Solemnwing was flying ahead of his armies. After the disappearance of the Mother-dragon, Solemnwing had found his own cave opened to the air as it had not been for generations. It awoke to a cult that worshipped it, a veritable army at its disposal. Solemnwing didn’t know why the hundreds of dispirited white fur olgogs had come to his service, other than their own king, Hobtla Mag’ol, treated them poorly, stole their riches to aggrandize himself, and kept them under his oppressive rule.
But since the Night of the Descended, Solemnwing had found glowing runes growing across his scales. He had been approached by Lord Pelos to join the descended baribur’s army of monsters. But Solemnwing didn’t have any reason to leave to the Glacial Wastes.
Instead the Solemnwing had decided to conquer the Hobtla Mag’ol.
It was with these thoughts in mind that Solemnwing was taken by surprise when suddenly the wind left his tattered wings. The Darmag crashed to the ground. He quickly rose up on, leaving claw gouges in the stone and dirt below him.
There was a steady drumming, and a tune that Solemnwing remembered from his past. He tried to fly upward, but his wings couldn’t find purchase on the air. The descended Darmag roared in frustration, and turned to find the source of the drumming.