Chapter 1

The gentle ring of the bells above the door sounded as Fulgore stepped inside the pub. The sign outside the Mountain’s Call had read “Open till Midnight, Drink While You Can!”, and by his estimation, it was somewhere between 9 and 10 PM. He figured he’d better make this fast. Even if the bar would be open late, there was no guarantee any of the inns in town would still take him in the middle of the night. Best to try and be out before 11.

The bar was relatively active, but there were some open seats farther from the entrance. Fulgore made a point to sit as far from the crowd as he could without seeming suspicious. Parties had never quite been his forte, especially not with a loud, unfamiliar group. There was music coming from a small elevated stage in the back of the building. Three elves stood there, two medium-height men playing stringed instruments with bows and one tall, slender woman performing vocals. It was a relaxing song, the kind you might like to hear after a long day of work to go alongside a mug of ale. Though he wasn’t overly partial to music, Fulgore decided he did like this group. He made a mental note to drop a copper or two into their collection tray after the songs were done.

“Sorry for the wait, this is the slowest we’ve been all night.” Fulgore turned his attention to the new voice, thick with fatigue, which belonged to the bartender. She was a human woman with light brown skin and a maroon apron. “What can I get you?”

“I’ll have a soft cider.” He told her, smiling softly, but not giving her his full attention. “Wouldn’t happen to have food here, would you?”

“We do,” she answered, jotting down the order in a small parchment pad, “But the choices aren’t too varied. We’ve got dried beef, bread, and dust. I’d go for the beef, personally.” He nodded in reply.

“Beef then. Thank you.” The bartender finished writing his order, assured him it’d only be a minute, and went to retrieve the food after pouring him a glass of apple cider. She was soft on the eyes, and the sweet drink helped to complete his good mood, but Fulgore couldn’t get caught up in the night. He needed to rest soon, otherwise he’d lose valuable light in the morning. He hadn’t even found a bounty to pursue yet, and the last thing he wanted was to get locked out of the inns and sleep outside.

He swiveled his chair to just barely face the stage, listening more intently to the song. It was sung in Rennan, the primary bridge language between Ryudaean cultures and the same one he had spoken to the server. It wasn’t unusual for some elves to grow up learning it before Gaean now, which, in a way, was a bit sad. Still, Fulgore counted himself lucky he could understand the lyrics.

The woman’s sultry voice sang of a mountain that had risen from the ground to inspire the people. The townsfolk in the story started by looking to the mountain for hope, until the greediest among them realized what they could take from it. They mined it, destroyed every inch of it available to them, and proceeded to use those resources to live a short, vain life in the mountain’s shadow, until the very stone they’d stolen from it was reformed into their graves. It was a sad, cautionary tale, set to soothing yet mellow chords, but somehow, Fulgore wasn’t bothered by the tone. Melancholy was no stranger to him.

His journey into town had seen him largely satiating his hunger with fruit, a partial payment from his last job as a caravan guard, and although the taste of oranges wasn’t bad, the salty flavor of the beef was a welcome change of pace after a full day of citrus. He stayed long enough to ask for another cup of cider and finish his stand-in meal, paying out the six copper price with a silver coin. The bartender returned four coppers to him in change, two of which he left in her palm as a tip. She smiled and thanked him.

Getting up from his chair, he walked over to a table where the elven band now sat enjoying their drinks, placing the two remaining coppers down and silently letting them know he’d enjoyed their songs with a nod. He bid them good night, stepped out, and made his way across the town to an inn he remembered from his last stay five months prior, a place called “Shacklebolt’s,” named after its burly owner. Shacklebolt greeted Fulgore as he walked in. At the counter he paid 5 silvers for his stay that night, received the key to the fifth room down the hall, and before long, settled into bed.

Sleep wasn’t very often restful for him now. After his tired red eyes closed each night, it wasn’t uncommon for him to wake up in a cold sweat, or for a dream that started well to gradually inject itself with anxiety and discomfort. If he was lucky, once in a blue moon, Fulgore would make it through the night without incident. This, however, was not one of those nights. It was a dream familiar to him. He’d seen it so many times that, at this point, he’d come to expect it when he laid to rest. It was a strange dream, he thought. The landscape was golden, existing in the form of multiple spires of shining metal among a sea of liquid iron. Everything else was merely a vast horizon of empty space, as were the contents of those spires jutting out of the metallic ocean. That was, all save for one single hill of gold. There, in the center, lay a scythe he didn’t recognize. It didn’t look like a weapon to him, moreso a tool. He’d trained to use battle scythes all his life, and it didn’t resemble any of the ones he knew. The blade’s angle was all different, the design much less graceful and deliberate. He tried to focus on it, as he always did, but just as the tool began to seem present to him, the burning glow of that alien landscape faded away to nothing. The dream had ended.

By the time the sun rose, Fulgore had already equipped his gear. Among these things were two weapons of a centuries-old design, created by the Muriisi clan to be used by Fulgore’s own family, the Drakma. The weapons were nearly identical, save for their mirrored orientation, but they did have a single difference in the crystalline lining snaking up the center of their blades. The scythe intended for his right hand had a sapphire blue streak, whereas its twin sported one in emerald green. The scythes themselves had black grips, each lightweight, but durable. Crimson metal covered the outer edge of their blades, which would make them incredibly striking while on his back in addition to their size, if not for their ability to collapse at the two seams along their blades and hilts respectively. The Muriisi had been masters of weapon-crafting, and the Drakma had been masters at using the tools they were given. But that was over now. Fulgore was the last of the Drakma, as far as he knew. He’d never encountered any survivors on his way out of Ouros, and all of his visits there later were shockingly and solemnly quiet.

He covered the weapons on his back with a massive cloak, adorned with dozens of scales any layman would assume to be a dragon’s. They wouldn’t be entirely wrong; the scales came from drakes both red and white. It was like a foundation of unpolished rubies topped with armor-plated snow, once upon a time, anyway. The cloak had seen better days, however, and now displayed colors much duller and less conspicuous. He cleaned it as often as was needed, but drake scales lost their shine in the absence of the right magic. They’d stayed vibrant for a year after he inherited the cloak, and a battle with a fire drake a month before his 23rd birthday had temporarily made the colors shine once more. They were darker now, but that wasn’t necessarily a bad thing. In truth, it was better that fewer questions were asked about where the cloak had come from. Attention wasn’t a good omen for a bounty hunter.

The streets of Suris were busy, as was typical for the capital city. Fulgore’s path was simple, a straight shot toward the bounty boards at the Eastern town square. When he arrived, he found them looking much the same as they had during his last visit. The boards were wide and black, made from dark slate. They rested on a wall at the back of the square, which featured a rather picturesque fountain at its center. Branching out to the South was the district Fulgore had just come from, mostly comprised of restaurants, pubs and inns. To go West would lead one to find more specialized shops, like blacksmiths, bakeries and tailors. Each corner of Suris had districts like this, and each one had their own bounty boards. Fulgore often found himself on the East side of town, since he travelled between Racrodii and Renn quite often.

Many of the dozens of bounties were too low-stakes for his taste. He wasn’t opposed to easy work, but he needed a higher payout from this job if he intended to eat something aside from oranges for two days straight.

Caravan Guard - 1 Gold and Misc. Goods, 3 Days

Bouncer - 2 Silver, 1 Night

Personal Bounty: Vermillion Delahue, 30 Gold Dead Or 45 Alive

Fulgore paused as he caught sight of the personal bounty. 45 gold was no small sum to pay for one person. If nothing else, it was worth asking the collector for more information. He turned around, intent to ask about the bounty, but…

“Hello there.” A woman was standing there behind him, wearing a sleeveless white dress over a solid dark shirt. Her eyes were warm and deeply blue, her hair nearly bone-white, more so even than Fulgore’s. Despite the color of her hair, she looked young. She probably wasn’t far in age from him, mid twenties if he had to guess. “Sorry to bother you, but are you looking for work from the boards?”

“I am,” Fulgore answered her, “I was actually just going to ask about one of the jobs.” He didn’t mean to sound rude, but part of him was apprehensive about interacting with new people like this. “Is there something I can do for you?”

“I think so.” The way she smiled reminded him of something, but he couldn’t place what. There were barely defined marks a few centimeters below her eyes which gave her an air of wistfulness and humor, quite a contrast when put next to the ever-present bags below Fulgore’s. “If you’d like to talk about it, we could go somewhere to sit down.”

“No offense, but I’d rather you tell me here.” The woman shrugged in response.

“See, I’d love to save time that way, but that might present a problem.”

“I don’t see why any reputable job couldn’t be discussed in public.” A normal person might have let his attention wander from her at this point, but something about the woman caught his attention. There was more she wasn’t saying, and, being someone of many quiet truths himself, he didn’t want to dismiss that outright. Her sapphire eyes still looked right into his as her next words formed.

“Well, an ordinary bounty hunter might respond with disbelief or panic. I don’t want to incite the latter.” She leaned in just a tad closer, and although Fulgore’s instincts tugged at him to back up, again, a calming energy from her presence caused him to pause and hear her out. A moment later, he was grateful he had. “I need you to hunt a drake with me.”

There was silence for a long moment, and Fulgore tried hard to read her expression. It was an outlandish claim, but he saw no deception in that stare of hers. She was being sincere, as far as he could tell, if very straightforward and more than a bit blunt.

“What makes you think I can help?” The question was more of a test than anything, but for a matter like this, a test was the least he could throw her way.

“Your cloak. That’s a drakescale weave, and quite a fancy one too. Multi-layered. It must be heavy, maybe fifty pounds being generous. You wouldn’t wear that if you didn’t have a reason.” It was obvious she knew the reason as well as he did. Red and white drake scales were a potent counter to fire, with a combined potential strong enough to cancel out any kind of flame. She knew her scales, which meant she might be serious about her inquiry.

“Sixty pounds, actually.” Fulgore corrected her. “Who are you?”

“My name is Ziinra,” The woman answered. “And you?”

“Fulgore.” He took one last look at the bounty boards. 45 gold down the drain… but he had his priorities. “Tell me more when we sit down.”

The Mountain’s Call was closed when Fulgore passed by the wooden door. Instead, Ziinra guided him to a restaurant in town called Sunrise Cafe, which served breakfast in the mornings and closed after lunchtime. It was still early, and as such it seemed perfectly normal for the two of them to ask for a table and sit by themselves in an isolated corner. Ziinra ordered herself a plate of fried eggs, and after ascertaining that Fulgore hadn’t eaten either, put in a second order for his sake. He spoke up to change the eggs to scrambled and thanked the server before he left.

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“Essentially,” Ziinra told him after swallowing a bite of her eggs, “We’re looking at a full drake with red scales. I don’t know what its alignment is exactly, but we can probably rule out anything it can’t use by breath.”

“How big?” He asked.

“Hard to say exactly,” Ziinra responded as she placed a hand on her chin to think. “Four meters tall at least, but it could have been taller. I didn’t get that close.”

“How close did you get?”

“Somewhere around 20 meters.” She took another mouthful before continuing. “I didn’t want to chance being seen by it, so I never got closer than that.”

“20 meters is still a lot closer than I’d call ‘safe’. You’ve got guts.” Fulgore told her. He still hadn’t touched his eggs.

“I appreciate your evaluation.” She told him with a coy smile. “On foot, it would take us about 4 days to travel there. I know the path, it’s almost directly South.”

“That can’t be more than 50 kilometers from here.”

“It isn’t.” Ziinra confirmed. “Which is why this is important. I don’t want to let it get any closer to the capital, if I can help it.”

“How long has it been there? And how did you find it?” Fulgore asked.

“I don’t know how long,” She admitted. “And I’m not the one who found it.” Her deep blue eyes, which up to now had been filled with life, suddenly took on a darker tone. “There used to be a small settlement called Underk there. It left few survivors.” Drake attacks were rare. Nowadays, when most of the Solan cults of Choros had faded into obscurity, it was rather uncommon for anyone to attempt a ritual to create a drake. Still, despite this making the world safer on the whole, it meant that when a ritual did occur, the resulting drake’s rampage would devastate anyone it came across. “I was actually planning on leaving alone to go there this morning, but then I saw you on the way out of Shacklebolt’s.”

“So now that you’ve found me, you want me to kill it.” Fulgore stated more than asked. Ziinra frowned.

“Well, when you put it like that, it sounds morbid,” She said before adding, “But that isn’t entirely wrong.” Fulgore looked at his breakfast for a moment. He picked up his fork and took his first taste of scrambled eggs. Once he’d put down the fork, he gave her his answer.

“I’ll do it.”

“Excellent!” Ziinra looked genuinely pleased to hear Fulgore agree, even reluctantly. “So then, what kind of pay are you looking for?”

“None.”

“…I beg your pardon?” Ziinra replied, quite taken aback.

“I don’t want to be paid,” Fulgore repeated, “I never finished my training, so I’m probably not worth your money in the first place, but if that weren’t enough, it’s my responsibility to keep up with handling drakes. That was the Drakma’s calling. My calling.” The final words of his short speech seemed to confirm something to her.

“So you are a Drakma.” Ziinra marvelled in a soft voice. The cloak had probably aroused suspicion, but hearing him confirm it captivated her.

“Born and raised.” Fulgore replied, “Probably the last one left alive. Considering you’re going after a drake, I’d say it’s your lucky day.”

“That settles it, then,” She responded, “We leave at dawn.”

“Wha - Tomorrow?” Fulgore’s reluctant acceptance was replaced by indignant shock.

“Yes,” Clarified Ziinra, “The longer we wait, the less time we have to act. So, we may as well do this as soon as possible, right?” She wasn’t wrong. The longer they left the drake there, the more likely it was to move. It’d probably start by hunting down game in that area and building a nest, but if it was a genuine full drake, it was likely to get impatient, and fast.

“You have a point.” Fulgore admitted. “If you were confident enough to go alone before meeting me, you must have some way to fight it. Am I wrong to assume that?”

“I have a fairly diverse magical background. I’m trained primarily in Rennan and Gaean runes. When it comes to offense, I’m especially good at using Light and Fire.”

“Fire isn’t likely to help against it.”

“What’s your recommendation, then, hunter?” Ziinra asked. Fulgore considered this for a moment.

“Do you know your alignment?”

“Life.” Ziinra responded.

“That’s good. Healing without runes can be a valuable skill.” Fulgore wracked his brain for memories pertaining to red drakes. They were drakes of Bahamut, much like those with white and brown scales, and that was a threatening prospect from any perspective. “Can you use any other offensive types?”

“The only ones I can’t use at all are death-based spells.”

“Lightning is probably best.” He stated. “It’s only a two-rune spell, but if you’re especially good with Gaean, you could cast it with only one. Drakes usually don’t resist it.” Ziinra nodded her head.

“I can use lightning, but only from a distance. Will that be sufficient?”

“It should be.” Fulgore affirmed. “I’ll do most of the close-quarters work, so having you cover my blind spots would be best.”

“I see.” Ziinra looked as though she was genuinely interested in what she’d been told, which put Fulgore at least a bit at ease. She seemed at the very least like she was aware of the danger the situation presented, but she wasn’t letting that scare her. That was a good sign.

“Where do you want to meet before we leave?” He asked.

“Does the Southeast gate sound good?”

“Works for me,” Said Fulgore. “I guess the next thing to do is discuss-” Fulgore stopped mid sentence. Ziinra gave him a somewhat puzzled look, cocking her head.

“What’s wrong?”

“Do you want to tell me why you’re listening in on us?” Fulgore’s words were pointed at the booth just behind Ziinra. Sure enough, as she turned to face the other side, light shimmered and bent around a figure that slowly came into view.

“Agh… busted.” Fulgore was surprised at the voice that greeted them. She sounded young, whoever she was, and although at first he mistook her to be taller, soon enough he understood that a good amount of her height was owed to her hair. It shimmered almost like amber, and it sat in a tangled mess atop her head. The girl’s skin was darker than theirs, not unlike the bartender who’d served him at the Mountain’s Call the night before. Her eyes were black like obsidian, though they were soft and curious. She also had the telltale pointed ears of an elf. “Sorry. What gave me away?”

“Air shimmers. Shadow magic is useful for cloaking, but you have a lot of work to do on staying still.” Fulgore sighed, crossing his arms. “Now answer me.” The girl groaned and dropped her head for a moment, clearly disappointed her ruse hadn’t worked. Then, almost instantly, she raised it back up, her expression bright and excited.

“I’m really sorry, but I just got so caught up in your story! Lady, you said you’re gonna fight a dr-” Fulgore almost jumped out of his seat to cover her mouth, looking around to make sure no one was paying attention to them. Although one or two patrons had glanced their way, as grace would have it, nobody seemed to be paying them any mind aside from that. Fulgore glared at the girl.

“Come to this table and keep your voice down.”

She did as she was instructed. Fulgore looked directly at her as the new girl slid into the booth on Ziinra’s side, obliviously smiling back.

“Why do you care about our hunt?” Fulgore asked.

“Because it sounds really exciting.” The girl answered, clearly suppressing the urge to bounce her knee.

“Yeah, it’s all fun and games, until one of your arms gets roasted.” His patience drawing thin, he gave her one last chance to justify her actions. “Why does it matter to you?” Then something seemed to click in her head as the question sank in.

“Oh, because I want to help.” Fulgore nearly snapped at her, but contained his irritation and took a deep breath.

“Do you understand how serious of a statement that is?”

“Completely, but I can handle it.” She extended her hands to the two of them, her right to Ziinra and left to Fulgore. “I’m Onyx, by the way, Onyx Aegis. You said your names were, uh…”

“Ziinra.”

“Fulgore.”

“What about your last names?” Onyx asked as Ziinra and only Ziinra shook her hand.

“It doesn’t matter.” Said Fulgore, though the thought occurred to him that he hadn’t asked Ziinra that question.

“I’d prefer not to say.” Came her response. He would have thought that strange, but it could be because of their new company that she seemed hesitant. He wasn’t completely sure of the reason for her apprehension, though.

“Well, that’s reassuring.” Onyx remarked as she put her right hand down, left still out for Fulgore to shake. He didn’t take it.

“Can you fight, Onyx?” He asked, arms remaining crossed.

“You bet I can!” She responded with enthusiasm. She had the common sense not to unsheathe her weapon right then and there, but she still reached into her pocket to grab something. Fulgore remained on-guard as she did so, but calmed down just a bit as he saw the object in her hand. “This is a spellstone.” She explained, turning the tiny red ball over in her hand for them to see the rune sigil etched into the back. “I love these things! Basically, all I have to do is infuse a little of my Vaita into it…”

“And by tapping into a reserve, it skips the process of draining mana.” Ziinra finished for her with a nod.

“Exactly!” Onyx exclaimed. “I got way more where this came from, so don’t worry, I have my ways. Is that good enough, Fulgore It-Doesn’t-Matter?” Fulgore extended his hand to take a look at the stone, which Onyx placed on his palm. He inspected it closely, noticing as he did so the tiny imperfections in it. There were inconsistent levels of color across each end of it, along with small ripples in the sides like waves. The sigil inscribed to this one was a Monic rune, one Fulgore wasn’t quite familiar with. Strange, he thought, that an elf would be using the language of the demons, but he wasn’t one to judge.

“Are they made from glass?” Fulgore asked, giving the spellstone back to her.

“Usually.” Onyx responded. “They’re technically stronger if you use real gems, but those are pretty absurdly pricy, so…” She shrugged. “Glass still works. It let me sneak over here, didn’t it?” Fulgore gave her another unamused look, but still couldn’t deny the potential use of her magic.

“You won’t be paid,” He told her sternly, “And if I think for even a second you aren’t taking it seriously, we’ll leave you behind. Do you understand that?”

“Of c-!” Onyx caught herself about to shout for excitement, but stopped, containing herself for a moment before saying quietly, “Of course. Anything to say I got to fight a dragon.”

“Drake.” Fulgore corrected. “...But fine, then. Ziinra, thoughts?” Ziinra responded with a good-natured smile.

“She seems to be excited about it. Why not? The more help we have, the better.” Once again, Onyx nearly jumped for joy.