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“She just seems somewhat familiar…” Teclis muttered as another elf interjected “Shut up, simpleton!” “Shusssh! Do you want us both executed?” the elf responded.
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“Oh? Who’s that then? Who is this Eternity Queen?” Teclis asked another courtier.
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A tall, slender witch elf clad in a gown of feathers and wielding a set of daggers at her waist, approached a balcony above to deliver a speech, her long locks of blonde hair held in an updo and her skin glistening like porcelain. “She’s here! Let me see! I must get a view!” the Tiranoc she-elf demanded, barging ahead through the crowd and elbowing the face of what looked like a glade lord of Talsyn as she did so. “Silence! Silence for the Eternity Queen!” an announcer bellowed into a horn. She wore a fine tiara encrusted with gems and a long blue sash, a Princess of Tiranoc most probably, yet beyond that below the sash she wore clothes more befitting a hag sorceress of Naggaroth than any High Elf with its metal corsetry that revealed a set of cuts and bruises to her exposed flesh around it, not to mention the unsightly presence of a barbed spike piercing her nose from end to end. Teclis apologised and moved over, taking a look at her as he did so. “Get out of the way, would you? Madman! Speaking to yourself like some simpleton! You are blocking my view!” a woman barked at Teclis. “Where am I now? With this much discord it could only be the Phoenix Court…but then again I don’t approve of the decor, certainly not these heads on spikes.” Teclis stated to himself. “Malekith?” Teclis asked the familiar fellow only for the man to vanish and the loremaster to find himself in a new location, surrounded by rambling cries and jeering. Behold, this is the Empire of Malekith, first of his name, Heir of the Phoenix, Eternity King of Ulthuan!” Those of its people who are not beaten or who have not been sacrificed on Khaine’s altar have grown cruel, their hearts encased in ice. The skies which were once graced by shimmering rainbows of purple, green and brilliant yellow, now bake, heavy with the stench of the Slaughter House. Where once children frolicked under the cover of silver-leaved pine trees in its nearest forest, the trees have since withered and perished while the soil itself convulsed into barren wastelands.
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Where once the city stood as a resplendent beacon of civilisation, its marble columns have since cracked and its many statues have been defaced. “Lothern, O Lothern! Where once its straits carried vessels from all corners of the world, the seas have since boiled and dried up, leaving behind a tide of suffocating marine life. “Oh, I didn’t see you there, wait where did you spring from? Actually, I swear your aspect is rather familiar like I know you…or perhaps as if I am going to know you.” Teclis suggested.
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“That name has not been spoken for many, many centuries.” a strange robed figure interrupted. Impossible surely but then again, could this be Lothern?” Teclis muttered to himself. “Hang on, that crumbling archway reminds me somewhat of an Emerald Gate and there, in the distance that statue’s bust seems familiar, almost as if it had once been the Statue of Aenarion. Teclis investigated his surroundings a city burning and above resting atop an almighty mound of corpses stood vast black citadel, hulking over the landscape. However, instead of the darkness of night, his sleep was engulfed in light. That night after another long day of searching, Teclis retired to his quarters and slunk away beneath his bedsheets, falling asleep to the sound of far-away crickets. Some soldiers were unaccounted for and indeed, many griffon riders including the Warden of Yvresse were among such numbers.
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Yet High Loremaster Teclis, ever-confident as he was, maintained hope that someone would turn up alive. With Ferghal and most of his army confirmed either dead or eaten by the foul vermin that were finally showing their hand, having taken Oyxl as well and made it their first surface-level bastion in Lustria, most loremasters had given up hoping that anyone would return to the Volcanic Isles alive. Weeks had passed since General Ferghal’s doomed expedition into the jungles of Lustria.