If you are wondering what the hell is this story, well, it all started with me deciding to take a different approach on Dawn of the Dragon. Namely, I wondered, 'what if the war against Malefor was an actual war?' It went mostly downhill from there, and before I knew it I had 10k words in one folder.

As this is technically a novelization, I will take some liberties with the main plot from the game. I can assure you this won't be just a rewrite of DotD, and I have full intention of giving each character their time to shine. The M rating is for obvious reasons: if I'm describing an actual conflict, I'm not holding back. Physical scars are just one of your concerns in a war, and being a hero is not as cool as it might sound.

I'm keeping the SxC pairing canon though; they are very cute together.

The first chapter comes out in the next 24h, just the time for a last minute revision. Enjoy this prologue.


"Young Dragon, all our hope now lies with you. When you wake up, it will be a different world "

"But know this; you are not alone. You have allies."

The Grublins never saw them coming.

There were no torches breaking the pitch-black darkness of a cloudy night, nor the sound of trumpets or the bellowing of war horns in the distance. In silence, they marched on over the broken terrain and up the slope, the clattering of armor and weaponry coming as a distant and muffled noise. Finding purchase on the treacherous ground was a labouring process, the air filled quickly with grunts and puffs and huffs as they pushed their way upward. Those that could find a stable path for their clawed feet helped and dragged on those that could not. Occasionally, the moonlight managed to break through the cloud cover, casting its pale light for just a moment across the mountain side and revealing the slayed bodies of Grublins archers and sentinels. They were grisly, if brief, reminders that the scouts had done their job the hour prior.

The Grublins would not see them coming.

They reached a more spacious plateau before an entrance in the mountain's side, ancient and weed-infested stone carved in the semblance of a doorway. The fury of the elements had taken its toll on the ancient structure, gnawing at its once mighty and smooth pillars. The entryway was dotted with torches and fireplaces, groups of Grublin sentinels huddled around those for warmth, chatting and hollering and feasting on recently-hunted game. Eventually, they fell silent as they caught sight of the newcomers, their weapons and chainmail glinting as they stepped within the light.

Still, the Grublins were not worried. The newcomers had come before, over the months and years, always bringing supplies, food and new weapons for them. They raised their screeching voices happily in greeting, a cacophony of sounds, as they welcomed them once more into their midst. The Grublin leader rose from his place, a dribble of animal fat hanging from his unnatural mouth, as he waved at the newcomers to come closer, still munching loudly on his precious piece of venison.

They did. The Grublin leader came to a halt, the cooked meat slipping from his claws as his primitive mind came to the final realization. He opened his mouth to utter a sound, but none would come out. After all, the crossbow bolt was already in mid-air.

A wet crack echoed through the night, and the Grublin fell backward, a steel bolt jutting out from where his left eye had been.

First, there was a single moment of silence, stretching for what seemed like an eternity. Then, came hell.

Horns blared through the air with ear-piercing groans; dark, ominous battle-standards flew high above their heads. A high-pitched cry tore apart the calmness of the night; as one, the newcomers raised their weapons up to the sky. They rushed forward, seemingly emerging from the darkness itself with a cacophony of squeaks and squeals, countless shrill voices crying out as one.

Like a malignant tide they smashed against the scrambling Grublins, many being cut down unaware and confused amidst the chaos. Some tried to stand their ground and fight, others rushed toward the entrance in a pointless effort to raise the alarm. Most simply broke and fled in mindless panic. The wooden barricades and gates barring the entrance of the ancient catacombs were brushed aside in an irresistible wave of violence and carnage. Relentlessly, the newcomers pushed forward as one, cutting down all those that stood in their path. The Grublins fled again and again in blind panic.

Soon, the newcomers split off in different groups, always pushing onward to hunt down every single Grublin still breathing. The warrens, galleries and passages dug through the rock beneath the Well of Souls echoed with the sounds of battle; the crash of steel on steel; the screaming of the dead and dying.

Snalk swung his halberd around and trust it forward, lodging the crude spike inside the Grublin's chest. The rat wrenched it away with one savage pull, spraying bitter and foul liquid across his face and armor. He raised it again and brought it down, the sharp blade cutting the arm of another Grublin warrior at the elbow. The thing screeched in pain before a blade blurred through the air and split his head in half. He dropped without another sound.

Snalk ignored the fallen enemy that had once been his ally, just like he ignored the growing fatigue in his arms and legs. All his fears and hesitations, weighting within his mind for the entire march, were gone as well. Snalk felt no longer fear; in fact, he was giggling right now, almost laughing in elation with each thrust and sweep of his long-staffed weapon, each time sending another Grublin sprawling on the stone pavement, never to get up. He knew his comrades in arms by his side were probably feeling in the same way. They had lost sight of their commanding officer in the midst of the raging melee, but they did not care. Their task was to kill Grublins and that was their intention. The stone beneath their feet became slick with blood.

Hissing, Snalk tossed his head to the side as another Grublin charged at him with a wordless war-cry, club raised above his head. With a snarl of pure hatred, Snalk counter-charged him with one of his own.

"For the Warrens!" he screeched as the halberd came low in a quick thrust to the left, causing the enemy to stumble from his attack. It was a feint.

"For the Elder!" he cried out again as he attacked from the right, his weapon's superior reach forcing his opponent backwards. That too was a feint.

"For Malefor!" The third and final thrust came, and Snalk drove the weapon's spike into the Grublin's exposed throat. The creature went rigid, gurgling, and then Snalk kicked him away, wrenching the weapon's free in the process. He looked up, ready to face another enemy, but there was none. The other rats were busy finishing the injured off with spiked clubs and short swords.

A paw fell on his shoulder, and Snalk twisted around, bringing his weapon about and ready for another fight. He blinked as he saw the brown-furred rat before him, a dense goo sticking to his chainmail. He raised both claws in surprise.

"Easy there," Chuch hissed as he flashed him a grin. "It's done. You killed them all."

Snalk relaxed, bringing the halberd's staff to rest against his shoulder plate. He too was grinning despite his ragged breathing.

"I . . . reckon . . . I got twenty. H-How about you?"

Chuch hissed in amusement. "Show off," he simply said. "I remember you being scared witless when we received our new orders, not even one week ago. What happened to that rat, uh?"

"I guess he enjoyed his first taste of proper battle," Snalk cackled, quickly joined by his friend. He reached behind in one of his pouches and produced a worn cloth, before starting cleaning his weapon. He felt dizzy, his head becoming light as a feather. He took a step forward and nearly stumbled, his legs shaking.

"I'm gonna take this one for the moment," Chuch muttered, relieving him from his weapon and the stained piece of fabric.

"What? Why?"

"Cause you are going to puke any moment now."

Snalk frowned. "I'm not gonna puke."

"Yes, you are."

"No, I'm n-" It came out in a sudden rush and Snalk doubled over, regurgitating his last meal on the pavement. It wasn't much; his nervousness had prevented him from eating anything aside some hardtack.

"Better now?" Chuch said as he gave him back his halberd. Snalk sniffed loudly, wiping away some of the drool away with his forearm.

"Better," the rat said. He threw a look around. The chamber looked natural enough, judging from the hanging stalactites above their heads, yet the pavement beneath his feet was smooth. From the tunnels behind them echoed the faint sounds and fierce cries of battle.

"Where's the captain?" Chuch shrugged.

"Saw him push ahead while we were held back here. Maybe we should check on him while we are at it."

"If he isn't dead already," Snalk muttered.

"You wished!" a voice boomed ahead from the darkness.

Snalk had to blink repeatedly to adjust his eyes; a torch burning nearby was messing with his otherwise good vision in the dark. Captain Zhelk Mournsnout stepped forward, seemingly out of nowhere. The rat was muscular in appearance, taller than most rats in his company, with a dark-grey fur beneath his heavy armor. A pair of chipped teeth poked out from the front of his snout. He dragged something behind as he advanced, leaving a trail of stinking liquid.

Snalk blinked again. It was a Grublin's head, and a large one at that. Only then he realized that Zhelk was covered head to tail with that oily, dense ichor Snalk had on his face. The rat eyed them both in turn, before turning his attention to the rest of those present with a ferocious grin.

"You managed to survive without me. Impressive. There might be a future for you all within the Dark Armies after all." He scratched his left ear with the back of a crude, cleaver-shaped blade. He dropped the Grublin's head by his side with a wet smack.

"Follow me. The path is clear, and it's time to take our prize."

The twenty-strong group of rats moved in formation and followed him deeper within the mountain, Snalk and Chuch just behind the captain. The sounds of battle behind grew fainter and fainter, until they disappeared. The only noise came from their cautious breathing and their clinking gear. Snalk sniffed at his surroundings; something felt off about the tunnel they were walking through. It looked like it had been only recently dug up.

They moved past the eviscerated bodies of Grublins laying on the ground and got the chance to admire Zhelk's handiwork. Their leader, a large and fierce-looking Grumblin warrior, laid slumped against a wall to the side, his ribcage seemingly pried open and head missing. None commented. Snalk swore that he had noticed the captain grinning though.

Ahead, they spotted a faint orange glow, growing in intensity as they drew closer. Zhelk guided them forward, until they were all within the confines of an ancient chamber filled with old detritus. Snalk looked up, blinking once more to adjust his eyes at the sight before him.

A large crystal formation jutted off from the ground itself, emanating a soft orange hue throughout the room. Snalk heard Chuch hissing by his side, just as the rest of their group squeaked nervously amongst themselves, the faint light casting long shadows of them against the floor. And as they finally stopped closer to the crystal, Snalk realized why.

There was something -or rather someone- within the crystal. Two dragons frozen right in its center.

"And there we are!" Zhelk announced with delight. "And we are the first ones too! The Elder will be very pleased with us."

Snalk nodded but said nothing. Cold claws sunk in his belly and squeezed his stomach as he slowly came to a realization of who really was encased inside that crystal. His throat felt suddenly dry. Realization finally struck him, one born out of barrack rumours and hushed conversations with his comrades in arms when their superiors weren't looking.

"The purple dragon?!" Snalk hissed. "Here?!" Zhelk simply looked over his shoulder and shot him a toothy grin.

"You've got to be kidding me," Chuch cut in. "There's no way he's real. He's just a tale, right? A legend. Something the Alliance keep telling themselves to carry on every time we crush them on the field."

"He doesn't look like a legend to me." Snalk hissed at his friend.

"He's not a legend," Zhelk said. "Now, enough ogling you two. Get a courier top side and tell the others to bring the equipment here. Moving this thing it's gonna be a pain in the rear even with their help."

"Moving?! Sir, that's the purple dragon!"

"And?"

"We should kill him," Snalk said without hesitation. "Break the crystal and cut his throat right here." He looked up for a moment. "And the other dragon too, while we are at it."

"There's another one?" Chuch furrowed his brows, finally catching a glimpse of the second silhouette sealed within. "Oh yeah, there's another one. What kind of dragon is that anyway? Those are black scales. Have you ever seen a black dragon?" He tilted his head to the side. "She kinda looks familiar though."

For his part, Snalk shook his head. "It can be rainbow-colored for all I care. I say we kill them both and bring their heads to the Dark Master. I bet he'll make us filthy rich if we do-"

Zhelk whipped his head around at him and snarled, causing Snalk to take a fearful step back.

"No, we don't. Listen well, you worthless vermin. We have our orders directly from the Elder, and we will carry them out. That means nobody touches them until we arrive at our destination. Disobey that order, and I'll make a cloak out of the pelt of any transgressor. Is that understood?" He did not need to raise his voice. Every single rat nodded without hesitation, Snalk and Chuch included.

"Ah, sir?" A rat from the back timidly piped up. "Are we sure this is the Dark Master's will? I mean, the things we just massacred were his servants as well."

"That is none of our business. If the Elder gives us an order to follow, we follow it without hesitation. The rest is between him and Malefor. Are there any other questions?" There were none.

"Good. Now, get a runner topside."

The rats immediately began drawing lots to see who would get the debatable honour of traveling all the way back through the tunnels to warn the others. Zhelk paid little mind to them; he moved closer to the crystal, reaching out with a clawed paw and caressing its surface. He snickered as he gave it a slight tap.

"Can you hear me in there, purple boy?" he hissed under his breath. "I know you can. Oh, but don't worry. By the time we reach Jachai-Kul, you're both gonna wish you were dead."