A white mammoth lurched silently past sullen trees.
Dark furs and tattered pieces of ancient armor swayed softly in the midnight air as colossal units of weight shifted rhythmically from side to side. Here and there scraps of faded cloth clung to boney shoulders and the shattered wooden shield they bore, forgotten crests and emblems barely visible against the ruined fabric. Long arms swung low like tusks, one dragging an enormous two-headed axe in its wake. All the while, rotting logs and leaves crunched slowly while breaking under the pressure of two enormous, skeletal feet.
Nothing else stirred in the forest but for the solitary beast marching steadily forward, a testament to the inexorable and unstoppable forward progress of time…perhaps just as well, for the monster itself was terrible to behold. Colossal bones pumped back and forth like the ivory pistons of some infernal engine, parts and pieces of the machine defying the laws of sanity through animation absent any muscle or sinew. But most horrific of all were the baleful twin orbs burning deep red within their ebon nests, their hateful glare drinking in all around them.
Like an avalanche bursting through a tree line, the thing stood suddenly in a clearing. An ill moon hung heavy in the night sky, a portent of some evil deeds not yet done. In the middle of the circular grass field sat an oddity. A throne of the rarest dark oak and finest red satin played host to a man who seemed to be sleeping, his gaze downcast beneath a black and wide wizard’s hat. He seemed to be rather tall, though still a child in light of the behemoth intruder. Long red hair spilled down from his shoulders, cast across a long, featureless robe of the same dark black color. Shadowed gauntlets rested on the arms of the throne, armored fingers curled lightly across the carved faces of demons.
Even though the faintest of smiles played across his tightly-pressed lips, the man did not so much as look up. After a moment, two words.
“You’re late.”
Silence. For a long time, neither man nor monster moved. Stillness returned to the forest, and neither bird nor insect dared to breathe.
At last, a deep rumble began to slowly spill from the giant, a grotesque sound echoing forth from nonexistent vocal chords.
“Brook no such tone with me, carrion-drinker. Were it not for the wishes of the Guardian, we would not treat at all…or under very different terms…You are not the first I have encountered enjoying a surplus of pride. Boldness will be your undoing.”
Now the lips curled almost into a smirk. “I would not be so light with the ‘carrion’ remarks. Perhaps some of our ghoulish friends are sneaking about in the shadows, tip-toeing on their rotting little feet, and who knows what sort of things might offend their like?...Strange. You presume to lecture me on boldness, yet I notice you feel safe to meet me so alone and unguarded?”
“Again, such arrogance…This land is old, mage…The grass of the fields, the sands of the desert, the depths of the seas…all are but carpet over oceans of my kin. Even now beneath your feet, they slumber. All heed the call of their kind, the song of the bone…Alone? We are everywhere, and we are legion.”
“…Do not speak to me of old, my compost companion…Very well, let us cut right to the heart of the matter…I have considered the terms and I accept. I will even move the Dreadspire. It is high time I returned to Britannia in any case. I have kin here as well. My homecoming will be such a long-overdue surprise for no small number of them. But I digress…my agents have already seen to the preparations. In fact, the foundations of the Mausoleum are being laid as we speak, adjacent to a locale already quite popular with your…family.” The word was practically dripping with scorn.
“You have found a suitable place, then?” It was not a question. The man nodded, ever so slightly. A pregnant silence emerged again, soaking in the forest air. The stranger on the throne seemed to enjoy teasing out the moment, but if the giant experienced any discomfort, it gave no sign.
Finally: “…Where?”
This time a toothy grin spilled past the guard of ruby-red lips. Two long, silver serpents uncoiled to dance in the moonlight, bright beacons slithering in stark contrast to the ebon attire. All smiles told stories. Here was the tale of a tightly-controlled maniac, a lunatic straining against the seams of his strait-jacket.
“Couldn’t you guess? Where else?...Right on the doorstep of our old friends, the paladins…”
