Augermil and Nawfal strode through the stench of the sewers with careful steps made on the wet floor as it seemed to be covered in puddles of water. The two concluded after the third that they were definitely following a trail, although they were not yet sure if it were the trail leading to the cultist’s lair or it was made by something else.

Nawfal himself brought up the possibility of a small tribe of Caublorumus – small, dumb creatures, a cousin of the continental goblins. Except they had warmer, yellowish skin tones bordering on almost golden thanks to the leyline slithering under the Caesellis Isles.

They usually grew not higher than a hundred and forty centimeters tall, with flat freakish faces, sloped back forehead usually decorated with mud, blood or the mixture of the two depending on where said caublorum sat on the hierarchy of their respective tribe.

Augermil himself countered the possibility by pointing out that Caublorumus can’t swim, and from the puddles they clearly leapt into the water, unless they were suicidal for some reason. They also hated cleanliness which was another con against Nawfal’s statement. After that he did not need to point out that from the amount of puddles – which slowly raked up as they ventured further into the labyrinthian sewers – the locals would have noticed caublorumus corpses washing up.

He was wrong though as after the seventeenth turn, they took, they spotted a small group of those vile creatures. The three caublorumus did not notice them as they were deep in some heated conversion with the tallest of the group painted in excrement and blood pointed quite strongly at a bloody sack laying at the feet of a much shorter caublorum whose wickedly golden eyes glinted in the dimly lit sewers.

No words needed to be exchanged as the two sprung into action in but a moment’s notice. With one swing each, the crude heads adorned with sharp, almost aevhenish ears flew off from their short, almost non-existent necks while the third, a corpulent one fell onto his bottom at the edge. Before it could alert any other, Augermil’s blade ran up from down its body, its dark blood and fat tainted his magnificent blade with a recess line running across its center where the vile mucus were swallowed in a blink of an eye.

The two sheathed their blades and Nawfal carefully crouched down, plates softly clashing as he unfastened the rope on the sack. The vile stench of death swiftly assaulted his face when the final boundary was undone. He pinched his nose as one could never fully get used to the smell of rotting flesh, and he gagged when he noticed the small head staring back at him with innocent blue eyes, light extinguished from it, torment eternally frozen in them.

Augermil gripped his shoulder as Nawfal looked at him with anger in his eyes. He shook slowly his hand, silently promising vengeance upon those who stole the future from the silenced occupier of the sack. Nawfal stood up and away from the sack, Augermil snapped his fingers and dark flames consumed it leaving nothing behind just a dark memory which shall never fade from their mind.

The two gazed at behind the corpse of one of the cruel caublorumus and continued on the trail of puddles while pondering what could be the true source of them, what could the caublorumus threw in the cleansed river of aevhen and dwarven made passages.

**

The refurbished gate opened with a long and deep moan, awakening the dozen dragons of the Heavenly House sleeping in the spacious confines of their barns with a thin layer of webbed glass separating them from the other side where the wind picked up on its space as if it was raging with excitement.

Aurelithae followed after Albron, a calm expression within her while joy raved within as her slit pupils moved from one dragon to another who seemed to bow their heads as they noticed her in the shadow of his respected brother. “Can I?” She asked with a hint of grace and meekness mixing together as she stood close to one of the dragons with a long head with antler like horns shimmering iridescently and adorned with soft avian feathers.

Albron calmly looked at the dragon, their eyes locked together for a short eternity before he turned back to Aurelithae with a moderate smile. “Go on. Though be wary of their small horns, they are sharp as a sword. Even my hardened hands can be damaged by them if I’m not careful enough.” Aurelithae nodded her heads and walked in front of the dragon who rose into a feline position which gave it an air of draconic gravitas.

She halted before stepping through the golden line and courteously bowed before a dragon before meeting its gaze. Its slit holes of a noses expanded thrice then it lowered its head which made her instinctively smile as she calmly approached and placed her palm onto its scaled epidermis. She gently caressed its long jaw, barely able to reach even halfway before she had to pull back. “What a magnificent beast.” She whispered and the dragon seemed to smile as it received those words.

At the third stroke, she shared a bit of her mana with the dragon who chuckled in its deep, gravely voice. Two more it received before Aurelithae stepped back knowing the dragon felt satisfied in the transaction. Once more she bowed, this time in gratitude and the two smiled at each other before she returned to the side of her brother.

“A mighty one, isn’t she?” Hearing those words, Aurelithae swiftly looked surprised at Albron. “It is said that female dragons bond or trust females of our kin, and the opposite is true.”

“Brother, don’t you ride a female dragon?” She asked as they watched as the dragon turned around, seemingly having enough of looking at them and gazed out to the skies.

“There are exceptions of course. I bonded with Drytteh thanks to Moirstyria. Seems her scent which remained on me once after her visit made my dear Drytteh favor me.” Aurelithae listened then she furrowed her thin brows.

“Who was the rider for… her?” She asked as she felt a hint of solitude burrowing within the dragon.

“Elmiph did not had a rider for the past seven hundred and eighty years.” As she received her answer, she looked at Albron with understanding dawning in her eyes and her lips started forming words.

“Her last one Praetoriar Inunin who fell in the battle at the Vesgeriath Forest. One of the Nightscales kin ripped her off from Elmiph and well… you probably can guess what happened.” Hearing it, a bottomless sadness which was unknown to her surfaced in her heart, and tears formed in the corners of her eyes.

“Brother...” Aurelithae’s voice trembled, her hands grabbed her soft, lustrous toga’s sides.

“Do not worry for me my dearest Sister. The Gray King haven’t reached my name yet, and most importantly everyone says I’m the spitting image of uncle Augermil so I still have a good few thousand years to go on.” He reached down with his enormous hand and tousled his long, silken hair while she tried to resist it chuckling with little to no success.

This story originates from a different website. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

“Makes me wonder how he handles it.” She blurted out softly as he stopped with the light patting.

“Time heals wounds. And thanks to the gift of our heavenly father and mother, we have a seemingly endless amount of it.” Albron said as the two continued their walk in the long mile between the barns of the Dragons.

**

Augermil faced the wall with determination burnt into his eyes while Nawfal carefully smoothened his gauntlet covered hands across it, a golden mist pouring from it as it revealed the outline of a door, pulsing with a dark grayish light. He turned back to the elderly draennith praetoriar and nodded once as he curled his hands and stepped back with one hand on the cubical pommel of his sheathed blade. A metallic snap.

The pristine wall caved into a dark, swirling abyss and the two smiled weakly after four hours of tracking through the vast sewage system. “Elderly first!” Nawfal said cheekily as he showed the way forward with a light bow and his left hand held out, pointing at the vicious darkness.

“I have a bad feeling about this brother.” Nawfal muttered as the two arrived in an unexpected room which appeared way more well kept to the usual hideout of cultists. The gleaming wooden floor rustled under their steps, their blurred reflections appeared on the scrubbed walls decorated with idyllic paintings, the torsos of aevhens and humans frozen in time in the form of sculpted masterworks.

It did not take long for Augermil to recognize where they stood currently. He had been in this mansion quite a few times as it once belonged to an old comrade of his who fell two millennia ago by the accursed hand of a nekros. The mansion of the Flavian family whose stand out feature were their mesmerizing ocean hued eyes which could so well divulge emotions.

“We should not dawdle any longer.” He rushed through the door on the right and just as he remembered, he stepped into the enormous entrance hall with the same wooden floor continuing on, reflecting the light filtering through the windows. The only sounds were his footsteps and the wood clashing against marble. Other than those, an eerie, palpable silence settled the large mansion on the western mountain, not far from the fortress of the Draennith Praetoriir.

“Are we where I think we are?” Nawfal asked as he followed out still baffled. No answer came except for the warped moan of the gate which closed in the room they arrived from. “Too silent for my liking.” Augermil muttered under his breath as the unsheathing of his blade echoed through the hall entering the dozen corridors on the sides.

“I’ll investigate the eastern wing.” Nawfal nodded and without saying a word the two separated. Augermil’s towering form was swallowed by the soft shadows inhabiting the corridor with a singular window straight ahead a few hundred meters from him.

The further he walked in, the more he felt his stomach boiling, his firm hands shaking as he recalled his final promise to his old comrade which he made while drunk on five kegs of sweetened wine. The blue eyes in the sack flashed into his mind, and he repeated it can’t be within his mind, thinking that a descendant like Opiter Flavian could easily defend against a small group of caublorumus.

Yet the putrid stench which burnt the insides of his nose like acid would and could not lie. A stench he felt in the sewers, a smell he attributed to the place itself even though it was cleansed by the enchantments woven into them by one of his own.

High pitched, almost animalistic cackling broke his thoughts and he stopped in front of a large, ornated door. The air trembled visibly as his enormous body was engulfed by a translucent force which smothered any sound he made while walking closer to the door. He held his left ear close to the door while strengthening his grip on his blade, fueling his arkhaine points.

Bile danced around in his stomach, far from breaking out, enough to fill him with mild rage. He quickly recognized the sound of hardened flesh hitting soft one, then the latter impacting the harsh surface of the wooden floor while continuing on for a few more seconds. He also recognized the primal speech of the caublorumus and slowly counted to six while quelling the flames of anger scorching his being.

The first met its doom when the door burst open. The small, child of a caublorum fell face first onto the carpeted floor covered in blood, Augermil’s blade followed and stuck deep through the back of its malformed head and went straight into the floor as it vomited its dark yellowish blood onto the floor.

The second watched in horror and enraged, attacked like a foolish child. And such as one met its demise rather swiftly as half its head separated, revealing rotten-like sinew and muscle, cracked yellowish gray bones which shattered as the indomitable blade swept through.

The third who watched the rest play their macabre game enjoyed the full force of half the door, then marble hands clasped onto his small, feeble form gripping him to the wall in their cold, harsh silken embrace before their grasp proved too much and his bones broke, his muscle and skin popped leaving behind one last agony filled scream and a gory spot on the wall.

The fourth hoped to take goliath by surprise from behind, its crude dagger of bone and wood clutched in his hand while his three arkhaine points scorched with wicked energies as it leapt high in the air. Yet midway in its false flight, the mountain of a draevhen turned with blade screaming softly through the air and entered from the waist, left by the waist splattering damaged intestines and shards of bones onto the once pristine floor.

The fifth, tall and experienced in years similar to Augermil kept its distance while holding the severed head of a once lively maiden in her prime, her once voluminous, silken brown hair drenched in her own blood, her face once shimmering with a bright smile now frozen in eternal dread as her mouth remained agape emitting a silent scream for help. A wide smirk adorned the matured caublorum’s horrid visage as it started swinging the head, his wicked eyes aimed at Augermil’s expressionless head.

The tip of Augermil’s blade lit up with a sinister mauve light as he positioned it into a thrusting, then like a mirage disappeared from the caublorum’s sight. A blackened cut appeared on the shoulder of the small creature, from which dark veins spread all over its body in the span of a moment. His withered black finger released the severed head as he fell onto his knees while Augermil calmly watched as the caublorum’s body was slowly devoured by nekrotic matter.

Only the breaking of glass turned his attention away from the slowly dying creature and he quickly followed after the escaping sixth. The staff which indicated its leadership amongst the group left behind, the leaning body straightened in the earthly bind which rose at the same time Augermil trampled his left foot onto the paved ground.

“Please…we just followed orders.” Just as he was ready to crush the body of the caublorum shaman, its speaking halted Augermil in the murderous endeavor.

“Who ordered you?” He asked coldly while pushing the tip of his blade glowing in the sinister light of finality.

“It was our Pale Lady. She said to carry out her vengeance against them.” The caublorum spoke hardly as the conjured stone pushed his curled hands into his throat. “Who is this Pale Lady of yours?”

“I… do not know. It is the truth! I only saw her in my dreams” Augermil pressed the tip closer and closer. “She had ears like yours, long hair red as their blood.” For a moment Augermil stopped and a cold shiver ran down his spine, but he shook his head and the next question came to his mind. “Then tell me this, how could lowly creatures like you massacre a patricii family in their own home?”

“She gave us His gift. It will make us equal to the dragon rider’s family she said.” His muddy yellowish blood started flowing from the left corner of his wickedly wide mouth. “That is all I know! Truthfully!” Augermil glared into his eyes and remained still like a statue, then with a swift movement, crashed the body of the caublorum shaman, leaving only his head behind.

He grabbed it and nekrotic matter poured from his fingers into the head, shackling the soul into the head. “We shall see about that.” His hand lifted the head closer as he whispered those words, staring into the empty eyes from which behind the caublorum’s soul screamed silently.