The Gargoyle King

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The sprawling city set in the midst of the ogre kingdom of Kern glistened in the burning sun. The surrounding wall was seamless, perfect, and from a distance appeared made of pure gold. Jagged battlements shaped like upturned claws topped the wall. Great towers rose from the wall’s four corners, gleaming spears that thrust ten stories high. On every floor of each tower, all four sides of the building had windows shaped like half moons.

Etched into every edge of the vast wall and its accompanying towers was a repeating pattern, a single symbol: the talons of some great raptor.

At the gates of the city, fabulous, golden doors loomed over all who would enter. On them was emblazoned not the talons, but a handsome, majestic countenance that made the beauty of the elf races pale in comparison. The strong, perfect jaw; the flowing, dark hair; the proud nose; and commanding gaze … they appeared to be the markings of a great king. Yet the face was not that of any ogre, as the people of the continent of Ansalon knew them; for that matter, not any race on the face of all the world of Krynn would have recognized the bestial people. Furthermore, the perfection of the face was marred by two things: the great eyes without pupils and the arrogance of the expression. It was a being who knew itself to be a god.

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