NationStates Jolt Archive

Whoever was in charge of the library of the Tower of Silence in Britmattia was probably OD'ing on zanex, staring at the flood of Osage wakongi that were engulfing it, poring over every book and magazine, especially around the history section. They seemed to materialize out of the air, quite silently, never more than two or three.

The one in charge, for example, Kasaros. He seemed to be omnipresent, always with some foot-wide volume with a name like History of the Modern World or Ethnicities of Britmattia in his hand and a bookmark two-thirds of the way through.

That very man leaned his staff against the couch he was on, settled back, and leafed through The Idiot's Guide to Solar Politics, and the wakongi next to him doubted very much that a flame could devour it as fast as Irul was.

He had been here for weeks, reading volume after volume, soaking up all that Sol had to offer, newspapers and history books, acquainting himself deeply. He had read about and applied to Machiavelli Station, had a working knowledge of Solar history better than the average Solar inhabitant, and was immersing himself in the military technology of Sol, especially in their substitutes for wakon.

Idly, he closed the book. He had been reading it while simultaneously developing an idea that had formed in his head. He had explored several trains of thought that had ended in something he didn't want just yet, and had tossed them aside like so many wads of paper. And then had settled on one. The High Alchemist would know how to change them...Yes, it will work.

And he put up his book, leafed through another behind it, stared intently, and then picked up his pencil and began to draw angles...

Maybe the Patrician could see the resultant wakon-explosion as Kasaros appeared. He *was* still in Britmattia. Maybe he couldn't. Either way, there was another gleam, and that was the light on the wakondagi's staff. And that reflected off the large chest of gold that was now in front of the general. A white light connected with the thing in front of him, and Irul began to speak in its native tongue, a smirk drawn across his face.

I have need of your kind's services...

The gleam reflected not only on the metal. No, there was something else. Oh, yes. Scales.





*Reference to a passage of the Avesta describing Azhi Dahaka, a Zoroastrian dragon.

A head as long as the general is tall lifts, eyes the size of his head glower at him balefully, yellow orbs cat-slit by blackness.
A snort as Kasaros's host releases an in-drawn breath, the stench of sulfur and old meat assaulting the Osage's nostrils, and a taloned hand as big as Kasaros reaches for the chest, taloned fingers flicking the lock away contemptously with a screech of tortured metal.
The fingers stir through the chest's contents, slowly, almost caressing the gold.
An other sigh.
Crested brows lower slightly, and a fanged maw opens.
"Thisss only buyss your life little human. You sssmell of mage, ssso you mussst be a foreigner, none of our magesss would be ssstupid enough to visssit me in my own den."
It's serpentine neck rears up as the huge creature rests it's chin in it's clawed hand, as it speaks, the sibilant words reminscent of a snake sliding towards prey and probably raising the hair on the back of Kasaros's neck.
The darkness, lit only by the general's staff, is suddenly banished as diamonds set in the walls flare into radiance, revealing a massive red dragon, age-blackened horns running along it's spine, dark veins webbing massive pinkish wings.
This is a Draco Patriciens, the Noble Dragon, a hundred feet of malevolent independence with a healthy amount of magical power thrown in.
The light reflecting gleams not just on the dragon's scales, but on millions of realm's worth of gold and precious stones, here and there dotted with weapons and strange artifacts.
If the Osage looked in the right place he'd also probably note the half dozen skeletons on one wall, melted there inside their carbonised armour, the symbol of the Duchy of Birmingham just visible through the charring on one blackened shield.
The enormous monster looks down at Kasaros for a while, golden eyes glowing even in the crystal's light.
A decision seems to have been reached when a group of kobold servants scuttle in bearing a heavy chair which a lazy claw motion indicates Kasaros should sit in.
"Ssso little manling, why ssshould I not eat you for your impertinenssse in coming to my home like thisss?"
Those huge eyes flare with a sudden anger.
"Why do you disssturb Ssaul!? Ssspeak!"

Do not meddle in the affairs of dragons, for you are crunchy and taste great with ketchup.

The general cocked his head to one side, apparently regarding the impressive creature. He smiled. This will do.

He then regarded the kobold servants before sitting down. Already accustomed to lordship. Excellent.

He did not seem to be afraid. In fact he seemed to be quite at ease, appraising the great winged creature. He sat down lazily, staff at his side. The white light twinkled. He took in the scent, noted the skeletons with apparent approval. He grinned to himself.

"I have need of your kind's services, Lord Saul. If the chest was here to buy my life, I am here to buy yours. I dislike dancing around the subject, especially with such a magnificent beast as yourself, and would certainly not like to get eaten."

He smiled predatorily. "So, I will get to the point. I need your services. This cave is not fit for one destined for great things. What if I could promise you riches beyond any dragon-hoard you have heard of in myth or fable? What if you became a fable yourself, an object to be venerated by billions in a nation that does not confine you to caves? Your nose speaks truely, for I would be cognate with what these Britmattians call 'magi'. I can offer you items infused with vast amounts of power, as well, if that be your wish."

"For what power would you be serving? I am Irul Kasaros, a general of the Osage Empire, who has only now appeared in this system. We have carved out a small niche in the Tower of Silence, and my readings there brought me to you."

"And that is why I ask you for your services. Leave this dank cave and become the Patriarch of a new line of dragonkin, those of the Empire. You will be a general yourself, perhaps, equal and not subordinate to me. In return, rewards beyond the dreams of many of your kind. I would aid your rise." Visions began to appear in the Patricien's mind, though whether they were self-induced or not was open to debate. Perhaps they were simply his own musings, or perhaps they were not. They were of him in glory.

He turned, quietly looking at the floor. "And if you refuse, there must be a beast majestic enough in this nation who would not."

Red light flares and a sound like a suit of armour being thrown down the longest flight of stairs in the world emanates from Saul's mouth, eyes closed and mobile lips twitching.
"Carved out a niche have you? The Grand Magusss mussst be feeling curiousss about other peoplesss again."
The sound comes again, the dragon's expression clearly a grin now, making the harsh scraping his laughter.
"I'd forgotten how much pissss and vinegar you manlingsss have. It'sss been a long time sssince I was bothered here by manlingsss."
A glance at the skeletons.
"A very long time."
Saul's head lowers to Kasaros's height.
"And you want me to travel into ssspace? To sssomewhere new? Offer me richesss beyond my own hoard?"
The grin is back, ancient, stained fangs revealed.
"I think not little manling. Sssaul is old. I was fresh from the egg when they threw down the Breaker, I sssaw the Burning Times, and the Lion Empire. I have flown across three worldsss and thousssandsss of yearsss. I am tired."
He pauses and his eyes close, and in the light Kasaros can see the scales of his eyelids have faded to a rosy pink. The huge dragon is quiet long enough that the Osage sorceror probably suspect he has fallen asleep, but then those glowing, furnace-like eyes open.
"However. I have a...ssservant who could ssserve you in my ssstead. He isss bound to me, but I can turn hisss boundsss over to you...for the right prysssse. Thisss way."
Saul crooks a massive talon, lumbering to his feet and turning around, tail coiling through the air with a hiss.
The monster moves easily through the corridors of his cave, all of which are packed with treasure, jewels, gold, if it's valuable and it's a mineral there's probably some of it in Saul's cave.
Perhaps Kasaros is familiar enough with Sol that he recognises some of the suits of armour they pass as being Thelasi, and unlikely to have been bought, but if he is, he says nothing as he follows the huge red dragon.
Eventually the two reach what looks like a statue of a dragon, about half the size of Saul, who sits back on his haunches and crosses an arm across his chest, his index finger tapping thoughtfully on his scaly nose.
"Now what were the wordsss, it'sss been ssso bloody long. Ah. That'sss the wyvern."
Saul points a talon at the statue and utters a series of harsh, grating syllables, the words twisting and writhing in the ear, runes glowing red on the air.
As the last syllable is rasped out there is a leaden sound, and the statue growls, cracks spreading across it with red light glowing from underneath, the stone sloughing away to reveal a dragon looking blankly around, it's hide a rippling ivory.
"Thisss...wasss K'Healk. He'sss been in my possession for centuriesss, made the missstake of eating manlingsss when sssspecifically told not and wasss reduesssed to thisss mindlessss...thing. He makesss my fellowsss nervousss, ssso I am ressssponssible for him. However, I grow old. Ssso, if what I divine from your thought isss correct, he will be more ussseful for your purposssess anyway."
Saul snickers at Kasaros's somewhat startled expression.
"Sssilly manling, you cannot hide your though from me, I am of the Eldessst. Luckily for you Sssaul is mersssiful in hisss dotage. K'Healk will be ideal for you. Hisss children will be asss stupid assss he, ssso ssspoke the curssse playsssed on him. Ssso..."
An other grin full of fangs.
"Replayssse my ssstatue of him in...sssilver, I am not greedy, and we ssshall have a deal."

A History of the Elven Nations, vol.2 had had quite a scathing review of the Thelasi breed and their military, and Kasaros chuckles a bit inwardly as they pass.

He watches, interestedly, as the draconic idol becomes a gleaming ivory dragon, and grins inwardly as Saul explains the curse upon the dragon. Perfect.

And then he reels a bit as the great ruby Patricien is a bit too knowing.

"You are clever, Patricien. This pawn suits me well, and perhaps it is better I had him, rather than having yourself as an equal." He laughs mirthlessly. "You have been of great use to me, Saul. Perhaps of greater use than you know. You will have your silver."

He takes his staff and points it at the air, and speaks a few words in an ancient tongue. Great lines begin to draw themselves across the air, angles and geometric shapes." The sorceror grins, and disappears for what seems an eternity." Seconds pass, the heartbeat of the universe. He might have been gone minutes, he might have been gone hours, even the mighty dragon's chronological sense seems to blur in face of the dulling spells Kasaros had laid. The glowing geometric lines and angles remain in place, defying all attempt to dispell them or remove them from their silent vigil.

He returns in a blast of violet-light, this time not alone. A perfect replica of K'Healk appears beside him, shining brilliantly, of the purest silver. Kasaros motions to the statue vaguely with his staff, and it lifts off the ground effortlessly and places itself in the exact spot where the white dragon had been previously, petrified under the curse that would serve Irul so well.

He grins. "A pleasure to do business with you, Lord Saul. You may hear of your pawn's offspring in ages to come. Perhaps you will be pleased, perhaps. I know I am." He again motions with his staff, and a dark thread links himself with the shining white dragon, living and capable of destruction, yet far enough away from true intelligence to serve the Empire's purposes. He looks again at the geometric signs, and is gone in another blast of light that seems to wisp, like a purple fog. The only record of the meeting is the great silver statue that remains, a living cognate with the dragon that will serve as the great Patriarch of the Empire.

When he left, the glowing lines faded and were gone, not to be seen again.
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All the wakon-manipulation in the world couldn't hide a fifty-foot gleaming white dragon from view forever. Kasaros began to make calculations, to manipulate the material of the small asteroid that was still orbiting Earth, creating a chamber large enough. And then he was back down in Britmattia, tying himself to the wyrm once again, and took a Trip. K'Healk found himself in a great stone chamber, fresh meat in one side, and a huge water dish adjacent. Kasaros entered the wakon'do room, Connected. And the asteroid vanished from sensors, and appeared again a few minutes later...a very, very long ways away.

"Grant me this...that I may overcome the dragon Dahaka, the three-mouthed, the three-headed, the six-eyed, who has a thousand senses, the most powerful, fiendish evil, that demon, baleful to the world, the strongest evil that the Dark One created against the material world, to destroy the world of the good principle..." -Prayer of an Iranian hero to the wind-god

No deliverance.


A gigantic room stretched about Kasaros. Around him, in a circle were forty great wakondagi of the Nonhonzhinga, those who were most loyal to him. Technically, what they were about to do was illegal. Thrown into the dungeons and tortured for eternity illegal. But Kasaros had explained quite logically that this was for the good of Empire, and didn't they want the Empire to prosper, and be secure against its foes? And of course no one wanted to be unpatriotic, and it did seem like a rather good idea, and Kasaros had never led them astray before. Hadn't it been he who had introduced the Trip on a national scale? Hadn't it been he who had invented the banner system, and the In'zhu tonga and In'zhu zhinga? Why, without Kasaros, the Empire would not have a military to speak of! And so they could hardly decline his offer.

And so a great pentagram was inscribed on the floor, and the dragon K'Healk was bound in the middle, and every last one of the wakondagi raised their hands and began to chant a very specific mantra, and energy flowed from their fingertips and wrapped itself around the great dragon, embedding itself in his very being. They had spent ages graphing out his exact dimensions, plotting the right course. The energies increased, vastly, and the dragon glowed with an intense light.

And then, very slowly, he began to shrink. It was barely noticeable at first. It was one of those things where it might have just been a trick of the eye at first, but slowly it became noticeable as the feet began to shrink.

The dragon remained calm, unaware of what was going on, feeling the energies coursing through. Ten feet gone..and dozens of the Empire's most powerful sorcerors continued their mantras, and he continued growing shorter. Shorter, shorter....

Kasaros stopped, his line broke, and he amplified his voice. "That will be quite enough." He said, and most could feel their eardrums rattle.

The dragon in front of them was now a smooth thirty-five feet long, down from fifty, its gleaming albino hide oozing left-over power. It snarled a bit as Kasaros leaned in and stroked its head. "You are forged anew, reptile. You will make a fine mount for whoever leads our squadrons. You will become the Patriarch of the Osage dragonkin, and your old identity no longer matters. You are no longer K'Healk."

He pondered a bit, stroking his chin. Saul the old dragon had been called, a Hebrew name, certainly. He would choose one like it for his new Patriarch, but it would be symbolic, and superior as well. The dragon was white, gleaming white, and his weapon was of fire. Like unto the messengers of the Terran God

"You will be called Semjaza, the leader of my fallen angels. Multiply, and be fruitful. I await the day when your offspring fill the skies." He touched the dragon's snout again. "We will see each other often, Shining One. I expect your progress to be rapid. There was more at work than simple dilation here."

He turned to the assembled wakondagi. "Take him to the High Alchemist."

The gleaming white dragon curled up into a ball, quiet and slumbering. He felt a sort of willing obedience to his new master, though he doubted he really could disobey. After the first occasion, when the world had grown larger, he had been treated very well. Occasionally the master even took him out, soaring above the clouds, and to finally fly free was an ecstasty like none other.

Sometimes they took him down again, on more Occasions, and then took him back.

And then, in the area where he was bound, a cage that was not a cage, there were more of his kin, except, well, they were female. If there was an ecstasy greater than stretching his sleeping wings, the ivory reptile had found it.
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The general stared next to the man he had chosen to head the newly organized Draconic Department, a certain E'na'me, a loyal supporter, intelligent in his way but not too insightful. He followed orders, possessed ingenuity of a sort, but there was nothing beyond that. E'na'me was the sort of person that makes a very good henchmen, and he also had a distinct love for animals. He was the perfect man for the job, as far as Kasaros was concerned, to ensure that Semjaza and his offspring (whose birth and development would be accelerated, thanks to cooperation between alchemy and wakon).

The general lay back. He enjoyed taking the great dragon on his flights, it gave him time to reflect on things. With the program in motion, and E'na'me overseeing it, things were going his way. He got up off of his chair. I think its time for another flight...

He began to draw on the ground, a series of angles and lines...

http://i9.photobucket.com/albums/a90/Turael/Semjaza.jpg