User:Peregrine2976/Fanfiction/Scarab of the Sands/Part Two

''	Sand, swirling, funneling sand, surrounding him, everywhere. Not dry and coarse sand, but golden and warm. Suddenly before him two eyes made of gemstones opened, and the sand was not a swirling storm but the head of some great beast, and opening its mouth a voice hissed out… “Rhonin…”''

Rhonin stirred uneasily.

“Rhonin…”

A hand was shaking him.

“Rhonin! Rhonin!”

The familiar voice began to pull him toward consciousness again. Opening he eyes, they met with a pair of green elven eyes.

Rhonin frowned. No… Vereesa was dead…

Blinking, he dispelled the last of his dreams, and looked into the familiar elven face of Krala, framed by brilliantly scarlet hair, concern mirrored in her face.

“You were moaning in your sleep again, Rhonin,” she said, dabbing his face with a washcloth. “Look at this, you’re covered in sweat! Was it the sand again?”

Mutely, Rhonin nodded, grateful for her companionship. Had she been human or even Elven, he may have been grateful in a more direct way – after all, Vereesa had been gone for many years - but such a thing was absolutely out of the question where this female was concerned. She was not, strictly speaking, even a mortal.

Krala finished cleaning his face, and then stood up with an authorative look on her face. “You haven’t been sleeping right at all! At this rate you’re likely to keel over any day!”

Groaning, Rhonin sat upright. “I’ll manage.”

“Not while I’m here, you won’t!” Rhonin could not help but laugh, and Krala’s face reddened slightly. “You know what I mean! I’ll arrange for a shaman to brew something that will get rid of dreams.” She sighed. “Well, it’s close enough to morning, I suppose you may as well get up. Come on, up!”

Smiling, Rhonin obliged. In many ways, Krala was nothing at all like her father. Krasus had been quiet, thoughtful, and willing to go days on end without sleep when the situation called for it – and make his companions do the same. Thinking about Krasus made Rhonin’s smile fade. He still recalled the horrible image of Krasus’s – or, as his own kind knew him, Korialstrasz’s – broken body, clutched in the bloody claws of his enemy. Krasus – Korialstrasz – had been the last free dragon left, and when he had gone, he had left behind a brotherhood of rebels, a staunch and determined friend… and Krala.

Korastrasza. The last free dragon in the world. The only one free of his rule.

Shaking his head, Rhonin returned to the present. There was a great deal to be done today. Scouts had returned with reports on the dragonkin’s movements, and there were recruits to oversee. Then, of course, there was the matter of the continuous unification of the disparate races that had come together to form the Brotherhood. Though they were united in their hatred for their foe, tensions often ran high. Saurfang had been appointed to oversee the Horde races, and Tirion Fordring the Alliance, but still the groups must come together, and therein lay the problem. Many of his warriors had difficulty overcoming old hatreds. Nonetheless, he would-

“Rhonin?”

Krala’s voice broke in on Rhonin’s thoughts. Mentally stretching, he smiled and said, “Thank you, Krala. Your companionship is deeply appreciated.” She smiled and ushered him busily to the feasting hall, where she left him to climb to the peak of the mountain.

Blackrock Mountain had once been a stronghold of the old Horde, and after that, though the bottom levels had been filled with Dark Iron Dwarves, the upper levels had been occupied by black dragons. The irony did not escape Rhonin.

Entering the feasting hall, he was surprised and happy to see a familiar short, stocky figure seated at a table, laughing uproariously while his mead spilled, unnoticed, down his long beard. Short though he may be, the Dwarf had arms that Rhonin was half-convinced could crush boulders if they had to.

“Falstad!” Rhonin exclaimed, hurrying to the table. Looking around, Falstad Wildhammer sighted him, and his face broke into a broad grin. “’ere, lad, have a go at this!” He offered a second cup of mead to Rhonin, who took it and sat down next to him.

“Falstad, what are you doing here?” asked Rhonin. “I thought the Wildhammers had refused to join the Brotherhood!”

Falstad’s grin faded. “Grim news, lad, grim news at that. The Wildhammers have decided to join your Brotherhood, but only for vengeance.” He took a long swig of his mead. “They’ve torched Aerie Peak, lad.”

Rhonin was stunned. Aerie Peak, gone? It seemed impossible. The home of the famed Wildhammer Gryphon Riders had seemed impregnable. Still, glancing around, Rhonin could see many tattooed dwarves sitting amongst the men of the Brotherhood. He turned back to Falstad. “I swear to you, Falstad, we will avenge your homeland. I swear it on the Burned Banners.”

Falstad did not grin now, but Rhonin could see a glint of approval in the dwarf’s eyes. “Spoken like a true Wildhammer, lad, an’ no mistake. I’m honored that you share in our drive for vengeance for Aerie Peak. An’ in return, I swear to you tha’ we Wildhammers will fight by your side, for as long as it takes to cast down the dark one.”

That night, Rhonin drank an herbal tea that an Orc shaman had prepared for him. The wizened old Orc had promised that it would prevent dreams from troubling his sleep. Yet as he drifted off to sleep, he could feel the dream coming.

''Sand, all around, swirling, golden sand. The head of a great beast with gemstone eyes.''

“Rhonin… Hear… Me…”

Rhonin woke sweating and trembling. <<< Part I --- Part III >>>