40,000 years ago -Epoch of God’s and Heroes-
Brokenridge breathed in the scent of his domain, letting the heady layers of aroma enter into his ridged nostrils to be parsed into a thousand pieces of information sorted by his superior intellect.
He had set the green two-legs that were scattered all over the surrounding forests to look for tribute worthy of their master and it smelled like they had returned. They stank of anticipation and fear… Good, perhaps they would have something worth adding to his treasure chamber this time.
Gleaming piles glittered around him, as if doubtful that such paltry trinkets could improve on their beauty…
“Do not worry darlings, only the best will be allowed to join you.” He breathed out in a smug rejoinder to their cute self-assurance, smoke dancing lazily between his arm-sized fangs at the cleverness of his response.
He also detected the tangy bitterness of subterfuge from the hairy ones he had caught burrowing under his mountain. When he had first discovered them, they had pled ignorance, and he had shown them mercy. A few hundred dead were nothing to the thousands that still infested the area below his mountain.
Their few petty enchantments were no impediment to his fire…
His jowls rose in excitement at the memory of the smell of so much burning meat. It has been a while since he ate one… perhaps it was time he had another snack and reminded them who the ruler of this domain was, above and below ground.
Their offers of tribute had been… acceptable. He found them much better sources of treasure than the tribes of nomads infesting the surface. While it was always enjoyable to start huge forest fires, collecting loot and carrying it back to his lair was arduous… He much preferred to create a tribute system that was slower but steady.
His slit pupils dilated as he imagined growing his hoard until it rivaled even the greatest of those peacocks roosting in the Council Peaks. They ruled over a system of their own devising, growing fat off the labor of others and he would snap its mechanisms between his jaws before he served under it again.
Soon it would be time to slumber again and absorb the strength of his Chamber, adding to his not-inconsiderable might. The journey would be long, but without that punishing burden of fattening those above him, he would grow strong enough to take what was his by right.
He breathed in the Scorch-marked magic that permeated the cave, indicating to all who knew to look that this was his Domain and connecting the treasure within to his soul. Its strength was his strength.
Remaking a Soul-Bound chamber had been very difficult, especially after those pretenders had destroyed his last chamber and stolen all the treasure within, robbing him of much of his unprocessed strength. With nothing left, he had been able to tear his soul free from the destroyed chamber in an act of desperate cunning. What he had done was almost unheard of, and none would expect him to reforge a new chamber in this place, so far away from his enemies and the center of things.
They thought him exiled and weak… they would see.
He eyed the piles that seemed a little less impressive at the memory of what he had lost. Gold to increase his strength, jewels to increase his magical output. Weapons and armor for his claws, teeth, and scales. It was all here…
There was just far too little of it. Perhaps he needed to take a visit down to hairy one’s kingdom and see what other baubles they possessed. However, that raised the question of those copper-cursed tunnels…
Brokenridge huffed out a smokey sigh.
A problem for another time. Soon he would sleep, and take in his gains from the last five hundred years of conquest. Then he would loot, pillage, and burn to his heart's content. Tongues of flame danced past his snout and his blood ran hot at the thought of the coming glory of further conquest.
On his next inhale, he pulled in the mixed aroma of the green skins and the hairy ones approaching together. They had entered the opening to his lair at the base of the mountain and were advancing cautiously down the long ramp deep underground that led to his Soul-Bound chamber.
He had made the mistake of choosing a high abode once before, where many of his enemies could approach at once…
Now only one dragon at a time could advance on his Domain, and he could rend them each tooth and claw. Plus there was an unpleasant smell near the top of this peak that he could not stand to approach.
He was hoping it would ward off any others in the occurrence that they came looking for him during his slumber. The smell was not the only advantage to this location. It also contained a startling density of Fate which had made bonding his new chamber possible, if not easy.
“Lord Dragon!” One of the hairy ones called asking permission to enter. This was followed by the guttural call of the green skin’s Mana user, who used his tribal title instead, “Burning End!”
He quite liked the name they had given him, not that he would ever tell the meat that.
“Approach,” he uttered, layering his voice with Authority.
The small group advanced down the appropriately sized tunnel, pulling a large cart behind them piled high with tribute.
Just what he needed before a long nap.
He rose up on his forelegs excitedly, flames leaking out of his clenched jaws as he beheld a rather impressive pile of gold, weapons, and even a few magical artifacts. One in particular caught his eye at the top of the pile. It was a perfectly round sphere of crystal, exuding a strange, almost hypnotic power. He flicked out his tongue, tasting the magic, unable to identify exactly what it did.
His curiosity rose… unknown could mean powerful, and powerful was always welcome.
“What have you brought your Master?” He asked, making sure to keep the greed from his voice. It would not do to let the peasants think they had pleased him. Fear was the only reliable motivator for one’s servants.
“Your Deadliness! Our king sends his tribute to your growing kingdom, long may you reign!” The Hairy one declared loudly, that same tangy stink of betrayal rising off him in cloying waves… But the Crystal sphere glittered invitingly and he found himself too intrigued to care what little scheme they were running.
He would eat this little one later.
“Burning End, our conquest of the local elves had succeeded with your leadership. We have brought you the finest of their weapons and treasures.” The green-skinned Mana user said, his scent oddly muted to Brokenridge’s senses.
His eyes narrowed as he scrutinized the pile. Whatever these ‘elves’ were, they were no crafters… There were some small magics on the weapons and armor, several enchantments for sharpness and durability.
Trash.
Then his eyes wandered back to the top of the pile, and he breathed in the magic of the sphere all over again, finding it intoxicating. His disappointment was forgotten as he beheld the powerful artifact.
“And where did you get this lovely bauble?” He asked, unable to keep the pleasurable chuckle from escaping his throat.
“Your Greatness, that is something our king found deep in the under dark… He fought through fearsome magics, defeating terrible foes called Beholders to obtain it. They called it a Foci. Does it please you?” The hairy one asked, beginning to exude the heady scent of satisfaction.
Brokenridge decided to allow him his small victory at satisfying his master. More and more of his attention was consumed by the sphere which seemed to pulse and throb with alluring power.
‘What does it do? What will I gain from such a treasure?’
Absorbing an artifact like this would accelerate his timeline greatly. This was the kind of power he had been searching for. The power to dethrone pretenders and take what was his.
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“Leave.” He said quietly, gazing upon the sphere. The two-legs glanced at each other, passing some meaningless silent message before scurrying away like the little mice they were.
Brokenridge reached forward with one of his claws, hooking the end of the cart and pulling it close to the mound of treasure he laid upon. He lowered his snout to the newest addition to his horde and took another exultant inhale, breathing in the magic of the artifact deeply.
His eyes narrowed for just a moment as he detected the faintest thread of magic anchoring the sphere to some distant point. Just as he was about to snip the little strand with an Authority-tipped claw, the sphere flashed flooding the chamber with a magic so heady that it overwhelmed Brokenridge’s senses.
His eyelids grew heavy and his head dipped past the cart, resting gently on the stone floor.
‘And why not?’ he thought tiredly to himself.
He had already intended to absorb the power locked away in his chamber, why not start a few months early?
…
4000 years later
Brokenridge’s eyes flicked open as he sneezed out a gout of flame. His internal clock instantly told him how long it had been, and he gazed around his chamber, suddenly alert as he found the entire cavern empty.
He urgently thrust his senses inward checking to see if he had already absorbed it all in such a short time.
…But no.
He had not advanced in any of the categories he should have. His Mana well had actually diminished, and his scales had lost much of their luster. His adamantine claws clicked dully in frustration against the stone floor as he struggled to come to terms with his situation.
Flame churned in his chest and his blood began to heat, boiling in his veins as the betrayal took full shape in his memory.
“GGGRRRRWWWWWAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHH” He roared, flooding the front of his layer with dragon flame. Its intensity was so great that it thrust out through the front entrance and burst into the sky announcing to all his kingdom his great fury.
He tried not to think about how much of his well that display had just used and his claws tore into the stone supporting his immense weight as he leaped forward, charging up the tunnel out of his chamber, launching himself into the air.
‘THEY WILL PAY!’ He thundered internally, breathing in deeply to find where the little rats were hiding…
Nothing.
None of the musky scent of the green skins, or the sweat and metallic odor of the hairy ones.
Gone.
They were gone and they had taken what was HIS.
He roared again, his fury thundering across the landscape when he finally caught a new scent. Rather, something old… layered and complex but also simple. He took in another breath, detecting something that smelled vaguely like food, and dead wood fashioned together in a rudimentary fashion.
His pulse quickened and he wheeled in the air, diving toward the source. His fury demanded destruction, and whatever lonely few they had left behind would tell them where the others went…
Air howled past him as he pushed his speed, wings grasping huge quantities of atmosphere and launching him forward with every beat. In a few moments, he had crossed the breadth of his Land and dove through the canopy to crash into the narrow dirt track hidden beneath the leaves.
Earth exploded outward from the force of his impact, and he dug his claws deep into the ground to arrest his incredible momentum. He roared again in fury, and liquid flame dripped from his gaping jaw as the rain of detritus settled and the object of his rage was revealed.
There before him, placidly chewing on some grass was a long-eared four-legged food, attached to a cart with a single occupant… and absolutely no treasure. A female two-leg draped in all sorts of cloth sat on the front bench of the cart, her chin held in her hand as she hunched forward.
The sight of what was clearly not his quarry sent Brokenridge over the edge, and without consciously deciding to end these pathetic creatures, his eyes narrowed to slits and a geyser of dragon’s flame bathed them and all their surroundings in the hottest substance known to the plane.
The nearby trees were vaporized and those beyond them burst into flame, instantly creating a barren wasteland of destruction and ash…
That is… except for the four-leg, two-leg, and the cart.
Unbelievably, they remained untouched, now backed by a landscape remade in the image of his wrath.
“Very impressive, if misplaced... Something I believe you have consistently failed to correct over your lifetime.” The clothed two-legged drawled, straightening on her seat and stretching.
“How dare you-” It finally hit him as his Authority was choked out by a weight greater than his. This was no average two-leg, she must be one of the new spawn that emerged with this Epoch…
“Go on, you are getting close to the truth.” She said, watching his thought process play out over his draconic features.
“Little Godling. What business do you have in my Domain?” He tried again, this time bearing his teeth in a minor acknowledgment of her power.
“Not quite, but it will do.” She answered, confusing Brokenridge even further. “I am here to make an offer: You desire the Council Peak throne, and you seek to try and take it using the same system of power that you hate… This will fail, in fact, your scheme has failed before it has even begun.”
Brokenridge did not bother to quiet the rumbling growl that vibrated through his chest at the being’s mockery. Godling or not, he would see just how well that cloth could hold up against the snap of his fangs.
“Now, now.” She waved him down in a conciliatory manner. “Your ambition is laudable, but impossible unless you are willing to change. Like, will never change like. You must be different if you want to supplant that which you hate.”
The rumble died slowly in his chest at her words, and he breathed in her scent again, attempting to gain some grasp of the being that dared suggest anything besides the superiority of his race. Strange scents floated in amongst the ash and char. Images flashed through his mind as he attempted to place them: a balanced scale, silver... old paper? Pervading it all he sensed the Beginning on her, something that he recognized by instinct, not experience.
Dragons were some of the first creatures on the plane, and some memory of that explosive time remained locked deep in their blood.
Nonetheless, Brokenridge refused to be some pawn in the convoluted games the “lords” of this new Epoch played.
“I refuse. I will defeat my enemies with my own strength or not at all. I will never serve another.”
“Ah… But you already serve a master you do not know.” She answered, quirking a smile.
Brokenridge roared at the insult, “Dragons serve none but ourselves!”
“You are truly a poor servant to yourself if you have sought your benefit. From where I am standing, it looks like you are worse off than you have ever been.”
Brokenridge’s mind blanked in rage, and he lunged forward in the blink of an eye, snapping his jaws closed on her relaxing form.
The clack of empty teeth cracked through the forest and his eyes narrowed even further. He pulled back and refocused on his prey, who had bent down to pick up something at her feet that positively thrummed with Mana. The movement had looked slow but put her upper body just below where his strike should have torn her in two.
More trickery… He hated trickery.
“Look, I know you are an honest Dragon, so I have gone to great trouble to shape what I propose in Scorch. You may look it over and see its intent completely.”
That caught Brokenridge’s attention. Very few outside his race understood the draconic equivalent of writing. Many thought because Dragons could read, that they simply used an inferior form of communication when they were not speaking face to face. That this Godling claimed to not only understand Scorch but to be able to write it was truly intriguing…
Seeing her opportunity in his hesitance, the two-leg unwrapped the object, revealing a perfect triangle of dragon glass, etched all over with the unmistakable glowing symbols of the dragon language.
He breathed it in deeply, taking in its sight and scent as he unraveled the dense symbols and smells, unpacking the layers of enchantment they represented…
It was an augmentation of his soul-chamber magic, an inborn ability of all dragon-kind. Yet this augmentation was tailored to his exact Mana signature. Some of the concepts were foreign to him, which was the most impressive thing he had seen yet from the Godling. Where had she gotten this information?
Some things, however, he understood immediately. This would radically expand the boundaries of his soul chamber, and the list of things he would be able to benefit from as unprocessed treasure would grow exponentially. There was mention of the activation of some object of power to initiate the transformation, but no such object existed to his knowledge. It seemed to reference Land allegiance being held by some other entity or being.
“This is interesting, but nonsense… This makes use of things that cannot and do not exist. In fact, the fifth and third principles are based on laws that have not been established.” He finished, sighing in disappointment at the waste of what was obviously the work of a master.
“-Yet” She answered covering up the dragon glass and tucking it away.
Her single-word answer stuck in his mind like a splinter, as understanding slowly lodged its way into his brain. All of the unknowns about this encounter fell into place, forming a single cohesive conclusion.
“…Fatewatcher” He muttered, ducking his head low and baring all of his fangs, in the closest thing a dragon could show to respect.
“Correct.” she smiled, emphasizing his revelation with a pointed finger. “He who took everything from you will not sit on the throne forever. Your time to challenge him will come, but this is the only path that moves toward that end.” She said lifting the covered object.
“Furthermore, your opportunity will not come for Epochs yet… Now tell me dragon, are you willing to wait to obtain your greatest desire?”
Brokenridge redid the calculations on how long it would take him to reascend to his previous heights before he had been cast out and then surpass them enough to challenge the King of the High Mount… Millenia at least.
“I can wait.” He breathed, allowing a lazy contented smoke to coil up from his nostrils,
“Tell me where the weave is going, Fatewatcher.”
END B2