Firesong: A Prelude

                    Firesong:  A Prelude

The Emperor's throne room is packed tight with a throng of bodies. The crowd's hushed conversation betrays it's anxious emotions as the assorted councilors, courtiers, and ambassadors, each fight for the attention they assume they deserve. A table covered in expensive finger foods is lonely and untouched in the corner of the expansive room. Generals and bodyguards assemble around the Emperor on his throne. Wearing the gem-studded crown and gilded dragon themed armor of his station the Dragon-Emperor hangs his head in obvious despair. His assembled generals, each garbed in their own custom legionary armor, crowd around him. As they bicker amongst themselves about proper defence measures the floor shudders. The gathered crowd quickly grows silent and all eyes turn to the giant iron doors that lead into the throne room. Various bodyguards and soldiers clutch their weaponry tight and approach the barred doors. The floor shakes twice more then ceases it's movement. All is silent for a brief moment. Spears, swords, knocked arrows, and long-handled axes all tremble nervously as they are readied in the area of the entrance.

As though centuries of reinforced, iron-studded, giant wooden doors were nothing but folded paper replicas the entrance exploded outward in a deadly cloud of metal and wooden shards. The crowd was immediately and violently cut down. Before any of the assembled forces could comprehend the brutality of the attack the true assault begins. Two tall, lithe, cloaked shapes quickly stride through the smoke and chaos of the attack. Sharp talons protrude from the dirty black robes of the figures. The torchlight flashes red against the steely bone extremities as they slash through the stunned crowd. The assembled fall quickly as the deadly attackers move through the mob. The remaining soldiers and hired bodyguards rally and fight desperately against the skeletal assassins. As the battle line is drawn in the throne room a new figure strides through the broken remains of the once mighty entrance. He is clad similarly to the skeletal assassin's yet walks with an air of arrogance that sets him apart. He wields a crooked metal staff that clicks with an unnatural echo as he steadies himself amongst the bodies of the bloody and recently deceased. Black rotten robes slide aside as he moves into the open area around the broken doors. A human's skeletal frame clad in rotting flesh is briefly revealed. Calmly studying the battle around him the slams the butt of his unusual staff against the slick stone floor. A flash of light emanates from the collision bright enough to nearly blind each of the individuals in the greenroom. As the remaining dignitaries and military shield thier eyes a deep, grating, and metallic voice rings out from the new assailant.

"Lay down your arms immediately if you value your worthless life. Do so and you shall live. Refuse and you shall immediately die. You will receive no further warning." the figure explains plainly.

Many of the remaining living fighters begin to lay their weapons upon the ground. A few of the generals and fighters move to further defend their Emperor and are swiftly cut down by the metallic talons of the skeletal assassin's.

The figure with the staff walks easily through the lessened crowd. Obviously searching for something or someone deep inhaling noises emanate from within his robes. As if a bloodhound tracking it's target through scent he quickly finds his prey. Hiding behind the overturned table of food is the frightened Imperial Chef. His portly body quivers in fear as the tip of the enemy leader's staff  is placed gently against his neck and underneath his double chin.

"Aha..." the skeletal figure sighs. "Here is the man I am looking for. How unnecessary all that fighting seems to be now."

The Emperor and his retinue stare cautiously as the figure and his skeletal soldiers surround the petrified cook. The cook's body begins to shake violently as the enemy's staff is pressed into his chest. Within a matter of seconds the Imperial Chef's body is reduced to a thin skeletal frame as if all the liquids have been removed from him. As the deceased Imperial servant's body slowly falls to the ground the enemy shivers in ecstasy. A sickly pale red light recedes from the tip of the staff into his body. He slowly turns toward the Emperor and his remaining court.

The Emperor raises his aging body in defiance to the newcomer. He holds the mighty Imperial hammer ready by his side.

"Who are you to dare enter the Imperial Palace this way? You seem to have what you came for. Leave my presence now or face the full wrath of the Imperial Dragon!" He proclaims. Surrounded by his remaining armored generals and soldiers the Emperor strikes an imposing figure against the backdrop and majesty of the throne yet this new enemy is unfazed.

"The Imperial Dragon? You claim to be a dragon?" the enemy snarls showing emotion for the first time. "The only dragon here stands before you. Now kneel before your rightful Emperor or be purged." He commands as he lowers his staff towards the defiant Emperor. High pitched screams ring out as white-hot flame erupts from the end of the staff and engulfs the room.

Minutes later a partially skeletal figures sits atop a melting golden throne. Tapping the butt of his staff against the still cooling stone floor he addresses his skeletal warriors.

"Let this pathetic Empire know... the true Dragon has ascended the throne. Empty the dungeons and bring the prisoners to me. I need an army. It is time Morfalath finished what he began long ago."


© Robert Jones and Robots and Rockets, 2016. Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from this blog’s author and/or owner is strictly prohibited. Excerpts and links may be used, provided that full and clear credit is given to Robert Jones and Robots and Rockets with appropriate and specific direction to the original content.