In the last base, Death is on the prowl.


This is the very first scene of the second half of my scenario.
You will only get a glimpse of the universe this is in, just because I don't want my idea stolen yet, before it is fully finished.
It is supposed to be a very sad scene, and I hope my poor translation in english did not ruin the effect. Ah, one last thing, names have been changed to protect my scenario °;-)


Inside, stairs after stairs, corridor after corridor, the group hurried through a thick and humid air. The galeries had been carved through rock recently, and one could notice the artwork of the Dwarves from the Zôr mountains. However, lots of galeries had been built hastily, fact that only an extreme emergency situation could have caused. Because Dwarves are a very perfectionist race. But here and there, lots of polishing was missing and stones scattered the way upon which Corky and Lynk walked firmly, guided by the guard.

Often, at crossroads, they could catch sight of beings of all races looking at them, a glimmer of interest and curiosity in their eyes. But in all these eyes, whatever their story, could be read the same deep heartbreak, and more than everything, a sadness and a defeat feeling that tormented these poor souls. Often injured, seldom aged, never young, because all these had perished during the attacks. And even though the sight of Corky and Lynk had awakened a glimmer of hope amongst those survivors, they could not see how their fateful end could be changed.

Corky remembered the worst war he ever witnessed, the last war before the establishment of The Code. In these times, battles raged between Elves and Dwarves, and after several dozens years of horrible wars and thousands of deaths, the two parties were drained, menless and resourceless, even unwilling to keep on battleing since they had forgotten how the first battle started. When their populations were down a thousand each, Goblins and Orks agreed to take back the Dwarven territories, some very well structured galleries that they envied for a long time.

Thousands of fresh warriors then went down in the plain where Elves and Dwarves were, attacking them by surprise and started what should have been the end of the Elvish and Dwarf races. Then all of a sudden, after a lightning that many thought to be the artifact of the Orkish shamans, the Orkish and Goblin horns blowed retreat and mysteriously all their army went back the way it had come without further blood spilling. Orkish and Goblin kings then went down under the peace flag and offered to sign a treaty that would forbid any war from wiping out a whole race whatever race it is.

As of then, one had to leave the defeated party the chance to survive and reform a society of its own. This treaty was then heared by all representatives from the planet. Nobody could ever explain why the Goblins reatreated, nor why they brought this treaty now known from all as 'Code', but it is told that the gods themselves, foreseeing the close end of two of their races, went down and dealed with the Orkish and Goblin kings.
Nobody ever knew, because only these two knew, and nobody ever dared to ask.

Corky thought it could be possible now to ask the Gobelin king an explanation, but the moment was not well chosen. Their new opponent did not respect the Code. And already numerous races were missing in this last bastion, this last fortress, the last hiding place of the Last Alliance.

And the faces passed on and on, under the flickering light or the torches. All with the same look of desillustion, despair, failure even.
Even fairies who used to be so joyful, did not flap their wings like before, to express the joyful life with which they live, for which they live, to share their joy, to diffuse it.
The hobbits hide in corners, all huddled up, and whisper to themselves greetings they liked so much. "Would you like some tea? No, I have no more tea, no more tea..." .

After a while, they arrived in a room much wider, packed with people, beds, moaning and complaints. In this room are tassed up the wounded, and beds line up out of sight. There must be at least a thousand beds. All full with dying, wounded, mutilated and dead even, certainly.

One-legged faeries, with torned appart or missing wings, these wings that once were like those of butterfly, shining with a thousand colors and silver glints. Hobbits burned to the bone, touching constantly their feet, where their hair was the thickest and made them proud. Now only a purple skin covers their body and the last hair completely dissapeared and will never grow back.

A baby dragon knocks himself constantly against the walls while fluttering. His scales are all either peeled off or pulled out completely. The little dragon collapses finally on a half-consumed Ent, whose four limbs are missing, but none of them moan so much fear and pain fills them.

Lynk rushes forward to relieve the poor Ent, but when he lifts the little dragon whose weight is well under what it ought to be, the Ent is already nothing more than a corpse without life that anyone could mistake easily with an old dead tree. The trees, which they were the guardians of, and of which they ended up taking the form of, don't grow anymore, and their guardians die without them, their unique reason to live.

Lynk puts the dragon down, as he becomes cold already. He also drew his last breath. The last bump of which his skull is full of must have been more than what the poor animal could withstand. His eyes are still open. Lynk, out of habbit, scratches his eyelids gently, the favorite place of dragons. But not only are these eyes empty of life, the colors of the rainbow don't shine in them anymore. Instead of that, the eyeballs are completely white. The little dragon was blind, which is why he kept on knocking himself against the walls. The Elf, suddenly overwhelmed by a deep sadness, closed the dragon's eyes and noticed they must have been crying for weeks, so much his cheeks are soaked and their skin crackeled.

Life drifts away from this world's creatures, little time after joy and hope. The world as its inhabitant's knew it reaches its end, and during these days of adversity, the races that yesterday made what the anciant humans and the druids called Faerie will dissapear.
Once the last drop of life dried out, the world would have nothing left but to dissapear.

And it's with these dark thoughts that Lynk, Corky and their troup finished to cross the room with the thousand wounded, the thousand sufferings. Finally despair took upon them in this room filled with the presence of Death.

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