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  • Escape

    Well over a century ago, in a land whose name is now lost to the
    sands of time, a dragon reigned supreme over a powerful empire. Conquest
    was his bread, and anguish his wine, and with every passing day his hoarde
    spread further and further, bringing entire countries to their knees.
    Knowledge of his true name was of such a coveted nature, that any whom he
    did not wish to know it, would shortly be breathing through a gash in their
    neck. The main force of his army were demons from the upper layers of hell,
    mostly lemurs and the like, but twas not therein that lie the brute strength
    of his force. Bargaining with the overlord of hell, he was granted
    several flights of evil dragons, reds, blues, greens, blacks. Ancient beyond
    belief, and with powers incomprehendable by most mortals, they kneeled before
    him. The favored tactic was to have the flights of dragons fly by, using spells
    and breath weapons to destroy the primary defenses, and then have his
    devilish hoard overrun the city. Those that perished in battle were brought
    to serve yet more in undeath by the necromancers in servitude.

    With little to challenge his throne, he was free to conquer as he pleased.
    One dragon made a swift ascent to power under the dragon's eye, a singular
    Battle after battle, the shadow dragon proved his worth, bringing down
    major defences with minimal losses. Watching him closely, the dragon promoted
    him to be the Lord General of his hoard, devising in the war room with the
    dragon and a select few others as to when and where to strike next. And still,
    the shadow dragon continued proving his worth, rewriting entire battle
    schematics that functioned twice or more as efficiently. Showered with gifts,
    and highly prized by troops and liege alike, the shadow wyrm, Targash,
    lived a life of leisure, taking flight into battle only when he desired.

    Drunk off of fame, glory, and tankard after tankard of strong ale, Targash
    returned to his chambers after an easy massacre of a small city-state. Many
    a concubine had been given to Targash, but he favored a singular pale elvish
    lady the most. She was his prize for playing a major part in the
    battle against the capital city of some past country. The eldest daughter
    of the royal family, degrading her nightly was always a glorious pleasure for
    him. Just thinking about the events to come was making him grin. Shifting his
    form down into that of drakken proportions, he half strode, half stumbled into
    his lavish living quarters, tail snaking about in anticipation. chained in
    the corner of the room, her eyes met his with fierce determination, another
    thing he loved about her, she hadn't been broken yet. Grinning maliciously, he
    stood back a moment and allowed his gaze to slide over her drakken form,
    obviously lingering in certain places. Glaring balefully back at him, she stood
    defiantly. Walking over to her, he backhanded her, sending her slamming into
    the wall behind her. Smirking to himself, he licked her blood off his claw,
    and advanced slowly even as she shakily rose to her feet. Gripping the chain
    attached to the collar about her neck, he lifted her off the ground, and slammed
    her once again into the wall, her head snapped back hitting the wall, and she
    fell limp in his hand. Confused, he checked her pulse. She was still alive, not
    that it mattered. Snapping the chains that bound her, he threw her across the
    room, onto his enormous canopied bed, where the peak of the night's entertainment
    would commence.

    Late that night, well after Targash had fallen asleep, she awoke. Battered?
    Yes. Broken? No. In utter silence she crept away, Targash's
    slumbering form unmoving upon the bed. Painstakingly, she cut open the skin
    beneath her upper left arm, and withdrew a sliver of sharpened metal. Tonite
    she would have her revenge upon this monstrocity that had tormented her for the
    past year and a half. Muffling a soft whimper, she fully pulled the piece of
    adamantite from her body. Approximately five inches in length, and needle shaped,
    she only hope that it would be enough to end this foul being's life. Creeping
    ever nearer, the only thing she could hear was her heart thundering in her
    chest. Standing poised above him, watching him sleep there, a grand wrath
    infused her, and down came her make-shift weapon, striking true, deeply into
    his temple, twisting and grinding it about in his skull, the only thing he did
    was gurgle softly, before twitching and lying still. Stumbling back
    she watched his blood spill out onto the bed. Breathing a sigh of relief,
    her mind raced as surely she would be executed for this crime. Fleeing
    upon wings of shadow, she got outside as quickly as possible, and with
    adrenalin for her strength, flew as far and as fast as she could towards the
    horizon.

    Taking flight into the dead night sky, fear and adrenalin sending both her
    stamina and heartbeat soaring, she furiously pumped her wings, putting forth
    everything she had to get away from her vile place of confinement. The home
    city for the hoarde was nestled between the arms of two mountains, and to the
    south, grassy plains sprawled out before her. To the west, the plains continued
    until the sea, and to the east they became more rolling and eventually turned
    to thick forest. All she could think of was that she need get away from this
    place as quickly as possible. She had to make a decision on where to go, the
    only reasonable choice that presented itself was the she flee to the southeast
    and hide in the forest until the next night when she could take flight again
    putting more distance between herself and the city.

    For what seemed an eternity, she flew towards the forest, seconds becoming
    minutes, minutes becoming hours. Muscles aflame, she flew her ragged path to
    freedom. As the sun was breaching the horizon, she was just crossing the treeline
    of the forest. Roughly she crashed through the tree branches, surely
    making enough noise to awaken the entire forest to her presence, but it was
    all she could do but plummet to the earth in an unceremonious landing. Lacking
    the strength to do more than crawl up to the nearest tree trunk, the sweet
    release of slumber swiftly fell upon her.

    Instead of rest awaiting her in sleep, she found herself consumed by wrath.
    Her every dream plagued by thoughts of killing that bastard of a demon,
    bestowing upon him eternal damnation. The dragon died thousands of deaths that
    night. Each more horrifying and gruesome than the one before. Flayed alive while
    magical fires danced along his exposed innards. Slowly eaten by a hoarde of
    insects, while she stood triumphant over him in each one. These nightmares
    turned dreams would have normally revolted her, but seeing the anguish that
    she brought about in them only gave her great satisfaction.

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