Gale-force winds, icy rain and crashing waves surged and battered the cliff-tops around Karond Kar, the Tower of Despair at the entrance to the Sea of Chill, as a single reaving vessel docked into harbour, carrying survivors from their ill-fated battle at sea with their eternal enemies, the Asur.

Mortharor, Captain of the black ark Harbinger of Pain, left the vessel and made his way through the slave markets and their jeering onlookers on his way to the Tower of Despair, a narrow but monumentally tall spire constructed at a cliff’s highest point which acted just as much as the drachau’s citadel as did it function like a lighthouse, only this one scanned the waters from here to Har Ganeth in search of invaders in place of attracting sailors toward its depravity. Mortharor entered the tower and began ascending its long, winding set of staircases surrounded by the cells of feral beasts captured by the Drachau, some beasts were small, but most were very large indeed.

After spending so long climbing those steps that the sea captain lost track of time including more than a few breaks to catch his breath along the way, Mortharor finally reached the tower’s tip.Here at the top of the sinuous tower Mortharor saw Rakarth the Beastlord, Drachau of Karond Kar and second marshal of Naggaroth’s military after General Ebnir Soulflayer in Naggarond, laying reclined on a throne of seashells and accompanied by his faithful black dragon companion Bracchus, who was named after a dark steed Rakarth rode when he was young and was so devoted to its rider, both out of loyalty and dread, that Bracchus was among the only black dragons in all the world that their Druchii rider allowed to roam untethered and uncaged within their palace. As Mortharor stepped forward toward the sea-stone throne, the dragon instinctively coiled its tail around its master’s chair and hissed at the approaching black ark captain.

“Ah Mortharor, I was wondering when I might gaze upon your snivelling face again.” the Drachau began, his voice gravelled like burning coals circling a drain.

“Not snivelling my lord, anything but that. I bring great tidings. Prince Bel’Korandras of Tiranoc has fallen, engulfed in salt-tide alongside three dragonships and many other less significant Asur warships. Their fleet has been irreparably crippled.” Mortharor boasted.

“You make your incompetence sound like an achievement. As I recall, my instructions were to keep Yvarn’s fleet from landing at all. Instead, I hear of food deliveries to my city, to my menagerie even, being diverted. I hear speak of sea guards patrolling the straits of Arnheim, some even talk of Shadow-Walkers delving deeper inland. So why should I show gratitude for this measly act you label a triumph?” Rakarth inquired.

“With all due respect my lord, that was always a matter beyond my control. There is only so much one Ark can do. Perhaps if Hellebron had not set sail-“

“Do not speak ill of your Queen! Who are you, little sailor, to question our Majesty? If you wish to keep your tongue in my presence, I recommend you remember your place. Now, your orders were to sink the invading fleet. You failed in doing this and now the Asur presence is causing damage to my operations. Do you deny this to be true?” Rakarth questioned.

“Yes! Yes I deny that. I am no failure, I used my vessel to the best extent I could. I sunk three of our enemies’ strongest ships and I used the horn you gave me to kill many of their drakes. I even kept the horn on my person so I could return it to you now. Those are not the actions of a failure! They are the actions of a soldier doing their best given limited resources!” Mortharor spat back, refusing to take the Drachau’s criticisms in his stride.

“Resources? You come here with talk of resources when I gifted you an entire Ark? Your orders were to sink their blasted fleet, not let them land within my dominion!”

“That was never possible. There was only so much I could do!”

“The responsibility was yours. You have failed me just as you have failed Naggarond’s queen. The Black Council will not countenance compromise and certainly will not accept failure!” the drachau barked in anger.

Realising he was in danger, Mortharor reached for his handbow side-arm in an effort to defend himself only for Rakarth to disarm him once more with a single crack of his whip. Mortharor turned tail to run but Rakarth rose from his throne and lashed his whip out anew, this time wrapping it round Mortharor’s left wrist.“What are you doing!?” Mortharor yelled terrified.“Don’t you know? The flesh of failures has always lined my pets’ stomachs.”

The black ark captain attempted to resist, pulling away from the Drachau’s grip but the whip’s barbs merely latched themselves further into his skin as Rakarth gave a hand signal to his dragon. The dragon unwound itself from the throne and lurched forward, its throat boiling to a brim.Mortharor’s resistance turned to begging for his life but it was too late, far too late for at that moment Bracchus’ mouth snapped open, releasing a volley of noxious flames that vaporised Mortharor and his armour into cinders.

With the black ark captain dead, Rakarth allowed his dragon to devour what remained of his corpse. Rakarth returned to his throne and Malida, the Hag Queen of Karond Kar and Rakarth’s consort of sorts wandered into his chamber.

“Ah Malida, it transpires we have unwelcome guests settling near Arnheim.” Rakarth informed her.

“Shall I martial the Covens and prepare the City Guard my lord?” the Hag Queen asked.

“No, spare the garrison’s expense. Instead, prepare my menagerie. I will deal with our invaders myself. It would seem hunting season has come early this year….”