Scrill

The prayer ran on loop through Skrill's mind, her talons gouging the dirt as she ran frantically down the long tunnels. Her eyes burned with a feral light, her mouth dribbling with acidic foam. The fury that she felt when her disciple came to her with the news fueled the flame in her heart, smoke streaming from her nostrils. They would be triumphant, they had seen war and this would be no different. Doubts whispered into her mind, the Banescales knew their enemies to the south would stop at nothing, they knew that the Gaoler's had been scheming with mages and spell masters to create something... No! There was no time to linger on hear-say and rumors. She could only hope that the nests were safe, that the elders would be protected, hidden deep in the belly of their mountain.
There was a strange and terrible howling that grew in volume as Skrill reached the mouth of the tunnels, her eyes scanning the mountainside.
A pale blue glow turned the landscape a sickly color.
The howling grew to a deafening pitch.
There was a vacuum of silence, a boom that shook the land-
And then silence.
--
"They've come," the young dragon had shrieked as they burst into the Holy Chamber. "They've come from their frozen hell, there's hundreds of them!" The disciples looked up from their stone tablets and prayers, silence blanketing the room.
The dragon, Kaymir, took gulps of air as they continued. "The Gaolers. They're here, on the beaches, a scout saw them at dawn- they swam all night and they're making their way to the mountain! They have mages, warriors, they're here to-" Before Kaymir could finish, a loud boom shook the lair.
In that instant chaos erupted- barely initiated disciples began crying out in confusion and fear, the bedtime tales of the cold south suddenly made real. The enormous dragons that roamed and ruled with an iron fist that had been a harmless threat for the innocent crime of avoiding responsibility were no longer figments, shadows lurking in their nightmares, they were enormous horned beasts. were now marching towards their home, towards the Heart Flame, the nests, the families. The room became a cacophony of despairing wails, the frightened crying of fledglings, shouts of anger.
"Enough!" the room went silent. From the altar at the farthest end of the chamber, the High Priestess stood. Her eyes gleamed brightly from under a veil, her rust colored wing spreading as she stepped into the congregation, meeting the eyes of her terrified followers. "Flamecaller, our burning mother, is with us. We are her warriors, the carriers of her eternal flame," as she spoke, dragons bent their head in prayer, murmuring hymns "You have been training for a day like this your entire lives. Will you shirk at the first sign of danger? Will you allow your spark to be extinguished by the smallest breath of ice? No!" her shout echoed in the silence. She repeated the word, "No!" this time dragons shouted with her, growling and hissing. She cried the word a third time, the shouts of her disciples ringing and the room erupted into roars, howls of rage. "We will fight!" howls, "We will conquer!" roars, "We will be triumphant!" The walls seemed to shake and dust drifted from the ceiling with the intensity of their cries. "Go forth, Embers of the Flame, and defeat these wretched foes who dare invade our lands!"
Like demons spilling from the mouth of hell, the Banescales howled; armed with magic and spells they had memorized throughout their their divine training, their bodies hardened from years of combat training. Down the tunnels, voices rang out in song.
--
As the dust settled- as the magma chilled, hardening into black stone, the Gaolers looked over their destruction...
They wandered the tunnels, their hushed voices echoing in the cold. They passed the training grounds, eyes shifting away in guilt. The soldiers, the arrogant ones, made sure to leave no frozen Banescale intact. A wake of complete destruction followed them.
The Gaolers had done as the Ice Warden commanded. The Banescales were a brash and dangerous kind, a threat to the peace of Sornieth. Whatever would help them sleep at night.
They passed the doors that led into Holy Chamber. A young Gaoler, horns smaller than the average soldier, came to a stop while his compatriots continued down the tunnels. He hesitated a moment before stepping into the room, his breath fogging the cold air.
The room was bare, the floor open with plenty of space. The standards bearing the Flamecaller's emblem hung on the walls, stones etched with sacred scriptures, the Gaoler grimaced. As an enforcer of balance, he knew that this kind of desecration would only bring about more tragedy, more sorrow. He wandered the room, reading the prayers written into black stone, looking for answers a reason an explanation, justification for the Ice Warden's command.
The Banescales, frozen in eternal supplication, could give him no satisfactory answer.
Hearing the command of his commanders, the Gaoler scrambled to grab as many holy tablets that he could. He didn't know why. Perhaps the inherent thirst of knowledge, perhaps it was the hope that one day, the wrongs done- the wrongs he had participated in, could be rectified.
--
There was silence. Darkness. And it was so cold.
Then there were voices, the flash of purple runes sparked through the air.
And there was the warmth of dragon fire.
Eyes opened and primal light shone on the four dragons surrounding Skrill.
"I told you there was something here."