9.5” x 12.5” color pencil on bristol. You may see more of my traditional art on my FA page “teiirka”.
 
This is a commission done for a private party, (thank you for your support!), and will be available on my page as an auction, probably starting Saturday Aug. 31.
 
As I often do, I started to write a little narrative to go with this piece. Well, it started to get a bit complex….. and freaking lengthy! it’s over 2000 words right now and will probably be 3000 if I finish it, way to big to post here. So I just took a snippet to post, but is a bit out of sequence.
 
“The Twelve, as the first Tigran to enter the Vale came to be know, had been pursued relentlessly for they had caused much carnage amongst the invaders and their leaders. Nearly a month after the final battle, they thought they’d finally lost the pursuing dogs but soon after, just managed to avoid an ambush, so decided to make for the mountains and try and loose their pursuers there.  
But as they reached the first and particularly precipitous range, they were nearly ambushed once more. The Tigran were spent but they knew they had to continue on, so started to climb. They thought that perhaps a few intentionally dislodged rocks might take out a pursuer or two but the enemy hesitated. They could see that there was some kind of quarrel amongst the dogs below but finally, the majority began the climb, though somewhat tentatively and kept at a safe distance.  
The sun had just disappeared behind the higher mountains to the West as the group reached the top of the ridge. They looked for a defendable position but with the darkening sky, those below were difficult to see amongst the shadows and rocks so they decided to push on, but in moments they halted at a steep downslope. Spread out before them was a valley of sorts and from what they could see of it, it was roughly circular with spires here and there about the entire circumference of the rim that appeared as if they were teeth of a great beast. Below, within the vale, was a sea of mist that appeared as though it were the contents of an immense cauldron, slowly swirling and simmering.  
The band stood staring, stunned by the common recognition of what till now had been only an old wives tale, or a story told cubs around a campfire. “The Dragon’s Maw”, someone said under their breath but all heard and there was no dissent. The Valley before them was known in legend by many names and by many cultures and to the dogs, they had their own fitting title.  
The Tigran were only given a moment to take it all in before a shout close behind snapped them out of their thoughts. The enemy were now coming up onto the rim along a wide swath and in greater numbers than they had calculated. To take a stand was death though they’d take many of their attackers with them. But alone the way, they all had decided that to survive and establish a new home and rebuild their decimated population was paramount. Behind them, was death , and before them, a place of dark legend but of uncertain fate. Looking down the slope, they could see trees for a short distance but not too far beyond that, the mists began and all else faded quickly into the unknown.  
The first arrow struck a rock amidst the group and skipped, disappearing into the quickly darkening gloom below. The Twelve, without hesitation, followed and quickly too, vanished into the Dragon’s Maw.  
The enemy above followed with voice only, hurling insults and ominous warnings of doom, for they too recognized and knew the stories of this place. They were comfortable enough though where they were, there on the ridge above the now dark abyss and its mists and the monsters that dwelled within. So they set up camp to wait and listen.  
All was quiet that night but toward evening of the next day came the muffled sound of shrieks and moans from somewhere on the valley floor, and as darkness fell, the sound of fear and madness rose in intensity. Full throated roars reverberated and melded together in the murky cauldron, and seemed to shake the very ground. Then with one last long drawn out roar, all went quiet. Content they were that the Tigran rabble had been finally and utterly destroyed, the band relieved their watch and broke out some carefully transported spirits to celebrate the death of their foes and looked forward to their journey home.  
It was in the wee hours of the morning when the few warriors that remained conscious, heard the sound of something approaching, but slowed by the drink, they were unable to take up weapons before the monsters from the mists were upon them and most died where they stood, rent by unsheathed claws and gnashing fangs. This first commotion rose most of the others from their slumber and due to their numbers, some were able to take up arms before being cut down. But even with weapons in hand, most of those too met a quick bloody demise. The carnage continued for some time even though the attacking beasts were pierced by arrows enough to kill ten warriors and had been hacked by many a sword to the bone and beyond.  
Finally all went quiet as the last of the attackers succumbed to their horrendous wounds and the few surviving warriors quickly gathered what wood they could and built up the bond fire to illuminate the scene and surrounding area. The ground was awash with blood and a check of the bodies strewn everywhere revealed no survivors amongst them. Of the attacking creatures, there turned out to be only two and upon examination, the warriors were aghast to see that what they were fighting were no more than the rabble that they had been chasing all this time. But they were almost unrecognizable as such as both were naked and matted with mud and now stained red with blood that belonged to others as much as was their own. Their faces though were the most disturbing, distorted to near un-recognizability, twisted and wrinkled by a combination of rage and fear and abject madness and to look into their eyes, open impossibly wide with pupils dilated greater than should be possible, was like gazing into the depths of hell.  
For the rest of the night, the survivors huddled around the fire, arrows nocked and swords at arms reach. Occasionally an arrow was loosed as fiery eyes below would materialize out of the mist only to fade away and reappear elsewhere.  
At first light, they descended the steep ridge they had climbed two evenings earlier and headed home, leaving the dead where they lay and carried with them little save the fodder to carry on the legend of “Hells Gate” for generations more.