THE CURSE OF SRAET
                           CHRISTOPHER
                           SPETLAND
“What is life but a story that must be lived and told simultaneously?” – Christopher York
              194 A.S.A
The colossal dragon Silfacaar was wounded; He flew low over the mountains and was going lower still. He turned his snake-like neck around and saw the witch with her black wings and evil grimace set about her face. She yelled something in her foreign language, and shot a blue ball of energy out of her palms. Silfacaar roared in agony and spit his blue flames at her, but she was out of reach. The trees were just under the green dragon, in seconds his under belly would scrape them and cause irreparable damage.
Silfacaar knew his end was near, his end and the rest of the dragons.

King Asimov of the Forest dwelling Elves shuddered in pain for his deity. Lord Silfacaar was dying. He looked down to his Oparin brothers and sisters with tear streaked eyes.
“We cannot let her destroy him; his powers are weakened by our lack of faith and servitude.” Asimov stood tall and slender, his long white hair held up by a deer’s horns.
He wore thin white cloths made of silky fabric; a thin rapier was clasped to his leather belt.
His wife, the queen of the Oparin elves touched his shoulder lightly. She stood taller than him by an inch or so, her white hair was braided with wooden beads; multi colored and bright they stood out against her soft colored hair. “Will our brothers of Minarin not help our struggle? Or will they hide through this too?” Her face was serene but her words were poisonous.  The king touched her chin; “My Sarr’ya cast away your hate. This is a time where we must love even our worst enemy if we are to see this through.” He kissed her head- Even your brother Kavga knows that.” Sarr’ya sighed and put her small knuckles to his cheek. “Your right my love, forgive my outburst.” The king nodded his head and looked into the crowd of his people gathered in the forest to hear his commands. The king opened his mouth to speak but stopped suddenly as a familiar horn sounded in the distant trees. The Minarin elves of the desert lands had arrived at long last.
                      ****
King Kavga stood tall, lean and tanned. His arms were muscular and powerful, a hood and face cloth hid his face, but his silvery eyes gazed daggers of fear into any enemy who stood up to him.
His blood was Elvin, but the Minarin had become savage it seemed. When Alma viros came to this land the elves had split into two kingdoms. The Minarin who fled the trees to their underground world in the desert of Dergunt, and the Oparin who stayed in the forest they loved, to face their oppressors.
But the Oparin were not violent, they fought their enemies only when they needed to defend their land; whereas the Minarin had become brutish, having to fend for everything they owned. But despite the difference in appearance between the two Elvin cultures, they still worshiped the same deity, the forest Dragon Silfacaar. And this factor still brought them together, as it had today.