Why should I care?
I spent thousands of years tucked away from the world. I lived in peace and tranquility, unmolested by the world that betrayed me and my people.
Why then should I care about a motley group of wannabe adventurers endangering themselves inside a cave?
The group was obviously an adventurer party. Two fighters, an archer, and a mage. It was the typical 'we wanna explore the world and fight monsters' kind.
It was a bother. An unwelcome development which I could do without. A simple explosion spell would do the trick, obliterating everything and everyone in a single strike.
But against my better judgment, I decided to sit down and watch, sparing the adventurers and their little green enemies. For a while at least. Maybe something interesting would happen. Or maybe not. Regardless, I could just end them later, quicker than they could notice.
After all, why should I care?
---
The adventurers lacked experience and skill. It was obvious after just a few seconds.
The two fighters were amateurs. Or maybe even stupid. One of them used a sword, a longsword, one of the worst weapons to use inside a cramped cave. It looked unwieldy in his hands, showing that he was not used to it. His plate armor did not help him either. It slowed down his movement and reflexes, making it more difficult to dodge. Despite this, he seemed the most determined of them all, swinging widely into the green horde, desperately cleaving through chunks of green flesh.
The other fighter, however, was wearing a thick leather vest with a padded coat underneath. Great for movement and offered enough protection against the knives and clubs of their green enemies. He also used a spear. Effective? yes, but only when focused on one direction, and that was assuming he could thrust with impunity.
The bastard swung it.
The archer fared better. Agile and quick under her hood and tunic, she was quick to reposition herself whenever she was reached. Armed with only a bow and a couple of arrows, she managed to hold her own against the green horde that continued to swell around them. But until when? Her arrows were running out and she was slowly getting cornered. All I could spot on her waist was a small scabbard, probably a shortsword or a knife And I'm guessing she wasn't good at it either.
The last one was surely an elf. The pointy ears protruding from her long white hair gave it away. Unlike the others, she wore a pure white robe that seemed unnaturally clean, lacking any mud or blood. She also wielded a white staff,
A mage. More specifically, a healer.
It was common sense for a party to keep their healers safe, thereby allowing them to do their magic and keep the party alive.
Her three friends had formed a circle around her, keeping the rest of the horde at bay. She was relentless with her casting, throwing healing and rejuvenation spells at her companions and keeping them all in the fight. Most important of all, the tip of her staff glowed bright, shining like a beacon against the darkness.
A valiant team effort, even I could see that much.
Their enemies, however, acted more like animals despite looking a bit like civilized folk. 'A bit' was already stretching it. I've seen barbarian hordes of orcs with more character than these abominations.
They were short, sharp-nosed, and bald. Their eyes had an orange or yellowish tint, I couldn't really tell. Their pupils were sharp, similar to that of a prowling cat. But they snarled like rabid dogs, with saliva drooling from their mouths.
At first glance their careless approach and sloppy fighting skills would relax even the most amateur of warriors, but their strength laid in their numbers. Vast, seemingly unending, numbers.
Their equipment wasn't anything to scoff at either. Despite being rusty and crude, their knives and clubs could still kill a person. Made worse by their numbers.
As the battle raged on, the little green creatures fearlessly threw themselves into the meat grinder that was the adventurer party. Even as they were cleaved, speared, and arrowed, they kept on coming. The bodies piled on, forming a wall of death around the party. Their quick lunges and wild swings almost led them to score a critical hit or two. But somehow the adventurers would see it, respond, and narrowly escape.
But this couldn't go on forever. I could see the healer's mana slowly exhausting itself, it was only a matter of time before she ran out.
And that would be the end for this party of adventurers.
Truth be told, they weren't the first ones to trespass so close to my home. After I dispatched the Great Alliance and killed the last dragonprince, a few vengeance parties followed over the following years. These vengeance parties were replaced by bounty hunters, bounty hunters by mercenaries, and mercenaries by scavengers.
The ruins that littered the cave system were coveted greatly, even after centuries of decay.
But more than a thousand years had passed since the last incursion. And that one wasn't a scavenger, but a lost farmer. One of my sentinels found him sitting on a pair of rocks overlooking a pond inside one of the caverns. He had died of starvation.
I wondered what pushed him so far away from his home. I wondered even more when the incursions stopped. Sure forests had grown over the ruins of what was the eastern portion of the Dragonic Imperium, but forests could be traversed, it only took a determined mind.
So I used my crystal ball and gazed beyond the mountains and over the forests. To my surprise, and relief at the time, the world had seemingly moved on. These lands were forgotten, returned to nature, and the cogs of civilization rolled themselves elsewhere.
Today, it seemed, civilization was creeping back. Which made me uncomfortable. Or they were just a bunch of stupid, glory-seeking adventurers, about to die inside a cave, forgotten and alone. The latter was more likely in my eyes.
And the moment of dread came. One of the creatures managed to slip through the three defenders and, with a rusty knife, stabbed the healer in the stomach.
Her pained wail pierced through the noise of battle, stopping her friends in their tracks. The green creature on top of her laughed and continued on stabbing her.
A barbaric display. What filthy creatures.
"Dalinah!" The fighter in plate screamed. He lost his focus as tears streamed down his eyes. With a mighty swing, he cut through the green creatures in front of him before running towards his friend.
A swing from his sword cut the creature stabbing his friend in half, killing it instantly. The plated fighter then held their friend in his arms, begging for a miracle as she bled.
With him gone from their formation, their defense collapsed. The green creatures began laughing as they pressed on and overwhelmed the other fighter and the archer.
It was a gruesome scene, even for me. The creatures poured over like a wave, piling over the helpless adventurers. They laughed as they stabbed and snarled as they scratched. The man in leather had his eyes gouged and the archer was...
No.
What the hell were they doing?
I stood from my throne, appalled at the what I was seeing. My hands began to fizzle as I instinctively drew magic from my body.
Wait. Stop.
My body was acting on its own. What was this? Reflex? I tried to calm myself, forcing my shoulders to relax. But my heart could not bear what I was witnessing.
I'm not supposed to care! I shouldn't. I mustn't! But their fate was worse than death. My screamed for intervention. But my mind was elsewhere. What the hell were these creatures? Orcs killed, but these monsters did more than just kill. They murdered. They defiled.
I should have destroyed them before it got this far. More souls. More innocent souls were suffering because of me! I had to help, I had the power.
What was wrong with me!
I'm not supposed to care. Stop!
No!
Yes!