On Frozen Wings

[Atzar]

[Closed. See this thread (http://www.althanas.com/world/showthread.php?23893-Look-a-Dragon!)for details.]

The port of Tirel.

The harbor teemed with workers bustling to and fro, loading and unloading the many ships that moored at its wharves. Just beyond the chaos of the wooden dockside rose a row of squat, square warehouses of red brick, into and out of which the many cargoes were hauled. The crashes of waves and the curses of men assaulted the ears, and the air carried upon it the unmistakable scent of the ocean – and hints of aromas that were much less pleasant.

Atzar Kellon waited at the foot of one of the harbor’s many piers. At long last a man stepped down from the nearest vessel, a hulking merchantman, and approached him. Wallen was his name, and his husky frame dripped with the sparkling gems and fine fabrics of the wealthy. His round, weathered face was freshly shaven, and his receding hairline hid underneath a bowler hat of black felt, complete with ridiculous-looking white feather. In his meaty hands he clutched a small leather bag.

“Here,” Wallen said as he reached Atzar, dropping the purse into his outstretched hand with a small clink. “Your pay as promised, plus enough for passage back to Corone or wherever you choose to go.”

“But I didn’t even have to do anything.” Probably not the smartest of things to say to his employer, but the mage had never had much of a filter between brain and mouth.

The portly, balding man simply chuckled. “Thank the Thayne for that. I’m a boring man, Atzar. I’m a boring man, and I live a boring life, and that’s alright with me. I hired you to make sure it stayed boring until we docked in Tirel. It did, and for that I thank you.”

The mage smiled. “Fair enough.” Wallen had his quirks, but he was a good man as far as merchants went. “Where are you headed next?”

The businessman snorted. “Raiaera. They’re buying all the timber they can get their hands on. I know a guy who lives in the city here, should give me a pretty good price. Not that I understand why the elves can’t just cut down their own damned forests, if they need wood so bad. Not fond of elves, but their money is as good as any, I suppose.”

From the end of the harbor, the sound of shouting rose over the usual dockside noise, drawing Atzar’s attention. A pair of guards burst through the milling workers, heavy boots beating out a quick pace on the wooden planks.

“Inside! Everybody inside!” One of them ushered a group of foreigners to the nearest warehouse. The other continued down the docks, repeating his command to the suddenly-hushed people. “This is an emergency! Inside!”

“What’s the problem?” Atzar asked when one of the guards came near. The grizzled man spared him a glance.

“That blasted dragon is back! For your safety, get inside!” The mage heard only one word. Dragon.

“Let’s go, Atzar!” Wallen made for one of the many brick buildings at a pace that belied the merchant’s heavy frame. Dragon. Uncertainly he followed the big man. On one hand, safety. On the other, the opportunity of a lifetime…

To Atzar, it was an easy decision. Between one step and the next he turned, running back in the direction from which the guards had come.

The trail was easy to follow. Terrified citizens filled the cobblestone streets, desperately seeking the protection of their homes. The young wizard fought the tide, searching for the source of their fear. The crowd gradually thinned, and the wide boulevard opened into a spacious plaza, ringed with tall brick buildings and decorated with carefully-manicured plants. In the center of the court rose a large, ornate fountain.

In the midst of a mild summer day, that fountain was encased in ice. Crystalline frost rimmed the edge and coated the marble sides, and a pool of meltwater had already formed around the base.

The dragon had gone, but signs of its passage were scattered all around him. Large cobblestones had been rooted out of the ground and shattered or discarded. Across the plaza, two buildings were missing their roofs and large chunks of their walls, gaping to the sky like a toothless smile.

The mage was suddenly aware of the trembling of his own hands. Atzar’s eyes returned to the ground, where the scene got even worse. Six guardsmen rested in pools of their own blood, ripped apart by claws or teeth, their armor twisted and torn like cloth. Two others stood eternally at attention, frozen memoirs of the dragon’s icy might. Numerous others shouted and turned this way and that, eyes up, bearing expressions of mortal terror.

He tried to swallow the lump in his throat, but his mouth was dry. Arrogant, they called him. Cocksure, they said. He thanked the Thayne that they couldn’t see him now.

Atzar set his face in a determined grimace and added two more adjectives to that list. Stubborn. Defiant. He didn’t back away from a challenge, and he didn’t know when to quit. Step after deliberate step, he walked forth into the carnage.

[Silence Sei]

Damnit William.

This one through kept running across the mind of Sei Orlouge. The Captain of the Ixian Knights Monster Team had all but disappeared. Normally, William Arcus’ temporary retreats were just that; temporary. However, it had been months since the man known as the Revenant had reported for duty to his Mystic leader. As a result, Sei himself had to take up the reigns of slaying the varying monsters that plagued Althanas. Given the fact that he also had the fully trained Monster Hunting Team as his guard, the mute had not been worried, but this mission in Salvar was different.

For weeks, a dragon had been plaguing the town of Tirel. People were found frozen to death, mauled to pieces, and even devoured whole. Any opposition against the giant lizard was easily destroyed. Sei gripped the letter pleading the Ixian Knights for their aide. The paper crumpled in his hand, his eyes focused on the most recent swathe of bodies the monster had created. The once pristine bricks that lay before him now a destroyed road of corpses and rubble. He had arrived too late to even look at the devil of Tirel.

He had noticed during the panic that a young man was fighting the flow of rushing innocents, but Sei had been far too busy helping corral the people into safety, as well as assigning his small band of monster hunters to man a house each. When the mute had finally finished his tasks, the carnage had been made, but at least the Ixian Knights had averted a completely disastrous tragedy with their assistance. Sei was at least thankful for that.

The mute’s gaze shifted around, the chill of ice running across his naked arms, causing small bumps to rise. The fresh turned earth below him did its best to mask the copper smell of blood. Crimson stains spackled the street before him, just another prompt to make the telepath start walking towards the center of the destruction. It was there that Sei once again saw the man who was brave enough to run towards the dragon.

He was only a boy. Yet, this teenager was bold enough to think that he could take a dragon on by himself. This was the kind of soldier that made Sei well up with a feeling of pride. If there was any proof that Althanas still had true heroes in their midst, it was the scene that was playing out before the Mystic. As he got closer to the young man, he began to notice his features a bit more clearly. At around ten feet from the youth, Sei froze completely.

A hand reached down towards his stomach. At one point, a sword had run him through during the massive melee known as the Cell. Sei had sacrificed himself on the blade of a warrior to show the world that there were still people with spirit on Althanas; warriors who would one day carve out a legacy of their own on the great tapestry of fate. Sei swallowed hard as he looked at the man before him, his belly starting to throb as if it were impaled once more.

“Atzar Kellon…” Sei spoke aloud, his ‘voice’ probably reaching the mind of the adventurous mage.

Damnit William.

[Amen]

The life of a man of mixed heritage is a lonely one. In Fallien Marcus was tall and milky-skinned. In Salvar – the land he preferred – he was short and swarthy. He was used to garnering a second glance, but time didn’t make him happier about it.

The port town of Tirel reminded him of Irrakam, despite being its opposite in most ways. Both seemed crowded, the latter because it was, the former seemed so because its people were larger. Irrakam smelled of spices, sweat, incense and horse manure, Tirel smelled like horse manure and fish. And dogs. Wet ones.

The most important difference was temperature. It was summer now in Salvar, but any man of Fallien in Marcus’ shoes would bundle himself in tight layers against the perceived chill. Marcus, however, loathed the heat. The brisk, cool breeze of his homeland was a balm for skin and spirit, and he breathed it in deep. And then he spat out the taste of horse manure, fish, and wet dog.

“It will be some months before it is cold enough for all this,” the merchant was saying. “Are you sure you wouldn’t prefer something to suit the season?”

“I’m sure,” Book said. His Salvic was perfect – it was his first language. “I’m going north.”

“North? But there’s nothing to the north.”

Marcus grunted. “That’s what I was taught, too. Hey, you ever heard of Emien Harthworth?”

“Never have,” the merchant said.

You will. The news will reach north eventually, Marcus thought.

“That’s good,” Marcus said. “How much for the boots and the coat?”

The merchant stared at him drop-jawed and wide-eyed, and Marcus’ heart decided to take a break for a few beats. Had the news beat him here after all? Adrenaline made his breathing go shallow, and the light-touched warrior braced himself to run.

“Dragon,” the merchant mouthed, almost without breath, and then he was gone, darting down a back alley with the speed of a mouse with a cat on his tail.

Marcus breathed a sigh of relief while all around him market stalls were emptied and men ran for their lives. He snatched the leather coat off the stall counter first and slipped it on, stroking the arctic fur lining appreciatively while a woman ran screaming with a babe at breast. It was a bit long, but that was alright, he supposed. He traded his old buccaneer boots for the stouter but tougher ones the merchant meant to sell him, also lined with arctic fur. He left his old boots alone as payment.

Book weathered the attack – if there even was one – with his back to a wall, craning his neck to watch the sky. He’d never seen a dragon, but he knew the basics: they fly, they breathe death, and they’re not friendly. He saw no reason to run in the direction of the crowd, since he had no house here and no friends. And besides, a large crowd is a bit more obvious than a man alone and, one assumes, a much more tempting target.

In the end, the warrior saw nothing and heard less, until a short eternity passed and curiosity got the best of him. He began walking in the direction everyone else had run away from, but kept himself near to a wall, and he glanced toward the sky frequently. In short order he emerged in a plaza where there was plenty of evidence to suggest that a dragon or other flying nuisance did, in fact and at one point, exist. To his surprise, he was not alone.

There were plenty of dead men strewn about, but only two living ones, and Marcus guessed that they had been just as late to the party as he was. They were both taller than him – which was not a surprise – but neither was as broad. The templar thought it wise to arm himself before approaching strangers at the scene of an apparent monster attack, so he lifted a pair of short swords from two different bodies, and then he made his approach cautiously.

He did not need to get close before he realized one of the men was eccentrically and familiarly colored, and he let caution drop.

“Why am I not surprised,” he said in Salvic.

He had not seen Sei Orlouge personally since The Cell, but he’d had dealings with the man’s family, and he knew him well from reputation. If there was a dragon to kill, of course the man himself would be there.

[Paragon]

Dorian wasn't new to Tirel. He often traveled between Salvar and Corone, spending an equal amount of time in each country. However, he never expected his visit to be like this. Terror reigned through the streets, with screams of a dragon attack echoing in the wind.

"We're not too late if everyone's still this scared," Dorian said while stepping off the ship.

Dorian's everlasting dragonling friend Fallow floated nearby, his invisible wings flapping silently in the breeze, "I've been wondering this while on the boat ride: Why did you come? I know it's normal for us to investigate dragon attacks, but you knew Sei was leading the monster team here. I'm sure they can handle it."

"They can. It's just..."

"You think you can make a difference? Change their minds and talk to the dragon? Dorian, it's okay! I've lived my entire life with my father. After meeting you, I've seen far more humans than dragons, so I'm much more sympathetic to them. I don't see feral dragons and less of a monster than you do. Dragon or human, anyone who hurts people must be stopped."

Dorian just smiled. Fallow was right about seeing feral dragons more as monsters. Dorian didn't see them that way. If there was any chance at all to talk this out, he would try it. He couldn't focus on his work back at the Ixian Castle at all when he heard about Sei leaving to deal with this.

On the way through the plaza, it was evident that this dragon needed to be stopped. The merciless carnage made Dorian shake his head, but only incensed Fallow into taking the dragon out. The dragoon didn't want Fallow to develop a hatred for his brethren. There are good dragons out there, more of them just need to be found. It was then that he noticed the three figures conversing with each other calmly.

"That's Sei, but... who are the other two? I don't recognize them from the Monster Team."

"New recruits, maybe?"

"I would have heard about it before leaving the castle. This changes things; I could've talked down Sei, but not two strangers brave enough to fight a dragon."

"Then don't talk down anyone! We have to see if the dragon is truly feral before we try any diplomacy. Our pacifist notions might offend them if they're monster hunters."

"A fair point, little buddy."

Dorian approached the group slowly, hoping that Sei would notice him before the other two did.

[Atzar]

Step after determined step, the mage felt foolish as he ventured out into the carnage. Yet even a fool loved company, and as he took in his surroundings, he realized that he wasn’t alone.

One of the men wasn’t familiar to Atzar. He was an average man in many respects, neither tall nor short, neither wiry nor muscular. His blue eyes carried with them a distant expression, as if he was listening to a voice the wizard couldn’t perceive.

The other two men, however, stirred up memories that the mage could have done without. The first was a short, bald man with a statuesque figure apparent even beneath his fur-lined leather coat. The second was taller and sported red hair, tied back behind his head.

The Cell. The one place on Althanas that could make a dragon’s outrage appear harmless and mundane by comparison. Atzar knew the stockier man by sight only, for he had fought in the other chamber. But he remembered vividly the man with red hair. Sei Orlouge, they called him. The mage recalled their meeting like it was yesterday. The jolting impact, the fell sword plunging through the man’s abdomen, tearing from his grasp…

Atzar suppressed a shudder.

“You don’t fear the dragon?” The voice sounded directly within his mind. The mage recognized it as Sei’s telepathy.

The short man smiled beneath his heavy brow; he had heard the voice as well. “Of course I do. But I’ve faced things I feared before. I’ll be alright.”

Next spoke the curly-haired, distant-eyed lad. “I’ll do what you need me to do, Boss,” he said with a nonchalance that the mage found unnerving. Here they were, in the midst of the death and debris of a dragon’s wrath, and the young man sounded as if he were discussing a stroll through the park.

It was at that point that Atzar realized they were all looking at him, and voiced loudly the first thought that crossed his mind. “Of course I’m not afraid of the damned dragon. It just ate half of Tirel, froze the other half, but nah! I’m cool as an ice cube.” As soon as the implications of that last bit dawned on him, he cast a glance at the frozen guardsmen across the courtyard. “Uh, no offense.”

It likely didn’t make for the greatest of first impressions, but thankfully the redheaded hero took it in stride with a faint smile. ”Your reaction is understandable,” he communicated. "It is my plan to put an end to this dragon’s attacks, though. Tirel needs me, and I could certainly use your help." He looked at each of them in turn.

The mage chuckled. “Aw, damn. I left my wings in Raiaera.” The grin then dropped from his face when he saw that nobody else was laughing. “But seriously, how would we even find this thing? I know little about Salvar and even less about dragons. I have no idea where to start.”

Truth be told, Atzar was more than willing to help. He couldn’t claim the purity of altruism as his cause, but certain other, baser motives worked for him just as well. Glory, for starters. Atzar Kellon, Killer of Dragons. It was a title that he could certainly grow to enjoy. Combine that with a healthy dose of catlike curiosity, although the mage fervently hoped that it wouldn’t prove as lethal as the old adage indicated.

The mute held up a piece of paper. ”Some people here have asked me for my help. They gave me some information that should help us. It certainly won’t be easy, but this should be a good start…”

[Silence Sei]

The paper in the mute’s hands was what appeared to be a map, written on a cotton parchment. Sei motioned for the other two members of the group to join him, more concerned with the well being of the people than his feelings about Atzar Kellon and Marcus Book. Upon closer inspection, it was obvious that the map was crudely drawn image of Salvar, several places on the map circled in blue, contrasting with the crayon red that was supposed to be the continent. Reaching into his pocket with his free hand, the telepath removed a quill, placing it upon the map and making a new circle. Obviously, this represented not only the most recent dragon attack, but where the four warriors were now.

“These have been the places that the beast has been sighted the most,” Sei spoke to each of the adventurers, “I’ve only been to one or two of these places myself, but as you can see, there are seven circles on the map.” Sei took his quill and placed a blue X within the circles to represent already checked locations, three in all. “Now, it would be best if the four of us were to split up in groups of two. With the permission of each of you, I would like to be able to keep us all in contact with one another. To do this, the three of you need to calm your minds, and not shelter anything from me.”

Though this would not be a problem for Dorian (he had done this with the Mystic before), Book and Kellon may have been reserved about letting another visit their inner most workings. It was difficult for one to prove that they would not be intrusive if given such access, after all. “Sir Kellon, I think you should go with my friend Dorian here and check the locations to the southeast and northeast. Sir Book, that would leave you with me to check the southwest and northwest. There has to be some sort of clue between these four locations that will lead us to the dragon.”

Sei’s eyes glanced over at the fallen soldiers, his eyes closing as he mourned for not only them, but their families as well. “This can not, will not happen again. I will leave the members of my team here to watch over the villagers. Dorian, if you brought anybody else from the Labor Team with you, I’d appreciate it if you told them to do the same. This town needs reassurance that their homes will no longer be razed. The best way to do that is to give them a temporary guard, as well as people who can rebuild their homes. The Ixian Knight members are trained in both crafts.”

The explanation was more of a way to comfort Atzar and Marcus into leaving Tirel. The chill from Salvar’s cold, as well as that of the dragon’s frigid attack, caused an unwanted tingling all over the mute’s body. The longer the four of them stood around waiting, the longer the snappy winds of the country were going to affect the freezing mute. Sei looked to his three allies, making sure to make eye contact with each of them.

“If nobody opposes this plan, I suggest we make haste. The longer we wait around, the more opportunities we provide our foe for attacking once more.”