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Terrakis
To another, indeed to almost any other, such a thing would be a trophy to be prized, a symbol to be displayed to remind oneself and others of the glories of victory. But Terrakis is not like others and the slain dragon is merely a corpse, a body possessing neither life nor power nor glory and symbolic of none of these things. “And so, mighty Adalon,” he says, “how meaningless the ending of your long roll of years. Vain creature! How far you have fallen – the great guardian now become nothing more than food for worms.”
“Terrakis!” one of the other giants calls to him. “The stone of the cave wall here is perfect for our needs and there seems to be just enough.”
“Good!” he exclaims. “Make haste then. Give the order that all of it must be quarried out that the work might begin!” Casting a glance at the glittering horde of the dragon, he calls out, “And someone get those baubles and trinkets out the way!” Turning one final time to the corpse of the fallen Adalon, his voice is cold and sure with a terrible decisiveness, “Not dragon, nor even the glittering horde of a dragon, nor any other thing shall delay our purpose. Aye, and soon even the horrible might of the Hunger shall move and destroy at my command.” His eyes gleam then with a bitter silver light and once more he utters that phrase which has driven him and the others forward with such violent relentlessness, “We are his heirs and none shall contest our claim!”
And as the words of Terrakis recede into echos the sharp notes of metal hammers striking great chisels rings out into the darkness of the caverns. And the creatures that dwell beneath the surface learn another terrible lesson – the giants of shadow will not pause even for the counting of spoil.
[ 11-03-2002, 11:57 AM: Message edited by: Cyril Darkcloud ]
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