Return of the Stormcriers

PROLOGUE - A DARK DEED

A tall, powerfully built man wearing a pitch-black cloak tread slowly along an unseen trail under the unending canopy of leaves and branches of the Schwarzwald Forest. The dark coloring of his clothing rendered him invisible to all but the most trained eye. Mist curled around his ankles as he walked with strong purposeful strides, evidently not needing the polished, wooden staff that he clutched tightly in his right hand. No moonlight penetrated the thick cover overhead, leaving the path wholly in darkness with not even a sliver of moonlight to serve as a guide, but the man strode on unperturbed. 

His heartbeat quickening almost imperceptibly as he neared his destination, the shadowy figure stepped out from under the shade of the trees into an immense clearing. With the intense darkness of a moonless sky, the only light in the large circular opening of the forest was provided by a dozen torches casting their harsh, flickering light over the gruesome sight that greeted him. The metallic stench of blood assaulted his nose as he took in the scene before him; five enormous dragons lay in the dirt and leaves that covered the floor of the clearing. While usually the sight of a dragon was renowned to be one of the most awe-inspiring and impressive sights one could behold, creatures whose very presence would be enough to fill even the most hardened warrior with dread; these dragons lay crumpled in awkward, unnatural positions with thick streams of dark blood oozing from a myriad of wounds on their colorfully-scaled bodies. The massive beasts' ragged breaths filled the clearing with rasps and sighs as they clung desperately to their fading lives.

Ten prisoners knelt in front of the dragons, two per beast, with their hands shackled firmly behind their backs by iron manacles. A little over a dozen hooded men stood around the clearing holding their torches in silent ceremony. The crackling of the flames and the sound of the dragons' labored breathing were the only disturbances in an otherwise unnaturally still night.

  "Everything has been prepared, Lord Cyrus," a hooded figure broke ranks from his brethren to kneel before him, head bowed. From the inside of his robes the prostrated man produced a finely-crafted, uniquely iridescent blue dagger that seemed to shimmer and move in the firelight, almost as if the metal itself were still molten.  He held the blade flat across his upturned palms as if making a grand offering to a superior being. Lord Cyrus slowly and gently took the blade from his man's hands, inspecting the marvel of craftsmanship closely, turning it reverently in his hands. His part fulfilled, the kneeling man stood and swiftly backed away from the center of the circle.

  "What do you want with us?" A young woman with tangled, auburn hair yelled, breaking the silence of the forest. Cyrus, in no rush to answer his prisoner, took an extended amount of time to look over the blade thoroughly from every angle before slowly raising his head to return the intense stare of the young woman.  Her eyes were wide with fear, but her face was set in grim determination. 

  "You have much spirit," Cyrus said softly, ignoring her question.  He looked past her to the large, brown dragon that she was shackled in front of.  The dragon's eyes were foggy and barely half open. Even behind the pain, the intelligence in the dragon's eyes was unmistakable.

  "Nämling," Cyrus intoned, bowing to the brown dragon as he stepped into the exact center of the clearing, stabbing his staff into the soft dirt so it stood beside him as if at attention.  "Kvandi," a younger-looking purple-scaled dragon roughly half the size of the first.  "Liavandil," a forest-green dragon.  "Elewëre," a sapphire-blue dragon, whose scales shimmered with the same radiance as the dagger in his hand.  "Aundin," a red-orange behemoth, even compared to the other dragons.  Cyrus turned slowly, bowing to each dragon in turn as he spoke their names. 

  "There will be a time when the dragons will rise again," Cyrus vowed.  "You are needed to raise our Kuvas, Illisarian from his prison. Until such a time exists, we must remain out of sight. You must slumber and allow your wounds to heal. We, your faithful Order, will see to it that the world is ready for your return."

He raised the ceremonial dagger up into the air, the blade shimmering brilliantly in the torchlight. At the sight of the blade, the hooded figures who ringed the clearing began to chant in an ancient, powerful language, long lost to all but a few. Cyrus allowed himself a small smile as he approached the young woman shackled in front of Nämling. She attempted to squirm away from Cyrus, but a hooded man held her shoulders down to prevent her from rising. He admired her courage, she had been the only captive to openly confront him, but in the end, she would die with the rest.

"You can't do this!" She shouted, fear rising in her voice. Cyrus ignored her as he stepped closer, his voice raising in chant, along with the hooded men. Standing beside her, Cyrus held the blade up to the heavens once more. The chanting increased in pitch and intensity as the blade rose into the air.

"Please, no," she whispered, barely audible over the chanting. The other prisoners shouted epithets and struggled against their captors, while hooded acolytes restrained them from rising to their feet.

   Cyrus slowly lowered the blade underneath the young woman's chin, chanting all the while. He slowly slid the blade across her throat, soaking the ground with her blood. She thrashed around for a brief moment, struggling desperately to suck in a breath, then she toppled, face-first into the dirt, still.

  He made his way around the circle, slowly ceremonially, slitting each one of the prisoners' throats. The cries of pain and fear clamored over the chants as the prisoners were executed. The smell of human blood filled the air and the dragons' nostrils began to flare.

  The chanting continued as the last prisoner fell, bleeding into the dirt, rising to a fevered pitch as he stepped back into the center of the clearing. He raised the blade above his head one last time, before bringing it down hard, stabbing the dagger into the soft earth beside his staff.

  The chanting slowly subsided, returning the clearing to its former silence. Not even the labored breathing of the dragons could be heard now. The dragons did not seem to be moving at all. Their formerly bright scales were now a dull gray, rendering them to a statuesque appearance, just as Cyrus had intended. They would remain this way until the world was ready for their return.

  "The usurpers will become complacent in their victory while our Lords' wounds heal under their very noses. When the world has all but forgotten us, our magnificent masters will again rise and reclaim Verden as their birthright. The false Stormcriers will fall like saplings before a storm." Cyrus gazed around the clearing at the assembled, hooded men. "We will become as invisible as a shadow's shadow, preparing Verden's fall." The hooded chanters nodded solemnly at his command. "Many of you have valiantly served Illisarian openly in this war. Your bravery deserves to be commended, but I am afraid retribution will come for you and your families soon enough. If your identity is known by the betrayers, you will travel to the Isles of Zähler; I believe you will find some sympathy among the sorcerers there. The rest of you will remain on Verden with me, recovering from our losses, sowing unrest amongst the populace as they attempt to build a new kingdom from the ashes of the one they burned."

He gave one last, hard look at the assembled men, turning to face every one of them individually, looking into their eyes and impressing upon them with his deadly stare the importance of their task ahead. When his gaze finally drifted away from the last man, he turned sharply on his heel and strode out of the clearing, back along the unseen trail that had led him there, disappearing into the dark shadows below the canopy of trees. His staff stood far behind him, the tip buried in the dirt beside the sapphire dagger. He had no doubt in his mind that his followers would take his words to heart. Verden would fall to the return of the dragons, but until that day came, they would be patient, they would wait.