Weccanfeld
11-10-2007, 23:46
In a small village in a large land, a commotion was brewing. Once again, a noble knight was leaving the village on a do or die mission to slay the mighty beast that was the main denizen of the mountain. Dozens had gone before him, and yet the black monster still stole sheep, burnt barns and killed villagers, with nary a wound.
A crowd surrounded a path, in which a true knight in gleaming armour was riding. His horse, a white stallion, strode with confidence and authority, as did the rider on his saddle. The people surrounded the path, some throwing flowers and cheering, others folding their arms and sneering. For them, this was one of many knights seeking fame and fortune, only to receive death and dishonour.
The horse's stride began to lengthen as the fields outside the village neared, until it once again began to canter, the hoofs clipping and clopping on the road. As the journey went on, the road began to look more dilapidated, bits of it reclaimed by nature. The plains next to it housed piles of ash and debris that may have been buildings, once. The path began to take the rider higher and higher, for hours on end, until night fell upon the land, and the rider and his steed rested.
It was two days of riding before the cave was visible. A pile of bones, as high as a hovel, rested below a small cliff. The rider tied the steed to a post, and began to climb.
The cliffrock and bones seemed to almost form a staircase to the cave. It was just as well – with the knight's heavy armour, the climb would normally have been impossible. And yet, the knight focused on the task on hand rather than the feasibility of it – if he had, he would have noticed it was too easy.
The husks that were once great suits of armour for great people adorned the cave. The boneyard continued into the cave somewhat, providing small bastions of white to the blackness that held most of the cave. With a sigh, the knight lit a torch, and with it in hand and sword in the other, began his first steps into the cave.
Cautious strides took up most of the next quarter of an hour. Small sounds echoed round the cave, causing the knight to brandish his sword and torch in the general direction. The drips of a stalagmite forming. The scurrying of a rat. The shift of rocks. All this began to slowly drive the man into insanity.
There was another sound, one different from the others. The knight quickly looked round, and saw that the entrance was gone. He began to panic, his breathing becoming fast. The torch began to wave around, exposing more of the darkness. He began to run into the dark, not knowing what was there. He heard his footsteps and his panting echo throughout the cave. His foot caught a rock, and he fell, dropping his sword and torch. He began to push himself up again.
Then he saw it.
There in front of him, was a crimson eye. The inhuman pupil penetrated his soul, gripping his lungs, causing his heart to miss a beat and sink, causing his gut to ache as a feeling of dread began to take over his body, freezing his limbs. He tried to cry out and run, but he couldn't.
"I am not your average dragon"
The man gulped, unable to speak. 'It can talk' he thought. All he knew about dragons was that they were evil, magical beings. But not that they had the power of speech.
"You are one of many. I am one of few. One Hundred and Ninety-Six fools have come to here. You saw their remains."
Somehow, the man worked up the courage to turn on his heels and start running away from the dragon. He only managed a couple of steps before the creature's wicked tail came out of the darkness and coiled round his chest, the powerful muscles crushing his armour like a tin, and lifting his helpless body off the ground.
"You are in my power now. Do not run. If you do, you will die. Painfully."
As the tail began to loosen somewhat, the knight gulped once more. Summoning all the resolve that had been lacking in the seconds before, he timidly asked:
"W-W-Who are you you?"
"You are not worthy to know that yet. All you may know now is that I am your master now. Open your mind. I need to know about you."
Misunderstanding that as an invitation to talk, the knight claimed:
“I am Sir Malkovich Farille, of Londs…”
“Be quiet!”
With barely a second to brace himself, the knight suddenly found the dragon inside his head, leaving nary a thought alone, and no memory unturned. The exercise was painful for the knight, and for the dragon, this made the action seem all the better.
When the dragon released the writheling body from his examination, he began to talk again.
"Yes. You are what I need for my plans…”
“W-What plans?”
"I have been brewing something for many years now, and with a local mage’s knowledge, I could finish it – and he was the first to taste it. Sadly, his experience in the magic arts meant he could end his life there, and my test with it. But before me, I have a simple man. One who isn't able to use the ways of mana. One that will see the dawn of a new age…"
The beast lowered to man to the floor, every movement of every muscle in his tail distorting and mangling the collection of plate and chainmail that was once his armour. As the tail slithered away, a giant black serpent returning to the unlit darkness of the cavern, the knight looked to the left of him to see a barely visible cauldron, in which a red liquid with a red mist above it lay. Next to it, there was a bottle, in which lay a pint or two of the potion.
"Drink"
With a slow, cautious movement of his hand, the knight placed his hand round the bottle, and feeling the heat from the recently heated mixture, lifted the vessel into the air. The crimson mix swished and swirled in the bottle, which had a strange ornate pattern in the glass.
His resolve faltered, but still he brought the glass toward him. He tried to move his hand, but it seemed it had a mind of its own.
'What is this?! Release my hand!'
The bottle began to glow as red as the liquid it contained as it forced its way to his mouth, gradually beginning to pour its contents into his mouth. As the torrent of red flooded the man's mouth, the dragon began to grin sinisterly as his vision was finally beginning to be realised, revealing a set of white teeth that looked sharp enough to cut diamonds...
'This, my new friend, is salvation…'
* * *
A lot can happen in the lifespan in a dragon. One can become the steed of a dread lord, or the terror of a land. One can also become, for lack of a better word, a senile old fart.
Vatitch was once a mighty black dragon, one that struck fear into the hearts of many, and brought to ruin the former states of the Fell peninsular and to rise the Land of Dragonfell. He was the one that first spawned the Draconian race, and is personally responsible for the deaths of millions of humans and elves alike. He took part in council meetings for thousands of year and practically ruled it. But, as the years went on, his mind began to fail. Rumours say that it was the constant use as magic of all arts that deformed his mind. The truth was he had taken a large amount of quicksilver during an experiment. Now he could hardly leave his chamber, never mind rule a nation.
"I very much wish to speak with him, could you see to it that the letter makes it. I really want to have him over for a meal. He can bring his rider as well. He seems like a nice fellow…"
His chamber had changed much from the simple cave it was many years ago. The Fortress of Vatitch was an awe-inspiring place, both above the ground and below. Battlement and tower alike had been carved out of the stone of what used to be a cliff eras ago, forming a castle made not of thousands of stones, but one – the mountain itself. Vatitch had built this up over the millennia with his colossal horde, rumoured to be the largest in the land, and maybe the world.
In the personal carven of Vatitch, the same one where the Draconian was spawned many moons ago, a single black Draconian stood in front of the great Vatitch himself, taking notes in some strange language.
"...And have the pigherds mix the feed with Paradim. I much desire to see what the meat tastes like. Now begone! I have my fathers to consort."
Dismissed, the Draconian official trekked back to the cavern’s entrance. He felt the gold underfoot, and wondered why his masters adored it so much, and appreciated it when he felt hard rock below his feet once again. He didn’t notice how a black drake sneaked up on him once out of view of Vatitch, revealing himself with the stern question:
“Who has he sent to letter too?”
The Draconian could do nothing but answer to his superior:
“He mentioned the name… Vaulkur…”
A feeling of dread was clearly expressed on the drake’s face.
“Vaulkur?! This is more serious than I thought…”
“Who is he? Some sort of rebel lord?”
“Then this really is serious. Damn his senility! He has doomed us all!”
“But, master, who is this Vaulkur?”
The drake sighed. “He is another dragon, as black as me. But he is not his own master. He is but the servant, no, the slave of a much higher lord. A lord of the greatest raiding force on the planet. By sending that damned letter, he has revealed to Vaulkur masters our homeland and its riches! It will not be long before they come to enslave more for their battle mounts, to take our hordes, to…”
“I do not understand. What make you so sure that they’ll do that?”
“Why?! Have we ever managed to find another race save the cats who wish to help us?! No, they want our gold, they want our wings, they want our obedience! That is the desire of every foreigner! The only reason the Ke Pa'kun even acknowledge our state is because they wish to become like us! And where else can they do that, hmm?! NOWHERE. WE ARE THE LAST FREE DRAGONS!!!"
The young dragon was fuming, literally. Smoke rose from its nostrils with every breath, only steps away from igniting into fire.
“Find the letter, and… Destroy it. Dragonfell depends on it. If it is too late, then we may as well strap on the irons ourselves. Go to the messengers. If he is still there, raid the message store, find and read through every last letter. Find it!”
* * *
To the great dragon Vaulkur
It’s Vatitch, how has life been these last couple of centuries? I’m sorry I couldn’t contact you earlier; however I have been awfully busy. I have managed to amass a quite impressive stash, upon which I am resting right now. The Draconians have grown in size over the years as well – I think I may be able to finally get a human level fertility soon!
I and the council have improved a good deal of the land. Though we still don’t care much for those boat things that soft skins seem to like – especially some blue-baring apes that have been sulking around north of old Damarask – we have managed to establish relations with some people who, get this, wish to become fully fledged dragons! We, of course, can only help them in this noble task – the occasion donation of scales, or even blood is welcomed. In fact, I’ve heard that some of them have succeeded even!
I would very much like to see you again back on these shores – we have plenty of high quality game for us to hunt if your in that mood. Do tell me if this is possible soon.
From the Great Dragon Vatitch, your noble friend and relative.
* * *
(OOC: Presume it has got through Thrashia, via dragon postman. Just a hint, Vatitch is the most powerful of the dragons despite being a bit brain-dead due to mercury poisoning, and his domain is inland.)
A crowd surrounded a path, in which a true knight in gleaming armour was riding. His horse, a white stallion, strode with confidence and authority, as did the rider on his saddle. The people surrounded the path, some throwing flowers and cheering, others folding their arms and sneering. For them, this was one of many knights seeking fame and fortune, only to receive death and dishonour.
The horse's stride began to lengthen as the fields outside the village neared, until it once again began to canter, the hoofs clipping and clopping on the road. As the journey went on, the road began to look more dilapidated, bits of it reclaimed by nature. The plains next to it housed piles of ash and debris that may have been buildings, once. The path began to take the rider higher and higher, for hours on end, until night fell upon the land, and the rider and his steed rested.
It was two days of riding before the cave was visible. A pile of bones, as high as a hovel, rested below a small cliff. The rider tied the steed to a post, and began to climb.
The cliffrock and bones seemed to almost form a staircase to the cave. It was just as well – with the knight's heavy armour, the climb would normally have been impossible. And yet, the knight focused on the task on hand rather than the feasibility of it – if he had, he would have noticed it was too easy.
The husks that were once great suits of armour for great people adorned the cave. The boneyard continued into the cave somewhat, providing small bastions of white to the blackness that held most of the cave. With a sigh, the knight lit a torch, and with it in hand and sword in the other, began his first steps into the cave.
Cautious strides took up most of the next quarter of an hour. Small sounds echoed round the cave, causing the knight to brandish his sword and torch in the general direction. The drips of a stalagmite forming. The scurrying of a rat. The shift of rocks. All this began to slowly drive the man into insanity.
There was another sound, one different from the others. The knight quickly looked round, and saw that the entrance was gone. He began to panic, his breathing becoming fast. The torch began to wave around, exposing more of the darkness. He began to run into the dark, not knowing what was there. He heard his footsteps and his panting echo throughout the cave. His foot caught a rock, and he fell, dropping his sword and torch. He began to push himself up again.
Then he saw it.
There in front of him, was a crimson eye. The inhuman pupil penetrated his soul, gripping his lungs, causing his heart to miss a beat and sink, causing his gut to ache as a feeling of dread began to take over his body, freezing his limbs. He tried to cry out and run, but he couldn't.
"I am not your average dragon"
The man gulped, unable to speak. 'It can talk' he thought. All he knew about dragons was that they were evil, magical beings. But not that they had the power of speech.
"You are one of many. I am one of few. One Hundred and Ninety-Six fools have come to here. You saw their remains."
Somehow, the man worked up the courage to turn on his heels and start running away from the dragon. He only managed a couple of steps before the creature's wicked tail came out of the darkness and coiled round his chest, the powerful muscles crushing his armour like a tin, and lifting his helpless body off the ground.
"You are in my power now. Do not run. If you do, you will die. Painfully."
As the tail began to loosen somewhat, the knight gulped once more. Summoning all the resolve that had been lacking in the seconds before, he timidly asked:
"W-W-Who are you you?"
"You are not worthy to know that yet. All you may know now is that I am your master now. Open your mind. I need to know about you."
Misunderstanding that as an invitation to talk, the knight claimed:
“I am Sir Malkovich Farille, of Londs…”
“Be quiet!”
With barely a second to brace himself, the knight suddenly found the dragon inside his head, leaving nary a thought alone, and no memory unturned. The exercise was painful for the knight, and for the dragon, this made the action seem all the better.
When the dragon released the writheling body from his examination, he began to talk again.
"Yes. You are what I need for my plans…”
“W-What plans?”
"I have been brewing something for many years now, and with a local mage’s knowledge, I could finish it – and he was the first to taste it. Sadly, his experience in the magic arts meant he could end his life there, and my test with it. But before me, I have a simple man. One who isn't able to use the ways of mana. One that will see the dawn of a new age…"
The beast lowered to man to the floor, every movement of every muscle in his tail distorting and mangling the collection of plate and chainmail that was once his armour. As the tail slithered away, a giant black serpent returning to the unlit darkness of the cavern, the knight looked to the left of him to see a barely visible cauldron, in which a red liquid with a red mist above it lay. Next to it, there was a bottle, in which lay a pint or two of the potion.
"Drink"
With a slow, cautious movement of his hand, the knight placed his hand round the bottle, and feeling the heat from the recently heated mixture, lifted the vessel into the air. The crimson mix swished and swirled in the bottle, which had a strange ornate pattern in the glass.
His resolve faltered, but still he brought the glass toward him. He tried to move his hand, but it seemed it had a mind of its own.
'What is this?! Release my hand!'
The bottle began to glow as red as the liquid it contained as it forced its way to his mouth, gradually beginning to pour its contents into his mouth. As the torrent of red flooded the man's mouth, the dragon began to grin sinisterly as his vision was finally beginning to be realised, revealing a set of white teeth that looked sharp enough to cut diamonds...
'This, my new friend, is salvation…'
* * *
A lot can happen in the lifespan in a dragon. One can become the steed of a dread lord, or the terror of a land. One can also become, for lack of a better word, a senile old fart.
Vatitch was once a mighty black dragon, one that struck fear into the hearts of many, and brought to ruin the former states of the Fell peninsular and to rise the Land of Dragonfell. He was the one that first spawned the Draconian race, and is personally responsible for the deaths of millions of humans and elves alike. He took part in council meetings for thousands of year and practically ruled it. But, as the years went on, his mind began to fail. Rumours say that it was the constant use as magic of all arts that deformed his mind. The truth was he had taken a large amount of quicksilver during an experiment. Now he could hardly leave his chamber, never mind rule a nation.
"I very much wish to speak with him, could you see to it that the letter makes it. I really want to have him over for a meal. He can bring his rider as well. He seems like a nice fellow…"
His chamber had changed much from the simple cave it was many years ago. The Fortress of Vatitch was an awe-inspiring place, both above the ground and below. Battlement and tower alike had been carved out of the stone of what used to be a cliff eras ago, forming a castle made not of thousands of stones, but one – the mountain itself. Vatitch had built this up over the millennia with his colossal horde, rumoured to be the largest in the land, and maybe the world.
In the personal carven of Vatitch, the same one where the Draconian was spawned many moons ago, a single black Draconian stood in front of the great Vatitch himself, taking notes in some strange language.
"...And have the pigherds mix the feed with Paradim. I much desire to see what the meat tastes like. Now begone! I have my fathers to consort."
Dismissed, the Draconian official trekked back to the cavern’s entrance. He felt the gold underfoot, and wondered why his masters adored it so much, and appreciated it when he felt hard rock below his feet once again. He didn’t notice how a black drake sneaked up on him once out of view of Vatitch, revealing himself with the stern question:
“Who has he sent to letter too?”
The Draconian could do nothing but answer to his superior:
“He mentioned the name… Vaulkur…”
A feeling of dread was clearly expressed on the drake’s face.
“Vaulkur?! This is more serious than I thought…”
“Who is he? Some sort of rebel lord?”
“Then this really is serious. Damn his senility! He has doomed us all!”
“But, master, who is this Vaulkur?”
The drake sighed. “He is another dragon, as black as me. But he is not his own master. He is but the servant, no, the slave of a much higher lord. A lord of the greatest raiding force on the planet. By sending that damned letter, he has revealed to Vaulkur masters our homeland and its riches! It will not be long before they come to enslave more for their battle mounts, to take our hordes, to…”
“I do not understand. What make you so sure that they’ll do that?”
“Why?! Have we ever managed to find another race save the cats who wish to help us?! No, they want our gold, they want our wings, they want our obedience! That is the desire of every foreigner! The only reason the Ke Pa'kun even acknowledge our state is because they wish to become like us! And where else can they do that, hmm?! NOWHERE. WE ARE THE LAST FREE DRAGONS!!!"
The young dragon was fuming, literally. Smoke rose from its nostrils with every breath, only steps away from igniting into fire.
“Find the letter, and… Destroy it. Dragonfell depends on it. If it is too late, then we may as well strap on the irons ourselves. Go to the messengers. If he is still there, raid the message store, find and read through every last letter. Find it!”
* * *
To the great dragon Vaulkur
It’s Vatitch, how has life been these last couple of centuries? I’m sorry I couldn’t contact you earlier; however I have been awfully busy. I have managed to amass a quite impressive stash, upon which I am resting right now. The Draconians have grown in size over the years as well – I think I may be able to finally get a human level fertility soon!
I and the council have improved a good deal of the land. Though we still don’t care much for those boat things that soft skins seem to like – especially some blue-baring apes that have been sulking around north of old Damarask – we have managed to establish relations with some people who, get this, wish to become fully fledged dragons! We, of course, can only help them in this noble task – the occasion donation of scales, or even blood is welcomed. In fact, I’ve heard that some of them have succeeded even!
I would very much like to see you again back on these shores – we have plenty of high quality game for us to hunt if your in that mood. Do tell me if this is possible soon.
From the Great Dragon Vatitch, your noble friend and relative.
* * *
(OOC: Presume it has got through Thrashia, via dragon postman. Just a hint, Vatitch is the most powerful of the dragons despite being a bit brain-dead due to mercury poisoning, and his domain is inland.)