Spring, 1392
Asaewath and Rargesteyae returned to their cave atop Mount Rubinox to find their father about to leave.
*We’re back dad! There’s some ta-* The green dragon began.
*Good. It’s about time you two returned.*
The large bronze dragon seemed distracted, appearing to be mostly lost in thought, sniffing the air and occasionally muttering to himself.
*What is it father?* Rargesteyae asked.
Meratezatgh, now nearly forty feet high from ground to horns, loomed over his offspring, about a fourth of his size. His children both stopped what they were saying.
*Asaewath. Rargesteyae. There is something I need to check out. Stay around our territory, and keep each other safe. There is something ill in the world right now.*
*Okay dad.*
*Yes, father.*
Meratezatgh finally turned, looked deeply into the eyes of his children and smiled, nodding at their dutiful replies.
*See to it that you two are still here when I get back.*
With that, the elder dragon turned around, spread his wings and caught the winds, soaring into the sky.
Asaewath and Rargesteyae looked at each other.
*Wonder what that was all about?* The green dragon asked his sister.
The bronze female dragon shrugged.
*I’m guessing it’s still the Miscabbards. Something is about to go down-*
Asaewath sighed. *-and we’re missing it again.*
Rargesteyae tilted her head at her brother. *Well knowing you, we’ll get involved with something sooner or later.*
At that the green dragon smirked.
***
The rumors were saying that the Lord of the Earth was moving out again, that he was restarting the Great Nerges. The rumors were saying that he was at Mount Durban of Brekshire, assembling thousands of followers to begin an encirclement around the range. This violated their truce, one that Mera painfully had held to for 80 years for the sake of his children. He knew that it would end someday, that the Miscabbards would betray the agreement and try to kill him and what remained of his family at the first good opportunity, but those years in the interim had been put to good use raising his children to honorable adulthood. Now if the war was to publicly begin anew, then so be it.
Mera flew high upwind before slowly descending behind the shadow of Mount Durban, hiding himself from the observers no doubt looking for him. From the large talus boulders of the mountain scree he looked down at the site of the encampment. The location was in a narrow valley dominated by mountainous peaks and bracketed by wooded ridges. It was a poor assembly point for hunting parties, with limited room for spanning out and creating an encirclement.
It was an obvious trap.
Mera headed over anyways.
The dragon was already quite experienced at attacking human camps. For starters, he demurred from a direct assault, instead prowling around the wooded ridge lines for the next few hours. As expected, there were hidden redoubts, each armed with a hwacha crewed by a dozen gunners. Like at Fort Brecas so many years ago, each position was quickly and quietly eliminated with a surprise rearward assault, a lightning rush using claws and teeth, leaving minimal time for the cultists to respond or raise the alarm. As the afternoon sun began descending towards the mountains, Mera completed his circuit, having quietly destroyed six positions and slain dozens of cultists, his maw and limbs covered in blood.
Now was time to begin the real attack.
Mera spread his wings and dived, soaring low around the encampment, spewing flames in every direction. Everywhere cultists, blinded by the destruction of the pickets, were caught unaware and incinerated where they stood.
Within minutes, a ring of fire had encircled the camp and trapped the Miscabbards within its confines. Only did did Mera land.
The alarm was finally called out. “The Stanton Dragon!”
“Defend yourselves!”
Armed Crusaders and Zealots with bows, arrows, pikes, claymores and scythes poured from the tents, only to run face to face with the sheets of flame surrounding the encampment, and inside with them, the Stanton Dragon. Meratezatgh immediately went upon them with claws, teeth and flame, whichever was fastest and simplest. The dragon gave no warning, no drama in his assault, just straightforward, systematic elimination, like purifying a dirty field. It was not so much a fight as a massacre: even with Crusaders the defenders were brutally slaughtered without so much as a scratch on Mera. Within half an hour, the entire encampment was aflame, perhaps a hundred Miscabbards lying scattered in bloody or burnt piles around the dragon.
Mera snorted. It was not so much contempt as satisfaction that so many of his enemies lay dead. Still the victory remained incomplete and unsatisfactory.
The cultists, though many, were not in the thousands, and did not seem organized into hunting groups, coming at him with righteous fury but limited hunting skills. Secondly, the burning encampment did not seem to contain the equipment that would have been expected with capturing prisoners for sacrifice: cages, chains, ropes, empty wagons. Most importantly, the rumors said that the Lord of the Earth himself was present, but he was nowhere to be seen.
In the center of the Miscabbard encampment was a large golden pavilion. Mera headed over.
Again it was a trap, he reminded himself, but he also needed to know.
Embroidered and made from cloth of gold, the gigantic tent flaps beckoned the dragon in.
Well, he was not that stupid.
Mera stopped in front of the pavilion, grabbed the cloth, and violently tore the side open, revealing a massive chamber inside, empty save with a large looming figure in the center. The dragon rushed in, summoning a breath of flame, knocking the four supporting posts over, and sending the entire cloth pavilion crumpling off to one side, exposing both the figure and himself to the empty sky.
The figure did not move.
Get out of here! A voice screamed in Mera’s head. The Lord of the Earth is not here! This is another trap!
But I must know what he is playing, Mera replied to himself.
He headed towards the figure.
In the center was a massive wooden scarecrow in the shape of the Lord of the Earth, his old Oni Mask mockingly tacked on in a way that was slightly skewed.
Odd. That was purposeful.
The false ogre was holding an oil painting in its lap.
Mera looked down at the life-like depiction of a figure smirking at him from the canvas.
It was Yelkcub.
And she was wearing Widesytdrek's cape.
Below that painting was Auxian script:
You have failed in all your efforts against the Miscabbards, Stanton Dragon, and yet through my own wits and abilities, I have freed myself, overthrown the Lord of the Earth and avenged myself of my sufferings. Clearly, my abilities are greater than your own. Your failure and abandonment fourscore years ago cannot be tolerated. Failure must be punished.
Sincerely,
The Lord of the Sky, Vicar of the Heavens.
Trap trap trap!
Mera immediately twisted back and unfurled his wings to fly off.
Suddenly, the ground under him gave away. Without the opportunity to gain lift, the dragon instead leaped forward, landing at the side of the trou de loup lined with stakes, like at Rocky Face Ridge. Just as the dragon clambered his way out of the pit, he heard some yells. Mera swung to his side and dived into the ground just as a volley of ballista bolts sailed over where his head had been a moment ago. He was glad he had destroyed the tent beforehand; it would have muffled the voices and blinded him to his new attackers.
This was crazy though, Mera thought as he rolled off to one side. Where had the gunners come from? Didn’t he just spend hours destroying the cultist redoubts beforehand?
They re-manned the positions.
They were waiting for him to land at the encampment. The Miscabbards were trying everything to kill him.
As if to confirm that, a cloud of smoke suddenly appeared overhead, thick enough to be visible as it descended from the hills into the valley below. Whatever it was it was bad.
Mera immediately crouched down and beat his wings forward, blowing the toxic cloud back towards his hidden assailants. A whiff of the airborne poison was enough for the dragon to identify it.
Wolfsbane.
A deadly paralyzing agent.
The dragon immediately wiped his snout on the ground. The voices of his attackers fell silent, as did the ballistas, having only fired once. Did Wolfsbane incapacitate humans as well? Did he beat them or did they flee?
And then explosions erupted from the mountains looming overhead, one charge of black power after the next igniting all around the dragon. Mera turned to see a massive torrential avalanche of stone and dirt suddenly descend upon him from all sides.
And everything went black.
Arcade Fire - (Antichrist Television Blues)
Portrait from TayraWhite!
Asaewath and Rargesteyae returned to their cave atop Mount Rubinox to find their father about to leave.
*We’re back dad! There’s some ta-* The green dragon began.
*Good. It’s about time you two returned.*
The large bronze dragon seemed distracted, appearing to be mostly lost in thought, sniffing the air and occasionally muttering to himself.
*What is it father?* Rargesteyae asked.
Meratezatgh, now nearly forty feet high from ground to horns, loomed over his offspring, about a fourth of his size. His children both stopped what they were saying.
*Asaewath. Rargesteyae. There is something I need to check out. Stay around our territory, and keep each other safe. There is something ill in the world right now.*
*Okay dad.*
*Yes, father.*
Meratezatgh finally turned, looked deeply into the eyes of his children and smiled, nodding at their dutiful replies.
*See to it that you two are still here when I get back.*
With that, the elder dragon turned around, spread his wings and caught the winds, soaring into the sky.
Asaewath and Rargesteyae looked at each other.
*Wonder what that was all about?* The green dragon asked his sister.
The bronze female dragon shrugged.
*I’m guessing it’s still the Miscabbards. Something is about to go down-*
Asaewath sighed. *-and we’re missing it again.*
Rargesteyae tilted her head at her brother. *Well knowing you, we’ll get involved with something sooner or later.*
At that the green dragon smirked.
***
The rumors were saying that the Lord of the Earth was moving out again, that he was restarting the Great Nerges. The rumors were saying that he was at Mount Durban of Brekshire, assembling thousands of followers to begin an encirclement around the range. This violated their truce, one that Mera painfully had held to for 80 years for the sake of his children. He knew that it would end someday, that the Miscabbards would betray the agreement and try to kill him and what remained of his family at the first good opportunity, but those years in the interim had been put to good use raising his children to honorable adulthood. Now if the war was to publicly begin anew, then so be it.
Mera flew high upwind before slowly descending behind the shadow of Mount Durban, hiding himself from the observers no doubt looking for him. From the large talus boulders of the mountain scree he looked down at the site of the encampment. The location was in a narrow valley dominated by mountainous peaks and bracketed by wooded ridges. It was a poor assembly point for hunting parties, with limited room for spanning out and creating an encirclement.
It was an obvious trap.
Mera headed over anyways.
The dragon was already quite experienced at attacking human camps. For starters, he demurred from a direct assault, instead prowling around the wooded ridge lines for the next few hours. As expected, there were hidden redoubts, each armed with a hwacha crewed by a dozen gunners. Like at Fort Brecas so many years ago, each position was quickly and quietly eliminated with a surprise rearward assault, a lightning rush using claws and teeth, leaving minimal time for the cultists to respond or raise the alarm. As the afternoon sun began descending towards the mountains, Mera completed his circuit, having quietly destroyed six positions and slain dozens of cultists, his maw and limbs covered in blood.
Now was time to begin the real attack.
Mera spread his wings and dived, soaring low around the encampment, spewing flames in every direction. Everywhere cultists, blinded by the destruction of the pickets, were caught unaware and incinerated where they stood.
Within minutes, a ring of fire had encircled the camp and trapped the Miscabbards within its confines. Only did did Mera land.
The alarm was finally called out. “The Stanton Dragon!”
“Defend yourselves!”
Armed Crusaders and Zealots with bows, arrows, pikes, claymores and scythes poured from the tents, only to run face to face with the sheets of flame surrounding the encampment, and inside with them, the Stanton Dragon. Meratezatgh immediately went upon them with claws, teeth and flame, whichever was fastest and simplest. The dragon gave no warning, no drama in his assault, just straightforward, systematic elimination, like purifying a dirty field. It was not so much a fight as a massacre: even with Crusaders the defenders were brutally slaughtered without so much as a scratch on Mera. Within half an hour, the entire encampment was aflame, perhaps a hundred Miscabbards lying scattered in bloody or burnt piles around the dragon.
Mera snorted. It was not so much contempt as satisfaction that so many of his enemies lay dead. Still the victory remained incomplete and unsatisfactory.
The cultists, though many, were not in the thousands, and did not seem organized into hunting groups, coming at him with righteous fury but limited hunting skills. Secondly, the burning encampment did not seem to contain the equipment that would have been expected with capturing prisoners for sacrifice: cages, chains, ropes, empty wagons. Most importantly, the rumors said that the Lord of the Earth himself was present, but he was nowhere to be seen.
In the center of the Miscabbard encampment was a large golden pavilion. Mera headed over.
Again it was a trap, he reminded himself, but he also needed to know.
Embroidered and made from cloth of gold, the gigantic tent flaps beckoned the dragon in.
Well, he was not that stupid.
Mera stopped in front of the pavilion, grabbed the cloth, and violently tore the side open, revealing a massive chamber inside, empty save with a large looming figure in the center. The dragon rushed in, summoning a breath of flame, knocking the four supporting posts over, and sending the entire cloth pavilion crumpling off to one side, exposing both the figure and himself to the empty sky.
The figure did not move.
Get out of here! A voice screamed in Mera’s head. The Lord of the Earth is not here! This is another trap!
But I must know what he is playing, Mera replied to himself.
He headed towards the figure.
In the center was a massive wooden scarecrow in the shape of the Lord of the Earth, his old Oni Mask mockingly tacked on in a way that was slightly skewed.
Odd. That was purposeful.
The false ogre was holding an oil painting in its lap.
Mera looked down at the life-like depiction of a figure smirking at him from the canvas.
It was Yelkcub.
And she was wearing Widesytdrek's cape.
Below that painting was Auxian script:
You have failed in all your efforts against the Miscabbards, Stanton Dragon, and yet through my own wits and abilities, I have freed myself, overthrown the Lord of the Earth and avenged myself of my sufferings. Clearly, my abilities are greater than your own. Your failure and abandonment fourscore years ago cannot be tolerated. Failure must be punished.
Sincerely,
The Lord of the Sky, Vicar of the Heavens.
Trap trap trap!
Mera immediately twisted back and unfurled his wings to fly off.
Suddenly, the ground under him gave away. Without the opportunity to gain lift, the dragon instead leaped forward, landing at the side of the trou de loup lined with stakes, like at Rocky Face Ridge. Just as the dragon clambered his way out of the pit, he heard some yells. Mera swung to his side and dived into the ground just as a volley of ballista bolts sailed over where his head had been a moment ago. He was glad he had destroyed the tent beforehand; it would have muffled the voices and blinded him to his new attackers.
This was crazy though, Mera thought as he rolled off to one side. Where had the gunners come from? Didn’t he just spend hours destroying the cultist redoubts beforehand?
They re-manned the positions.
They were waiting for him to land at the encampment. The Miscabbards were trying everything to kill him.
As if to confirm that, a cloud of smoke suddenly appeared overhead, thick enough to be visible as it descended from the hills into the valley below. Whatever it was it was bad.
Mera immediately crouched down and beat his wings forward, blowing the toxic cloud back towards his hidden assailants. A whiff of the airborne poison was enough for the dragon to identify it.
Wolfsbane.
A deadly paralyzing agent.
The dragon immediately wiped his snout on the ground. The voices of his attackers fell silent, as did the ballistas, having only fired once. Did Wolfsbane incapacitate humans as well? Did he beat them or did they flee?
And then explosions erupted from the mountains looming overhead, one charge of black power after the next igniting all around the dragon. Mera turned to see a massive torrential avalanche of stone and dirt suddenly descend upon him from all sides.
And everything went black.
Arcade Fire - (Antichrist Television Blues)
Portrait from TayraWhite!
Category Artwork (Digital) / Fantasy
Species Western Dragon
Gender Female
Size 1280 x 1153px
Definitely not a fire-eater. That'd be an understatement
Comments