Jets of steam pulsed out of the mare's flaring nostrils as she galloped hard across the open plain. Her red head and matching mane bobbed in time to her master's advance on their fleeing foe. The Overlord's once shimmering black armor bounced and clanked under a muddled coat of dried blood and slime. Such was the price of victory. The odor of torn sod under hoof clouded his visor and engulfed his helm. His long fur cape rippled in their wake of imminent destruction in the name of Darkness.
A clan of unicorns fled from their charge several lengths ahead. Their intermingling cries told the Overlord that he was close.
For thirty long years, I have waited. Waited and watched as these detestable creatures lived in peace. Oh, but our time of waiting nears its end, lordship! Your triumphant return is nearly in hand. As your faithful servant, I have collected all of the rarities needed for your rebirth. All, that is, but one. The Indrik, the Crystal of all Creation, lies in wait atop yon hill.
A small group of animals burst out of the woods to the Overlord's left flank. Wild horses, wolves, foxes, hawks, and migratory fowl converged on his line toward the top of the knoll. Dripping snarls. Angry calls. The agent of Mother Night paid them no heed, spurring his mount into a blistering sprint. The small band of woodland defenders closed the gap to within a few paces. A hawk dove in for the mare's muscular neck, but was washed out by a pillar of fire from higher above. The bird shrieked and collapsed to the meadow as the column of flame forced the survivors to turn away from the blood red mare. To the Overlord's left, the wyvern swooped down and glided parallel to him like a missile, black scales shimmering under a blazing sun.
Soon, master, your reign will come. The sun shall fall for the last time, and I will see them driven before you into the heart of a growing storm.
With a pulse of its wings, the dragon disappeared back up into the searing rays of the sun. The Overlord slowed his mare as the animals formed a barrier around a lone deciduous tree on the hilltop. Oak, elm. He didn't know, and he couldn't care.
"Impetuous pixies!" He dismounted and drew a large sword from its sheath on his back.
One by one, the creatures dissolved and transformed. Birds became fairies, foxes - dwarves, and wolves and horses - elves.
His bow strung with an arrow, Honeythorn Gump strode to meet their dark invader. "It means to take the Tree of Life, so defend it with your own!"
The arrow flew true, but landed nothing more than a glancing blow to the visor of Gump's enemy. A pair of dwarves charged the dark one, landing blows to its shins with their war hammers. The poor snow-haired fellow on Gump's left took the black knight's blade through his round gullet and fell over in a lifeless heap. The dwarf on his right took a plated boot to the face and flew back toward the tree.
"Screwball!"
Another incendiary attack from the wyvern cut off the others' advances and forced them to scatter back into the depths of the forest, if they were to live to fight another day.
The Overlord hissed as he stepped over the corpse of his victim toward the final prize. To the undiscerning eye, it would seem like nothing more than an ordinary tree, but he was no fool. These heathen fairies love to hide their most prized possessions out in broad daylight right under the noses of bumbling buffoons. Leveling his blade at his hip, the dark warrior plunged it deep into the tree's flesh. Cracking, tearing, smoldering. The trunk melted away from the vile powers of the blade, relinquishing its long-guarded treasure. The Indrik pulsed in a wash of white radiance as his leathery glove closed around it. The Overlord produced a small pouch of black material from under his chest plate and dropped the foul gem inside.
Heaving himself back atop his mare, the Overlord secured his prize under his chest plate once more. "Your days are numbered!"
His mare reared on her haunches and let loose a hellish bray.
