Hours passed as the champions soared through the skies, their dragons’ powerful wings slicing through crisp mountain air. Below them, the terrain transformed gradually from jagged, rocky outcrops to sprawling plains carpeted with vibrant green. Ancient ruins peeked through the tall grass like the remnants of a forgotten story, their weathered columns and toppled spires reaching toward the sky. Beyond the plains, jagged peaks loomed on the horizon.
As they neared the heart of the plains, Darius raised his arm and signaled the group to descend. His crimson scales shimmered in the afternoon sunlight, his green eyes scanning the horizon with sharp intensity. The dragons responded immediately, angling their powerful wings downward, their massive forms casting shadows over the rolling grassland below. The rhythmic beat of their wings slowed as they prepared to land, the sound resonating like distant thunder.
“We can’t fly any further,” Darius announced, his voice carrying the weight of authority. His tone was firm, leaving no room for argument. “This is Kur’thar territory. If they see us flying in, they’ll assume we’re a threat, and that’ll escalate quickly. From here on, we walk.”
The dragons responded with deep, guttural grumbles, their displeasure resonating through the air like low thunder. As they descended, their immense wings stirred up a whirlwind of dust and loose grass. One by one, the mighty creatures touched down, their talons digging into the soft earth with enough force to send faint tremors rippling across the plains.
Caelus slid off Azurath’s back, landing lightly on his feet. The blue dragon lowered its head slightly, watching him with eyes that glinted like polished sapphire. Caelus placed a hand on its neck, the smooth, warm scales beneath his palm radiating a faint, familiar hum of power.
“You’ll be fine,” he murmured, his tone soft yet reassuring. Azurath snorted in response, a puff of warm air ruffling Caelus’s hair. The dragon’s gaze remained locked on him, unblinking, as if measuring his words for sincerity.
Nearby, Elira dismounted Ignis, the red-scaled dragon emitting an audible huff of annoyance as she gave its side an affectionate pat. “Don’t give me that,” she teased. “We’re not leaving you behind.” Magnus, always meticulous, adjusted the straps on his dragon’s saddle before dismounting with an elven grace, his pale green hair catching the faint breeze.
Darius, already on the ground, moved efficiently between the dragons, unfastening their harnesses and murmuring commands in a low voice. The dragons, though visibly annoyed at being grounded, listened without resistance, their immense forms radiating both power and a begrudging respect for the champions.
Darius stepped forward, his crimson scales catching the sunlight as he pulled out a set of reinforced leather leashes. Each strap was intricately woven with metal inlays, designed specifically to handle the immense strength of dragons. The craftsmanship spoke of both practicality and care, as though even restraining these majestic creatures required a level of reverence.
“These will keep them secure and deter any prying eyes,” he said, his tone calm but commanding as he approached Ignis first. The fiery dragon’s tail flicked irritably, sending embers scattering into the grass. “Easy now,” Darius muttered, looping the leash around Ignis’s thick neck with practiced precision. The dragon snorted in mild protest, its molten eyes narrowing, but it didn’t resist.
Moving on to Albaris, Darius encountered a different sort of defiance. The shimmering, gold-scaled dragon stomped a clawed foot into the ground, a deep growl rumbling in its throat. “Don’t start with me,” Darius warned, his sharp green eyes locking onto Albaris’s gaze. For a tense moment, the dragon held its ground, the two engaged in a silent standoff. Finally, with a low, rumbling huff, Albaris lowered its head, allowing Darius to fasten the leash.
“Good,” Darius said firmly, giving the leash a gentle tug to test its hold. Despite their evident displeasure, both dragons submitted, their massive forms radiating an air of begrudging acceptance.
Elira stood nearby with her hands resting on her head, a mischievous smirk tugging at her lips. She tilted her head slightly, her amber eyes gleaming with amusement. “You’ve got a talent for this, Darius,” she said, her voice light and teasing. “But let’s be real—Azurath’s glare could probably melt steel. No wonder he’s got that scowl down to an art form.”
Darius glanced toward Azurath, who was watching him intently, its sharp, golden eyes filled with a regal disdain. The blue dragon let out a low rumble, almost as if it understood the conversation and wanted to ensure its opinion was noted.
“Dragons respect authority,” Darius replied, his voice steady as he shot a pointed look at Ignis, who let out a puff of smoke, its nostrils flaring in irritation. “And they know better than to test their boundaries.”
Ignis, apparently unimpressed, flicked its fiery tail again, this time narrowly missing Elira, who threw her hands up. “Watch it, you oversized torch!” she scolded, earning a deep, rumbling snort from the dragon.
Magnus chuckled softly, adjusting the strap of his staff as Pip chirped indignantly from his shoulder. “I think you’ve made your point, Darius. Though I suspect they’re just biding their time for a bit of payback.”
“They’re welcome to try,” Darius said with a smirk, giving one last firm tug on the leashes before stepping back. “But they’ll learn it doesn’t end well.”
The two dragons grumbled low in their throats, a deep, resonant sound that vibrated through the ground beneath their massive claws. Clearly unimpressed with the indignity of leashes and restraints, their fiery eyes flicked toward Darius, but his unwavering presence kept their defiance in check. Reluctantly, they lumbered forward, their movements heavy and deliberate, each step making the earth tremble slightly beneath their weight.
Behind them, the remaining dragons followed in quiet compliance, their massive forms casting long shadows in the fading light.
Not all were content with this arrangement. Ignis huffed sharply, a puff of smoke curling from its nostrils in clear protest, while Albaris let out a sharp, guttural growl, flicking its tail in irritation. Though they fell in line, their displeasure was palpable, their heads dipping lower as if to show their discontent while their glowing eyes darted to their companions for some semblance of solidarity.
Elira turned to glance at the procession, smirking as she noticed the rebellious pair. “Ignis and Albaris always have to make their opinions known, don’t they?” she said with a chuckle, adjusting her shield on her back.
Caelus, walking beside her, patted Azurath’s neck. The regal blue dragon responded with a soft rumble, its head held high as if to show the others how a dragon of its stature should behave. “It’s not so much opinion as it is pride,” Caelus said, his voice light but with a trace of amusement. “Though I can’t blame them. Being tied up like pets probably stings a bit.”
Darius glanced back, his sharp green eyes narrowing slightly. “Better they’re irritated than loose and drawing attention. A sulking dragon is easier to manage than one stirring up chaos,” he replied, his tone even but firm.
The other dragons, seemingly more agreeable, walked with quiet dignity. Their immense forms moved gracefully despite their size, tails swaying and claws clicking softly against the earth. The rebellious grumbles from Ignis and Albaris grew softer as the group progressed, though their occasional snorts of frustration continued to ripple through the otherwise calm evening air.
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With the dragons settled, the group moved toward the towering sandstone walls of Kur’thar. Tall, dry grass muffled their footsteps as they walked in single file, heads low to avoid drawing attention. The air grew warmer with every step, the cool breeze of the plains giving way to the denser, sun-soaked heat of the city ahead. A symphony of distant sounds drifted toward them—metal clanging from busy forges, the sharp cries of merchants haggling over wares, and the hum of countless voices blending into a chaotic, rhythmic melody. Each noise carried with it a sense of life, vibrant and untamed, painting a vivid picture of Kur’thar long before its sandstone walls came into view.
The plains around them stretched far and wide, their golden grasses swaying gently in the wind. Hardy patches of green broke up the dry terrain, scattered with wildflowers clinging stubbornly to life in the arid soil. In the distance, herds of shaggy livestock grazed under the watchful eyes of their shepherds, figures barely discernible against the vast expanse of land. The openness of the plains was both striking and strategic—a natural barrier that provided Kur’thar with clear sightlines of any approaching danger.
When the city finally came into view, its sheer scale took Caelus by surprise. Kur’thar sprawled like a living beast, its sandstone walls weathered but sturdy, etched with tribal carvings that depicted ancient battles and rituals. Within the walls, he could see a bustling network of streets teeming with life. Market stalls overflowed with colorful fabrics, glittering jewels, and exotic spices that perfumed the air. Guards patrolled in pairs, their leather armor adorned with tribal insignias.
The sandstone walls were massive, their surfaces weathered by countless seasons of harsh sun and wind. Even from a distance, the intricate carvings adorning the stone were visible, their patterns catching the light and casting shifting shadows that danced like living stories. Spirals, animal motifs, and flowing geometric shapes told tales of Kur’thar’s tribes—each stone an offering to their shared history and the unity forged from their diversity.
“That’s impressive,” Magnus murmured, his pale green eyes scanning the towering structure. “It’s not just a wall. It’s a story.”
Caelus followed his gaze, noting the way the carvings seemed to shift with the angle of the sunlight, breathing life into the ancient designs.
Darius grunted in agreement, his gaze sharp as he assessed their surroundings. “And a defense,” he added. “That wall isn’t just for show. Those carvings might be beautiful, but they’re part of something bigger—a symbol that Kur’thar stands strong, no matter what comes for it.”
As they continued their approach, the details of the city began to emerge. The walls weren’t just functional; they were alive with the spirit of the kingdom. Between the carvings, faint streaks of darker sandstone created natural veins in the rock, as though the city itself pulsed with energy. Small banners fluttered from the higher points, each bearing vibrant tribal patterns in colors that stood out against the golden stone.
Within the city, the streets wove chaotically, but even from a distance, there was a sense of purpose to the disorder. Wooden balconies jutted out from the sandstone buildings, draped with brightly dyed fabrics that added splashes of color to the warm hues of the architecture. Market stalls spilled into the roads, their awnings casting patches of shade over traders bartering animatedly. Above it all, towering totems and carved altars marked the public squares, places where the tribes gathered to honor their gods, share stories, and celebrate the unity that made Kur’thar what it was.
The champions slowed their pace as they neared the outskirts, where the golden plains gave way to the rugged terrain around the city. The dragons, though restless, followed obediently, their sharp eyes watching the city with a mix of curiosity and wariness. For all its warmth and beauty, Kur’thar was a kingdom that demanded respect. Here, even the walls seemed to watch, ancient and unyielding, as the group prepared to enter the sprawling heart of the tribal kingdom.
“We need to look like we belong,” Seraph said, her silver eyes narrowing as she studied the distant gates of Kur’thar. The towering sandstone walls loomed against the sky, and even from this distance, she could see the steady flow of people moving through the entrance—traders, travelers, and soldiers, each with a purpose. Her gaze lingered on a group of mercenaries being waved through after a brief exchange of words. “They’ll scrutinize anyone who stands out,” she added, her voice clipped with urgency.
Magnus, ever attentive, nodded in agreement and reached into his inventory. With a practiced flourish, he pulled out lengths of plain fabric, earthy in tone but clean—too clean for their purposes. “These won’t do as they are,” he muttered, his green eyes flashing with focus as he held the materials in his hands. He whispered a quick incantation, his voice soft and melodic, and the cloth shimmered briefly before transforming.
In seconds, the pristine fabric took on the appearance of worn, rugged cloaks. Frayed edges replaced neat hems, and faint stains and patches made the garments look like they had seen countless miles of travel. The colors shifted subtly to muted browns, deep grays, and faded greens that would blend effortlessly with the dusty plains and bustling streets of Kur’thar.
“Here,” Magnus said, passing a cloak to each of them. The material felt coarse now, weathered and heavy, though it retained an enchantment to remain light and breathable for the wearer.
Seraph examined hers with a critical eye, running her fingers over the roughened seams. “Good work,” she admitted, though her voice held a touch of impatience. She swung the cloak over her shoulders, pulling up the hood until her silver hair was completely obscured. The soft folds shadowed her sharp features, making her look less like a champion and more like a mercenary accustomed to long, grueling travels.
Lorian took his with an eager grin, wrapping the fabric around his small frame and spinning playfully. “Do I look mysterious?” he asked, striking what he imagined was a roguish pose, and Cheese wiggled its gelatinous form excitedly, the transparent, slightly shimmering surface of its slime body rippling in small, bubbly waves. It let out a soft, squelchy noise of approval before extending a small, viscous pseudopod into a wobbly thumbs-up gesture. The black, dot-like eyes twinkled with a hint of eager determination, an oddly confident expression for a slime that somehow always seemed to find a way into the thick of things.
Lorian tugged a rugged scarf from his pack and wrapped it snugly around his lower face, the coarse fabric leaving only his lively brown eyes visible. His grin was still evident in the mischievous glint of his gaze. “Mystery suits me,” he declared dramatically, striking an exaggerated pose as if he were a shadowy figure from a legend.Cheese followed up the thumbs-up with a surprisingly cool and composed look, its black, dot-like eyes narrowing as it tilted its gelatinous head downward with a laid-back swagger. It formed a wobbly, cross-armed stance, a moment of exaggerated attitude that sent a ripple through its gooey form.
The scarf, slightly too long for Lorian’s smaller frame, flapped lightly in the wind as he adjusted it with a flourish, giving an added flair to his theatrics. He winked at Caelus, the motion playful and unabashed.
Caelus couldn’t help but chuckle, his blue eyes crinkling with amusement as he watched the younger champion. “You look like you’re auditioning for a role in a bad spy drama,” he said, shaking his head but smiling nonetheless.
“You look like you’re trying too hard,” Riven said flatly, though the faintest hint of amusement curled at the edge of her voice.
Lorian straightened his scarf with a dramatic flourish, his brown eyes glinting mischievously. “Trying too hard? This is effortless charm, thank you very much.”
Magnus sighed, shaking his head as he adjusted his own cloak. “Simple and effective works best,” he said, his tone measured but firm. “And keep your faces down. The last thing we need is anyone looking too closely.”
Riven smirked faintly, pulling her hood lower over her face. “Simple. Effective. Unlike some people.”
Caelus, already fastening his cloak, tugged the hood low over his face, casting his sharp features in shadow. “Magnus is right,” he said, his tone calm but firm. “If they suspect us, we’ll lose any chance of moving freely in the city. Act natural—no heroics, no antics.” His gaze flicked meaningfully toward Lorian, who immediately straightened and nodded solemnly, as though physically bracing himself to behave.
Darius was the last to don his disguise, pulling the heavy fabric over his broad shoulders. The cloak barely concealed his imposing form, but with the hood up, it at least dulled the striking crimson of his scales. He adjusted the cloak’s clasp and grunted, his green eyes scanning their group with approval. “This will do,” he said, his deep voice carrying a note of authority. “Let’s move.”
As the champions fell into step, their disguises transformed them from a group of legendary warriors into weary travelers, blending seamlessly with the ebb and flow of people heading toward Kur’thar’s gates. The transformation was simple, but it held power—each frayed thread and faded mark weaving a story of long journeys and hard-earned survival.