I woke up the next day with the echoing words of Gregory in my mind. These were not gods fearing people, and that soured my mood. It would not do me well to stay here any longer and I prayed for a break in the rain long enough for me to get to a new shelter. No one else had risen but the old woman who shakily sewed some cloth together.
I readied my gear and put my lute in its case. Soon I was approaching the old woman to tell someone of his journey. Her cloudy eyes looked him up and down while squinting. “You’re leaving,” It wasn’t a question. She could tell what he planned simply enough.
“Yes, I don’t want to overstay my welcome and your people have been kind enough to me. However I do have duties that need to be completed.” As I turned her arm reached out and gently pulled me back to facing her.
“I’m sorry about my son. When he lost his father he trudged his back in the gods and decided he would lead those that didn’t believe forward.” There was sorrow in her voice as she spoke. “Do not judge our town too harshly.”
I patted her hand lightly and nodded to her, “Do not fear my judgment for I only use that on the wicked. Tell some stories in my place would you?”
Her smirk was infectious, “Be well Dolan. Don’t forget to come back this way and finish Crafter’s story for me.”
I didn’t want to reveal to her that I might never return before her death so I sat next to her and gripped her hand lightly, “How about I tell you the shorter version then you can embellish it to your whims.”
She nodded and set her sewing down to give him undivided attention and smiled, “Please continue.”
I started quietly as if it were a secret between two friends.
Sadly Crafter awoke with Klaxu’s wrath still burning in her from when she absorbed some of his primordial power. She had taken the rage that Klaxu did not need any longer. Her resting area was surrounded by elves and a pile of all new things lay around her. Crafter rose with such power that the elves stood no chance against her untamed wrath.
With a terrible viciousness she tore through the civilization of elves that had protected her while she slumbered without remorse. Crafter’s roars shook the world around her as she radiated with the power she stole so long ago.
Elves used spear and stone against her uselessly and were scattered with every sweep of her tail and claws. A hundred elves fell within minutes as the rest fled into the wilderness. Crafter used her new magic and wrapped vine and stone around her body like a second layer of scales as she lost the ability to fly from her shattered wing so she would use her new powers.
She began to hunt the survivors down and if it were not for her hatred of all things would have succeeded. However, one survivor made it to the tribe of the recently awake Weaver and begged him to rise and stop Crafter’s destructive ways.
Boneshaker had felt the disturbance on her own and was headed to stop her wayward sister. She could sense even the bones were being pulverized to mulch. An affront to how Boneshaker gained power.
Weaver and Boneshaker gathered together and communicated on how to stop their sister and hopefully save her. One would battle her directly while the other destroyed her Collection that she gathered. Once weakened they would bring her to the birth place of Klaxu.
The discovered Crafter rampaging through a herd of tall shaggy beasts that felt before her.
There was no collection in sight though. She was functioning without it. Weaver nodded to Boneshaker and flew off towards the beginning of her rampage and hoped he could still find some way to weaken his sister.
Boneshaker started a truly devastating battle against Crafter. The difference in size was made up for with the extra weight of the stone and vine. Boneshaker stripped her armor slowly as she flew above her and used a tactic of dancing in and out of combat.
Weaver found a pile of belongings, crafted items made with elven precision. With mighty aches in his chest he destroyed all but one thing and heard the cry of Crafter echoing through the lands. The three siblings' battle soon ended with Crafter stripped, battered, and bleeding. She had exhausted all of the magic she stole from the birthing Klaxu.
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Crafter fought against the pulling claws of Boneshaker and Weaver as they hauled her into the air and began a long arduous flight to the God Birthing Mountain as it had been known. Crafter fought whenever she had energy to do so but they had to be careful. One of her wings was twisted and healed wrong. She would not be able to fly or catch herself
Without rest Boneshaker and Weaver flew to the mountain. Landing they had to fight every step of the way and roughly handled their sister as Crafter was dragged to the heart of the mountain. Once inside she roared and fought against the pull of the birth place of Klaxu. Then the energy started to slowly siphon off from her. Crafter collapsed as the magic was pulled from her.
With undying hatred in her eyes she screamed, “I will never forgive those of the land for what they’ve done to this earth. My rage will be unending!” Crafter fought to stand but was too weak. Her eyes fluttered closed as she was drained.
Gently Weaver placed the one object he saved from her hoard at her feet. Then with Boneshaker they sealed her away in the heart of God Birthing Mountain to forever rest in hopes that he rage would end.
The old woman looked deeply in my eyes, “You seem to hold the sorrow of someone who was there.”
“It is a sad tale. Who knows what such a dragon could have accomplished.”
“Meredith,” She spoke softly. “Realized I never told you my name.”
“Be well Meredith, tell the children such a story if you think it will help.” I stood and she looked at my back.
“Be well Dolan. I shall tell it to the children.” Her withered hands picked up her sewing and started the work once more. She sniffed as if on the brink of tears as I left.
A vague memory of a girl weeping to a similar story when I was here so long ago came to mind and I fought off the urge to tell her the same comforting sentence. Her wise old mind had already tried to put the pieces together.
The people of the longhouse started to rise for the day and several of them hushed as I went to leave. The rain could be heard pouring outside so I pulled my hood in place and made sure everything was shut as well as it could be. Gregory and I exchanged nods and I stepped out into the rain.
It wasn’t as miserable as I had expected, maybe the gods saw fit that I was more than a soaked rat of a dragon. Still it was cold, damp, and uncomfortable. The temptation to use a steady stream of magic to keep myself warm and comfortable was fleeting. After the battle with the demon I was too close to Slumber still. I’d have to conserve all the strength I could.
Some might think it silly of me to be so paranoid when I had years to wait before the next calamity. I felt that something to do with my Collection was off. Though it was thankfully ephemeral and couldn’t be taken from me it fluctuated far more than my more contemporary siblings. The only constant in strength I had gained was when I inspired bedtime stories and told them at orphanages. Those always sought family and would tell the tale further. It was odd that someone telling a tale I told them would gain me a minuscule amount of strength. However every few years my power would lessen. Wars would drain it considerably. I could not imagine the true range of my power should it never have lessened.
One day I hoped to figure out the true secret of it so I could build a more concrete and growing level of power so I could not worry about relying on finding others able to fight alongside of.
The rain lessened to a drizzle and further into a light sprinkling of water. The wet slurping of the road against my boots was the only sound above the pittering of rain.
I began to hum to myself in the rain. A lullaby I sang outside the tomb of a prison we trapped Crafter in. A soft voice that I hoped would soothe her anger. However each time I was there I could hear her raving madness through the stone. Too weak and alone for far too long her mind had fallen apart to the point she was no longer the same dragon.
As the memory of her begging to be ended entered my mind I sang the song I had sung to her when I ended her life.
“When the moons rise we say goodnight.
The resting of the world sighs in the wind.
The dragons fly into the sky to protect us.
So dream sweet dreams tonight in the moonslight. The world is safe to sleep.”
My tears joined the rain as I remembered holding her as she bled out. I could feel her relief at the end of things at no longer being alone, and no longer filled with hate. What was done to her was terrible, I blamed Klaxu for it all. I carried her body out of that prison and found a beautiful cliffside overlooking the vast lake she loved and buried her.
A tree sprouted at a tremendous pace over the next year. A twisting image of a dragon grew upon its bark. Blossoms of all colors spread through its limbs. That tree survived the great winter, was impervious to weather and blade.
Upon its branches grew the most delicious fruit of the world. An entire city was built around it and the royal family that tended it held a great festival every year when the fruit of the tree could be harvested. Dragon’s Heart was what it was called.
As I walked through puddles I prayed silently now. Prayed for her peace and the safety of her legacy. I let the tears flow even as the rain stopped.