Drakoth curled tight around the top spire of the Dirlop Mountain. As if he was squeezing the life out of a giant mouse, but the spire was too much like a granite spike into the sky, even if it was on the cooler side. For now. His flame wasn’t needed.

Yet.

Along the steep craggy slopes the wind carried the smell of dead warthoggish orc and dying dwarf. Flesh he would normally roast and eat, but no. Not this time.

Not when his victory was so close.

Soon he’d celebrate by munching that tasty looking elf girl that was mating with that dwarf boy.

But not yet.

The carding of Frostine and so quickly only delayed the true assault to sunset. When the true troopers would assault the dwarves. Conquer their mountain.

Pearl and her corpse would aid them. Along with the dead fox men. The dead orc bodies.

The seeds within them had already rooted. Seeding deep into the stone of the mountain.

While the smell, the cries of agony, it was more than enough for Drakoth to savor his victory, even if it seemed, for the moment, that his forces had lost.

No.

Their goal was only to destroy the barrier to the next invasion force, but without giving away that they were not alone.

Their second goal was to provide corpses to seed the first stage of the next attack. Corpses that could not be burned nor moved. All because the seeds of the blood rose within them have now rooted deep within their dead bodies.

Not even those vixens knew how expandable they were. They were just fertilizer for the blood rose. A rose that would sprout another castle from this very mountain.

Conquer it like none had before.

Those snake-bone armors gave those snow vixens far too much confidence, but he had plenty of such vixens, and other creatures, to replace them.

They fought well enough, if a bit disappointing.

Their destruction of the walls. The barriers.  That was enough.

Even if Frostine was carded. Her seed not rooted. Yet.

The orc invasion was only to soften the dwarves. Seeding what was coming—the blood rose and its castle. Make the dwarves think those pathetically undead orcs were the key invasion.

Not the coming forces.

The rosy fragrance was a warning, but only those with the most potential could even smell it. Potential to destroy his new creation: Blood Rose Castle. So Drakoth would hunt them down personally, when the time came, but for now, his assassins would soon arrive.

Blend into the weakened defenses.

Gather the info Drakoth needed. Before slaying the few captives that needed slaying.

Like Frostine and her scarlet vixens. After removing them from their cards.

Those wretched vixens should of died on the field. Not let themselves be carded, but that snake-bone armor was more than armor.

Soon they learn the price of their so-called failure.

Drakoth chuckled. That so few dwarves were killed by Frostine’s orcs … all because she was so reluctant to kill.

The softhearted bitch. Even after Drakoth paid a handsome sum to those dwarven outlaws to ransack her home. Card a handful of specific beast elves. Let specific beast elves live, while other were slain. Killing those outlaws to gain the survivors’ trust ... simple, and pathetic.

Soon it would be Frostine’s turn to die. Properly this time.

Along with her scarlet vixens.

The loss of those vixen witches was expected. No, needed. The snow and scarlet vixens had the most potential to seed the best vines of the blood rose. Pearl and the fox men weren’t enough. Not even the horde of now dead orcs.

Soon the suicidal beast elves would arrive. Cultists willing to die by their own hands at sunset. All in utter awe of dragons like Drakoth. Pathetic worms. But useful ones.

They’d seed what Frostine and her scarlet vixens were meant to. So just a delay. Nothing more.

But this spire, soon it would be the perfect stem for the greatest castle of all, the Rose Blood Castle.

A castle soon full of horrors, of the darkest elves and of dwarves turned darkest of trolls.

And more.

Soon this Dirlop Mountain would be the latest roost for Blood Rose Castle.

And nothing more.