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Dark Elf Chapter 9
zone: Ellyrion

Dark Elf Chapter 9 Destruction Storyline

Race for the Menhir

location: Goldmead, Ellyrion

npc: Kesida Garalond

zone: Ellyrion

Public Quest: Reaver's End

Public Quest: Tor Elyr

Public Quest: Whitefire Tor

previous chapter is: The Fall of the Matriarch

next chapter is: Brought Down from Within

Chapter Lore: Sorceress Cendrys stormed into Kohrith's command tent. With her head held high, she protested "House Arkanith interferes with our ritual. If it were not for their treachery we would have the Menhir."

Kohrith's tolerance for her endless excuses and constant failures throughout the Ellryion campaign had run thin. On more than one occasion he considered seeing to it the blade of a poisoned dagger found its way across her neck for the many shames she brought upon House Uthorin. Each time, though, he thought better of it. He knew Lord Uthorin would demand the head of the Dark Elf responsible should glory for conquering the Menhir fall to another house. Today's failure ensured her position as the perfect candidate for such a calling.

"Leave," Kohrith said flatly as he and his advisors turned their attention back to the battle reports. Dismissed as if she were but a bothersome child, Cendrys' shell of feigned confidence broke. She all but stumbled as she filed out of the tent.

"Milord, the regiment en route to Tor Elyr met with resistance. The Ellyrion riders had a forward camp. The wench they call the Harbinger was among them. We had few survivors," continued his advisor.

The commander slammed his fist onto the table. The candlelight exaggerated his scars and intensified his stark features.

"At every turn this Evriel Harbinger is a thorn in our side. Veteran warriors, champions, assassins and convent matriarchs alike fall victim to her bow! I shall see you gutted personally if you do not find one among us capable to deal with her."

"We sent our finest to hunt her down milord."

"Good, and the Menhir?"

The advisor hesitated before continuing, "House Arkanith nears it. Their sorceresses weave spells of undoing in preparation. I know not the nature of the magic, but correspondence from your spy claims it to be true. We believe the Menhir will fall into their hands within a day."

Kohrith had not risen to his rank through nepotistic means or even by chance. Rather, his rise had been punctuated by the brutal cunning characteristic of a Hag Graef lord. He knew that the Dreadblight Convent would fail after Lunira's untimely death. And he knew House Arkana's convent would seize the opportunity.

Kohrith pointed to the map, "We shall position our ranks here, out of sight of the Menhir. Let House Arkana meet the High Elves in battle first."

One of his advisors objected, "You would let House Arkana gain the Menhir?!"

In one masterfully fluid motion, Kohrith unsheathed his serrated blade and plunged it into the bold advisor's chest. The stunned retainer fell to the ground dead as Kohrith continued, to address the remaining two as though nothing had happened.

"We will let House Arkana weave their spells. After they are successful and the Menhir is vulnerable, and while their eyes are still locked upon the enemy, it is then that we will charge. We will plow through both armies as Cold Ones through cattle. There will be no survivors. And so in the end it will be only tale of our conquest over the Menhir that will be remembered."

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