A roll of thunder reverberated across the sea of trees, echoing off of mountain and sky long after the discharge that bore it had ceased.
It was raining today.
Water endlessly spilled from clouds above, pitter-pattering down upon the canopy of dark green and ashen grey. Each drop flowed across leaves and branches, collecting in the places where one tree met another to drizzle through the gaps like a waterfall.
Stood in one of said waterfalls was the only human to be found for tens of kilometres in any direction. Ilya meticulously raked her fingers through her hair from root to tip, dislodging any grime or mud from her raggedy mane for the downpour to then wash away.
Any trace of filth had disappeared from her hair over ten minutes ago, and yet she continued: a quick double check turning into a quick triple check, and so on.
‘Still dirty! I can feel it!’ The slave girl obsessed. Her Queen deserved a servant that was pleasing to the eyes, not a street rat covered in filth. She deserved more than that- she deserved everything, this was just the start.
Lady Visnavik had been quite happy with her performance during the latest job, but that had been some time ago. She couldn’t expect victory to cover for her shortcomings forever- coasting on a single success would make her complacent.
Eventually the bitter chill of a stray breeze through the ashwoods forced Ilya to end her shower, retreating under cover to dry off.
Her scarf awaited her nearby, hung neatly over a branch alongside her top and chest piece. After gently squeezing as much excess water out of her hair as she could, Ilya used the soft woolly muffler to towel off the rest.
It did its best, but there was too much hair and far too much water in said hair for the scarf to hold. Despite their best combined efforts and the soaked final state of the scarf, Ilya’s hair was only slightly more dry then when she started.
Another terrible gale billowed across the forest, piercing straight through wet skin and into her bones. Ilya began to shiver. She couldn’t stay here, she had to get home or she would certainly catch something.
Well, no, that couldn’t happen anymore, not with her Queen’s magic protecting her.
Still, being cold for long periods could do serious harm even without disease to help. Street kids of Bearwood tended to disappear during the winter, their bodies only found with the first melts of spring, curled up on themselves in a useless effort to stay warm.
Ilya had avoided that end, mostly due to luck. The alley she had chosen to make her home was situated behind a distillery, and the pipes that ran outside the building provided desperately needed heat that her fluffy scarf had then helped retain.
Lady Visnavik served as a similar lifeline to her now, but unlike that lifeless pipe work, her new source of warmth was a sentient being: someone who could accept her boundless gratitude and someone she could devote a lifetime of service to.
Ilya let a tiny sincere smile form on her lips- a lifetime of service. It was hard to grasp: so much had happened in less than a month, she couldn’t imagine how different her life would be next year, next week, or even tomorrow.
What big task would her Queen send her on next time? What could she do now to prepare for then? How much praise and reward would she be showered with upon completing it? The future was filled with potential.
She slapped both palms to her cheeks, reigning in her fantasies. ‘Focus.’ Under Her Lady’s service the future was guaranteed, if only she stayed anchored on her tasks in the now.
Hastily throwing her clothes back on, Ilya made a break for home, enduring the discomfort of wet fabric to expedite her departure.
As she dashed through the forest, warming her blood with activity, the razor edge of Lady Visnavik’s black scale effortlessly felled any greenery in her way.
It felt strange, treating such a priceless artifact like a simple tool- it was a piece of her Queen’s own body after all.
If left up to her, Ilya would treasure the scale with the respect and care it deserved- not dirty it by hacking through trees -but Lady Visnavik’s only order about the scale’s use involved cutting through whatever was in her way. So despite her misgivings, she followed her Lady’s order to the best of her ability, cutting a path straight toward home.
The black dragon’s deep breaths began to fill the air around her, gentle snores matching the low howling of wind through the trees. Ilya much preferred former to the later and the comforting sound energized her tired legs.
It was a short run to the swamp’s sloping edge, and she found that the dripping rainfall from the canopy had turned it into a proper slide. Wrapping the scarf around her head to ensure no mud splashed up into her freshly cleaned hair, Ilya hopped onto the slope and rode the frictionless surface down into the dark water below.
As soon as her boots slid into the muck, her back lit up with welcome warmth, reacting to the countless diseases her Lady had tainted the waters with over the centuries. Ilya sighed, the chill of the rain fading away.
She hadn’t even gone that far, but it was good to be home regardless.
Lady Visnavik was expectedly asleep when she arrived, her sharp angular face as relaxed as it could possibly be as dreams of death and suffering played out behind her closed eyes.
Ilya just stood and stared at her mistress for a time, smiling when she saw the majestic beast’s nose twitch. A leaf had dropped out of the canopy and now rested on her Queen’s snout, causing her brow to droop and lip to curl in irritation.
Slowly and quietly, Ilya snuck over to remove the offending object, as was her duty. The dragon’s head was huge, and so she had to really stretch to grasp the leaf without brushing against any part of her Lady’s face and accidentally waking her.
A quick pinch and twist of the wrist sent the leaf lazily drifting down into the swamp to be consumed by the black waters and vanish from sight.
With the irritant gone, her Queen returned to peaceful slumber- another job completed to perfection, she could step back.
Yet she did not: Ilya’s hand lingered, floating just above her Lady’s snout. It itched to descend, to lay itself upon the smooth skin of tiny scales and gently stroke the dreaming beast with the affection she deserved.
Her left hand bolted out to grasp her right wrist tightly, preventing the offending appendage from acting on its desires.
Ilya pulled herself back, stepping off the dais of soil and back into the muck, still holding her arm. Only when she had sat down on her nest of leaves and fur and clothes did she let go, allowing the two hands to come together and fidget.
At least from her tiny dry corner she could still see her Queen’s sleeping face.
Minutes of fidgeting and staring later it was clear she had to keep her hands busy somehow, lest she tear her own nails off in agitation.
Snapped branches of ashwood sat in a pile nearby- wood she had gathered to build a fire before realizing she knew nothing about starting one. The sight of the pile and the angle of some of the breaks brought her back weeks earlier to the goal she had given herself.
She had plenty of wood and she had an extremely sharp blade: she could carve if she wanted to. But that same thought process from the run home stopped her before she could get too excited.
Should she be using her Queen’s scale for personal crafts projects?
They weren’t truly personal, she rationalized, critiquing her own question. The act of carving was meant to improve the speed and skill she had with her hands, so that her tasks could be completed all the better.
As much as she wished to cherish the shard of her Queen, what mattered the most in the end was her usefulness as a servant.
Ilya picked up one of the wider sticks, placing it next to her while she unwound her Queen’s scale from its protective leather wrappings- not protective for the scale mind you, it was surely indestructible, but protective for her and her clothing. It only took a slight amount of downward pressure before she lost both her pockets and a large amount of blood.
This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.
Taking both the wood and the scale in her hands, Ilya thought of that old man sitting outside the cafe, whittling away the marks of age. His grandson never understood the craft or saw its use, but Ilya would try.
Performing the movements as she remembered him doing, the scale’s sharp edge smoothly cut through the bark to the heartwood within, curling it into little spirals as she shaved off layer after layer.
She rotated the stick to cut at different angles in an attempt to shape the wood into something less uniform; something resembling the subject sleeping across the swamp from her.
The end result was far from what she imagined, looking more like a misshapen spear or arrow point than her Lady’s lovely face. The cuts were clean and smooth as expected, but her wobbly grip and untrained eye meant that their position and direction were almost entirely random.
Ilya tossed the stick to the side with a pout, flopping over to lay on her ‘bed’- it would be a long time before she could make anything good enough to show her Queen. She would pick it up and try again some other time, but for now she simply laid there, trying to match her breathing to the great dragon’s.
‘I should ask her about the scale.’ Ilya thought, cheek pressed into a sweet smelling scrap of clothing. ‘I need a proper answer If I plan on practising often.’
Deep her in own thoughts she almost didn’t notice the changes in the black dragon’s breathing, but the deep inhale through her nostrils as Lady Visnavik stirred from rest was loud and impossible to miss.
Ilya jumped to her feet, ignoring the sudden lightheadedness as she removed the scarf from around her head and brushed the now dry hair frantically with her fingers.
“Good morning, my Queen. “ She greeted as the dragon’s eyes fluttered open, offering a quick bow. “I hope you slept well.”
Lady Visnavik’s sleepy half-lidded eye scanned her from bottom to top and Ilya squirmed under the gaze. She hoped her grooming had made a noticeable impact.
“Mm.” The great dragon hummed contentedly in reply. Though probably in reference to her words, Ilya chose to believe the sound meant her appearance was acknowledged and satisfactory.
The fins along Lady Visnavik’s spine made a flapping sound when stood up to shake and stretch. “The moisture in the air pleases me.” She declared, and it was visible in her body language and mannerisms. The black dragon was in a good mood.
Maybe in a good enough mood to give her loyal servant guidance.
“…My Queen, may I ask a question?” She started hesitantly, approaching the great dragon- if she was shut down she would have to figure it out on her own.
Lady Visnavik regarded her for a quiet moment, motionless except for her breathing. “Speak. I will determine then if it is worth a reply.” She eventually allowed.
“This scale, my Queen.” She held up the dark fragment of her liege, her grey eyes subconsciously jumping to spot on her Queen’s neck it had come from. “I… I wanted to know how best to use it- how you want it to be used or not used, so that I don’t waste your precious gift.”
“Is that all?” Lady Visnavik’s brow ridge rose slightly, glancing down at her. “Such a simple thing to answer. I want one thing of that scale.”
“Drench it in blood.”
“Eh?” The words were just as simple as Lady Visnavik said they would be, and yet Ilya still found herself surprised.
A devilish smirk formed on her Lady’s lips; she would eagerly elaborate. “When your tasks call for you to kill in my name… do so gladly and with great violence.”
“Maim their bodies, slice their flesh, nourish the earth with their spilled life force.” Her words gradually sped up as she grew excited. “Cut them down swiftly and without mercy; bring out the sweet songs of suffering and despair only cried in one’s final moments of terror!” An invisible pulse of dark energy rocketed through the clearing with the final shout, killing the wind and rustling boughs as it went.
“…That is how you may best use my scale.” She concluded, and Ilya absorbed her words readily. “As long as that is being done, you may do whatever else you wish with it.
A deep breath and sigh of contentment.
“Such talk of bloodshed has sparked my appetite.” The black dragon commented after the pause, taking a wide scan of her clearing. “Where did you and my minions bury the large one?”
“Around here, my Lady.” Ilya answered, responding to the sudden pivot by gesturing at a seemingly inane patch of the swamp where the group had buried the body.
Working alongside her co-workers for the first time was a bizarre experience to be sure, but they were dutiful, fast working, and responded when she offered input. Being voiceless vines and skeletons didn’t seem to affect the job or how they cooperated in the slightest.
They were all slaves of the black dragon, and a common truth was shared between them, one written into the summons’ very being at birth, and one Ilya came to on her own.
Whatever their Queen desired, she would have. They could deny her nothing, nor did they want to.
A shooing wave of her Queen’s claws bid her to back far away from the burial site, and not a moment after she left its radius, a single incredibly large vine burst from the ground. Tangled in its twisting form was the half putrefied corpse of Darius, horribly disfigured by his endless days of torment.
“Ah, there he is, the mighty paladin.” Lady Visnavik mocked derisively, griping his shoulder between her index and thumb claws. “So loyal to his cause- so stalwart in the face of evil.”
“What pleasure I took breaking him…” A gentle tug ripped the dead body’s arm clean out of the shoulder.
“My victims rarely retain the ability to speak sentences, but this one was very talkative- I learned much.” Ilya allowed a tiny smile to sit on her lips. Her Lady was being similarly talkative to her today, and she listened intently, carving the lilt of her Queen’s voice into her memory.
“For instance: these highlands have been orc territory as long as I can recall.” The great dragon continued to explain, gesturing around with her victim’s arm. “The last time I checked they still were, and so when humans started showing up- started building a town here, I was rather puzzled.”
“It seems a few hundred years ago the humans conquered the orc tribes, as this entire land is now human territory instead- a kingdom.”
Ilya had never really thought much about the orcs, so she wasn’t sure how to digest the information. For most of her life they had been the weird green humans who were bigger for some reason, and even after learning the truth, not a lot changed. At the end of the day they treated her no different than the humans, making the distinction irrelevant in her eyes.
She supposed it was interesting to learn about a place she had lived for so long- especially from her Queen’s perspective. So many years of life lived, sustained by so much power and filled with so few worries: her thoughts would be completely different from a weak and fearful human.
“Hm?” Lady Visnavik suddenly made a face, glancing down at the meat she had just bitten into. “This human tastes different.”
Ilya didn’t know what people were supposed to taste like; did people normally taste the same? They all looked pretty different on the outside. “Different, my Queen?”
Her Lady took another bite, her expression calculating. “It is the same fermented human I have eaten for many years, and yet there is a hint of something else familiar...”
The giant vine bent forward with a creak, bringing Darius’ corpse in close for scrutiny. Lady Visnavik examined the body, as well as the skeleton poking through the putrefying skin and muscle, eventually zeroing in on the paladin’s face- eternally frozen in a pained scream.
With a spit of acid, the man’s face melted away, disappearing into the dark water below and leaving behind clean white bone.
Ilya had seen many types of bones over her life- most of them in the last few weeks -and had become very accustomed to what a human skull looked like compared to say, a deer or a wolf.
Darius’ skull was very much a human’s, but like the rest of the man, it was… bigger, for lack of a better term. The jaw was bigger, the brow was bigger, the canines were much bigger: sticking up and down past the middle line where the rest of the teeth fit together.
“What is the meaning of this?” The dragon barked, willing the vine and the body away from her face. “Orc features, on a human skull?!” Lady Visnavik’s confusion set her gaze sideways at her slave as if to demand explanation.
“Um-“ Ilya fumbled, grasping at all the straws her brain could form. “People look like their parents right? Bearwood is full of orcs- who you said were already there- and also full of humans that moved in, maybe-”
“You suggest his sire or mare was an orc?” The great dragon cut her slave off, a disgusted sneer on her face. “War’s chosen, breeding with the enemy? Loving their conqueror?!” Such a thing belied their very nature as Chaos; it just didn’t make sense.
Not waiting for an answer to any of her questions, Visnavik’s eyes squinted suspiciously. “Are you trying to be funny slave? Is this a joke?”
Ilya shook her head rapidly. “No, my Queen, no jokes.” Joking just wasn’t something she did. There wasn’t much funny about the constant threat of death by starvation, and she didn’t have anyone to make laugh anyway.
The sudden mental image of Lady Visnavik cackling joyfully reminded her that wasn’t true anymore.
“I- I could try and come up with a real joke if you’d like?” She offered, face full of naive hope. “I would love to make you laugh, my Lady!”
All of Visnavik’s frustration left her as her expression deflated into a deep frown. “You will do no such thing.” Ilya deflated in kind, and the pair were left staring at each other, both silent and both frowning.
The black dragon sighed heavily after a moment before continuing to eat. “What has this world become?”
The dragon tore the last bit of flesh from the arm, using her long green tongue to lick off any remnants before tossing it toward her slave. “At least this one’s… abnormality… made for interesting flavours.”
Ilya caught the humerus in a underhanded hug, but the connective tissues tying the rest of the arm together gave way mid flight, sending the hand and forearm bones scattering into the swamp with a splash.
That would take a while to fish out. Ilya’s eyes briefly fell shut as she exhaled.
She was about turn to begin her work, but the thoughtful tapping of her Queen’s claw indicated she had more to say.
“It is interesting though.” Lady Visnavik mused, eyes tracing the golden details of the fallen paladin’s blade. “That a human kingdom could conquer these lands while I slept.”
“I wonder if on the little maps they make, they mark my forest as theirs.” Her Lady’s tone was mocking and unserious, but for Ilya, the concept struck a sudden nerve.
Her Lady Visnavik was her everything, her warmth in the cold, her bright future; she deserved everything in return. The idea that somebody could have the gall to try and steal from her Lady- try to pretend they owned what was rightfully hers…
She shifted her grip on the half orc’s bone, a palm held tightly around its head.
Squatters, laying claim to a land they knew belonged a being far greater than them, gambling on the black dragon’s love of sleep and a meagre drip of sacrifices to protect them from reprisal. It was insulting.
“You were here first, my Queen.” She grumbled, glaring at the dark water. “You are far stronger than them- far better. They should know their place.” Finders keepers, first dibs, might makes right. It was simple logic that even know nothing street rats had memorized. “They should just submit to you and feel lucky to serve.”
Lady Visnavik paused, as if surprised by her words; then a terrible grin split the dragon’s face in two. “What is your name, slave?”
Ilya jumped, shoved out of her anger by the sudden personal question. Her Queen was now looking down directly at her, and had asked for her name.
“Ah- I- uh-” She sputtered, unsteadied from the sudden attention. “Il- Ilya… m-my Queen…”
“Ilya…” The black dragon purred, and all the shadows of the swamp lengthened in unison, darkening until Visnavik’s looming silhouette was an infinite empty void. Only her irises stood out, glowing a bright noxious green. “My loyal slave…”
A pleasant shiver went down the girl’s spine to sit in her stomach. Her name spoken with that voice- it was suddenly very hard to breathe.
“I like what you just said very much.” Her Queen leaned in close, hot air shooting from her nostrils to hit the girl square in the face. “Say it again.”
Ilya quivered at the low cooing command, static sparks of excitement igniting a fire under her skin. That look was on her face again- that wide unnatural smile, there was no way it wasn’t. She couldn’t help it; the way her Lady’s praise made her feel, it just couldn’t stay contained inside.
“T-They should serve you, my Queen.” She declared breathlessly, and basking in the powerful shadow of her mistress, Ilya knew it to be true. “They should all serve and feel blessed to do so.”
The black dragon chuckled darkly, mirth growing and growing until she threw her neck back and began cackling towards the sky. The horrific roaring laughter echoed for kilometres in all directions, startling birds from their perches, wolves from their dens; causing the blood of even the fiercest direbeasts to run cold.
In the quiet logging town of Bearwood, a days march away, a dreadful storm hung overhead, blowing rain and leaves and trash through empty streets.
Every soul in town had nightmares that night, of a dark shadow looming over them as they slept; terrible green eyes glaring in the dark.
From the sketches of the author:
[https://i.imgur.com/6BZ4eKt.png]