Without the weight of my armor, I moved less encumbered through the snow and against the icy winds. Somehow, they seemed less intense than when I had arrived. Even as my potion against the cold ran out, I was fine with simply keeping a hand in front of me and trekking onward.
Familiarly, that constantly beating and spreading warmth from my chest returned to me after a few hours. The sun, being only a slightly brighter spot in the endless void of white, was beginning to set more and more, eventually turning into an orange filter over indistinguishable scenery.
Not long before the moon would rise to my side, I finally reached the forest line from where I had come. Large oaks and barren pines greeted me with their howling silence. As soon as I entered their uncaring shelter, where the sound of the winds was blocked from endlessly accelerating. The lack of sound only made me realize the constant ringing in my ear that was not part of my actual surroundings. Maybe I had hit my head.
After a little search, I found the trail of trampled greenery. With bruises on my shoulder, frostbite in my nose and ear, and still some char on the tips of my fingers, I slugged the rest of the way toward the warm village I came from. With the shards of ice beginning to thaw, they soaked me through and through.
Just as I was beginning to let my mind wander, thinking about a warm meal and bed, then the journey ahead, something snapped in the underbrush. Not far away, just past a bend on the rather narrow pathway along a hill, I heard the trampling of horse hooves.
“Shit,” I cursed and immediately dove off the path and into a bush. The spiky leaves poked me but I bit down on my teeth.
Listening carefully, I heard voices among the galloping of horses, a few excited yells. Then they came into view. A rider in hide and fur clothing, adorned with small bones and pieces of crude jewelry and a long bow at his side. Only, it was no rider at all. The rider had long, thick strands of brown hair, enlarged features along the nose and chin, and mixed along the waist into the four-legged body of a horse. Behind him were a dozen more centaurs, charging through the forest like a storm.
They weren`t paying enough attention to notice me, luckily. The last two were carrying some sort of carriage behind them, tools clattering within it. Were they hunting? Who knows, they could have also learned of the wyrm’s demise and charged to have first pickings. In a way, I wouldn’t have minded a centaur herd getting to the body, considering they wouldn’t sell it or use it in some perverse ritual.
But regardless, with the value of the items I carried and the responsibility to report that I had, I chose to let them pass. After clambering up to the path again, I dusted myself off, picking out spiky leaves and fruit while walking.
The sun went down and the moon struggled to fill the many shadows of the forest. There was just something that humans feared when walking through a forest at night, an instinct that cause me to be highly aware of any sounds and movements. Here I was, coming back from killing a draconic, and jumping at shadows. Regardless, I held my dagger at the handle, just in case. Grabbing a stick from a tree, I lit the tip of it on fire, holding it out like a torch, though it did not help against grasping shadows.
With my constantly descending path finally beginning to straighten out, I soon smiled at the sight of distant lights. The trees turned into hacked stumps as I got closer to fort Kohan, their wood still standing in the form of its outer wall.
Watchtowers in regular intervals made it look like a woodworker’s interpretation of a castle. Except for the biggest building, Kohan’s keep, all housings were built from wood, hay, and thatch.
The keep being the main hail and three connected stone constructions, it loomed over the walls even from far away, though tiny in comparison to the massive walls of mountains around. Approaching the northern gate, I spotted two guards in the nearby tower, I greeted them with a hand sign.
“Halt!” One of the three standing in front of the closed gate approached. A large man, with grey patches along a beard, a spiked helmet hiding a balding head, and a red and black chest plate covering a wine belly.
“The hour is late, I request shelter for the night. I have coin to spend and a belly to fill,” I replied, flashing a clinging satchel of silver and gold. The man eyed it for a moment while I extinguished my makeshift torch.
“The hour is late. Not a lot o’ good folk arrive with a bloody coat an’ smellin’ of death. Who’re you?” He gripped the halbert in his hand tightly, the other guards were also moving skeptically toward the arms.
I looked the man up and down, then eyed him from the side while reaching into a pocket at my chest. He watched my hand like a snake staring down another predator. Until I produced a piece of parchment, enchanted to withstand water. Sadly, however, it didn’t withstand the piece of my chestplate that had dug in. Now half torn, the signature and seal were not nearly as extravagant or lavish, but the shape of the curling black spire, adorned with a crown made of fire, was still recognizable.
The guard looked for the sigil and his eyes flared when he saw it. Noticing that he wasn’t trying to read what it was saying, I concluded what he confirmed a second after.
“What’s it say?”
“I am an acting member of the king’s personal guard. I guard the king, I guard parts of the kingdom, that includes Kohan and its surroundings. I did my duty as ordered personally by his Grace, that is all you need to know.” Halfway through my practiced and repetitive speech, I already glimpse the light of a tavern through the slits in the gate. Even if I couldn’t have actually smelled it, I swear I could taste the scent of some bread and rabbit stew.
“The king’s hundreds of miles ‘way, whaddya do here?” Another man, almost as tall as his spear and equally as frail, asked with a raised brow.
“Bloody business. If you want to know what, just come to the capital with me and ask his Grace. If I talk about it, I doubt I will have a tongue for long after,” I said with an unfazed expression.
My deception proved effective in them collectively deciding that stopping me was no longer worth their time. I was ushered through the side door, them not wanting to pull the gate open at this hour, and found myself in the muddy streets of Kohan.
The pale moonlight from its crescent shape made it hard to see the full extent of this valley village, even if it was relatively small. Making my way through the Townsquare, where markets had their outside shops boarded for the night, and toward the long tavern building. Through the murky windows, I saw the light of a warm fire and heard chatter being mixed with music.
Opening the door, I was greeted by a waft of scents and comforting warm air. Inside, there was a large, round table with a bonfire in the middle, running on a bed of coal. Patrons sat along the curved benches, a bard with his lute played from the second floor, and two barmaids danced around the room while delivering drinks and food. braziers hanging from chains were filled with small fires that gave the whole building a calm atmosphere.
I drew some eyes, or maybe just the cold air that entered with me made people look. Approaching what I assumed was the counter, I found an elven – rather, half-elf, judging by the rings under her eyes and more frizzled, brown hair – woman looking back at me with coastal blue eyes.
“How much for a room and warm food?” I asked without paying attention to the people staring at my back.
“Ten silvers for a night, ‘nother five for the evening broth and a loaf of bread,” she replied, trying to gauge my features.
I placed my pouch on the counter and produced a gold piece along with five silver coins. She put them behind the counter and handed back a rusted iron key. “Sorry ‘bout the noise, we got a party of travelers passin’ through.”
“Nevermind that, Grace be,” I turned my back.
“Grace be,” she replied.
As I passed the round table, I snuck a few glances at the equipment these “travelers” were carrying. Four members, one of them in full plate armor, a woman in what seemed like hunting gear, a dwarf in his sleeping clothes, and a young man with blonde hair in blue and grey robes, and piercing green eyes. All wore either no sigils or ones I didn’t recognize.
Even with my untrained eyes, I saw the way the fire reflected off their armor, the greatsword, and the staff they carried. Undoubtedly, they carried enchanted items, expensive and likely made far from here.
“You there,” I heard from behind. Part of me wanted to pretend to have overheard it thanks to the chatter and music, but those all suddenly stopped.
I turned around with an intense expression, meeting the gaze of that wizard in his robes, who had risen to his feet. “You look hurt,” he pointed toward my cloud, stained deep with red instead of plain black.
“Not my blood,” I replied sharply, hoping that my attitude alone would be enough to leave the conversation.
He looked me up and down with a few glances, then returned to gaze into my eyes. I met his vision, then everything froze for a moment when I saw him beginning to whisper something.
“Dhahar–” The beginning of a spell. His eyes flared with green and I spotted movement in his fingers. Rule number one when dealing with wizards, don’t let them act first. Immediately, I lunged forward and averted my eyes while grabbing my dagger in one hand and his collar in the other.
Hearing a bowstring tensing and a sword being drawn behind me, I chose to focus on the wizard, putting my dagger against his throat, then turning him into a shield facing the woman with her knocked arrow.
“Woah, woah, woah, hey now! Not in my bar, you wanna kill each other, do it outside!” The half-elf yelled from behind her counter.
“I was just trying to make sure a murderer didn’t walk in here to slit our throats while we’re asleep.” Struggling against my grip, the wizard put his hands up toward his allies.
“Cast another spell on me and I am not going to wait that long,” I threatened, sizing up my opponents.
If I had met these lot earlier, maybe it would have ended in my favor. Right now I could kill the wizard, use his body against the arrows, rush toward the unarmed dwarf, then burst out of the tavern through a wall. But I was spent both in magic but also my flames, leaving me with little option but negotiation.
“I… think we may have started on the wrong foot. My name’s Sadir, that one is Kurt, our Ser Diera is the tall fellow, and the lady currently pointing an arrow at us is Villia.” He nodded toward each of them as if knowing their names would somehow change my mind.
“Why should I care?” I replied, turning my dagger at an angle to emphasize my point.
“We’re here to kill a dragon. I think you might know something about that,” even without seeing it, I saw the self-satisfied smirk on the young wizard’s face.
I shot the human woman with her black hair another glare before promptly releasing the wizard and kicking him toward her. “You’re too late, also, it was a wyrm, not a dragon. Next time you think about casting a spell on someone you think has dragonblood on him, remember this.” I pointed to a small knick on his cheek, where a trail of crimson began to flow.
He wiped it away and bit his bottom lip. “So you’re him? The dragonslayer,” he concluded. I saw something flash in his eyes, though not a magic spell. Rather, it looked like someone who just met someone from a fable.
I judged the expressions of his party; the archer was still holding on to her bow and arrow, ready to enter a fight at any point. The man in heavy armor, Ser Diera, had a radiant yellow hand across his chest and shield, which he had grabbed. The dwarf named Kurt, however, had already put down his axe and returned to the chicken he was feasting on.
“Yes, I am one of the dragonslayers,” I admitted as quietly as possible, though I doubt any of the patrons missed it.
“No, no, I have heard of you. All those other cunts have never even seen a dragon. You’re the traitor’s son, knighted a day before your execution, right?” His confidence only grew when I failed to hide my expression darkening. “I thought it was you, I recognize that wound,” he squinted and motioned to the faint scar outline above my brow.
“Who are you?” I asked, already regretting that I didn’t just slit the bastard’s throat.
“I was there when they wanted to hang your father. Proclaiming he had ‘desecrated the holy pact between magic and man’ and ‘stolen from the gods!’” Through a feverish tone of voice, he seemed to chuckle at the story. Then, he turned his head straight and his stare became void. “Do you have it, too?” Although he was whispering next to a fireplace and the very obnoxious chewing of chicken, I heard every word as sharp as a dagger to the gut.
“I stole nothing. And if you have a problem with an old crow being my relative, say it now.” I took a step forward, hand tightening into a fist.
He, being half a foot taller than me, held his ground and met my intensity with his eyes. Sadir was the first to relent, relaxing his posture and turning away to grab his drink. “Far from it,” as he turned, I noticed the sharp ears behind his hair. Strange, his features were rough and hard for a half-elf. “I am an admirer of sorts. Your story has inspired many, from dead man walking to dragon killer.”
This was far from the first time someone confronted me with my deeds, yet it still stung every time they mentioned the one true dragon whom I killed. “I serve the king and I serve the realm, whatever happened before my service has been discredited.”
“So you just ignore what I just said? Your paps started something in blackspire and it is spreading,” he got another step closer to me, leaning in to whisper, “we could use someone who tells us what goes on in the throne room. You’re on your way there, no?”
I returned with a hard gaze, speaking back loudly, ”We?” I motioned to his group. “You four want to rebel against the crown? There’s easier ways to get hanged.”
“Don’t pretend you enjoy being a servant to a drunken, racist, old usurper’s son.”
“Careful,” I interrupted before he could continue. While motioning to a group of guardsmen in the corner, who began to pay attention more closely, I said, “you’re in the presence of the king’s loyal servant. What you’re saying could be misunderstood as treason.” I gave him a sharp look of warning.
He caught the five men in the corner, who had all turned their ears to listen. Giving me a knowing look, he finished his cup and stumbled to his feet, then against a post. “You’re right, I must have had a few too many.” He turned to his party and announced, “Time for us to head to bed, we have dragon bones to scavenge tomorrow.”
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One more time, he shot me a glare and while stumbling past me, he whispered, “If you feel like getting some perspective, find me.”
Kurt made no sign of resigning the pint he still had in his hand, but Villia and Ser Diera carried Sadir off to the downstairs rooms. I felt a few more needly stares at my back while walking to my own space.
Making extra sure my door was locked, I then produced a spool of white thread. Like a spider spinning its web, I covered the door and windows, attaching each end to some small object that would get knocked off if pulled. Finally, I began undoing my armor.
Already expecting to find bruises and cuts, those weren’t much of a surprise. What I winced at finding, however, was a large patch of skin on my legs which curled in wavy patterns. The healing spell and potion must have prioritized my other injuries before this one, meaning it was left alone.
Grabbing my backpack, I searched for some undamaged ingredients. With my mortar and pestle, I ground some birmwood leaves together with greattree root until it was a sticky paste. Greattree root was expensive and hard to find, I would have much rather used it in alchemy instead of wasting it on a small burn. But if I didn’t, I might face larger problems, and most importantly I would be slower.
It cooled my skin and seeped into my muscle, where it spread through the entire legs, clearing up bruising nearby in seconds. I wrapped a bandage over it and lay down to sleep.
Rushing past my inner eyes were images and moving moments of time. Of a four-legged and winged creature. Crimson scales mixed with mountains of fire, blurring into gnashing teeth and claws. Relentlessly attacked by a being fully aware that it was victory or death, just coming into its power.
With each blow that knocked me around, the heat radiating off every part of its body scorching my hair and skin, I found myself becoming desperate and fearful. Fighting with a broken weapon, I dug my heels into the ground to prepare for a strike.
Wide jaws of shortsword-sized teeth shot toward me. Every instinct told me to run and flee without looking back. But there was that spark, a warm reassurance that this was exactly where I needed to be, that I was doing exactly what I was supposed to.
And yet, when I stared at the suffering, dying juvenile dragon, I felt no sense of pride or accomplishment. And with it breathing its last, the dream pulled back the curtain of darkness, granting me a rare, dreamless sleep.
I opened my eyes only because a ray of sunshine found the one gap in the window that lead straight to my eyes. Hearing movement downstairs and a hammer banging outside, I gathered my belongings, checked on my wound, and got redressed. Unlike my previous getup, I forwent the undercoat of cured leather and simply put on the furred Gaberdine over a loose white shirt.
Going downstairs, I half expected Sadir and his group to be waiting for me but found the inn almost empty. I approached the innkeeper, and a dark-skinned man with long black hair greeted me from afar, though there was a glint of recognition in his eyes – I assumed he had been told of the previous night’s events. I handed him the key alongside another gold piece.
“I have a message that needs to find its way to blackspire keep before I do, is that something you can do?”
“Uhm, yeah, sure,” he took the gold. “What is the message?”
“Able Midgar has completed the assigned task and will arrive within the fortnight,” I dictated.
He nodded and made a note of my words on a piece of parchment, “I… will see it done. And… thank you for your help, if you are really him.”
I made no further attempt at socializing and turned to exit.
Kohan, being primarily a military outpost and home to the Kirsch family, was rather sparse in the morning. Patrols of guards began heading out, workers carried wood and drove carts filled with rock and ore through the plaza, while a nobleman’s child watched it all from one of the towers.
I stopped when I saw a sign portraying a finger leaf being lit on a boiler, words in common, Missa’s apothecary stood below it. Seeing it as an opportunity to refill some of my lost supplies, I entered.
Already, everything within the humble two-story wood house smelled of dried herbs, stinging trails of potions steam, warming of continuous boiler fire, and a scent that could only be cinnamon. I wrinkled my eyes, not remembering a recipe that would require cinnamon.
“Welcome,” a warm greeting emerged from a door leading to stairs. A human woman carrying a plant pot containing a young sheep’s toe walked in. Her brownish hair looked frizzled and somewhat dirty. Her features were a little rough for her seeming age but she carried a swift step and a joyous attitude.
“I need greattree seeds, empty size two vials, some frostshade, sugar root, and some healing salve,” I listed off, going through the basics for the next weeks.
She pulled back for a moment and then immediately got to searching. “Oh, big order, huh? Didn’t take you for an alchemist.”
“I know what to make with most ingredients, I’ve never used cinnamon though,” I commented, the smell not leaving my thoughts.
She smiled and laughed while producing a satchel of vials and a leather bag with healing salve, “Neither do I. I applied the scent of cinnamon into the house to help contain the smell of all of my ingredients spreading to my neighbors.”
After vanishing into the back for a few minutes, she came back with the thick, red routes, a handful of frostshade heads, and a single greattree seed. “This is all I’ve got, stock’s running low on the seeds. Probably that civil war between the druids, right?” She tried to engage me in conversation but I just gave back a disinterested look.
“Druids can do what they want, the greattree isn’t theirs,” I said dismissively while producing my pouch.
“Suppose you’re right. Together that makes 175 gold.”
I produced a green gemstone from my pouch. “This was appraised by Maven Rock,” I said as I showed the fine lines in the palm-sized emerald, where it said the number 150, next to a sigil portraying a multi-lensed microscope. With another 25, I finished my purchase and left. She wished me safe travels but got nothing in return.
The guards at the gate didn’t give me any trouble when I left and I soon left Kohan behind me.
The valley continued for a few hour’s travel, in which various riders and carriages passed me. The pathway was large and wide enough to allow carriages to pass next to one another. With nothing but the open road to distract me, my thoughts wandered to the past day’s events.
Though I knew there were no teachers or known speakers of draconic, I tried to focus on the sounds I had understood. I personally doubted I could even make the same noises, let alone find real meaning in it, I recalled the wyrm repeating that same word over and over: Fínu.
It could have been anything, the word for human, maybe just the beginning of a question, maybe, however, it was a name. The way it was staring me down, intelligence hidden behind the armor of feral instinct, was nothing like the screeching wyverns I had slain. Before it was seriously injured, it seemed so much more like that a dragon.
Wyverns don’t grow that old, maybe 50 years at most. Dragons, however, are timeless. Immortal if they don’t succumb to the world in other ways. A wyrm or a drake, as rare as they are, normally don’t make it into much of their adulthood, reaching their full potential after 20 years.
This one was maybe in its 16th year. That’s a problem. Lacking understanding of the world and its place within it, wyrms or drakes don’t have the cunning to hide, nor the potential for helpful magic. It needed to eat and nest somewhere for 16 years before being in this area. The reports only came in two moons ago, nothing before that.
Wyrms are female dragon’s and an old, male wyvern’s bastard child. That means there is an adult, perhaps even an ancient dragon somewhere on Wull. Dragons rarely accept or care about their offspring, yet something allowed this one to pass unnoticed for over a decade.
More and more questions began lining up; where was the wyrm’s mother, why did it reveal itself now, what was it doing on the Teeth, what was it saying?
Nothing like a few weeks of solo travel, eating off the side of the road, and camping in between townships to sit on some questions you probably won’t ever get an answer on.
Traveling alone is a quiet journey, most of all. Nothing to do all day but look into the horizon, pick a distant tree, and walk until you met it. Every now and then, I spotted an individual or a small caravan of colorful travelers. After a few days, I even met a band of performers in Karrikstead. Not a terrible troupe but their magic tricks were all just a variation of some lesser illusion.
For another week and a half, I stayed on the roads, first passing through the land near the coast of silver. Marked by a hilly landscape, the wind howled over the clear fields without a tree in sight. I debated with myself whether I should simply skip the city of silver and its strict laws and steep prices, but seeing as I was tired of eating caught rabbit or bird, I decided to pay Kin’s reach a visit.
Even from miles away, the towering white walls were made from coastal rock and polished metal. Being only a few hundred meters from the edge of the cliff, everything was obviously in some stage of corrosion. But the silver dust that, according to some, was weaved into the very foundations slowed this decay.
Small huts and houses were the first signs of civilization along the outer edges. In the little farming land, yields were very little thanks to salty earth and rain. But with a seemingly infinite deposit of silver in their mines, they made up for the lack of food via import. All that trading culminated in a long line visible from a far distance away.
Some of the common folk had put their homes close to each other, being outside the city’s walls or in range of the ballista mounted atop. These people didn’t need to pay nearly as much tax, were barely governed, and had their freedom.
I saw a father and his son collecting the last few potatoes of the harvest, likely the last this year. The young boy noticed me passing by their homestead and followed me with his eyes before his parent reminded him to return to work.
Walking past the many merchants and their carts, I smelled all sorts of species, dried meat, and exotic fruits. My own stomach growled, reminding me that rabbit was not a sustainable source of food.
Any time one approaches one of these magically erected castle walls, it forces you to look up in sheer awe at the scale. As large as the mountains I climbed, except they’re manmade. Stones gathered to build even just one of the eighteen segments would fill the whole valley of spears. Having been melded together by sorcerers, the entire height was one unbroken mass of stone. And every now and then, when the sun hit just right, small glimpses of silver light reflected into my eyes.
The gates were open on this northern gate, as expected during this time of day. With the crowd of peasants, merchants, and travelers I would slip in without any hassle. The guards in their white armor and white cape, their kite shields adorned with the symbol of house Rina, a silver-gold falcon, and short sword at the side, inspected each visitor only briefly. I named passing through as my reason for entry and passed through the fortified gate.
Immediately, the crowd slowed to a crawl, the wide entrance narrowing into streets that snaked through alleyways. I pushed past the particularly desperate merchants who decided to begin peddling their – either scavenged or stolen, cheap – goods to people who hadn’t even entered the city proper.
I made my way through the cramped alleys, where the stone houses seemed to squeeze ever closer. The residents watched from their windows and balconies, some leaned from their elevated doorstep to grab a thing or two from the passing mass of humans, the odd-winged bird-folk, dwarves, drow, elves, and half-orcs.
Eventually, the singular pathways combined and flowed into one. Where there previously were houses with four floors on average, mostly residential, in order to make space for the large thoroughfare. In the middle was a fountain, though it was barely visible behind the massive tents and wooden structures of sale. The man atop it, made from white marble, held out a spear pointing south. Dressed in a regal-looking pourpoint, Daká the Brave overlooked the hustling market.
I scoffed, thinking about what Sadir had said. ‘I have a legend, huh? Maybe they’ll make a statue of their revered dragonslayer.’ Not that I would get to see it in my lifetime, but the thought of being remembered for something I myself built filled me with a little pride.
Making my way into the inner parts of the city, I purchased some salted and dried meats and a small bottle of dwarven liquor. Soon, I arrived at the gated entrance to the diem, where magical shops and military stations gathered away from the common folk.
I rolled my eyes and sighed silently when the ever-incessant voice of the sentries commanded me to “halt!”
Before he could begin to ask me for my business, I already produced the yellowing, abused by water, and torn parchment naming my occupation. He wrinkled his brow and looked me over. Maybe it was the armor with all of its stitched holes, perhaps it was the many scars or just the magically protected sigil of the king.
I was let through without much more hassle and gazed up at the white towers. Glamorized with murals and carvings within the stone, along with silver veins running through the extravagant paved streets.
Without further delay, I made my way to the court mage’s tower. Marked by being the tallest structure around, the stone it was melded from was filled with slight variations in shade. Each of the eleven levels had a vertical extension and was finished with a round metal plate at the top to allow stargazing.
The people walking around here were few and in solidary groups of finely dressed and groomed elves and humans. I stood out, with my dark cloak, black, matted hair, and tired eyes, like a fiend among a group of militants. But I drowned out the gazes at my back and wrinkled brows and instead focused on getting to that tower.
The door was around three meters tall, made from dark wood, and without a handle or obvious way to open it from the outside. I knocked against it and waited to hear any sound. After too many moments of silence, I knocked more incessantly.
When not a single noise emerged as a response, I put my hand to my mouth, forming a closed shape with my fingers while whispering “Irtch.”
Immediately, a layer of dust vibrated off the door and side of the tower. The spell would be heard through every one of the floors, impossible to ignore for a magic user within.
And finally, the sound of air being displaced, followed by footsteps on stone interior, and finally, the door grew a handle. Swinging open to reveal a being tall enough that I had to crane my head up to match reptilian features. Green eyes with a narrow, dark slit in the middle, surrounded by a snout, green scales instead of skin, and holes where other’s ears would be. The half-draconic wizard in his blue and green robes looked confused for a second before greeting me with a boastful exclamation. “Midgar, you’re alive!”
As if to confirm I was still of flesh, he placed a large, four-fingered hand on my shoulder. “Yes, it seems it wasn’t my time yet. I have what you requested, may I enter?” I looked up, seeing a smile on his thin, scaled lips.
“Of course, my friend. Come in, come in,” he stood to the side and let me pass. “And you got everything? I understand the work can be…messy.”
The interior messed with my spacial awareness once I passed the threshold. But as soon as the door closed and sealed behind me, the room seemed to extend and stretch, the warm, orange light pulled away and after a blink, I found myself in a foyer that was already the size of a throne room. A spiraling staircase climbed the sides, metal with a golden shine, and rugs made from red fabric painted a scene only a painting could have matched.
“Please, your coat,” he motioned to a closet that magically opened its doors upon approach. I slipped from the thick layer of my Gaberdine and gave it over to the closet. Finally, I turned to face Alebstra, who was crouched down to more accurately match my height, clasping his clawed fingers together and offering a smile that exposed sharp teeth.
And as much as I didn’t like admitting it, him looking directly at me, with those gemstone-like eyes, reminded me of the times I face creatures who truly should have been beyond me. I struggled for a moment and blinked the thoughts away for now.
“Yes, all parts are intact and have been kept in the enchanted containers you gave me. But with the journey, the blood might be a little congealed.” I began pulling the items from my backpack.
Laying them out on a table he had pointed out, I noted the frost sack had frozen to the inside of its box, making opening it difficult. Before I could pry it open, Alebstra grabbed the side of the lid and murmured an arcana word, “Ìgrís.” A small, bright flame traveled from his fingers to the box, melting the sides open.
As expected, the vials of blood sloshed around sluggishly and the heart had shriveled a little despite the enchantment. The eyes, however, were still just as solid, just as morbidly beautiful. The draconic wizard grinned widely, closely inspecting the parts with a monocle.
“Now, tell me about this specimen. The reports that I relayed were of a wyvern capable of frost breath. And as I see this… gorgeous organ here,” he pulled a tuning fork from his cord and pointed it at the frost sack, which promptly began levitating. “So, what was it?”
As he placed the pouch of permanently freezing magic substance onto a different table, one engraved with runes and gemstones, as well as some measuring equipment, I followed and explained. “It was a wyrm, long body, massive wings with partially formed forelimbs.” I paused for a second. “And it spoke.”
The previously joyful and warm demeanor of the wizard darkened within the words leaving my lips. His body tensed visibly beneath his robes, despite not being a warrior, his size and broad shoulders turned his attentive posture into something disconcerting. “What?” He asked without turning to face me.
“It… it wasn’t a language I understand, nor did it really sound like talking. But it kept repeating something that couldn’t be some random sound and looked at me while doing so. It used strategy to give itself time to heal and struck precisely, downright cunning. Until it was driven mad by pain,” I recounted, giving as much information as necessary to get something out of Alebstra without giving everything freely.
Silence for a few moments, in which the draconic’s tail twitched a few times beneath his robe. He then turned around swiftly and, still crouched down, got close to me. “Are you trying to tell me you had a conversation with a wyrm?”
“Not really, neither seemed to understand the other, we were both stalling. I am saying it spoke to me as if it was taunting me. If that…rings a memory for you about anything you’ve read, any records of half-dragons inheriting intellect as well as power… Just something that makes this understandable.”
“I have. And that is a problem.”