His mother had on a peaceful, almost content expression. Her long green hair flowed down past her shoulders into the blanket. Her eyelids were closed, hiding her piercing blue eyes - a rarity amongst elves. Her face was deathly pale yet had no blemishes and her lips were slightly turned upwards at the edges in a soft smile, the kind she would give Virion when he would greet her enthusiastically and hound her with questions about her queenly duties.
Virion chuckled slightly as he imagined how cumbersome it must have been when she would return tired from dealing with corrupt ministers and her kingdom's issues only to be forced to handle an enthusiastic child's questioning. But she always had the patience for him. She would show him her soft smile and listen patiently, answering whatever she could with a gentle voice that she saved only for her family. A voice he would never hear again...
Virion quickly closed the blanket, replacing it over her pale face and letting it cover up the last queen of the elves. He brought his hand up to his face, placing his index finger and thumb on his forehead as a feeling akin to a headache began to build up in his head, and forced himself to maintain his composure. Virion let his arm fall and looked over at the perabel elder, who had been standing silently in the corner of the room allowing him to mourn in peace. The elder was looking worriedly at Virion who relaxed his expression into one of gratitude.
'Thank you, elder. For everything.'
'Virion...', the elder said, uncertain. Virion walked towards the exit of the room and turned to look at the blanket-covered cot one last time. He placed two fingers of his right hand on his left shoulder then joined his hands - the motion of a traditional elf prayer. Virion was no staunch believer in the Gods but he felt the gesture was necessary.
‘If someone is watching us from up there, please let her rest in peace. She deserves it if nobody else.'
Virion left the room and drew a chair, sitting down at the table. He set his churning mind at peace for the moment as he forced himself not to show weakness in front of the perabel elder.
‘Now is not the time for grief.’
'Elder Symonticus', he said to the elder who was slowly closing the door and walking back towards Virion, the worried expression remaining on his face.
'Please, let us discuss the senate meeting.'
*****
The warlock ran through the woods, his cloak catching on roots and branches that seemingly sprung out of thin air. He was panting hard, but he still ran. He had news for the general. He snapped fallen twigs on the ground under his bare feet and tripped over tree roots and yet he did not slow his pace.
His mind was racing as he recounted what he had seen outside the perabel stronghold. Surely the news he had to deliver would change the course of the war. Surely the Vengeful Lord would acknowledge his contribution and his family back in Salorian would be gifted with extra provisions for the month. The forest suddenly opened up into a large clearing. There were tents put up within the clearing surrounded by beasts from Kolbidt forest. They kept guard over the encampment and were tended to by their warlock masters.
The warlock stopped in front of a large drake and caught his breath. The dragon-like beast bent its head and snarled at him. Drakes were distant cousins of the dragons and were much smaller. This drake was covered in black scales that shone purple in the afternoon sun.
The beast's long tail was tied to its back by a chain, presumably to prevent it from lashing out with the powerful spikes at the end of the tail and inadvertently harming one of the warlocks in the encampment or destroying a tent. Its large, papery thin wings were folded over its back and a sizable iron collar was fastened around its neck, tied to a chain held by a warlock beastmaster. The drake's master walked up to him.
'I-I have important intel f-for general Z-Zenkolen', the warlock stammered, panting hard. The beastmaster sized him up then nodded and let him pass. The warlock murmured his thanks and pressed on into the encampment. The warlock army was no longer afraid of enemy spies. Once they had managed to drive off the elves, the war was won. The remaining perabels would be child's play to clean up. The only issue was the defenses of the perabel stronghold, but it would soon fall when general Zenkolen chose to make his move.
The warlock strode through the encampment. Red tents were scattered around the open field all flying the warlock banners. But one tent was larger than the rest and flew the colors of the warlock army much higher than the others. It was before this tent that the warlock stopped. He took a deep breath. General Zenkolen commanded a heavy presence. He must not enter the tent unprepared. He reached out and pulled open the flap after mentally readying himself, and let himself in.
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