Damiel picked up his teacup, a delicate porcelain that would be considered an incomparable treasure in the human lands, and took a sip of his herbal tea. Life in the elflands was so much better than in the beastly human lands, the food, the attitudes, the buildings, the people, the streets, everything was better in every conceivable way.
He had no idea why he’d ever decided to agree to travel to the human lands. Terrible idea, really.
He was supposed to meet a cousin at this cafe, and discuss- well, it wasn’t important- and that’s when the sun went out.
It was too dark to be a cloud; his head came up and all he could see was black, and not even the comforting dark of night, this was somehow more ominous- it blotted out the sun and sky and then the wind started to blow- no, no, this was something else, something different, something dreadful, the wind wasn’t blowing, howling because of some storm, no, this was the presage of something far more appalling-
I see you.
His city exploded in fire, delicate spires melting like dripping candlewax, carriages boiling with flame, horses screaming and running as their hides caught alight, manes streaming ribbons of smoke as they immolated, his friends, his people, his countrymen shrieking as the concussive shockwave blew their searing bodies apart.
Giant claws darker than pitch, darker than ebon, darker than midnight in a wine cellar reached out to crush him, this was a true vision, a true prophecy, ancient terror brought forth in modern light, there was no escape, no shelter, no safety, there was only endless destruction, endless purgation, and bone-shattering laughter of the harbinger of dust and ash-
Damiel woke in his bed, drenched in sweat, his heart thundering in his chest as if it was trying to punch its way from his ribcage. He was curled in a little fetal ball, and his sheets were soggy.
He opened one of the poorly manufactured windows and peeked out into the night, searching for the Dread with No Name.
He stayed that way until long past morning.
*****
“This is hard.” Fialla complained to Sheilah as they struggled with history. The books that were scattered across the table were as boring as they were fusty, dry and stale and lacked any sense of appeal.
It was mostly records of Lord So-and-so, first of his name, acquiring this territory in the year of who cared, or Lady Whatever marrying into the line of Lord Pointless.
Sheilah groaned and laid her head on the table. “I can’t do this.” She complained. “This is as stupid as that ‘Language of Fans’ you tried to teach me.”
“Ladies do not sit like that, Sheilah, Fialla.” Magdalene reminded the two of them sternly. “And history is hardly boring. It’s the grand tale of how Stormheim has grown, generation after generation, through hard work and dedication.” She paused. “And it’s absolutely critical to learn how to properly hold and use your fan at a social.”
“This is no tale.” Sheilah rebutted sarcastically. “This is just a breeding record of which lord married which lady and birthed which children.”
Fialla nodded. “The story of the First Blood is a real tale.” she agreed.
Magdalene gestured with her hand at the half-written paper in Sheilah’s hand, and at the page in Fialla’s.
“Let me see your work, and if it’s sufficient for today, then I’ll have you tell me that tale.” Magdalene offered.
The two girls passed their history work over to Magdalene, who reviewed it silently.
After a few minutes, she passed both papers back. “Sheilah, you forgot to mention about the loss of the Westheim line through the death of Alexton.” She set the paper down. “It’s why the Westlands are a ‘protectorate’ and not a Duchy, as it should be.”
“How did he meet his end?” Fialla asked curiously.
“Gnolls, apparently.” Magdalene replied indifferently. “Dreadful beasts, or so I am told.”
Fialla stiffened at the same time as a loud, harsh scraping noise resounded from Sheilah’s side of the table. Sheilah abruptly pushed herself away, face pale, eyes flickering.
Magdalene started at the noise, eyes wide at the long scratches in the polished wood, and darting to look at Sheilah’s face even as a short puff of fire- actual fire- escaped from Sheilah’s mouth.
“My- Caidi- my sister died because of your gnolls and- and that’s all you have to say?” Sheilah gasped, staggering on her feet. “You-” She stumbled and then sat down abruptly and cradled her head in her hands.
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Fialla darted around the table to go to Sheilah’s side, even as Magdalene tried to process, tried to understand what had just happened.
She got up and moved towards Sheilah. “Sheilah, dear-” She began, but Sheilah was panting. “I can’t- I can’t breathe.”
“It’s the corset, dear. It makes it hard to breathe when you’re sitting like that.” Magdalene complained fussily. She pointed Fialla towards one of the low couches. “Let’s get her over there, where she can breathe.”
Magdalene and Fialla pulled Sheilah to one of the low couches and laid her down.
“Sister? Fire?” Magdalene asked, struggling to make sense of what she’d seen and failing.
“Fire?” Fialla asked, “what are you talking about?” She asked, trying to cover up for Sheilah.
Sheilah tried to roll over on her side, but Magdalene stopped her with a hand on her shoulder. “If you want to breathe, Sheilah, you have to lay on your back.” The older woman turned to Fialla.
“I’ve grown up surrounded by lies, Fialla. I can tell when someone isn’t great at it. Now, out with it.”
Fialla opened her mouth, then looked at Sheilah, and then up at Magdalene. “Only if my sister gives permission, and only if-” She looked over at Andrea significantly.
“And her sister?” Magdalene asked. Fialla hesitated, but Sheilah nodded a little.
Fialla compressed her lips together. “We told you the story already. Caidi, Sheilah’s littlest sister, died when we were hunting gnolls.” She paused and then added in a lower voice, “Sheilah nearly died from grief.”
“You really should stop using them.” Sheilah wheezed. “It seems like a double-edged sword.”
Magdalene gave her a baffled look. “Use them?” She asked, confused.
“My father told me: Stormheim releases gnolls into places they want to invade. They’re smart, deadly, and reproduce quickly. It’s a great way to keep the locals busy while you march in.”
Fialla’s eyes went wide, and she snatched her knife from her waist. “You-!” She shouted, her voice filled with confusion and hurt.
“Don’t, sister.” Sheilah urged, a hint of steel in her voice. “We’re not here for that.”
“Sheilah, no!” Fialla shouted, settling her feet and taking a stance. “It’s all their fault that you-”
“I said, don’t.” Sheilah repeated, struggling to a sitting position. “Put it away. I mourned Caidi’s death. I was able to get my revenge.”
Fialla bit her lip at this, and shot her a frustrated look.
“I swear to the Light that this is the first I’ve heard of this.” Magdalene added in a shaky voice, hands raised.
“Well, now you know.” Sheilah replied sourly. “And now it seems as though I need something to eat.”
Sheilah looked up at Magdalene, who stared at her uncomprehendingly for a moment, then turned to Andrea and requested a light snack.
Sheilah shook her head. “Meat. Meat and potatoes. Cheese. Milk. vegetables. I need a full meal.”
Magdalene rolled her eyes. “You had best eat a full supper.” She warned, but relayed the request to Andrea.
Sheilah pushed herself to her feet.
“While Andrea is gone, I will tell you - just a little- about myself, and how it relates to- to the First Blood.” She paused. “Well, we were going to tell you the story of the First Blood, anyway. But this stays between us. I do not give you permission to tell anyone else, even Toril.”
Magdalene raised an eyebrow at Sheilah’s command, but nodded. They moved back to the table, and Magdalene eyed the deep furrows in the table. Sheilah glanced at them curiously, but ignored them. Her nails could carve through stone; a mark in a tabletop was nothing.
“In the very beginning, before even the Ancient Times, the one who was to become the First Blood, traveled to the Ashlands in the north, and there he slew a dragon and took in its heart and blood into himself.
“He returned to the Redstone, and gathered together the members of his clan, and had them do the same. He took a wife and had children. He was the First Blood, the first of the Dragon Clan. Other clans took his example, and made their own compacts with their own Totems.”
Sheilah paused, and cocked her head as if she was listening to something only she could hear.
“The power of the Dragon is a dread responsibility, and its blood a powerful narcotic. For reasons that weren’t passed down, he made many trips to the Ashlands and slew many dragons. Eventually he lost his humanity and became one, himself.
“His children, and their children after, and so on, each traveled to the Ashlands and slew a dragon and, like him, took into themselves the flesh and blood of a dragon.” Sheilah paused. “The rule is one dragon for one person. Man or woman, you hunt a dragon to prove your worth, prove you are an adult. You are all inseparably bound to each other through the blood of the dragon.”
She paused again. “The Dragon Clan has birthed many legends and heroes, but the one who is above all those in the Dragon Clan is those of the First Blood.” She picked up a pen and drew the sigil of the Dragon Clan, then added the mark of the First Blood, and then below that, her own mark.
“This is my sigil.” She pointed to the sinuous mark, the spread wings. “The T-” She corrected herself, “The Dragon.” She moved a little lower. “The First Blood.” She pointed a little lower, and Magdalene suddenly realized that the ‘sigil’ Sheilah had drawn was the same as the markings on the pouch Sheilah had handed her.
“And that’s my mark.”
Fialla gave Sheilah a guarded look, and Sheilah nodded at her.
The half-elf took the paper Sheilah had drew on, and made her own mark. It was obvious to Magdalene that Fialla didn’t belong to the First Blood.
Sheilah gestured at the books with a wan smile. “This is all very boring to Fialla and I. We were taught our histories alongside our meals. There are many heroes, many tales, many stories of daring and foolishness, luck and brutality, love and compassion.” She patted her chest. “They all live here. Do you understand?”
Sheilah stopped speaking and nodded towards the kitchen, then crumpled the parchment she and Fialla had drawn their sigils on, then tossed it into the fireplace, where it caught fire.
“We will have another conversation, you and I.” Magdalene promised, and then added, “and a lady does not throw parchment like that.”