The Crystal War (IC)
In Withervale Pass, a rather narrow corridor of the Krysian Mountain, edged on both sides with fifty meter high mountain sides covered with snow, a goblin was standing over a badly burnt carcass, picking its pockets, and occasionally munching on the well-done meat. The semi-intelligent, yellow-skinned creature was all alone in finding this dead body, though experience told it that where there was one body, there were others near-by. And indeed, a long stretch of Withervale Pass, was covered with dead bodies, some burnt, others riddled with the crude, crooked, black arrows of orc archers.
The goblin, Gnibbles be the name he had taken, knew he would have to be fast in his feast and looting, lest his fellow goblins, most of which were stronger and larger than he, arrived and drove him off. Or worse, the accursed orcs that roamed these stupid mountains! (The thought of the few humans foolish enough to dared to carve out a living in the Krysian, arriving to chase him off, though, didn't even cross Gnibbles' mind!)
Even with this knowledge, the wretched creature was so deep into his gold-lined meal, that he didn't notice the rather large and difficult to miss gathering of horsemen that slowly approached in the southern mouth of the pass. As if from a saga, the horsemen, most of whom were wearing the woodland green and gold colors of Babel, all rode beautiful white steeds, their razor-sharp elven spears radiating in the sun as they pointed towards the deep-blue sky.
It was not until the leader apparent of the gathering, a one-eyed, white-haired elf with intricate tattoos in his face, leaned over to one of his fellow elves and whispered something, that Gnibbles got a creeping feeling that he was not alone. He slowly turned his head, and when he saw the group, he let out a terrible shriek, almost jumping into the air in fear and shock, and, dropping the human flesh and gold he had in his hands, spun around and ran for his life. But by then, it was already too late.
One of the elves broke rank by spurring his steed, and as it sped up, he lowered his spear and readied it for a throw. He didn't even bother to get close to Gnibbles before his arm launched forward, sending the sharp projectile flying. As if controlled by magic, it easily found its way into the center of the small creature's back, impaling him and even going halfway through the wretched creature's body before it stopped its advance. Gnibbles let out a gargling sound before he fell dead to the ground. The elf rode up and retrieved the spear. He then turned his horse, and returned to his one-eyed commander, once more falling into rank.
"This does not bode well." Arden Greyhamn said with a low voice, his single green eye sweeping over the large collection of dead and charred bodies. "The dragon must be responsible for this. These humans attempted to leave Withervale. But the dragon would not allow it, not after they offended him so greatly. And then the orcs came, exploiting the situation. Filthy, accursed creatures, all of them..." His voice, grim in its tone, trailed off as the full stench of the rotting and decaying bodies reached his nostrils. What was worse was the grey pillars of smoke he saw rising in the horizon...
"Search for survivors!" He called out to the riders, dismounting his horse. The snow creaked under his weight as he sat foot on the ground. "Haliel, Aranos, Velos, Isidian, leave your horses and scout ahead for orcs. We do not wish to fall to the same fate that befell these poor humans."
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