The Wyverns of Ahyark

[Paragon]

Closed to Ataraxis.

Each step on the marble floor echoed throughout the empty castle. With his sword drawn and covered in silver-colored plated armor of unknowable origin, Dorian took careful steps along the grand hallway of this massive castle. He had heard that a great black dragon had taken residence here, and it was his duty to save the kingdom from this threat. The age of the castle was apparent: Moss growing along the walls, cracks in the ground and missing sections of the floor. In a distant age this was a grand throne room, home to a powerful king of a forgotten empire.

With his eyes peeking out from his helmet, he slowly turned and watched out for the dragon. His plated graves caused a jingle with each movement. With fast, short breaths and sweat dripping down his face, he knew the danger he was in.

"Dorian..." he heard a loud voice, but could not determine where it came from. He twisted around, scanning every inch of the huge room. He heard it again, louder this time, "It is time..."

Before he knew it, a huge black dragon had appeared before him. It had long horns growing out of its head, sharp talons on its forelegs, brilliant dark scales, and beautiful wings that spanned the entire chamber. Its piercing yellow eyes looked through him, and he had to summon every ounce of his courage to keep his shaking blade at the ready.

Dorian's speech was stammered with fear, "Y-you are mine, fiend! Your, your reign of terror ends here!"

The dragon lowered its long neck, bringing its face close to Dorian's, "Young knight, you need not fear me. I have only come to tell you of your first assignment."

Dorian blinked. Assignment? Why would a... wait. Where was he? His scenery was blurry, and he couldn't focus clearly. The dragon... he knew its name. It was Malanthar.

"Am I... dreaming?" Dorian asked, lowering his weapon. It made sense, since he didn't remember ever having a sword nor a fancy set of armor. "So this is how you said you'd contact me, huh? This is so bizarre."

He could tell that he was in this situation before. Having accidentally fallen into Malanthar's hidden castle, the ancient dragon made him a Draconian protégé. He was to be Malanthar's eyes and ears in the outside world, since the dragon was sealed into the castle from an age long ago. Promising power and riches, Malanthar had only one requirement: To connect his soul with his son's, to allow the young dragonling Fallow into the outside world with Dorian. Malanthar said he would give him an assignment soon, but Dorian never imagined it would be in the form of a dream.

Malanthar's deep voice bellowed, "Young Dorian of The Sesthali, listen carefully. In the Western Ahyark Mountains there is a clan of red Wyvern. Every five years, they return to this ground to hunt and gather food for the great migration to their nesting grounds. I want you to ascertain their status."

"That's it?" Dorian wondered. He took off his helmet and dropped it to the ground. "You just want me to see if they're still around? What do I look like, some sort of dragon detective?"

"The outside world is a mystery to me, young Dorian," the ancient dragon replied. "I want to know what has become of my kind, even my distant cousins. You shall be rewarded in kind."

The young man smiled, "You're quite reasonable for a dragon. Oh, and you don't have to do the 'of the' stuff; Dorian Sesthal is fine, or just Dorian." He misunderstood what Malanthar was saying. The scene before him began to fade, his vision wavy and his dream world twisting into nothingness. Panicked due to a sudden revelation, he yelled, "Wait! Western Ahyark?! That's huge! Can't I get something more specific?"

[Ataraxis]

The stars were out this winter night like the jewels of a cosmic mobile, playing games of light and shadow upon the snowy crib of the Salvaran tundra. Before the bluish hills and whited landscapes, beneath the sparkling diamonds and the cold breath of moonlight, Lillian was as a child who first saw the world through the lenses of awe and wonder. The countryside had such sights to offer, from the ice-sheathed vistas of frozen woodlands to the endless dunes of windswept white, and the sixteen-year-old girl always did appreciate these picturesque visions on her lonely treks.

A nipping gust blew by, and the girl wrapped the woolen cloak tighter around her lithe frame. She took in a deep breath of frigid life, letting the invigorating shiver course through her body to chase the drowsiness away. Lillian smiled with a sigh of contentment, silent as she watched the column of cold steam rise into the infinite dark.

It could be troubling at times, to realize just how grand and vast the skies truly were, but Lillian was never one to be disheartened by that creeping sense of insignificance. It comforted her to know that no matter what duties she was expected to accomplish, and no matter how heavy her burdens were becoming, her existence would remain little more than a mote of dust in the unknowable scheme of the universe. It was thanks to this mindset that she could see every bit of the world, no matter how small or mundane, with an endless sense of marvel…

And it was also thanks to this that she could ignore the fresh bloodstains upon her clothes.

Half a dozen scraggly corpses lay in a circle around her, staining once immaculate snows with the dark blood that oozed from numerous gashes and puncture wounds. They were draves, overgrown wolves with naught but thin pelt over their protruding rips. Though they had evolved to survive the harsh cold of Salvar on anything that could be digested, such as raw pinewood or the occasional leather boot, it seemed that none had been able to resist the rare sight of a stray lamb, lost and alone in these unforgiving wastelands.

Blood dripped from the sleek edge of her dirk, a fearsome yet elegant instrument of pale blue glass like translucent ice. She brushed its flat along the wool over her forearm, cleaning the weapon with care before stashing it away. All the while, she wondered about her victims. At first, it was mostly about how she would preserve their meat for the remainder of her trip. Soon, however, she thought of the strange suicidal desperation with which they had attacked… thought of the solid back despair in their beady eyes, frozen in death. It was more than hunger that had compelled them, she knew.

Fear. Their desperate assault had been driven by fear, and not of the young woman. It was almost as if they had thrown themselves upon her blade, in the mad hope of escaping death at much more cruel hands. The girl might have been a mere prey to their famished eyes, but to their terrified hearts, she had been an unlikely savior. Lillian was brooding gravely, unsure of what she should be feeling: pride, or shame? ‘Pity… or apathy?’

Once she realized how obvious the answer was, Lillian cursed under her breath. ‘Apprehension, of course.’

There came the sound of buffeting current, and from high above she felt and heard the whoosh of heavy winds. Just as she craned her neck up, a massive shadow landed before her in a muffled quake and plumes of flying snow.

The creature stood two powerful hind legs, cords of steel rippling under its scales of sullied jade. Its torso was thin and segmented, heaving with every predatory breath; even so, it dwarfed the girl by almost thrice her height and width. Its wings were massive membranes of pale umber, folded at its sides like accordions, and tapered claws extended from their wrists, digging through snow and into the permafrost. Lowering its long neck, the reptilian beast went face-to-face with the teenager, fanged maw halfway open and steaming hotly in the chill of winter. Their eyes met in silence, frozen blue against slit emerald, locked in quiet appraisal of one another… until it turned away, dismissing her.

The wyvern’s jaws snapped about the neck of a dead drave, and Lillian gasped out in indignation – it was stealing her catch. The creature continued its business unfazed, hooking two corpses under each of its talons, ignoring the visceral spurts as its sheer weight crushed the carcasses.

One last time, the creature gave her sidelong look, and what she saw in those wide, intelligent eyes had silenced her outrage at once. Returning its gaze to the starry veil, the creature splayed its winged arms into a majestic crescent, unleashing a stentorian bellow as it bounded into the dark heavens.

Lillian watched the wyvern fly away with a face of utter bewilderment. As its silhouette faded into the midnight backdrop, she could only think of the wistful emotion that had gleamed in its gaze. ‘Did it just… apologize to me?’

[Paragon]

A week after the dream, Dorian had finally reached one of the few towns that populated the base of the Western Ahyark Mountain. The sun had set recently, making the town look like a series of faint lights from the distance. While he could track wild game back at home, he needed something more than just going up into the massive mountain range and hoping for some sign of a dragon. They stayed far away from humans, so the chances of finding one were minimal at best. Not only that, but neither him nor his little pint-sized dragonling companion Fallow knew what they looked like. Dorian had some legends to go off of, like how they were a lot like dragons but smaller and lacking forearms. Fallow had a basic idea of their mannerisms from his father. They were bird-like creatures to some degree, and Dorian wondered if their habits could be determined.

Covered in a light sheet of snow, the town was quietly pumping smoke out of every chimney. The houses had pine trees for neighbors, and its roads were only known as such due to the amount of embedded footprints. It reminded him of his own hometown with its kind, quiet people that wanted nothing more than to help anyone in need. However, this town was quite different. The wooden houses had suspicious eyes glaring out of them, and the people in the snowy streets hung their heads low. Dorian realized what was going on when he looked at a wanted poster outside of the local inn.


Wanted!
Good pay for any Wyvern carcasses!
Their unwarranted attacks must end!
Direct all inquiry to Nerren.

"Fallow..." Dorian said in a hushed tone. "Wyverns don't normally attack people, right? I thought they kept their distance."

"I've never heard of anything like this," Fallow replied as he flapped around Dorian's head, speaking directly into his mind. "Maybe it's some sort of mistake?"

The little dragonling was only in this world through the use of magic, with his actual body lying dormant back in Malanthar's castle. In this form he could only communicate by talking into someone's mind: telepathy.

'It has to be...' Dorian thought, wondering what was going on.

He ripped the poster off the wall and walked into the inn, asking for the one who put it up. Fallow was right behind him, landing on a nearby table and looking the place over curiously. The inn was nearly empty save for a man who sat at the counter, a teenage girl at one of the tables, and a couple of men enjoying lunch at another table.

"Aye, I'm the one who put it up," replied the man at the counter. Slightly balding and with a thick mustache, he had the stern look of a man with experience. He turned around to see Dorian's angry face. "I'm Nerren. What of it? You going to go hunting for those foul beasts?"

The young man marched up to Nerren and said in a frustrated tone, "What's the meaning of this? Aren't Wyverns peaceful creatures?" He lowered the scarf around his neck in discomfort.

"Hmph," Nerren shook his head. "Peaceful? Look at that man's arm over there." Dorian looked and saw huge scars that he assumed were from talons. He looked back at Nerren to hear, "Those damned buggers started it. I have lived in this town my entire life, and the only times I've seen the things were in the sky in my youth. Now they're attacking people? Legends be damned, we have to defend ourselves."

"There has to be a rational explanation for all of this..." Dorian's voice trailed off. He didn't know the situation himself, and he looked like a fool barging in here trying to tell these people what for. He was sure that Wyverns wouldn't do this unprovoked, yet what did he could to convince these people? "Alright, I'll go looking for them, but I'm not going to kill anything. I'll get to the bottom of this. Do you know where I could find them?"

"Hah!" chortled Nerren. "Good luck with that! We've been barking up that tree for weeks."

Thinking that there was no more to do here, Dorian left the tavern so suddenly that Fallow almost didn't notice him leaving and caught up before the door closed. The young man was back at square one. With no leads to go on, was he really just going to go blindly up the mountains?

[Ataraxis]

The gutter of gaslight dimmed the tavern in silent black flashes, warning that the flames would soon starve away. The room eventually fell away into darkness, but there were no groans of annoyance from the patrons. When the owner failed to resurrect the firelight with a turn of the brass valve, he palmed the veneered walnut of the counter for an old lamp and, with a drop of a fizzing match in that fetid pool of whale oil, instilled it feeble life. The reddish glow only allowed vague shapes to break away from the pitch dark, enough for what few people could be seen to navigate between tables and chairs as if they were shoals and reefs under the glare of a faulty lighthouse.

It was only a stopgap measure, but it allowed the innkeeper enough light to fiddle with the valves, cursing in a harsh Salvic at every kink and groan of the metal. They needed every bit of the heat in these cold times, and the brass pipes that fed gas into the hearth had been the only thing keeping the patrons warm on this chill night. Lillian, however, did not think much of the freezing weather; after all, she had just come back from a two-week trek in the Ahyark Mountains, a fortnight under the stars spent using only brambles and pine boughs as mattresses and quilts.

The girl sat in the uncharted gloom, far enough from the prying of the feeble light. Absent eyes stared vaguely at the mug in her hand, watching dews of condensation slide off the stained glass to chill her fingers. After a brooding while, she raised the vessel and rattled its contents, beckoning the only waitress that worked here to refresh her drink.

Lillian was deep in thought, a pensive look on her face as she watched the scarlet stream of raspberry cordial pouring into her glass. She remembered those glassy eyes of emerald, those inhuman slits that somehow held more emotion than a mortal man could ever muster. It was obvious now that the wyvern had been hunting the draves, likely stalking them from the skies as they lead it back to the rest of their pack. ‘And then I killed them, wasting hours of its efforts… perhaps even days.’

Yet she had been the one outraged, and it had apologized to her instead. The teenager felt like the lowest of beings, especially once she realized it had left her one drave in compensation; in the end, one was all she would have been able to carry anyway. Five skinny carcasses, even if belonging to oversized wolves, would barely feed a creature of that size for more than a couple of days, at most.

‘It was probably hunting to feed its mate and offspring, too… and now, this.’ Lillian looked down to a piece of yellowed parchment, one of the posters that were hung all over the town of Lovstock. Upon seeing it, she had ripped it off in disbelief, earning her quite a few distrustful looks from the locals.

While that night had been the first time she had ever seen a wyvern with her own eyes, she had read much about them over the years. They were said to be an intelligent species, and some speculated that they were even more so than humans. Unlike their counterparts in most legends and fairy tales, these creatures did not prey on humans or raze their towns out of the wickedness of their blood: they were noble beings, careful of the impact of their consumption, taking from the wildlife only what was necessary. Moreover, scholars had recorded their presence in Salvar many centuries ago, but the majority of their kind was thought to have left in a massive diaspora long ago, settling in new eyries throughout the southern continents in favor of their warmer climate and denser fauna.

To watch one from so close with her own eyes had been a shock like no other, but to hear that they had attacked Lovstock to prey on the townspeople had rendered her speechless. After seeing it, after feeling the echo of its sorrow in her very heart, a large part of Lillian could simply not believe it.

And so for the three days since she had come here, the girl spent her time in quiet brooding, tormenting herself in farfetched theories and a soul-whittling storm of self-doubt while taking nips of raspberry cordial.

There was a click from the inn’s counter, and the owner hollered in triumph as the faint hiss of gas returned as background noise. The fireplace roared with life anew, and the few other patrons sitting a few tables over clapped their hands in concerted joy – all save for the wounded victim, at least, who merely sipped at his mug with the numb disinterest of a man who had almost lost his arm to gangrene.

Just in time to be greeted by the rekindled fire, a man walked in through the tavern door, tracking in snow as he knocked his soles on the rugged entrance mat. Though dark, the disheveled curls of his long hair were a few shades lighter than hers, and his eyes were a pleasant tinge of aquamarine. He looked somewhat familiar in that vague and inconclusive way, but her absentminded analysis of his outward appearance was cut short by the words he shared with the innkeeper Nerren.

She realized then that in more ways than one, they were very much alike. He asked of the wyvern’s whereabouts, with the sole intent of finding the truth behind this sordid matter. Nerren had chortled derisively, sending him away with no answer and the wave of a dismissive hand. Lillian watched him leave as quickly as he had entered and, nervously, she pondered what to do.

It was not long before she picked up her leather knapsack and slung it over her shoulder, storming out from the inn to go after the young man. Of course, she had not forgotten to leave a handful of coins as payment for her drinks, and a separate stack as tip for the sympathetic waitress.

“Hey!” she called out from the tavern door, assaulted by a biting breath of cold before she could snap the silver clasps in front of her cloak. She called out again, kicking up snow as she trailed clumsily after the man. “I… I saw one!”

He turned at that, a hook in his brow as he watched the girl ford through the thick snow with trouble, only now realizing she had been addressing him. “What did you…” He clamped his mouth as realization dawned on his face, throwing suspicious glances every which way.

The man had been looking at the villagers with distrust, and she understood that he did not want them to hear what she had to say. Lillian slowed her pace, and she stopped inches from him. In the lowest of murmurs, she spoke words only he would be able to hear.

“Three days ago, at the mid-western versant of the Ahyark Mountains, north of Lake Ashkolov. It flew away with the corpses of five draves. Eastbound.”


Feel free to bunny Lillian's part of the conversation. I suspect a time-skip is coming soon, too, so whenever it does, feel free to steer her actions as necessary.

[Paragon]

With snowflakes lightly falling around them, the two stood in the dim light given off by the cracks of doors and windows of the houses around them. They could barely see two feet in front of them, their long shadows just barely darker than the snow they were on. They were close enough to see the shine in each other's eyes; the radiance in hers and the brilliance in his.

"Are you sure?" Dorian asked quietly and sympathetically.

She nodded.

He did not question the prospect of a young girl going up into the mountains alone. Back in his hometown, it was common to send a daughters up to the mountain cabin he shared with his family to request equipment for her family. Sometimes the request was for herself. In Salvar, a mountain was no threat to a girl raised on it.

Their meeting felt strange to him. There was something about her that was foreign, yet so familiar. Somewhere far away a cosmic balance had been achieved, intertwining their fates. He put a hand up to his chin, considering how he would chase this Wyvern. Fallow stared intently at the teenage girl on the snow nearby, tilting his head in interest.

"I could show you the way," she declared innocently.

Dorian looked into her eyes, seeing someone determined. She was eager to go, and despite trying to hide it, her eyes gave her away. He looked up into the sky, catching some semblance of stars but not as many as he usually did. They were also hidden by the constant smoke from the chimneys, but he knew they were there regardless. He glanced at Fallow, who appeared to give some sort of implicit approval, before returning his eyes to the young girl.

He grinned, "If you're sure, it would be a great help to me, young lady. I want nothing more than to figure out why these creatures are attacking humans."

"As do I," she agreed. "The one I saw looked like it was in distress." She was thinking about it every since she came back from the mountains, and Dorian gave her the imperative she needed to go back up again.

"So, it's agreed then. You'll show me where you last spotted it, and I'll investigate, that is if you don't mind miss..."

"Call me Lillian. And what may I call you?"

"I'm Dorian, and you're a real life-saver Lillian. It's a pleasure to meet you."

Since it was too late for any serious trek, they agreed to spend the night at the inn and get an early start the following day. In his separate room, Dorian wondered about Lillian's intentions. He felt deep down that she was earnest, but it was hard to tell with someone eight years his junior.

When morning came, they met at the entrance of the town and started walking alongside the base of the mountain. The light snowstorm had stopped and the sun was out, giving way to fields of glistening white to their sides. An hour out of the town, Dorian could tell that Lillian was a bit shy. They had no common ground, but he couldn't just tell her that an ancient dragon sent him here. He thought about his first impressions of her, and how he had now strung along a teenage girl to go up into the mountains with him. It wasn't that he had any intention of taking advantage of her, but what was she thinking in agreeing to this trip? He needed to at least show that he was human.

"I grew up in a mountain cabin myself, surrounded by nothing but snow, trees, and animals for miles," he began, deciding to break the ice. "For someone who can go up these mountains alone, you seem really young. How long have you been climbing?"

"Oh, well... I'm not really a mountaineer. I basically need to get to places... a lot of them. One just happened to require climbing expertise." She hesitated to go on, realizing how silly she must have sounded. "I learned from books, hearsay, and on the fly. I'd never even gotten close to a mountain, one year ago."

Dorian was impressed. She sounded like she had been at this for quite some time, despite her youthful appearance. It was hard to believe that these kinds of travelers even existed.

He smiled and said, "It's really something else, isn't it? When I go up there, it's harder to hear, it's harder to breathe. Yet, every time I look around, I see something new. I look down at where I came from and see the world ablaze."

Lillian blinked, saying nothing for a moment, and Dorian thought he might have made a fool of himself. The girl seemed to realize his discomfort, however, and quickly shook her hands in negation. "Oh, I'm sorry! It's just... I feel the same way. I always thought people found me strange, whenever I spoke of the things I marveled at... like I was a child that needed to grow up."

Dorian looked at her unashamedly. He had never been embarrassed about his views, partly because of his father always instilling a sense of wonder in him. Lillian didn't seem to him to have anyone like that in her life, so maybe that's why she seems so shy.

She continued, "I was starting to think maybe they were right... but it helps, knowing someone else sees the world like I do." Noticing Dorian's eyes on her, she looked away. "Sorry, I tend to ramble on."

She slunk back into quietness, but Dorian was satisfied with her response. There was no need to rush anything. Before they knew it, half a day had passed and they were at the point where Lillian ascended the mountain. Dorian was a bit perplexed, since there was nothing in his surroundings that suggested a marking of any sort. They were surrounded by common-looking snow-covered trees, a typical incline with no clear path through it, and various rocks littered about that formed no pattern he could recognize. She said she was sure, however, and up they went.

For use in the next post, storing this here until then. Dorian told her about how he came from a town so far out of reach of civilization, they rarely had any travelers. He told her about his life in the mountains, his hard-working father and his loving mother. Lillian listened intently, but was a little sad at the mention of his parents. Fallow was interested in Dorian's story as well, but his attentions were focused on Lillian the entire time. To this point, he had never revealed himself to anyone but Dorian on the outside, yet he was starting to feel an impulse to introduce himself. He was starting to trust someone other than Dorian.

He continued, "When I left, my father wanted me to have one of his finest works. I refused, instead taking a common longsword that I had forged myself. I said to him, 'I want to leave here with my own skills and my own conviction.' Having a fantastic weapon made by him, I would have felt no reason to craft my own arms. I told him that I needed the challenge to improve myself. One day, I'll come back and show him my own creation that puts his offer to shame."

He laughed, telling her how the longsword broke later on and he was left weaponless until he managed to scrounge up the money to make this spear. He didn't tell her that the spear was enchanted as a gift by Malanthar, but it was still ultimately his spear and he was not one to boast about gifts from others.