The druid queen

Ah, the freedom! Those puny, worthless elves could do NOTHING to keep her repressed, to keep her underground. Her realm underneth may be over, but the above fathered more possibilities than even her vast imagination could uphold.

As the dark elf clawed and tore at the dirt and rocks in front of her, the miniscule opening widened, blinking open to admit small shafts of lights and a cool, fresh breeze to flow through, such as which the queen had never beheld. The wind played in her tangled, black strands of hair, carresing her skin more tenderely than any lover she had known. The queen felt a building desire to go forth into the light, to cast the permanent shadows of the underground tunnels behind her and embrace the soft light- yes, light!- and build an empire such as never before seen. Her efforts redoubled and with a strenght unbenowest to her, she pushed a fist through the mass of rocky debris, grasping at what she had heard was grass under a thick cover of soft, icy material. Snow With a triumphant grin, she started to elbow her way throught the hole, slowly but surely, rising further through it.

The above world had no idea what was to pass.

------------------------------------------------------------------------

The rangers were willing away their time, some relaxing upon the cool, snow covered roots of great oaks after a morning's hunt, while others spitted a fawn and started roasting it over a roaring fire. An old ranger stood watching the skinned fawn, its limbs being licked at by flames, lost in thought.

A rustle of tree, a darting shadow and a scream gurgling off.

The rangers looked about them in dismay, drawing their bows and knifes and swords. Each looked at the other, wondering where the scream had occured and, more importantly, what had caused it. Suddenly, behind them was a flurry of fallen snow, along with a black-clad, limb body. The rangers cautiously made their way forward, circling the body, with their weapons out in front. The old man tipped the body onto its back with a push of his boot-cald foot and the surrounding rangers gasped.

It was one of their own, a young lad who had barely seen 15 summers and had just been appointed as a ranger, here on his first hunting. What had once been a handsome lad, was now a mutulated corpse that hardened rangers could barely stand to glimpse at. The entire head had been twisted 180 degrees, with gashes covering