It appears these journals are a lot more difficult to translate than I originally anticipated. Some pages are smeared, nigh unreadable, while others have full passages I just do not understand. My husband has had to rub my neck to smooth out the tension this damned journal has caused, but I digress. It keeps my mind busy, and I am not reluctant to do this self-instructed task.
Before I get to these passages, however, I must speak with Falkend– for though the both of us, along with Synbaor the Falcon and Sereane of the Snow Fennies, were there to advise the King Caertydin, he alone has the best memory of this sacred history and I do not wish to be incorrect in my retelling of such events.
…
The Lady Ciluyue has requested I write what I know to be true of the events between the year 2514 and the year 2601 in what today is known as The Draconic Civil War. Before this time, it was Dúleardi's wish that the Eldengar pay visit and tribute to the King of the Sky Plane, therein advising the lord to venture down into the Lower Realm; for a shift in the balance of both nature and power were both scried by the goddess in one of her dream baths, foretelling the downfall of the Sky Plane– thus seeking to save the drakenfolk of their possible extinction, as their ancestors– the dragons– had been wrought before.
After the time of Fiachialmar of the Red Sky's death, a trial was held in which Rathnar of Clan Dius, the accused, was wrongly found guilty of murder; the evidence being his sword and scabbard which had, after the tragedy, been smothered with the victim's blood in an effort to blame the accused of a crime he did not commit. How this was done is uncertain to my memory, but I can confirm Clan Dius' claim to suspicion of the evidence being tampered with; and so distrust, as well as Azarül's words during the previous council, had sewn discord between the two clans from that moment onward, being the first means to spark the war that would carry on for the next two hundred years.
Azarül and Caertydin would agree to war when murders from both sides grew so large in number, action would be the only recourse. This included, but is not limited to the following:
Of Clan Dius; Cattamon ll, Syrriel erh Denteth, Guardenach erh Losbius, Gueniv erh Losbius, Ust of the Brilliant Flame, Ust ll, and Ust lll.
Of Clan Red Sky; Freadeth erh Faramond, Costigurr erh Craghdara, Spethelhem the Boar Head and his daughter, Aristed erh Spethelhem, and Diadimus the Half-Burned.
After searching through battle records written by Caille scribes from that era, I have found the more prominent battles. The struggle was tightly balanced in the early years of the war. The Battle of Feirmuin in the north, 2557, was won by Red Sky, though it cost Azarül his brother, Sierbhasioc. This battle allowed Red Sky to take half of the south, while reinforcing the west. The Battle over the Fyrofskyn Mountains, 2564, was an integral territory struggle which saw the deaths of many drakenfolk, including Commander Kaersamion the Sky Terror from Clan Dius and Commander Talion the Silver-Winged from Red Sky; both great legends from the earlier wars. In the end, this fight was won by Clan Dius, who spread across all the Northland in the span of a year.
The power of the Red Sky seemed to wane against Clan Dius around the year 2586, when, in The Battle of Faengulet, the clan broke through Red Sky lines and dominated the South– and over the next few years, extending their reach towards the Caille fortress of Caerduvies in the southwest.
May this information serve and educate you well.
Falkend the Wise, First of the Order of Eldengar; The Hand of Itrit.
…
Y2601
Regret is a bitter taste. I only wish I did not know Fiachialmar or his brood, however kind and honorable a drake he was. Those I fight with, even, cannot seem to help bearing a grudge against me, as they see the reason for this struggle hung in the air around me; but I am innocent– and I grew to be uncaring of what they think, for I and my commander both know the truth.
There is no point pleading my case to either King Caertydin nor Azarül, but my suspicions about the situation lie around the feet of those in the tent whence Fiachialmar was found murdered. I spoke with Arncael of this and he agreed we should visit the abode of the Cailles, Caerduvies, where I could determine Hakbalut innocent of the crimes. Fortune seemed to smile on us this year as we reached the bastion undeterred, though a stench permeated the grounds as if the keep had been unkempt for decades. This did not appear unusual at first, for the Cailles were very close to nature and used it in its entirety– all the way down to the last organ from even the smallest of woodland creatures.
We scoured the area, taking note of the animal carcasses hung like drapes over entrances to shacks and fox heads on poles with wax candles in their muzzles to light the night. It was an unpleasant experience that showed when a few of the warriors puked up their breakfast in the bushes, only to find the branches wrapped in indiscernible intestines. What warding rituals these mages had were clearly of a barbaric time long past, though it must've proved ineffective to whatever came before us as signs of a struggle began to present itself in disconcerting manners.
Upon entering through the keep's western gate, three drakes led by Arncael's lieutenant, Halig the Bright-Scales, began to scale up the fort's nearest tower in search of sentries, kicking some rubble on their way up and making the pebbles sound ungraciously down to the dirt with a slight echo. The day was unnervingly still as no one was to be found.
"Where the hell are they?" I asked under my breath. Arncael shrugged in his armor.
"It is unknown how they act," he replied," perhaps they all went on a hunt."
"With no sick or elderly?" I growled," no children? Women?"
He turned to me with a curious grin. "Since when have you seen a child or female Caille?"
"Well how else are they to reproduce?" I asked. Arncael pondered that for a moment.
"Magic?"
"Magic." I crossed my arms, and he shrugged again.
"Well how am I supposed to know how the Cailles reproduce, Rathnar? Do you believe I sit here and study them? Watch them eat and drink and sleep? Bathe? Fuck? No, I don't even want to know… Gods praise whatever drake has to endure even visiting this shit-pit withou–"
He was interrupted by a noise from the tower. Some rubble fell again, but then we heard rapidly- descending footsteps. Halig came into sight with a look of both confusion and concern, so we asked after his thoughts.
"We found bodies," he reported," the sentries were killed. Charred and maimed as if… it must have been drakes– bloodlusted…"
"All warriors, be ready!" Arncael shouted, unsheathing his sword," we may not be alone here!"
I sniffed the air, finding a putrid stench among the other unsavory scents, then followed its aroma to a hut with a deer-hide curtain. I unsheathed my own blade then moved the skin to one side, dropping my blade when I saw what was inside.
"More here!" I shouted. Arncael came to inspect the scene, but winced at the sight. These bodies, too, were charred and maimed, but the first Arncael and I were to witness. We would find many more, and not a soul alive to tell the tale.
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No one attacked us that day, for they were long gone. We found evidence scattered across the remains that the Red Sky were to blame, though could not know the meaning behind such a tragedy; a hand-clutched remnant of the Red Sky banner, scattered scales of varying colors from wounds caused by desperate mages, even an arm from a drake who was unlucky enough to be amputated. The messengers were sent westward, back down the lines to reach the ear of the king, who a week later decided to see for himself what had happened. He appeared unreadable when shown the carcasses, and did not say one word for two days.
Arncael had been summoned on the third day and decided that I, and Halig, were both to accompany him. After gathering the evidence, we went to the king's tent that had been set up outside the fortress, guarded by two house-drakes who let us pass after we'd given up our weapons. Caertydin was motionless as we bowed our respects, but lifted his head at the first word, as if he'd not known we had entered.
"Lord King." Arncael spoke and was greeted with a nod.
"Lord Arncael," the king replied," and the lords Rathnar and Halig. What information have you brought me?"
Arncael looked to me and I dutifully dropped a furled bear cloak at the king's feet. The hide unraveled to reveal the evidence, yet the king remained motionless. It took a few heartbeats, but then the king beckoned the arm brought to him, and Halig was the one to do so. The king sniffed the arm, repelled, then dropped it loftily as if the arm meant nothing.
"It is from Eagaleir," he scoffed," one of Azarül's household troops. The gods damn them all…"
"What should we do, lord king?" Arncael asked, but the king waved.
"There is no redemption in this act," he stated," the Red Sky is now beyond forgiveness. A whole people– slaughtered… and for what?"
"We have yet to find out, my lord," I growled," but given time, I am sure we will find out."
"The war is coming to a close," Caertydin said," Azarül may be irredeemable, but he has honor. When the time is right, he will come to me."
"His head should be on a pike," Halig spat," his whole clan, even."
Upon hearing these words, the king shook his head. He looked pained and remorseful, and it showed all the more when he turned his head to look at the amputated arm, which he stared at in silence for a long while. We three, his subjects, remained still, though our thoughts were the same in that moment, as if something twined them together into one sentence: 'why would our sister clan do this?'
"I feared for this," the king spoke, finally," for you younger folk to despise one another. It should never have happened."
I knew his words were meant for all of us, but I felt he spoke his last words to me, as if he began to think I had killed Fiachialmar, though his conscience outweighed his wavering thoughts and he shook his head again.
"The Red Sky will be dealt with," he said, in finality," when this is all over. They will be punished."
We bowed our heads and he waved his hand, a sign that our conversation had ended. We left his tent, retrieved our weapons, then went off to investigate the grounds further.
We pulled all the carcasses together. Some were untarnished and distinguishable, though their names we did not know. Most of the dead had lived and stayed in Caerduvies, never having the chance to make a name for themselves; though I suppose that was the custom for their kind, as unorthodox as it was– and it was until this tragedy occured that they remained safe from the dangers of the world, which made it all the more damning that they were slaughtered to extinction.
It came to my thoughts that the younger of these mages must have been plucked from the Lower Realm and brought here; and I believed we would never know for certain until I remembered Hakbalut, the elder who led the procession those many years ago, so I asked around about his quarters but could not find an answer. Not one of us have been here before, and I felt it unfit to ask the king who, I was sure, had been here in the past; though I knew it would prod wounds that have not yet closed, so I would be sure to ask him at a later time. In any case, it was just not the most important thing. We needed to give these beings closure.
We decided it fit to build a pyre to send them off into the next life. We did not know their customs but, given their affinity for nature, it seemed fitting; and as we lit the last fires in the night did we promise to avenge them, for we felt they did nothing to deserve this atrocity. It was then, during the night, as the flames danced up to the stars, that three riders approached the encampment outside of the keep. Unrest began, but Arncael, Halig and I threw around orders to calm everyone before venturing out to meet the newcomers.
Caraghan, the White Snake, was one of the three. I still respected him, even after all of these years, and the warm smile on his face confirmed he still had some respect for me as well. He greeted us, then introduced his comrades. The rider on his left was called Chernalosq, of whom I remember hearing about in the campaigns to the north. He was a lieutenant under Talion, a Red Sky commander who had perished to a lesser drake's blade. Talion bowed respectfully, but leered at me with obvious contempt. His companion, who was named Slavkras'Nebu– who insisted we called him Nebu– did the same. Caraghan, it seemed, was the only one who was happy to see me.
"Though you, Lord Rathnar," Nebu spat," may not use my name at all." I looked him up and down, then grimaced.
"Do you wish to fight, scálaílag?" I growled.
He got off his saddle, then began to approach me. Arncael and Halig put their hands on their sword hilts, but I held up a hand. A scálailag was an insult, meaning 'weak scales' and, by calling him such a name, I had made it clear I judged him weaker than me.
"L'acabras," he announced. I looked to Caraghan, as Nebu was his subordinate; and that we were at war, and such traditional values were only upheld during peacetime. Caraghan nodded, as I'd expected. I remember him saying he appreciated strength, and valued it just as much as one's honor.
We made a circle with branches. Halig announced the challenge and those who did not have an important task came to witness the fight. Bets were placed as Nebu and I readied ourselves. I changed into my draconic form, my moss-green scales crawling out from the pores of my skin and my face contorting into a snout. My horns protruded out from my skull as my teeth were pushed inwards to be replaced by fangs.
The Red Sky did not like to skin-change as we did. Most drakes, usually in Clan Dius, preferred the smoothness of skin in a casual setting and only used our draconic forms when we fought, whereas the Red Sky found their pride as descendants to the dragons outweighed their comfort, even going so far as to polish their scales in their daily routines. Caraghan, for one, shone bright amidst the pyres of the dead that night, as well Nebu's light-gray scales reflected in the moonlight.
All fell silent as Nebu and I challenged each other's gaze. It was Caraghan who started the fight by spitting a small ball of fire over our heads.
Nebu struck first, his sword arm swinging diagonally across my chest, but I dodged it, parrying the sword at my waist's height to throw it off balance, then turned with the momentum; I sliced the air as he ducked, then he swiped upward quickly, causing me to jump backwards to avoid the edge of his blade. Before I could land, he thrusted the blade forward, which hit between scales in my right shoulder. The force of my retreat disallowed him to cause a deep puncture wound, but I was pierced nonetheless. I did not feel the sting, as my blood began to boil with adrenaline.
He was quick. Very quick. He allowed me respite, though I was sure he was plotting his next move. I growled, then spat a ball a flame at him to stop him from thinking. He dodged it easily to the left, but I used the distraction to cut at him, yet he parried my blow. Not just quick, but attentive, yet I had formulated my plan quicker than he could. I hooked my foot on his shin and lifted, making him drop to his knee, then rolled over his back and thrust the blade under him and into his chest. He howled in pain, dropping his sword to grab onto mine.
I allowed him respite, mocking his earlier generosity. He used the time to pull the sword out quickly and throw it to the side, but the pain was immense and he dropped to his knees. I picked up my sword and kicked his back towards him. He looked up at me with pain and a hint of fear.
"You wanted to fight," I growled at him.
"I… will not yield," he growled back.
"You need only say so," I said as he picked up his sword.
"My pride… will not allow me," he spat between breaths," not especially to a murderer!"
He swung at me desperately but I easily knocked it to the side. I inhaled long; and then, in my rage, I cooked him alive. We stood there for a few heartbeats as he screamed, bathing in the fires birthed from my stomach acid, and then he dropped. He had not crisped like the Cailles had, but the heat caused his gray scales to fracture on top of his burning flesh. He stayed on his knees, staring at me with disbelief; his body now sizzling from his blood seeping into the small flames that took residence on patches of his body.
"Weak scales," I spat," just as I said."
Then I drove my blade into his neck. Coin was passed around as I cleaned my sword off on Nebu's shirt, then Caraghan approached me.
"If it is any consolation," Caraghan said to me," I am of a few in the Red Sky to believe you innocent."
That surprised me. "Have you told Azarül?"
He nodded. "He does not care what I think. Yet, I have been enjoying myself. 87 years of violence, so far, and I am not bored."
"I'd hate to fight you myself," I told him," I don't really want to if I can help it. Matter of fact, I respect you too much."
"That would not stop me from killing you, I'm afraid," Caraghan smirked," though when you die, trust you will never be forgotten."
"When?" I repeated.
"When." Caraghan agreed, then looked over at Nebu's body. I did the same.
"Who did you bet on?"
Caraghan whistled, and Chernalosq approached. The drake grimaced, then handed Caraghan a pouch.
"You got lucky, murderer," was all he said, then he went off to tend to the horses. Arncael and Halig came to join us, and Caraghan apologized for the disrespect Nebu may have given. I waved him off, winced in the sudden pain in my shoulder, and Caraghan smiled at me. Arncael sent Halig to get some bandages, and the lieutenant left in a hurry.
"It is good to see you again, Lord Rathnar," he said," and you as well, Commander Arncael. I am sorry we are on opposing sides."
"What brings you here?" Arncael asked.
"I have come to see the sage, Hakbalut," he told me," the last skirmish left a lot of wounded on our side, and we need special herbs. We… did not know you would be here."
Arncael and I exchanged glances.
"You… weren't here before?" Arncael asked.
"No," Caraghan said," though there were rumors among the ranks that Azarül and his household troops were to visit Caerduvies for an unknown reason. Is he still here?"
"No." I answered bluntly.
"No?" Caraghan asked, curious," wonder where he could have gone.. with so little territory we have left, he must've gone–"
"–they're all dead, Lord Caraghan," Arncael interrupted. Caraghan looked at him, his red eyes narrowing. He must have assumed Arncael meant Azarül and his troops had been killed, but Arncael continued.
"The Cailles. Hakbalut might've been killed as well, but we could not distinguish him among the dead."
"Dead?" Caraghan asked. We nodded.
"We believe it was genocide," I said," unless Hakbalut was gone from here, I doubt anyone would have left for any reason. I would speak with the king on what he knows, but I don't know how much influence I have at the moment."
Caraghan must have suspected something, but did not seem to mind the subtle accusation.
"Commander," Caraghan straightened himself, speaking with an authoritative tone," you and I will go speak with your chieftain. Perhaps we can find out more of the situation."
"Lord Caraghan, one more thing," I said, now holding my shoulder as the pain began to surge," do you know a drake by the name of Eagaleir?"
Caraghan looked at me with surprise, then nodded slowly.
"My nephew?"
"Y…your nephew?" I stuttered, then looked at Arncael, who shrugged. I took it as a sign that I might as well get it over with, so I bore the bad news.
"His arm lies in the king's tent. It is… how we believe Azarül is at fault here."
Caraghan stayed silent for a few heartbeats. Then, he breathed in slowly and exhaled a bout of steam.
"Let us get to the bottom of this, commander."
Arncael nodded, and the two left for the king's tent. I watched the pyres burn.