“Sithius!” alarmed Thrag. “You didn’t have to answer the elf questions?” He punched the marble wall of a braiding chapel. “This is absurd!”
“No, you buffoon,” Sithius said villainfully. “They don’t even know I’m here!”
“Stop right there, criminal scum!” sang the lithe archer-guard with long silver hair and ethereal violet eyes.
“Marandas!” said Sithius, smirking fiendishly. “Prepare to die.” He summoned the dark spirits of the forest, who appeared as he had, though without the cloak ensemble. It was a horde of mighty fairies, the spirits of the forest, protectors of all trees, forests, and woods.
Thrag drew his lightning-like wakizashis from the scabbards crossed on his back. “GRAAAHHH!” came his masculine war cry. Thrag hated faereys. His former lover had been kidnapped by fayeries when she was a girl and turned into a faegherey. He hadn’t made love with anyone since, and for that, he swore to kill all fayereighs he ever came across.
“Get them!” Marandas shouted, pointing at Sithius, the feighery horde, and Thrag. Lady Rinda tried to sneak away, but Marandas and his team of cultured warriors caught him by the sultry, seductive hips.
Also they caught the others, too.
“GRAAAHHH!” said Thrag’s war cry, defeatedly echoing throughout the dungeon. “How could you get us all captured, Sithius?! We didn’t even do anything!”
“Shut up,” said Sithius.
Vardius, his evil uncle of Nosdoom, lay in an ash-pile on the ground, suffering from bigboomitis. He was about to give his final words to his nephew. “It’s in Leafy Barkendel,” he choked, then croaked.
“Noooo,” Sithius whispered hissingly. The air from his breath blew some of the uncle-ash away, so he tried to scoop it back into the pile.
“What the hell are you shouting about!” asked Lady Rinda questioningly. “We have to get out of here, before the Glowing Ones come to kill us in their torture devices .”
“Sithius, you traitor!” serioused Thrag.
“But, friends,” Sithius said, “you forget that I am invaluable to you. You see, this prison is made of a substance of which I am master. Look around! What is this?”
Thrag and his father rolled their eyes around the ring of trees that were fitted together with a combination of fayry and elf magic that made them too tight to slip through. “The Shalranranrlarlnralalrnlarlranlraaanlrlallarlnra dungeon?” shrugged Rinda.
“Yes, but what is it made of? Wood! And I, Sithius, master of magefire, shall use my magic to free us.”
“But how?” said Thrag. “Look what they’ve done to your uncle. How could they do that?!”
“I think I know,” said an opalescent figure with silvery hair and violet eyes that stood in the doorway.