On the slope of the volcano in the center of the continent, Lava, Ice Hail, and I sat upon thrones of utterly different styles. Before us stood the army that Lava had gathered through persuasion, representing the entire elven race as it now stood.
"What we are doing is not an invasion. We are reclaiming the land that belongs to us, the land we need to survive."
When this army was formed, those words from Lava became its motto.
The sweltering, scorching wind howled past, sweeping over people's faces beneath the bright sunshine and bringing dry heat and thirst to their hearts.
Lava crossed her long, shapely legs, smooth and warm as white jade. With one hand resting on the throne beneath her, sculpted from solid chunks of blazing rock, and the other propping up her powder-pale cheek, a captivating smile slowly appeared on her beautiful face.
Now, this is our final stand.
