Tortilladas, the 26th of Lost Speed, 4E 201

Kharla stuck the butt of her spear into the snow yet again as they rounded the final part of the Thrill of the World and stood before the peak. They’d journeyed back to Wintercold by foot, slept the night in the inn, and Sprinted the next morning to the hot tubs of High Healthspa. Kharla would go somewhere with less snow when this was all over. There seemed to have been far too much snow on their travels of late.

Poorthorax looked at them as they approached the Weird Wall upon which he was perched. Above the dragon, Kharla noticed a ripple in the sky, a slice of convulsing light and colors like a great rip.

“You have it. The Kodger Skribal—the Elderly Scrawl.” The creature looked up at the rip in the sky. “Time shudders at its touch. There is no question.” He looked back down at them. “You are gloom-driven. The very earth moans beneath your feet. Come then. Fulfil your destiny here beneath the Time-Wound. Do not delay. Alun will be coming. He cannot miss the signs.”

The dragon indicated toward the Weird Wall as six stone slabs swung down from the bottom of the wall to provide seating. “Sit here, all of you, and hold up the Elderly Scrawl before you and gaze upon its words.”

They all took a seat and Kharla held the tatty piece of paper up. They’d looked at the Scrawl already, of course, but it was all illegible scrawlings much as a child might make. This time, however, the words seemed to become clearer though Kharla still couldn’t quite make sense of them:

Wehay opehay ouyay enjoyway ouryay ewnay entertainmentway ervicesay, Ethay Elderlyway Awlscray - Agondray ackagepay. Ustjay eadray andway openway atway away lacepay erewhay ouyay ancay etgay away oodgay ignalsay (omewherehay ighhay) andway ouyay ouldshay ebay oodgay otay ogay. Ethay annelchay ouyay’llway ickpay upway illway ependday onway ouryay ocationlay. Appyhay iewingvay!

It grew darker as Poorthorax spread his wings across the Wall forming a roof above them, and as he did so an image flickered into life, projected, or so it seemed, from the Scrawl. All eyes turned to the moving image as it played out as if on a large screen before them.

“I’m looking forward to this,” said Poorthorax. “It’s been a while. I have a mention in this one, did I tell you?”

The sound of dragon fire filled their ears. At first, Kharla thought it was Poorthorax but then realized the sound was somehow coming from the moving image itself. The image blurred orange-red, but it was clear enough to see it was the peak. They were looking at the peak in the moving image even as Kharla could still see the real peak behind it.

Fire spilled into the image briefly and a Nord, dressed in ancient Nord armor, came running into view, a great two-handed axe on his back. Thral perked up and started watching eagerly.

“That’s Hackin One-Ear,” Poorthorax’s voice came from above.

“Gormlass! We’re running out of time! The battle…” Hackin’s words faltered as a dragon approached from the sky. The Nord unhitched the great axe from his back.

“Today Alun’s lordship will be restored,” said the dragon, landing near the Nord. “But I honor your courage. Maroo nowr, uhn warg. Die now, in vain.”

The Nord didn’t hesitate to attack. “For Skewrim!”

The Nord and dragon battled, the warrior skilfully avoiding the dragon’s jaws as he struck the beast with the blade of his axe, though it seemed to do little harm.

“Come on!” shouted Eilgird. “Slay the thing! Put your back into it!”

“You do know he can’t hear you, right?” said Draloth. “This has already happened. Long ago.”

A woman in plate armor, tall and with blonde curls, bearing a fine sword in her hand, suddenly appeared. “Hyah! Know that Gormlass sent you down to death!”

“That’s Gormlass Goldilocks,” Poorthorax interjected.

“Shh!” said Ti’lief. “This one is listening.”

Gormlass jumped onto the dragon’s head and thrust her sword into its skull. Its body slumped to the ground.

She jumped down. “Hackin! A glorious day, is it not!”

Hackin leant on his axe. “Have you no thought beyond the blooding of your blade?”

Gormlass smiled. “Haha! Only that I don’t get any blood in my hair. Dragonblood is a nightmare to wash out.”

Hackin sighed and looked away toward the edge of the mountain. “The battle below goes ill. If Alun does not rise to our challenge, I fear all may be lost.”

Gormlass ran a hand through her blonde locks of hair. “You worry too much, brother. Victory will be ours. Are you sure there’s no blood in my hair?”

“Why does Alun hang back? We’ve staked everything on this plan of yours, old man,” said Hackin.

The scene zoomed out and another man came into sight. An old man, dressed somewhat like the Greatbeards, and with a great sword on his back. “He will come. He cannot ignore our defiance or all the cow carcasses we’ve littered around the place.”

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“We’ve blooded him well, Feeldire. Four of his kin have fallen to my blade alone this day,” announced Gormlass.

“But none have yet stood against Alun himself,” said Feeldire. “Goforit, Surly, Birk…”

“They did not have the Dragonbend. Once we bring him down, I promise I will have his head,” Gormlass interrupted.

Feeldire shook his head. “You do not understand. Alun cannot be slain like a lesser dragon. He is beyond our strength…which is why I brought the Elderly Scrawl.”

Hackin turned to the old man. “Feeldire! We agreed not to use it!”

“I never agreed. And if you are right, I will not need it.”

“No,” Hackin gripped his weapon more tightly. “We will deal with Alun ourselves, here and now,” affirmed Hackin.

“We shall see soon enough,” said Gormlass, looking up. “Alun approaches!”

Kharla watched as the great black beast approached and her blood began to boil.

The three Nords all raised their weapons.

“So be it!” shouted Hackin.

Alun landed on the Weird Wall and uttered something in the dragon tongue that Kharla couldn’t understand. Leeks again. Daffodils…

“Let those who watch from Songunbard envy us this day!” shouted Gormlass.

Alun took to the air and, as at Helga, fiery meteorites came crashing down from the sky.

Then Feeldire uttered a Shout. “Flor Thaht Fing!”

A blue energy wrapped around Alun, bending his wings shut and bringing him to the ground.

Mell clapped excitedly as a swirl of colors and a rush of wind seemed to emanate from the moving images all around them.

“What have you done?” cried Alun. “What twisted Words have you created? Poorthorax! My teeth to his chest!” The great black dragon’s head swung toward the Nords. “But first…duh anji dee uhoo hoon...you will die in terror, knowing your final fate…to feed my power to bore when I come for you in Songunbard!”

“If I die today, it will not be in terror. And I will never grow bored, either in this life or the next. You feel fear for the first time, worm. I see it in your eyes...” said Gormlass.

The Nords attacked the dragon as one, Feeldire shouting a breath of immense frost at Alun as he charged in.

“Skewrim will be free!” shouted Gormlass just before Alun’s jaws closed about her and crushed the life from her, and then tossed her to the ground.

A crunching sound broke the silence and everyone turned to see Ti’lief nibbling on a honey nut treat.

“Sorry,” said the Khapiit.

“Noooo! My sister!” cried Hackin, tears in his eyes. He turned to Feeldire, his voice broken. “It’s no use! Use the Scrawl! Use it now! Shout! Shout! Let it all out!”

“These are the things I can do without!” roared Alun.

The old Nord withdrew and raised his voice. “Hold, Alun! Come on, I’m talking to you. Come on, I’m talking to you!”

“In violent times you shouldn’t have to sell your soul,” uttered Hackin, leaning heavily upon his axe now as he wearied from battle, his eyes staring at the lifeless form of his sister on the ground.

“Grant us the sacred signal to make contact!” Feeldire held aloft the Scrawl and unfolded it. “Begone, World-Sleeper! By lyrics with older tones than your own, we break your chart ranking on this age and send you out! You are banished! Relegated! Alun, we shout you out from all our listings unto the last!”

Alun knocked Hackin to the ground and drew in his breath to wreath the Nord warrior in deadly flame, but before he could do so a green sphere of dancing energy encased the dragon, wrapping around him. Binding him.

“You are banished!” shouted Feeldire.

And Alun was gone.

“Hooray!” shouted Mell and Eilgird together.

“It worked,” said Hackin. “You did it.”

“Yes, the World-Sleeper is gone…may the spirits have mercy on our souls,” said Feeldire.

The moving images before Kharla faded to black and a few words appeared as it came to an end. Mell read them out. “Alun — played by himself, Hackin One-Ear — played by himself, Gormlass Goldilocks — played be herself, Feeldire the Old — played by himself. Filmed on location at the Peak of the Thrill of the World. No animals were harmed during filming except for two very evil dragons. In memory of Gormlass Goldilocks — Beloved Sister, Heroine of Songunbard.”

“Well, I thought that was very good,” said Eilgird, slipping her helmet back on.

Draloth nodded. “Yes, I liked the way they contrasted the bleak frozen landscape with the warm orange glow, like dragonfire melting snow.”

“Did you catch the reference to me?” asked Poorthorax as he drew back his wings and bent his head down toward them.

But before he could be indulged a large shadow fellow over them all. They looked up to see Alun hovering above.

“Roo-inh hlown. My belly is full of the souls of your fellow mortals, Dafyddkiin. Bored into slumber by my Voice! Die now and await the same fate in Songunbard!”

“You are too late, Alun!” roared Poorthorax who then started coughing and turned to Thral. “Use Dragonbend, if you know it! I’ll distract him!”

Poorthorax launched himself into the sky as the others all drew their weapons. As the two dragons fought above, Kharla grabbed Thral.

“Right, everyone. After me: Flor Thaht Fing! Flor Thaht Fing! Flor Thaht Fing!”

They all chanted the Dragonbend Shout.

“He is too strong on the wing!” shouted Poorthorax from above. “Bring him down with Dragonbend!”

“Right, Mell, we need that globe now!” said Kharla as she grabbed Thral’s head from behind and pointed his face up at Alun.

Thral sneezed and the blue energy they’d seen in the moving images seized Alun. The black dragon’s wings folded together and he crashed into the snow.

“Oh, not again!” Alun howled as he lifted his head.

Poorthorax perched on the Wall. “This is your chance. Strike with all your force!”

Poorthorax sent flames into the other dragon but then started coughing again as the rest moved in to strike with their weapons.

“Ouch!” cried Alun, raising himself away from the little bites of the weapons and back up into the sky.

Kharla and Mell again worked with Thral to send a second Dragonbend Shout at Alun.

The black dragon came crashing down again. “Will you stop doing that!”

Again, they attacked, Kharla shoving her spear into the dragon’s thick hide. Thral swung his warhammer hard into the body of the beast and Alun cried.

“Dafyddkiin, you have become strong. But I am Al-un, Firstborn of Mackintosh! I cannot be slain here, by you or anyone else! You cannot prevail against me. I will outlast you…mortal!”

And with that, Alun took flight and was gone before they could use the Shout again.