J’arrmeklian quickly ran from view and into a line of fire. There was a hunt. Something was being found. Hopefully he could find it first. He quickly took to finding the object of reward. A dragon laid across the field like a downed tree. Breathing heavily, it tried to move. Moving was only making it worse for it. He moaned, crying out for help. J’arrmeklian walked up to the dragon carefully. The arrow that hit it was giant, rugged from the carving to try and make it straight. Didn’t work out but got underneath the scale. He had never seen such a kind of beast. He was hoping to never see one either. He started to look at the wound that as given to the dragon. He thought he could help. He started casting his healing spells, hoping that they would work. He quickly knew that there was probably no hope but he had to try. He ignored the rumble behind him as a dragon landed next to the dying one. It was smelling it. Trying to smell the sweet scent of life coming from his nose. It was there, only barely. Both noticed each other at the same time. Calling upon the healing dragon, J’arrmeklian quickly realized it would take more than that to heal this dragon. He took to trying a potion. It burned like acid through the poison and the dragon’s hide. The dying dragon moaned loudly, there was nothing to be done.

“My giant reptilian creature, you must stop. Your energy is being wasted on the dead. The poison, it’s far too potent, far too potent,” J’arrmeklian demised. With that, the dragon died. The poison started eating at his scales with haste. He looked to the now weeping dragon, nuzzling its nose hoping that he could fight the poison and reanimate himself. J’arrmeklian put his blood-soaked hands to its nose.

“Death comes to us all eventually. This came too soon. I can only give you the deepest of apologizes to you and your lost. There is no meaning to this violence, this torment,” He spoke gently, softly. He let his hand drop dead to his side. He was clearly distressed about the situation as well. Death was not something he was ever okay with. He was okay with his, everyone else was a different story. He looked to his dead friend that was directly across from the nose that created what felt like gale force winds when an exhale came.

“I am the dragon of the sky. They call me Mirmaania. You tried to help him. Why?” voiced the winds. He turned to the amazement the dragon was talking to him. The dragon stood proudly, glistening in the sun rays of early morning. The streaking color of hydrangea blue dove white and sapphire eyes that felt like a gentle touch of calming over one’s soul. He noticed that dragons were not terrifying.

“Out with it tiny creature! Why were you helping us? Aren’t your kind the kind the kills without reason?” Roared the other. He jumped into the air and turned to the other dragon. He landed softer than he had in his previous jumps. He felt like he was- floating? He shook the feeling. He had to give an answer.

“Life is important. Be it man, beast or otherwise. Some come to think that life runs out for the feast, for others life runs out when nothing can be done to prolong it. I’m just an old wizard with one wish, to prolong life to have it see the world that is beautiful.” He explained. He bowed his head to the giant lizards and took to walking on foot. Raindrops came slowly down from the once starry gleaming sky. The once clear skies were now a pitch black even around the strawberry moon. He started to feel the warmth of the rain. They felt like tears dripping from the ones that roam and pillage the air far above him. He looked at the rain started to poor down now. He used his magic to make a covering for him, though he knew he could use the cold shower after pronouncing death of a dragon.

You could hear the dragon hunter rejoicing at the kill. J’arrmeklian frowned. He rarely did this. He hated killers of creatures in which their souls weren’t thanked. He turned to them. “Curse ye’ who can’t thank the life that was taken to suit you need for blood and superiority. Curse ye’ damned to the depths. May your next hunt lead to poison of your kin. May your children parish with no glory to their names. May your wives be harmed by the unforeseen tonight! I give the curse as a right of the dragons you harm, the beast you do nothing but let rot and poke at just to have a good laugh, for this isn’t hunting, this is being savages.” He murmured to his staff. He lined it up with the dragon hunter circling the dead body. He shot a light at them it gracefully expanded into a spider web of whispered word. The spell laid upon the unfortunate souls. He turned to go to his house. He was well beyond exhausted to the point that he was awake again.

J’arrmeklian lived in the mountains six nights passed the once great city of Kor’thorn, an old dwarven city known for it’s great feasts that gathered the hungry and those seeking a good pint of ale. He chose a mountain close by in hopes that a drunk would stumble in and by a flower for a coin. Sadly, that was years ago. Now he hopes that the little rebels will learn his house is not to be meddled with. He had set traps for those who dared go anywhere near his land and made sure that everything was safe guarded. It was now a dangerous area to live in. Bears were never hunted and many sought refuge by his house since the bee’s nest overflowed with honey.

Then there were the gargoyles. Ever since the dwarves had gone extinct they started multiplying like rabbits had in the springtime. They were nasty creatures that always tried to rob J’arrmeklian of his keep. J’arrmeklian thought of allowing it many times thinking of it as good fortune that they wanted to give but, then again, he would’ve had to feed them. Feeding gargoyles is never cheap. He simply was hounded everyday by them. He learned how to avoid them. Slowly they stopped trying to be nice instead, they would attack him to prove their strength to him. He didn’t enjoy it; they didn’t either. They used to live in the walls and on the roofs of the old city. They left when the bandits came into play. The bandits killed them because they too found them annoying in their quest to offer allegiance in return a simple pay of food, too much food to pay gargoyles protection from themselves.

If you discover this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation.

As he came to his house, that now was a very long trip, He sighed relief. The posh looking house cascaded the mountainside. There were towers and corridors that he could’ve rattled in but in the words of J’arrmeklian himself; “Every great wizard, mage or which needs room for their deeds.” He opened the doors with a swift wave of his staff. The door glowed a magnificent color of freshly blossomed lilacs and opened to a room that was engulfed in the light from the fireplace. He took a good look to see that his helpful assistant had made himself comfortable on the handmade carpet from his friend that has luxurious rabbit fur from his farm of agoras. He stepped on it; as soft as and as white as he had remembered it. He stood next to his friend, a tiny little fox that was left on his doorstep on a cold rainy day. He had a note with him about how someone was sorry to have killed his mother. Whatever gave them the idea that he could take care of a fox was beyond him however he did. He never gave the animal a name and he never would. “His mother named him. What if gets confused when I start calling him something else?” was his normal excuse. Taking to the once barren kitchen, he started to cook a satisfying meal. Unsealing pork, taking out the garden-fresh potatoes, cooking, cleaning, roasting; all part of his process to his meal which was just a roast pork with rosemary, cloves and a hint of orange and some roasted potatoes with pepper and poured on fatty leftover from the pork roast. He ate quickly and occasionally gave the fox some bits. For the most part the fox fended for itself. Hunting small bunnies that hoped around the garden.

Then came out a sleepy boy. J’arrmeklian smiled. This was one of the greatest gifts that his wife had given him; a child. He didn’t care what it was when he found out she was pregnant. When he was born, the skies were lit with stars, the darkest night of the year turned into the brightest most extravagant night of the century. There wasn’t a soul awake for the unicorns fighting, the stars shooting back and forth, the moon glistening like a crystal; a festival of light all for his child, Shear’kinish. His wife, who was half asleep, slowly followed the child when she came from the west wing. “Jar, I have been up all night waiting for you,” she stated with a yawn. Her body was still as a common vixen. Her figure was of a pear and there was nothing wrong with her. She had an alignment of moles that looked as if she had a checkmark, like she was ready to come down from the heavens, her skin was tanner than J’arrmeklian’s. She preferred to work in the garden with a short sleeve dress. Her eyes were like amber coming fresh off the tree and her hair in a long golden braid. She hung her arms around his neck. She was a bit shorter than he was but not by much. She reached in and kissed him on his forehead. The kid grimaced. “Kissing is gross Dad!” he yelled. J’arrmeklian and his wife laughed. They both knew that one day he wouldn’t find it so disgusting.

J’arrmeklian took his son’s hand. He knew that it was late, too late for a young man to be awake. He walked his son to his room. His son struggled to keep with his father’s slow and long stride. When they went into his room he ran to his bed. His father smiled at him. J’arrmeklian went to his bed side and from the high walls he called upon a small book that was tiled “bedtime stories.” He opened the book to a blank page. His son looked to him in awe. “What is the story tonight dad? Orcs? Trolls? Damsels in distress?”

“I think you deserve a better story tonight son,” exclaimed J’arrmeklian. He waved his hand over the book. Suddenly there came out images of a dragon, a stormy night, and how death only comes to people who ask for it. J’arrmeklian told his son his story. When he was just about done they heard a crash. J’arrmeklian jumped, his son shivered, paused with fear. His wife yelled for him. J’arrmeklian thought the gargoyles had gotten her. He panicked. He ran for her. “Eathora!” he begged for her life. Anyone but his wife would he want to be caught in a fight. He got to the front. Little fox was on all fours now shaking, hiding behind Eathora. J’arrmeklian sighed relief. He then heard a large knock at the door. The house shook. He almost fell. He cautiously went to the door. His bravery was casting out the fact he felt like running away. He opened to door. Mirmaania stood in front of his house.

“What can I help you with Mirmaania?” he asked her. She bowed her head.

“Dragon wizard, for your help tonight, let it be known from today onwards that that is who you are. As proof, we have a gift for you. From the mega alphas, alphas and warriors, a symbol of peace to you; a dragon soul gently placed within a scale of the very dragon that belongs to the soul. Please take care of it. It is all we have left of him. They burned the rest,” She advised struggling to not lose her voice. A rumble of thunder was heard throughout the lands but no lightning struck. He looked at her. A beast in love with the dead, it drove him mad to see it. She was so hurt by it. He went up to the dragon. He embraced her with his grip though it was nothing to the size of the dragon.

“I’m sorry Mirmaania, the sky dragon. He deserved a better fate,” He murmured. He bowed and went into the house again, now soaked in the rain. A crash to the top of his house sent his wife into his arms. He looked at his wife and kissed her. She was in terror as the dragon roared. The land was indeed aware of his new title. “The Dragon Wizard.”

--- ---

When the morning came he had gotten up early and found a place for his new achievement. He took it to his library. He placed it in a display case. He put in the window to insure the soul always got sunlight. He then snapped his fingers and his violin. “Play something good for the soul,” He commanded. The violin started playing something soft. It was a lovely little tune. He grinned to his left side. He then turned to his books. He looked around. It was especially large. He needed it to be for his collection too. He looked trying to find the right book. When he found it he pointed to it? “Book one, aisle seven and level 345. Hand,” He commanded. With that Book one in aisle 7 and on the 345th level dropped quickly down and landed as a feather in his hand. “Dragon’s guide,” was written in the title. He opened it. He looked to see what she had meant by the classes. He read the whole book in a day. His wife calm in bringing him his tea, his apprentice going thru his books for the day, and his son playing with little fox out in the garden. Life felt simple for him. He kept to his studies everyone else worked around him. When he noticed it was about dinnertime he closed his book, said goodnight to the soul, and headed to dinner. He never missed dinner when he was home; his wife wouldn’t let him. If he ever did he would’ve never heard the end of it. He took to the kitchen swiftly.

As he got into the kitchen he wafted the scent of roast goat seasoned with rosemary and thyme, boiled potatoes covered in the fats of the goat. And some garden-fresh vegetables of the variety. He sat at the table.

Not so far south of the home of J’arrmeklian, passed the winding hills and haunting gargoyles there was trouble stirring no one knew what was coming. No one knew the black magic brewing.