The warlock general was hovering above the ground in the center of the room with his eyes closed, his red cloak flowing with magical energy. As the warlock entered the tent, the general's huge magic pressure set upon him. He was forced to one knee and struggled to breathe. It felt as if a giant boulder had suddenly been placed on his shoulders, crushing him under the weight. The general opened his eyes and the pressure stopped. The warlock caught his breath shakily, free of the immense pressure, and looked up.
'You have something to report?', asked the general in his icy voice.
The general was one of the only warlocks along with certain army commanders and the king who commanded immense power. These few warlocks were the only ones capable of facing down entire battalions of elves in battle. The victories of the warlock army were largely attributed to the efforts of these unnaturally powerful warlocks.
'Y-Yes general... I was part of the task force pursuing the young perabel girl who escaped capture…'
The general floated down and stretched out his legs so that he was standing before the kneeling warlock.
'We chased her until the stronghold where I g-got separated from the party sir. I managed to find them just as the fight was ending.'
'A fight you say?', asked the general stepping closer to the warlock.
'Do tell me more…' The warlock gulped in fear as the general's icy drawl sent shivers down his spine.
'Y-Yes, sir... There was an elf. With the perabels sir, an elf. He dispatched the other two members and the perabel girl managed to escape into the stronghold.', the warlock stammered excitedly, shifting uncomfortably where he knelt. He looked up nervously at the warlock general who began to narrow his eyes.
The warlock quickly flicked his gaze to the floor, now trembling with fear. He began to question himself. Why had he come here?
'Stand. Face me.', said the general quietly.
The warlock stood and looked the general in his pitch-black eyes.
Up close, the general did not look like much. His skin was wrinkled and papery and he was hunched over. His arms were no thicker than sticks and his legs resembled stilts. But his aura was immense, thick, and menacing. It flowed around the warlock exerting an overwhelming magical pressure on him that made it difficult to stand.
'I want you to describe this elf to me. In detail.', the general said quietly. The warlock nervously attempted to recall the fight he had witnessed from the woods.
'He had green hair sir, and he was tall...'
The general stared at him expectantly.
'I could not make out much in the action sir... I-I apologize...'
'His sword. Was it of zestril make?', asked the general.
The warlock recalled the scuffle. He remembered the elf stopping a bolt of lightning with only his sword, which shone a pale blue.
'Y-Yes sir it must have been.'
The general suddenly turned, his cloak swishing. 'This is vital news. You have done well.'
The warlock heaved a sigh of relief. The general moved forward a few paces then suddenly stopped.
'I must ask. Did you not attempt to capture the perabel girl when you saw them to be vulnerable? Or perhaps take the life of this dangerous elf?'
The warlock's heart began to race.
'N-No sir I did not…'
The general turned slowly to look him in the eye. A torrent of white magic spilled out from the general towards the warlock and a strange feeling washed over the warlock as general Zenkolen's consciousness entered his mind. He found himself reliving that moment. Watching the fight between the elf and his partners from the woods. He could feel his dagger at his hip and he saw an opening in which to throw it at the elf, but he hesitated. A pervasive feeling washed over him. Fear. Then it was over. He was returned to the general's tent, panting hard, and collapsed on the floor.
'How disappointing...', said the general as he slowly raised his arm.
The warlock looked up and his eyes widened in shock.
'Wait! Please! I will do anyth-'
The general clenched his fist and the warlock was crushed into the ground. The earth parted slightly to suck up the remains then repaired itself leaving no evidence of the warlock who had once stood on it.
General Zenkolen entered a state of concentration. If Salor's son had survived then the entire conquest had been for naught. The king needed to know of this development...
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