Thrond and Fae-Fire

Bigotry Earns its Own Reward

Written by StalwartLight

Thrond Sunseeker hates Fae. He looks at their forest with absolute disdain, and he desires nothing more than to see the Fae rendered homeless and alone in this world. To him, the Fae deserve nothing less than complete destruction, but his previous attempts to oust them from his kingdom have resulted in utter defeat. He intends to change that today.
Thrond has a fool-proof plan to defeat the Fae, or at least start the process. He has already tried blockading their borders with his soldiers, and he has tried shooting them with Archers and Magi as they leave the safety of their woods. He has tried running down the Fae as they travel, and he has tried poisoning their water with corpses. All these attempts have failed.
Thrond Sunseeker stands at the back of his great army, and before him the Fae Forest lies oblivious to the annihilation about to be unleashed upon it. It is ideal that the Fae have absolutely no idea what's coming for them. Fortune has smiled upon his endeavor, because not only has the Fae failed to detect his oncoming army, but they have made no effort to stop him even now.
The Ballistae are loaded with Elven Firepots, and they wait for Thrond to give the order to begin the attack. Thrond nods toward the commander of his Ballistae. The Elf begins barking orders and in a few moments the thwacking of released strings sends Firepots sailing towards the Fae Forest. Thrond smiles wider. Today is a good day for him. Today, his war with the Fae will begin to end. First he will burn their precious trees, then he slaughter them as his men cut the Fae like a scythe through wheat.
Several moments pass as the Firepots travel to their target. The edge of Fae Forest will soon be engulfed in the arcanely enhanced flames of Elven craftsmen. But at the last moment before impact, the pots burst and the fire swirls. In this moment, Thrond realizes his terrible mistake. Of course, the Fae knew he was at their doorstep. They have always known, and every time he tries a new attack to break their borders he is only met with defeat.
Thrond watches as the fires of his machines are swirled into a condensed ball no larger than his fist. The brightly gleaming spot hovers over the Fae Forest humming with contained rage. Thrond orders his Ballistae to continue firing, and he orders his men to charge into the woods. If the Fae will not come out, then he will slaughter them where they stand.
His army surges forward in uniform ranks, slowly gaining speed as their training dictates. The second volley of the Ballistae is condensed in the same manner as the first, and Thrond begins to question the wisdom of charging his enemy. He does not know what they have planned, or how these spheres of condensed fire will react to his troops arrival.
He does not have to wait long. Thrond finds himself unable to think as the condensed fire darts into the ground and twin Dragons emerge. The great lizards of pure flame swoop down onto his army and shatter it upon contact. From there, a rolling wave of flame blasts out. Every last soldier is consumed, but the only sound is the rush of heat as it lashes through the Ballistae. With each Ballista destroyed, the flames regain strength and ferocity. A few of the soldiers are able to cry out in fear before the fires engulf them. Thrond watches in total disbelief as the fire reaches him.
He expected death. He expected searing pain to consume him completely. The fire stops short as it purges the final remnants of Thrond's forces. It lashes his face a single time, but the force of the blow sends the mighty Elf-Lord sprawling. He forces himself not to scream, but his vision is sputtering as he struggles to hold onto consciousness. As his mind slips into an undreaming sleep, Thrond sees through the haze a female figure. A single word enters his mind. It is an ancient word, and one that carries a terrible weight behind it Discaumoril. Leave or die.