbed to some form of disintegration. Stone, metal, and ice crumbled from intense heat, leaving scorch marks on the snow. Following the scorch marks through the storm, they reached Oruldr's body sprawled on the ground. His corpse was covered in scorch marks, and the faint light that once radiated from him had been extinguished. His icy form slowly merged with the snow, becoming one with the island. Before long, he was nothing more than a mound behind them as they trudged toward the city. This sight prompted them to wonder how many of the hills they encountered were actually hills and not the remnants of the endless war that had consumed Ayce for countless years.
They walked in silence following the trail of bodies, grabbing what supplies they could find. As they got closer to Nazzaroth, the blizzard increased in strength, more so than before. It began to push back against them, and the echoes of battle they were following died out, becoming nothing but the wind until suddenly everything went silent. Not even the wind howled, but it blew fiercely. The snow pattered against their skin and fur, but did not make a sound. They turned to one another, trying to exchange words, but even that ran dry. They opened their mouths, but nothing surmounted. At first, they thought they had been taken into the Void again, but when the storm in front of them was suddenly split in two and the terrifying screams of Yeti and Elf alike rang through the air. The cut in the storm did not close; it stayed open like a curtain. No clouds sat above the crack, and those that tried to enter its path seemed to bounce away. The snowfall ceased in the area. The split was no longer than three meters wide, but it extended far beyond the limits of the clouds. It was an odd sight, and when they turned around, they noticed that the air was carved for as far as their eyes could see. Hundreds of kilometers north, the crack ran.
At the southern end of the crack stood an armored figure—tall and slender. The grungy silver armor appeared entirely custom-made, bearing the marks of countless battles. Small shields adorned the shoulders, angled at the bottom and elegantly curved around the top edge. Overlapping scale-like panels covered the biceps, cascading down to the gauntlets and enveloping the black fingers that extended from the panel over their hands. The armor around their waist flowed like a skirt, expanding over matching scale-like panels running down their legs to their boots.
The helmet featured a small slot in the visor and arched down into a point near the front chin. A rounded top was adorned with a long, torn, and tattered blue plume, defiantly clinging to the helm. Beneath the armor, a gray undergarment rose around their collar, flowing like a cloak onto their shoulders and extending from under their waist armor. Tattered like the plume, it appeared to be burning at the edges, small flames dancing but never moving inward, as if held in place by an external force.
In the left hand, the figure wielded a longsword with a blade tapering to a thin tip. The base widened as it approached the hilt, where white bandages tightly wrapped its entirety. Though designed for two-handed use, the figure effortlessly held it in one hand, displaying no strain. With each step forward, a chill ran down the spines of onlookers as a name plate materialized above the enigmatic warrior.
[Dungeon Master - Dragon Ranking - The Old King]
Menelik asked, his voice filled with curiosity and fear, "Yo, you seeing the name above its head too? Or is that just me?"
"No, we see it too," Taharqa replied. "There must have been a Dungeon Break somewhere on the i—." Taharqa was abruptly cut short as The Old King closed the gap between them, tightly gripping the sword with both hands and slicing forward. Idris swiftly pulled him out of harm's way as the swing came downward, cutting through the air with visible force. The Old King, undeterred, quickly regained composure, adjusting their stance and thrusting the blade toward Menelik on the right. Menelik evaded the attack, but The Old King lifted one hand from the blade and firmly seized Menelik's head. With a tight grip, they lifted Menelik off the ground and, in a single, fluid motion, tossed him into Idris and Taharqa, sending all three tumbling into the snow.
The slit in the storm began to close, intensifying the blizzard. Snow pelted their faces, but The Old King stood motionless, sword resting just above the ground in their left hand, steam billowing from the bottom of the helmet as they breathed in and out. The trio, recovering from the tumble, expected The Old King to charge again, but the enigmatic figure continued to stand, observing their every move.
Idris unholstered his bow, extracting an arrow from his quiver. With a touch of magic, he enchanted it, a small aura surrounding the tip, its yellow light blinking through the whiteout of the blizzard. Docking it in his bow, he drew the arrow back, aiming directly at the Old King's helmet. Still, The Old King remained stationary, their gaze now fixed on Idris's arrow tip, as if anticipating him to release it. Idris obliged, and in what could only be described as a twitch of The Old King's arm, the arrow split in two instantly, both halves disappearing beyond sight.
Idris lowered his bow and let out a long, exasperated sigh. "Man, I hope Maeve is having more fun than we’re about to be having."
Approaching were Dark Elves, a large group that seemed to have returned from a significant expedition. They carried large sacks, riding on Frost Bears, four-legged creatures with a large stature that were surprisingly rideable. The front paws were slightly larger than the back, with flippers hanging just above their dewclaws. The back legs were covered in a thick fur, and their paws were webbed. The Frost Bears had icy blue, rigid manes resembling those of Frost Giants, circling their heads and running down their backs to the center of the spine where the Elves were holding on for grip.
The Dark Elves, astride their Frost Bears, donned hooded jackets with long backs adorned with blackened Yeti fur, seamlessly matching the dark material that comprised the entire jacket and the leather armor across their chests and lower halves. Hoods shrouded their faces, leaving only their silver locks flowing freely as the wind plowed into them. With spears and bows held high, they surged forward into the fray.
"Friends of yours?" Menelik gestured toward Taharqa.
Taharqa turned, his eyes glaring. "You think I know them just because we're both Dark Elves? You think I know every Dark Elf just because I'm from the area? I really thought you were better than that, Menelik, really thought."
Menelik tilted his head, mouth agape. "Why I oughta come over there and knock the Dark out yo Elf ass, you blood clot."
"Blood clot? It's bumbaclot, dipshit," Idris interjected.
Menelik turned to him. "I'ma need your concrete wall looking ass to shut up for a second. I know it's bumbaclot, but when I tried to call Zero a bumbaclot, he didn't understand, so I called him a blood clot, and he looked really annoyed. So that’s what I’m saying for now on."
"I think that's just how he perceives anything you say," Taharqa stated.
"Yeah, I don't think he takes you that seriously. That's probably why he didn't understand you," Idris added. "I don't think he cares."
Menelik stood silently for a moment, the wind pressing against him as the distant battle raged and approached Nazzaroth. When he finally spoke, Oruldr cut him short by calling out in the distance.
"I AM ORULDR, AND YOU WILL FOREVER KNOW THY NAME!" A burst of blue erupted, sending its light into the air and illuminating the snow-ridden sky.
"Seems like the big guy is having fun again," Menelik said, but Taharqa didn't share the same smile. He shook his head, his face distraught.
"Come now," he urged, trying to gather himself before running forward. He stopped, looking back at his comrades. "That blue light wasn't Oruldr having fun. That blue light signifies the death of a Frost Giant."
The trio rushed forward into the snowy battlefield, where Yeti and Elf corpses littered the ground. The scene was gruesome, with both old and young Elves lying dead, and the Yetis displaying brutal savagery. The Yetis tore limbs off and feasted on bones, while the Elves' strikes were precise, leaving them either headless or appearing as if they were peacefully napping.
Among the fallen were scattered weapons—mostly Elvish—and it was those that each of them decided to tuck into their inventory. Idris took a bow and quiver, attaching the quiver to his waist, replacing his empty sheath from his shortsword. He tossed it onto the ground as he pulled the bow over his frame. Menelik dropped down and lifted a spear, the white metal blending into the storm, almost impossible to see if it wasn’t for the indentation it had made in the ground. He held it in his hand for a moment, looking it up and down, then turned his attention over to Idris and his bow.
“No spear this time?” He asked.
Idris looked at the spear in Menelik’s hand, examining it up and down before returning his attention to Menelik. “Not heavy enough, will throw off my technique if it’s too light.”
Menelik shook his head slightly with a raised eyebrow. “You haven’t even touched it, how you know how much it weighs?”
Idris pointed at the spear, his finger drawing from the end to the tip. “It’s not made from Red Steel, it’s made from hardened snow, enhanced by magic.”
Menelik’s confusion continued for a moment as he pondered another question. “You just now touched it, how could you have—.”
“Both of you, enough,” Taharqa chimed in, holding a mage’s staff in his grasp. “We don’t have time for a back and forth right now.”
Menelik nodded silently while Idris turned his gaze on the staff in Taharqa’s hand. “You sure that’s a good idea? A mage’s staff is tied to the mage, or is Dark Elf shit different?”
Taharqa shook his head. “No, I won’t be able to be at my full power until I replace this.” He ran his hand up the dark brown wood to the blue crystal embedded in the top. “My magic will be limited, but I’m not acquainted with a bow or spear to be worth any more than I am with weakened magic.”
Idris nodded in reply, and they began to look out at the array of weapons that Yetis had been using. As they examined more of the weapons, they realized that the Yetis' few weapons had succumbed to some form of disintegration. Stone, metal, and ice crumbled from intense heat, leaving scorch marks on the snow. Following the scorch marks through the storm, they reached Oruldr's body sprawled on the ground. His corpse was covered in scorch marks, and the faint light that once radiated from him had been extinguished. His icy form slowly merged with the snow, becoming one with the island. Before long, he was nothing more than a mound behind them as they trudged toward the city. This sight prompted them to wonder how many of the hills they encountered were actually hills and not the remnants of the endless war that had consumed Ayce for countless years.
They walked in silence following the trail of bodies, grabbing what supplies they could find. As they got closer to Nazzaroth, the blizzard increased in strength, more so than before. It began to push back against them, and the echoes of battle they were following died out, becoming nothing but the wind until suddenly everything went silent. Not even the wind howled, but it blew fiercely. The snow pattered against their skin and fur, but did not make a sound. They turned to one another, trying to exchange words, but even that ran dry. They opened their mouths, but nothing surmounted. At first, they thought they had been taken into the Void again, but when the storm in front of them was suddenly split in two and the terrifying screams of Yeti and Elf alike rang through the air. The cut in the storm did not close; it stayed open like a curtain. No clouds sat above the crack, and those that tried to enter its path seemed to bounce away. The snowfall ceased in the area. The split was no longer than three meters wide, but it extended far beyond the limits of the clouds. It was an odd sight, and when they turned around, they noticed that the air was carved for as far as their eyes could see. Hundreds of kilometers north, the crack ran.
At the southern end of the crack stood an armored figure—tall and slender. The grungy silver armor appeared entirely custom-made, bearing the marks of countless battles. Small shields adorned the shoulders, angled at the bottom and elegantly curved around the top edge. Overlapping scale-like panels covered the biceps, cascading down to the gauntlets and enveloping the black fingers that extended from the panel over their hands. The armor around their waist flowed like a skirt, expanding over matching scale-like panels running down their legs to their boots.
The helmet featured a small slot in the visor and arched down into a point near the front chin. A rounded top was adorned with a long, torn, and tattered blue plume, defiantly clinging to the helm. Beneath the armor, a gray undergarment rose around their collar, flowing like a cloak onto their shoulders and extending from under their waist armor. Tattered like the plume, it appeared to be burning at the edges, small flames dancing but never moving inward, as if held in place by an external force.
In the left hand, the figure wielded a longsword with a blade tapering to a thin tip. The base widened as it approached the hilt, where white bandages tightly wrapped its entirety. Though designed for two-handed use, the figure effortlessly held it in one hand, displaying no strain. With each step forward, a chill ran down the spines of onlookers as a name plate materialized above the enigmatic warrior.
[Dungeon Master - Dragon Ranking - The Old King]
Menelik asked, his voice filled with curiosity and fear, "Yo, you seeing the name above its head too? Or is that just me?"
"No, we see it too," Taharqa replied. "There must have been a Dungeon Break somewhere on the i—." Taharqa was abruptly cut short as The Old King closed the gap between them, tightly gripping the sword with both hands and slicing forward. Idris swiftly pulled him out of harm's way as the swing came downward, cutting through the air with visible force. The Old King, undeterred, quickly regained composure, adjusting their stance and thrusting the blade toward Menelik on the right. Menelik evaded the attack, but The Old King lifted one hand from the blade and firmly seized Menelik's head. With a tight grip, they lifted Menelik off the ground and, in a single, fluid motion, tossed him into Idris and Taharqa, sending all three tumbling into the snow.
The slit in the storm began to close, intensifying the blizzard. Snow pelted their faces, but The Old King stood motionless, sword resting just above the ground in their left hand, steam billowing from the bottom of the helmet as they breathed in and out. The trio, recovering from the tumble, expected The Old King to charge again, but the enigmatic figure continued to stand, observing their every move.
Idris unholstered his bow, extracting an arrow from his quiver. With a touch of magic, he enchanted it, a small aura surrounding the tip, its yellow light blinking through the whiteout of the blizzard. Docking it in his bow, he drew the arrow back, aiming directly at the Old King's helmet. Still, The Old King remained stationary, their gaze now fixed on Idris's arrow tip, as if anticipating him to release it. Idris obliged, and in what could only be described as a twitch of The Old King's arm, the arrow split in two instantly, both halves disappearing beyond sight.
Idris lowered his bow and let out a long, exasperated sigh. "Man, I hope Maeve is having more fun than we’re about to be having."
