An Evening Fire

A slight smile crept across the Bright Wizard’s face as he watched the lingering embers dance among the ashes. There was a sense of completeness welling up inside him as if he had just fully satisfied himself with a sumptuous feast.
“I wonder,” he chuckled, “if the dwarves can garner such satisfaction from their ale.” With a thump of his staff he sent the remaining ashes of the dark elf aloft into the winds.

It had been just mere moments earlier that the devotee to Malekith jumped from the shadows in a brazen attempt to end his life. Her ebon blades sliced easily through the folds of his singed robe. Staggering back he thrust the red hot iron tip of his staff onto the jagged wound to cauterize the effects of the poisoned blades. Still reeling from her onslaught he managed to mark her with lingering hex that caused the blood within her veins to boil. The curse slowed her attacks some, but she was out to prove her worth to her lover. She would not be denied until she had his blood, and she would have too if he had waited a second longer. Fortunately the sacred winds blew in his favor and with an ethereal gust he sent the elven witch flying. Then with a final snap of his fingers he called forth a massive detonation that engulfed her in flames. The light from the explosion lit up the evening sky and alerted the nearby garrison at Wilhelm’s Fist that trouble was afoot.

Soon a roughly assembled warband arrived on the scene to examine the wizard’s handiwork.

One of the dwarves in the rag tag group grumbled rather obtusely, “Blasted wizards always hoarding the fighting for themselves. I’ll never get my grudges cleared at this rate.”

The bright wizard simply smiled as he looked up from those attending to this wounds, “Say dwarf, do you have any ale?”

"ALE! Ale you say? No self respecting dwarf would lower himself to swallow what you humans call ale. Nothing less than Bugman's Best for me." Bellowed the gruff Iron Breaker. The effects of the dwarf's retort resounded among his kinsman. Just the mere mention of Bugman's Best set every dwarf in the crowd to lick their lips in hopeful anticipation of having a draft before the night was done. "Who can fathom the attachment these Dawi have for their liquor." Whispered the elven mage as he helped the wizard back to his feet. The swordmaster nearby raised his eyebrow and nodded his assent to the comment. "Indeed." "Watch your step their you sissy sipping pointed ear. You're crossing a fine line calling Bugman's mere liquor, and that's a grudge every dwarf here will gladly take up." All across the group dwarven hands began to take a firmer grip upon wood and steel." "Settle yourself dwarf. I meant no provocation. Save your wrath for those that warrant it. We are in the midst of a war....." The last words spoken by the elven tongue hung like a wisp in the air poignantly punctuated by the poisoned barbed arrow protruding from his chest. Even in death his body gracefully fell to the earth like an autumn leaf. Time froze but for a silent horrid moment only to be shattered by the maniacal squeal of a squig herder delighted that his aim had proved true. Behind him a twisted horde of bloodied steel marched ready to finish what the green menace had started. "To Arms!" the cry rose up from among the warband and was met with the bone chilling cry of the orcs "WAAAAAGHH!!" "Alright wizard," the iron breaker growled at the wizard, "prove that you've got fire enough for the likes of these and you'll get more than ale. I'll owe you a pint of Bugman's. And that's a promise you can write down in your book."

» Edited on: 2009-11-11 21:50:01

:)