Heres a little story thread, I've been working on its full of dragons so I'll post some of the story here.

Chapter 1

The Elves never seen that there time was near, never noting the hungry glint in the eyes of the Children of the Oaks. Concerned only with the glorification of the Elven citadels, never felt, was the burden of the mud people who grew their grain and tilled their field. 

In the groves and fields the red blood was spilled and magic was drawn. In what seemed a blink of eye for the folk of the Sidhe, the Bifrost Gateways were brutally destroyed and left to ruin, stark skeletons, circles of dead stones. 

The Children of the Oaks had erupted into the citadels and spattered the white stone halls with the blood of the Elves. With animal like viciousness, the mud people frenzy eyed and wode graven gave no pity for the architects of their slavery.

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With the Faery Flag now wreft and lost and the Seven Elven Princes placed in cages on a thoroughfare on the Kings Way. The Era of the elves and New Lothian were collapsing. The Elven King an exile, vacant through means unapparent.

The White Dragons expelled from there homes deep in the recesses of the Elven citadels fled back to the realms of Modron to receive new orders from Mabon who waited restless and malevolent, moving his hands to the realms of the North Men the Children of the Ice.

The Elven Kingdoms were now ashes but the war was just beginning and soon the Red Dragons of the Children of Stone would be singing as the Oak groves burn and the Children of the Oak fade into the forests and high lands to wring hands and sharpen swords.

Níðhöggr was stirring...

The kindred promise betrothed to the Seven Elven princes was still beholden, there death had little bearing on the fact that their end of the bargain was yet left unfulfilled. Soon the song of Mabon will call their spirits and free their undead bodies from their cages on the kings road and in turn with time imprison their souls.

The dragons waited in refuge between the broken kingdom and their Lord. Hiding in the forest of Coed Llandegia. Brinkering on fear but resolute that the iron will of their master was still being fulfilled, their own will however was not tempered from so fine an element. The Dragons were tempted to seek the Dryads that tended the ancient Elm of Llandegia and beg for her mercy knowing that the first snow flake in a blizzard was falling and their age was ending. Acceptance that Mabon who birthed them, would unmake them for this, did little to dissuade them form the course. By the time the Dryads had drew their course with the dragons only the strongest of them would be left. His brother bled dry and desiccated  Soon his bridled might would be all thats left standing to face the coming of the great Red storm from the east. And in its might amongst the thunderheads squirm the Red Dragons of Iógi.

 

The Children of the Oaks would not celebrate and call their heroes for long, by now the undead elven princes would be rising in the dragons wake. Growing like a scourge or the breath of the begotten, filthy, flourishing and flagrant. Their cages fallen broken beneath their cold white fingers, their bodies risen with gleaming eyes and flesh on verge of putrefaction. 

The Oak people had never seen the like before and have fled to their groves and spill blood to the Oldest Ones. Their yearning hearts twined together as one, likened to the growth of new grown grain, calling for their father the keeper of the grove to give aid to heed their sacrifice. 

Every man touched by the necrophic touch would be consumed with decay and rise morose and bereft of heart and soul with eyes vacant and unfeeling. To follow the Elven princes, soulless devout of hunger or pain. Freshly risen corpses just recently perspired their souls still tender, still ripe, yet not dead, yet no longer alive.  A Madness in their head was calling grinding and compelling. The elven princes were dead and yet still clawing amongst us, driven from their grizzled cages by a madness only the Mabon can kindle. Undead to crawl forth and await the song that will tenderly call forth and release their spirit. At Mabon's mercy they will remain. Beholden, Enslaved.

Ready for War!