A sigil of containment, Francisco? A spell easy to break, or that would be, if there was a need to. Try using more powerful incantations next time, and you may catch but a glimpse of me. Your spell, your trust in it, however, affords me ample time to beg you to kill the dragon. Even more: let me tell you a story.
There was once a knight of white, a master of both sword and sorcery that strived to be crowned savior of all of Bengia. He overcame ogres, hordes of undead, flocks of harpies, and a particular pack of cursed cows that… well, it may be a story for another time. Even small drakes, he slayed with no mercy but a great remorse. He only wanted to fulfill his duty and go back home together with his beloved, Abeline. They had come together and they would go back together. Back to the land where the gharials inhabit in Asia, and the level of something is just its inclination when compared to surface of a still sea.
No matter how many foes he persevered against, he had reached the limits of power a human can amass without a powerful dragon soul. Being a Holy Knight, he set off to kill what he thought was vile, easy prey: an undead dragon that to this day inhabits a damp, convoluted cave isolated form any human settlement. Abeline begged him to not go, she did once and twice and thrice. Abeline begged him to find another way. Maybe if they slew enough lesser drakes, they could create a proper dragon soul from the fragments. But he was tired of this world, tired of getting his hands bloody in the name of some nebulous greater good, tired of having to resort to violence, he was. I was.
So he and his party undertook this final task and found a foe he couldn’t overcome. The undead dragon had an army of monstrosities, his magic was growing weaker and, to escape from a fate worse than death, in his fear-induced madness, the excuse of a man left poor Abeline behind. What did they do to our Abeline? I wonder and you too, you too! In dreams or in moments of clarity, when the miasma of madness lifts, you wonder and cry for our lost Abeline. For the Abeline no dragon will give back!
I feel you coming back, I must go. Pray, friend: take our sword and kill the dragon. In vengeance or in righteous judgement, find the heart that gave up on beating long ago and baptize it with the sword’s holy fire.
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The sigil remains untouched, its magic slightly faded from the time elapsed. Yet he found the diary and wrote that goddamned passage! He claims to know me, he claims we adventured together. It cannot be, it cannot be, the life before our dear Lady was aimless, senseless, worth forgetting.
Still, there is certain wrongness in this. Why, and how, did he evade the sigil. He either saw me drawing it —Which would imply I was careless, and I wasn’t— or he has no legs and/or floats. That would explain everything so far: the lack of footprints, his immunity to the glyph, my inability to find him as he could hide among the fingers above. Now: how does one face this information? I could, certainly, search for his nest or resting place, and carve a sigil there, but he would surely be watching.
Whatever I do, I need to take into account his gaze. If I Inform the lady, she may dismiss it as a minor worry. She has bigger problems to deal with, I cannot bother her with this individual that seems unable to take action without my help. So, were my suspicions true, I’d just need to keep on denying his petitions until he becomes desperate. I’ll make you beg, white knight, I’ll make you cry rivers of ink for Abeline for your transgressions against Lady Scarlet.
Back to my chores, today I have to organize the balls again: one of the dogs has been mixing them while looking for his favorite one. Of course, this is just an assumption, but I have dealt with them for long enough to recognize their little devilries.
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As I passed by the main chamber, I overheard a conversation between Gadorprims and Lady Scarlet.
“What do you mean you cannot get rid of the thing?” said Gadorprims.
“It always finds its way back, so much so that I oftentimes prefer to recover it myself when a little adventuring prick steals it, lest it accidentally stabs or slashes through some of the servants.”
“You ought to destroy that wretched blade, my dear. It is vile, its very shine feels like an affront to my life,” suggested Gadorprims.
“I cannot. Not alone. The magic in it is far too wrong, far too ominous. It feels like burning every time I touch it. The thing wishes to kill me. It was forged to kill me,” said the Scarlet Lady.
“I think the pawn is listening. What proceeds?”
“Nothing. He goes around cleaning and stuff. It’s amusing.”
Then I hurried to pass in front of the gate and back to my writing stand. The sword, they had to be talking about my sword, so I will conduct experiments with it. First off, I will leave it across the room and watch it intently, seeing if it moves.