Queen of Timbroch - Part III

Years had passed ever since La’Arow rose to throne and reined Timbroch. Timbria was then seperated into three major forces, no longer united as one, and clashing against one another. On the east were the orcs that were building villages and towns, gathering force to expand their power and next to it, on the west, was the remaining of Timbroch. The rest that wast left of Timbroch was the resisting forces fighting against the new age of La'Arow's reign and the brutal rule of the orcs. The peasants suffered from being enslaved by both the orcs and Timbroch and slaughtered by the orcs or dying of hunger and misery by the rule of King La’Arow. The once almighty soldiers of Timbroch were then nothing more but a mere tool for the evil King and his own private purpose. There were many that opposed the king, but they all were silenced by the sword. Even the members of the Royal Court who were loyal to the old order resigned and left the kingdom, seeking refuge. Some survived yet most were captured and forced to swear allegiance to their new king or to face the executioner. The Royal Court which was once a glorious place for the wise to prevail the life of Timbroch became a court filled with corruption and greed caused by deception and foul blood. Corruption had not only spread within the royal court yet it had spread all over the Western Forest. Blood of the innocents had stained the once pure soil causing the inhabitants of the forest to change. The druids and nymphs never shown their faces anymore, the trees no longer walk and speak and barely even rain their petals upon Timbroch as before, and the spirits of the forest became nothing more than an evil entity, dragging souls into the trees they dwell in. The once glorious Timbroch then became a wasteland.

On the far south of Timbria, on the barren lands which was once a green forest roamed a hoard of bandits. Those bandits were riding on a large, four horned which was two on his front and one each beside his ears, hard skinned and barely with fur, a long tail with some hair on the edge, grey tredri, with large bags on their back, from the soldiers chasing behind them. On front of the tribe was a young girl riding on her tredri and leading the way on the chase. That young girl was tall in height, had white skin, and had a pair of golden shining eyes and long white hair blown back by the wind. She had a quiver of arrows on her left side of her back, and on her right hand she held tight a lace to control her tredri, and on her left, her short bow. She wore a ragged gray robe and wore a rope on her waist as a belt and on that rope hanged a dagger with a round golden symbol carved on the tang which is the carving of the emblem of the white dragon, Zhevrian. That girl was Re’Yurva, and that dagger on her waist belonged to her mother, Re’Drina. Re’Drina then grabbed her short bow and took an arrow and fired towards the soldiers chasing behind them, also riding on tredris. Then the hoard behind her started showering the soldiers with a rain of arrows following their leader. The soldiers, of course, did not receive much damage for they were equipped with their shields and armor. Only few were wounded and fell off their ride. Soon they entered the once known as the one thousand trees and spread directions.

For a moment, Yurva thought she had lost the soldiers chasing her but two riders came from the side and jumped and crashed on her, tackling her down to the ground. She rolled over and stood and ran as fast as she could. As a dwelven her capability of running was unquestionable. She ran and kept running trying to outrun the soldiers behind her. The soldiers were left behind but not too far for they were also a Dwelven as she was which also have the capability to run as the wind as other Dwelvens. But Yurva was not an ordinary Dwelven. She could run faster than any other Dwelven, she was the fastest runner compared to the other members of her hoard and she also had excellent arching skills. One of the soldiers ran across the forest and the other chased from afar riding on its tendris. Yurva took a leap and landed on a branch of a tall tree and took her bow. She then placed an arrow on the string and pulled, aiming with one eye and fired at the rider causing it to fall and roll. She leaped from branch to branch and finally reached her camp. The camp was situated behind a tall hill in a valley nearby a small river. That river flowed On the hills of the valley there were sentries guarding and watching over the camp.

"Welcome home my child" greeted the head of the hoard. "I see you have returned without a ride, a very unusual sight! What happened?"

"I left it behind in the forest, father. I was chased by two Royal Riders and was ambushed." said Yurva to Grehya, the head of the hoard, which was also her father.

"I see... Now, take a rest and feed yourself my child! Tomorrow is a big day and we shall need all of our strenght," said Grehya to her daughter. Then Yurva walked to her tent to clean up. The camp she lived with her horde was not too big and not small either. The whole camp was filled with bandits and they lived on the road, they never stayed at one place, a nomad. They had to move around each time because of the bounty over their heads. They became thieves not because of their will, but because of the new order led by the reign of King La'Arow. They did not pillage the weak for their personal reasons but they steal caravans or military supply units of the Royal Kingdom of Timbroch or the orcs. Sometimes they even raid military camps and steal weapons and supplies from the soldier. These bandits named themselves The White Shadows. Not long after Yurva arrived, her riders that followed her from before came with their loot from earlier.

The morning sun had risen and before the first light had touched the grounds, The white Shadows had already left for another resting place. The White Shadows traveled mostly on beasts for they need to save their strength to engage in combat when needed. They traveled through the barren wasteland once used to be filled with trees yet now even grass could hardly be found. Yurva rode her ride, Vherven, a white and gigantic wolf, about four times the size of Yurva herself, twice the height of Yurva and with fangs as daggers hiding in its mouth. Its white fur was long and soft and warm and its eyes were the same as Yurva, glowing gold. Yurva had Vherven ever since she was a child. Yurva and Vherven grew together and shared a bond, as if Yurva could feel what Vhersen felt and Vherven to Yurva. Beside Yurva rides her best friend, Rionne, riding on top of a gray fenris, as Yurva. Behind them was the caravan of the hoard and in front was the other riders and there was Grehya and a few other elders leading the way. Amongst those elders was Fufnir the Wise, an old Dwelven which once served the Royal Council as an advisor. She was quite old yet very wise.

They traveled for quite a while through the lands. On their way they traveled through many memories of their once glorious kingdom. A quite happy memory, yet painful knowing all what was left was only memories. They passed through rubble and pieces of statues torn apart. Trees that used to be found everywhere seemed to lessen. There were no more rains of petals falling down from trees that almost touched the sky. In the sky there could be seen ships hovering from one platform of heaven to another. Angels could be sighted flying in formations through the clouds heading for their home. Sometimes battles in the sky could be seen from below, only that day the sky was at peace. Suddenly, the ground began to shake. The caravan had to halt.

Cries of war could be heard not far from the horde, followed with a giant roar. Then another quake shook the ground causing Yurva to fall from her fenris and rolled away. She stood up straight and took a walk to the hill in front of her that blocks the source of the war cries and roars while cleaning her robe from the dust she had gotten from the ground. She stared speechless at what she gazed. Of course, that was a normal reaction for she saw standing tall a white, large, 60-foot tall, fire breathing cave dragon, blasting fire out of it's mouth at a small group of orcs, roasting them in seconds. The dragon was obviously raging, judging from its aggressiveness. No dragon would attack on its own will unless it feels threatened, those orcs must have been wandering around its home or so. One of the orcs charged on towards the dragon on its tredri but got easily whipped by the dragons tail full of spikes, causing the orc to be airborne and landed several miles away. Yurva was not too surprised watching the rampaging dragon slaughtering the orcs. What surprised her was the eyes of the dragon that gazed straight to her eyes, those eyes seemed familiar to Yurva. The dragon then spat out a last fireball to the orcs and flew towards Yurva and landed right in front of her. Both of them continued to gaze deep into each other while the crowd behind her withered in fear. But it seemed that Yurva felt no fear at all.

"Yurva! On her neck!" shouted her father. It seemed that Yurvas father know more of dragons than she does, he even could differ which are male and which are female. It seemed that on that white dragons chest was an emblem so familliar to Yurva but she could not remember. "Your dagger Yurva! That is Zhevrian!" shouted her father again. Then she reached her waist on her belt and realized that the emblem on the dragons chest was the same carving on the tang of her dagger. "Show her your blade, my child!" said her father. So she approached and showed Zhevrian her blade. The blade began to shine bright so as the emblem on her neck. Then that mighty tall and ferocious dragon raised her wings and flapped down a heavy gust upon the crowd and started flying up high and away. "That was Zhevrian, my child," said Grehya. "He was the dragon of the blade, a dragon that was once tamed and conquered and belonged to a noble," Grehya continued. Then Grehya ordered the others to line up and continue their journey.

On that journey, Yurva rode closely to her father. It was dark already but they kept on moving. Then Yurva started to talk. "Father..." Yurva called her father. "Was that noble that you said earlier..." Yurva paused a minute but his father nodded, knowing what's in his daughters' mind.

"Every noble Dwelven has a dragon my child. Now that you're mother's gone you are the successor of that dragon. You are the owner of Zhevrian."

"But why does she flee when I showed her the blade?" replied Yurva.

"That dragon was your mothers, Yurva. It seemed that it was not ready to be yours. If you are to own her, you must prove yourself to her that you are worthy. You must take the case of the dagger hanged on the dragons ear in the dragons lair itself. Until then, you are unworthy."

Then the both of them and the tribe stopped nearby a lake to rest and spend the night. It was quite cold and all that they had to keep themselves warm were their clothes and their blankets. The cold air had not bother Yurva a bit though, her and her wild thoughts...