Bane of the Dragonets

[Paragon]

Closed to Visla Eraclaire

For once, Dorian knew exactly where he was going. His dragon boss Malanthar gave him jobs in the form of dreams, and this time he had a rather precise guide to his next location. According to the dream, between the towns of Treadswell and Edsgate along the western portion of The Ahyark Mountain Range there was a great tree stump with two dark inner rings. Dorian had gone up the mountain at that point, and in half a day's time he was met with a large cliff face surrounded by boulders. The largest boulder was covering up an entrance to a cave, and he was trying to figure out how to move it to get in.

A thick sheet of snow covered the boulders and the top of the cliff wall that impeded progress up the mountains, with various trees growing from a steep hill before it. Rays of light pierced the midday canopy of trees and illuminated the snowy mountain. It was a clear day, and the perpetual sound of birds chirping kept him company along with his miniature dragonling buddy, Fallow.

Dorian scratched his head, "Well, I do have this spear here. Maybe I could shatter this thing into pieces?"

"I'm not so sure about that," lamented Fallow, his words speaking directly into Dorian's mind. His magical form only allowed him to perform telepathic communication. "I'm sure The Dragonets have a way of getting in, maybe we should look for something like that?"

Not letting little things like logic get in the way of his macho display of power, he announced, "Nonsense! Boulder, you're finished."

Fallow didn't quite understand what Dorian was trying to prove. He walked his little dragonling body over to the boulder and started digging into the snow around the rock.

Just as Dorian was running towards the boulder with his spear drawn, about to leap into the air to stab into it, Fallow yelled telepathically, "Found it!"

The shock caused the young man to trip and fall face first into the snow. He got up, wiping his face and walked over to the small hole Fallow had made. Apparently, there was an entrance just wide enough for a human to slip through.

"Yes, well, good job little guy," Dorian congratulated, faking a smile with bits of snow falling from his cheeks.

He folded his spear back up and jumped into the hole with Fallow right behind him. He was in a descending circular tunnel, which seemed strangely out of place as far as caves were concerned. He lit a match for light as he ventured deeper, his hands feeling the circular grooves of the brown tunnel he was in. While he had heard of various types of dragons, Dragonets were something new. He didn't even know their exact appearance, but he was assured that they would be easy to spot since they were roughly Fallow's height but thrice the length.

At the bottom of the tunnel there was a large underground cavern. The ceilings were high and covered in stalactites, the right side of the floor he was in lead into a drop so deep that dropping a rock yielded no response. So, he crept along the left wall and watched his feet, holding the match closer to the ground. Fallow sniffed around, flying towards one of the many branching paths in curiosity. Dorian assumed that the little dragonling had caught the scent of his little cousins and followed him carefully.

Soon, he came into a strange part of the cavern that was filled with various colored gems growing out of the walls. Their odd luminosity made him feel as though he was in a dream, and soon he heard the sound of running water as well.

"I think they eat these gems," Fallow commented telepathically. "We're getting close!"

Dorian threw away the match, lowering a pensive brow in contemplation. They had gotten pretty far without seeing anything. That was when Dorian almost stepped on something lying on the ground.

"Hey Fallow, come here for a second!" They both leaned over to get a good look at the creature. It had wings, a reptilian-esque head, and a long body with two sets of legs. Its dark scales were thin, almost blending into its skin. Its breath was faint, and its eyes were closed. "Wait, is this a Dragonet? What's wrong with it?"

"I think it's sick..."

Fallow continued staring at the poor creature while Dorian moved on to the next part of the cavern and discovered several more sickly Dragonets. The running water had culminated into a pool in the corner, and there were even some luminescent mushrooms and some moss growing along the walls. Where were all the healthy ones? He realized that his presence may have put them all into hiding.

In his best Dragonspeak, he announced, "I have come on behalf of Malanthar to help."

"Malanthar?" asked a shrewd, high-pitched voice from the darkness. One of the Dragonets slowly walked out from the shadows. "That's a name I haven't heard in a long time..."

"What's going on here?"

The Dragonet explained that they had been recently afflicted by some sort of unknown plague. Despite Dorian's questions, not only did the Dragonets have no clear answers for him, but he wasn't exactly an expert in biology. He needed some outside help. Fallow flew into the room and began talking telepathically with one of the Dragonets as well, but Dorian did not know what he was talking about with them.

"Listen," Dorian said. "I'm going to get some help. They're going to be outsiders, but it doesn't look like we have much time left."

"Dorian!" Fallow flew over to him. "They say that lately there's been tremors from deep in the ground. That's all they know."

The young man nodded and carefully made his way out of the cave with Fallow. Once he was out, he broke into a sprint and raced to the nearest town- Treadswell. It was a growing town, but filled with many shacks and and a population it couldn't yet sustain due to all the displaced residents of the now-destroyed Knife's Edge. Still, in time these people will have new homes and new lives. It was Dorian's best chance to find an alchemist or an expert in dragonology that needed work. He started walking around town and asking around for an alchemist, since it was obvious looking for an expert on dragons was going to get him nowhere.

[Visla Eraclaire]

Lady Eraclaire,

I hope this letter finds you well. In truth, I hope it finds you at all. My family’s contacts in Corone say you are very difficult indeed to locate, but we have dispatched this courier nonetheless. If you are in fact reading this, evidently he has succeeded.

We hate to trouble you, but I fear the situation in Salvar is little better than it was when last you were here. The war has ended, but stability is still far beyond the horizon. I hope that my younger sister may some day know peace, but I fear that no man now living will see such a day. Our family has little money, but we still remember the courage and compassion you showed us during the Time of Troubles. Little Caroline still says prayers for you every night.

I will trouble you no further with rambling and get straight to my point. My father has recently fallen ill and by the time you receive this he may be dead. The well from which we draw our water is befouled by something. We have drilled two more and they are plagued just the same. What little rain and snow falls, we collect and drink to keep ourselves alive. Our servants carry what they can from surrounding fiefs, but the trips are arduous and now we hear the sickness is spreading even to our neighbors.

Perhaps it is a fitting end to us, a punishment from the Sway upon our father for his atrocities in brewing the poison that felled so many, but even if he is to die, even if I must share his fate, please aid my sisters. I can promise you no reward beyond this somber plea that I not be forced to watch Caroline die before me.

Ever your humble servant,
Julius Roinberg

Visla held the letter in her hand as she stood outside the same gates she had faced so many months ago. They lay open, unguarded, and she could swear she still saw hints of the former guardsmen’s blood where she had spilt it. When last she braved the frozen north, it was embroiled in a bitter civil war. The manor house before her had been an infirmary, captured by the Church of the Sway. The author of the entreaty had been their captive, along with his two sisters.

Through a series of awful coincidences, Visla had been their savior, evidently one well remembered, if the letter was to be believed. Somewhere in the back of her mind she doubted the praise, certain that she was a last choice. She did not blame them. If the letter had come to her a month earlier when she was still in the company of her succubus, she likely would have had the demon burn it to ash.

It was only by sheer fortune that the scroll had even reached her hands now that she lived a life detached from any particular place, wiling away her hours in a private cottage beyond the world itself. Whatever messenger they hired was truly determined, having tracked down her favorite tea shop and left the note there. Visla reminded herself to give him due praise as she rapped on the manor’s mighty oak door.

A man answered the door in tattered clothes, but all the same he could not be mistaken for a servant. Beneath grime and wear, they were clearly the trappings of a nobleman, a size too small and torn in places from the ill fit. Visla met eyes with him and questioned for a moment whether the strapping gentlemen in front of her was the same bratty boy she had rescued from the Sway. To be sure his letter had been more polite, but it would seem he had grown more mature all around.

“Julius, I presume,” she said, pulling back her cloak to show her face and holding out her signet ring in the event he did not remember her. “I would speak with the Baron Roinberg at once.”

The man’s countenance fell as he heard the words, revealing that a young boy still hid behind stern eyes and a sharp jaw.

“I am the Baron Roinberg now,” he sighed, and ushered her in. “I thank you for coming all this way. As I said, we can offer you nothing but our thanks.”

“I’m not one much swayed by riches in any event,” Visla said as she followed him through a house even more decrepit than his attire. Paper curled down off the walls and corners were heaped high with dust. The varnish on the chair she was led to was wearing off and the tablecloth before her was stained all over. “Please tell me your sisters still live.”

“Mercifully so, if one can call this living,” he said gesturing around him. Even as a noble, Visla found the remark somewhat vain. For all the filth and disrepair, the manor was still more than most could ever hope for, poisoned well or no. Still, she realized that in his position she would likely be no better.

“I’m obviously willing to help,” she said with some reluctance, “but I doubt there is much I can do. I acquired your freedom by force of arms, and even if I still had Aelva with me, she could scarcely claw your poisoned water to death.”

“Oh, has she left you?” the man interjected with an impudence that reminded Visla vividly of her first encounter with him. She bristled at the suggestion and slammed her hand on the table as the boy’s grandmother had.

“You may be a Baron, but in this lawless land I could slit your throat as easy as any other,” she scowled an intentional overreaction. In truth, the suggestion was a reasonable one, and she knew it. Still it was nice to see the boy squirm for a moment.

“I meant no—“

“You still have a lot to learn about tact if you’re to grow into your new station. Were it not for your sisters I would have left you to rot. Now, waste no more of my time. Where shall I begin?” Visla commanded, rising from the creaking chair.

“We filled in the wells already in a vain attempt to keep the taint from spreading. Many of our neighbors have abandoned their estates and made for Treadswell. We would have as well, but my sister is too weak to travel and I refuse to leave her side. I’d rather die here as well than abandon her as our father did,” the young Baron said with a grim determination.

[Paragon]

Dorian's search was getting him nowhere. He asked around town, but most of the people couldn't be bothered trying to help him and knew of no alchemists. He walked the dusty streets that were littered with shacks to the side, he perused every job board in town, but there was nothing. He briefly considered asking for someone that could assist in plagues, but that sort of questioning would quickly begin to startle people.

He walked into a clinic that was filled to the brim with patients. With no available beds, many sick people shared spots on the floor. The small clinic was just one enormous room, with small cloth partitions for only some of the people. Sounds of coughing and the smell of dried blood filled the air. Fallow could smell it from the outside, so he decided to wait for Dorian rather than following him in. The doctors rushed from patient to patient with dark rings under their eyes and their patience wearing thin. There was almost no chance he could manage to convince one of them to go up into the mountains with him, but he had to try.

Dorian stopped one of the busy nurses and quickly said, "I'm looking for someone to help me. There's been an outbreak and I need to bring a doctor!"

The small nurse stopped and looked him square in the eyes, her disapproving glare causing him mild discomfort. In a blue nurse's outfit and a mask around her face, she asked, "Where in town is it?"

"It's actually outside of town..."

"Sorry," she said dismissively. "We don't have time to deal with that." Without allowing Dorian to reply, she disappeared from his sight.

What he didn't know was that some of the doctors were missing because they had gone to investigate the water poisoning at a nearby estate. The young man scratched his head, but determined not to give up. While doctors were far too busy to help him, alchemists that were not under the employ of the clinic were still an option. Knowing that he was running out of time, he walked to the town square and used a box to enhance his height. The town square was filled with food vendors, pottery, and other wares. It had the smell of fresh bread and fresh liquor.

He called out to the masses, "If there's any free alchemists around, please help me! There's little time and I need your help!"

Some of the drunkards that listened booed and threw some rocks at him, causing him to trip and fall over backwards onto the dirt. He got up and rubbed his back, with Fallow flying overhead.

The little dragonling spoke into his mind, "How could they! Don't they know you're only trying to help? Isn't this shameful for you?"

"Don't worry about it, little guy," he replied, smiling. "There's nothing embarrassing about trying to help some friends. Don't ever let trivial things like this get to you."

Despite growing up in a loving town with caring people, Dorian had his fair share of frustrations living up in the mountains. He was once bitten by a wolf in his youth, but his father told him to let it pass. A little bite was no reason to get angry. Still, Dorian and his father seemed much more laid back than the rest of the townspeople. His father told him that it was in his blood, but he wasn't sure what he meant by that.

Fallow seemed a bit agitated as he telepathically told him, "Let's take a break, Dorian. Keep this up and you'll collapse as well."

Dorian sighed, but his own fatigue was starting to catch up to him. Rubbing the new bruise on his head, he felt like he would fall ill himself if he didn't get some food in for the day. He stopped by a local bread stall and got some bread, and while he was eating Fallow noticed a conversation across from him.

There was a man talking to another, "Did you hear? Those Roinbergs are bedridden! Even the Baron himself has succumbed to some sort of unknown illness. They say there's something in the water."

Standing on Dorian's shoulder, Fallow quickly turned to him, "Maybe... Maybe the Dragonets were poisoned?"

"Hmm?" Dorian looked up from his food. "What do you mean?"

"I just heard something about water making people sick. We saw some running water in the cavern, didn't we?"

The thought clicked in Dorian's head and he immediately asked Fallow to show him to the people having the conversation. He made his way to them and asked them for directions to the Roinbergs' Estate.

"Don't know what you'd want to go there, friend," one replied. "You might catch whatever it is they got too."

With the directions, Dorian hastily left the town square and traveled to the end of the town. The sun was starting to set, casting an orange glow on his surroundings as he went. Once he left the town, he took a deep breath to let in some fresh air after all that congestion. Fallow also seemed to be in a much better mood after getting away from all those people. Halfway to the estate, he noticed that he was walking along the same path as when he went into the mountains.

"I see what you mean, Fallow," Dorian patted the dragonling on the head as he flapped nearby. "They're not that far away from each other. Maybe it's the same water source. If they have figured out a cure already we could just bring it to the Dragonets."

Of course, human biology and dragon biology was quite different, but Dorian assumed medicine worked the the same for everyone. He was soon in view of the large walls that bordered the estate. Walking around to the open gates, he headed through towards the mansion. There was an eerie stillness in the air, and he found it odd that there was nobody out there to greet him or at least try to shoo him away.

[Visla Eraclaire]

Visla pondered the situation. She could easily provide water for these people indefinitely by teleportation or other arcane means, but she had no interest in being beholden to them for the rest of her life. Still, she was an alchemist in name only and had little insight into the science. In truth, she simply followed instructions as her tome provided them. From the half dozen recipes she knew, there seemed to be no rhyme or reason to the concoctions. The colors and flavors varied widely from the ingredients themselves and she suspected that the whole thing was far more magic than science, with the herbs and liquids serving as a focus rather than a power source.

There was little time for such academic puzzling, she realized, and pulled her book from its holster-like pouch on her hip. The grimoire hit the table with a thump and fell open to a random page. Visla laid her hand on it and concentrated on the problem, wishing fervently for an answer. Much like the arts it taught her, Visla did not understand the functioning of the tome itself. Sometimes it would answer questions, at others it would seem to respond only to desires, and always it operated by an unhelpful logic all its own. Her first week of using it, it had provided her with vast magical insight and since its wellspring had dried up to a mere trickle.

Today was no different as the inscrutable symbols remained fixed on the page. Julius stared at her suspiciously, but had sense enough not to question her methods. Visla clapped the book shut and placed it back on her belt.

“Worth a try. Take me to your sister. I'll see if I can stabilize her for now and get you some water to subsist on while I figure this out,” she said with a confidence that belied her growing uncertainty vis-à-vis her powers.

The man obeyed and let her down another haggard-looking corridor with cracked plaster and scuffed floors. Visla still distinctly smelled the foul scent of death lingering from the manor's time as an infirmary. She could only imagine how unsettling such an odor must be to one lingering at death's door.

Julius ushered her into a room where his two sisters were waiting, day and night for the end of their suffering, one way or another. The elder one was perhaps as old as Visla had been when she left home and the younger was disturbingly close to the age when she herself had fallen ill. They both looked at her with pleading eyes but did not speak.

“I'm going to do what I can,” she said, trying to be reassuring, but wholly unprepared for such a burden.

She reached into her cloak and produced a vial of thick green suspension, handing it to the older sister.

“Have her drink this. It might not counteract the poison, but it should buy us some time at least to figure this out,” Visla directed and turned away without another word, walking back into the hallway at a sharp clip.

She knew if the little one said the sorts of heart-rending things that ill young children do, she would never be able to keep her composure. Even the idea of the poor wretch calling her 'Aunt Visla' or assuring in that magnanimously innocent way that she needn't help almost moved her to tears. She tossed the thoughts away as she slung her backpack to the floor and produced a waterskin.

“Don't trust any water your servants bring back. This should last you at least a day. I'll refill it as needed,” she said and tossed it to Julius.

The young Baron caught it ably and then paused, looking down the hallway toward a sound Visla had not heard.

“Another visitor?”

The sorceress smiled, hoping that the caller was one of their more promising choices for help so that she could return home, having done her good deed, and sleep soundly.

[Paragon]

Approaching a very lair pair of oak doors, Dorian thought it polite to knock until he noticed the door was slightly opened.

'Well, that's not a good sign,' he thought.

He nudged a bit to allow himself and Fallow in, taking note of the disarray that came from a lack of maintenance. Many of the servants had fled, while the rest were gathering water from far away. The carpets had been removed, and everything took on a light shade of gray from the dust. There was something bothering him about all of this, and it wasn't just the poor interior decorating.

Dorian started walking down one of the grand halls, "Fallow... if the Dragonet water supply is really poisoned, why did we find healthy ones? They thought this was a plague, right?"

"I don't know," replied the dragonling. "When I talked to them, they said that the various tribes had been gathered from all over to help with the sick."

"All over, huh?" Dorian pondered his little friend's words. Nobody had been spared from this ordeal here, and yet up in the mountains there were still healthy Dragonets. "Let's assume for a moment... maybe some of them came from further up the in the caverns. If they're not sick, that means..."

"Their water was fine?"

They walked by portraits of previous barons, worn tapestries of past conquests and various potted plants along the walls. Fallow was starting to become a bit intimidated by the eyes glaring at him from the paintings.

"That's right. I think we may be able to pinpoint the source of the poisoning if we look at the area between the suffering Dragonets and the hearty ones."

"But then what?"

"No idea. Looks like we still need an alchemist, little buddy."

The lingering scent of death pervaded their senses. This mansion's function as an infirmary during the war still left vestiges of its presence.

"I don't like it here, Dorian. There's something in the air... I'd rather wait outside."

"Try to bear with it a little longer. Once we get the cure we'll leave."

They finally made it through one of the most decrepit hallways in the mansion, and Dorian had actually noticed Fallow's worsening constitution. Despite being a spirit within a small dragonling construct, the son of Malanthar could still experience the world with all of his senses. Perhaps the young man took for granted how tolerant he was of unpleasant environments.

The Baron Roinberg was a bit alarmed at Dorian's intrusion as he scolded him, "What is your business here?"

After all, in this situation the estate was quite vulnerable. That is why they contacted Visla, a party not affiliated with the local estates or the towns that could settle this matter discreetly. However, it was difficult to keep the servants from spreading the word about their family's condition. Dorian stopped and bowed apologetically.

He spoke softly, "I'm sorry to intrude, but I represent an afflicted family that also suffers from the infected water supply. If it's not too much trouble, I would like to borrow any specialist you have well-versed in these matters."

There was an issue of secrecy involved. He promised the Dragonets that he would procure assistance, but that didn't mean he was going to reveal their hidden lives to the whole world. Just one alchemist or doctor would be enough. He would explain the situation solely to that one person and hope that it would be enough.

[Visla Eraclaire]

Visla eyed the intruder suspiciously and prepared as much for an ambush as for assistance. Unfortunately, she found that he brought neither. Rather than excusing her from her duties, he had come to beg more help for strangers. She scowled and let her readied hand fall to rest at her side.

“House Roinberg is honored as ever to provide aid to our Salvic neighbors. Might I ask what House has dispatched you, boy?” the so-called Baron responded with an undeserved air of nobility. The person he called 'boy' was probably his elder, by Visla's estimation.

As the new arrival hesitated to reply, Visla stepped forward and shoved Julius unceremoniously aside.

“Unfortunately, as honored as he is to hire me out, I don't work for House Roinberg and for all his puffery, they're in no position to offer aid to anyone,” Visla said, cutting the young nobleman off at the knees. “If you have information you can give me to help solve this problem, speak. Otherwise, stand aside.”

Presuming that the latter was the case, she walked by and started toward the entryway. Before she reached the end of the hall she back to Julius to give him a final command.

“I'm going to that town you mentioned. It shouldn't be but a few minutes by air, and maybe they have more information. I'm sure you're 'honored' to provide hospitality to your guest, but don't give him any of the fresh water. Save that for your sisters.”

With those words she turned and pulled up the hood of her cloak, reading herself for the biting cold outside. Standing at the center of the foyer, she traced sigils with her fingers and began to mutter the words that would lift her skyward.

[Paragon]

Dorian raised a brow as Visla walked away, a bit confused from her reaction.

"A little cold, isn't she?" Dorian remarked to the Baron.

The Baron was a little perturbed by how Visla brushed him off, and was more than willing to take it out on Dorian as he said, "Cold or not, she's helping my family." He noticed that Dorian's appearance did not match one of an emissary from the nearby estates. "Where are you from, boy? Now that I think about it, there weren't any Houses that were so willing to converse with us in our time of need."

Dorian blinked, a little taken back by how quickly Baron Roinberg saw through his ruse.

He tried to change the subject, "Was that woman helping you or... ?"

"Yes, she offered us some alchemical assistance, but did not solve the root of the problem. You are starting to try my patience-"

"Wait!" Dorian interrupted. "An alchemist?!"

Back in the foyer, it seemed that Dorian would be too late to stop Visla, but there was another.

A young voice popped into Visla's head, "Please help us." It was none other than Fallow, standing in front of Visla but invisible. He decided to take matters into his own claws and reluctantly revealed himself to her. The spell of stealth disappeared, and Visla suddenly became one of the few that could see him. His small form was under a foot, his figure that of a black dragon whelp with small wings that somehow gave him flight, and his eyes were glowing pools of green. "Some friends of mine are sick! They may even be near the source of the problem! I beg you, don't leave!"

[Visla Eraclaire]

Visla overheard the conversation down the hall as she began the ritual that would allow her to take flight. The gestures and incantations were not particularly exhausting but they were rigorous enough that she had no room in her mind to ponder anything else. When a voice intruded on her thoughts, the burgeoning magical energy around her collapsed. The delicate latticework of glowing runes shattered like fragile porcelain and the fragments dissipated into the air. As Visla opened her eyes she caught only the faintest trace of the evanescent lines drifting into the ether.

There was another sight much more interesting to replace them. The tiny figure of a dragon whelp flapped in the air in front of her. The luminescence of its emerald eyes reflected in her own and she relaxed a fist formerly clinched in frustration from her wasted spell. The words of its plea did nothing to move her, but the allure of its very existence did more than any entreaty. The thought drifted briefly into her mind that she was simply a sucker for green-eyed magical beings, but she dismissed it with a smirk and grew poised for her reply.

“As I said, information is the only currency I’m interested in. If you know the source, then that is all you need to say. Guide me there and if our problems truly are one in the same, I shall solve both of them,” Visla said confidently.

By then the Baron had joined her in the foyer along with the dragonling’s presumed master. Visla turned from the fascinating little creature and gave Julius another stern command.

“The boy isn’t useless after all, or rather, he may be, but he comes with useful accompaniment,” she said, gesturing toward the whelpling. “We’ll be off then.”

She pushed the door open and waited for her guides to show the way, hoping they would explain more along the way. In the back of her mind, as they traveled, she pondered her last crass statement. When she had Aelva as a companion did people see her as simply the demoness’ baggage?

[Paragon]

Ignoring the Baron's further interrogation, Dorian ran for the foyer, his hurried footsteps echoing in the almost-empty mansion. The Baron gave pursuit, shouting after him to stop. They both stopped before Visla and before Julius could open his mouth to say something, he heard her orders. Not only that, but she gestured to something he couldn't see. He was left utterly bewildered as Dorian smiled and left the mansion with Visla, Fallow flying alongside them on the young man's side.

When they were outside, Dorian sighed with relief as he turned to Visla, "Looks like you saved my behind back there. I didn't know how to explain that my patients aren't exactly... human. Oh! I haven't introduced myself yet- I'm Dorian."

“Lady Visla Eraclaire," she introduced herself. "Baroness even had I wanted to be a noble in this accursed land. I’ll tell you right now, I’m barely an alchemist at all. I know a few formulae and I’m only here out of pity for that stupid boy’s sisters. Or I was. Now even if I fail at that I can learn something interesting. How did you come to be a dragon’s pet?”

Dragon's pet? She couldn't know of Malanthar, so she was referring to Fallow? Looking at the little dragonling, Dorian thought that if anything, it was the other way around.

He scratched his head, telling her, "Let's say I picked him up in an old castle. Nobody's a pet around here either, Fallow and I are friends. Don't worry about your credentials, the fact I found someone that can help even in the slightest is a miracle."

They walked along the main road until they were out of the estate, with the Ahyark mountains looming in the distance. The sun was continuing its descent, and a cool evening breeze began to set in. It would be nightfall by the time they reached the entrance to the Dragonet cave.

"Looks like you had to reveal yourself," he said, looking at Fallow. "I'm sorry that it came to that."

"I don't mind," Fallow replied in a tone Dorian had never heard before. It seemed that the little dragonling did mind, but what was done was done. If she really intended to help, he would easily grow on her and let go some of his shyness. For now, he was sticking close to Dorian and trying not to make direct eye contact with her, despite her apparent interest in him.

Visla spoke up, “Where precisely are we going? And what makes you believe that it is the source of these problems? Is it a natural force or some malevolence? I’d much prefer the latter. I can kill a villain much easier than I can solve a complex ecological problem.”

"Slightly up the mountain there's a hidden entrance to a cavern," Dorian began, fully aware that of how absurd it was going to sound. "In the cavern is a clan of... Dragonets. They're little dragons like Fallow, but longer and more lizard-like. They're suffering from an illness I can't discern, but here's my hunch: Fresh water flows down from the mountain. If it became contaminated at some point... maybe we can pinpoint the cause of it all." He told her how there were some healthy Dragonets taking care of the sicker ones, and that they were from further up the caverns. Finding the spot where the sick Dragonets stop and the healthy ones begin could be the key. Dorian could only hope that Visla knew enough about alchemy to be able to make a cure for the illness.

Eventually, they reached the base of the mountain and ascended up a bit to the cliff face with the large boulders in front of it. Surrounded by snowy trees and the descending darkness, Dorian walked over to stone he recognized from before. Motioning Visla over to a small hole in front of it that made her a bit suspect over the whole thing despite Fallow's existence, Dorian jumped in and the dragonling followed.