Here there be Dragons

[The House of Dying Lights]

Closed to Kalanit Chulda

The Mountains of Dawn loomed through the iron framed window, barely glimpsed in the distance past the thick foliage of the willow tree outside. The air in the town was crisp, sweeping down from the peaks, a gentle cold touch of mid-September in Northern Alerar. Darius sat by the window in the inn, watching the road as he sipped the strong dwarven cider. The apple and cinnamon brew was stronger stuff than he would normally drink on the job, but it helped to warm his pale flesh after the bitter horse ride across the plains. His cloak was certainly thick enough to protect from Radasanth’s winters, but here where the wind stung with a deadly bite, it penetrated the wool and ate straight to the bone. He could only hope that the mountain trek and his leather adventuring gear would make the rest of this trip more kind.

As he mused over the prospect of buying warmer clothing while he was in town, he began to worry that the darkening sky meant another day without his companion. He couldn’t remember her name, the medium he’d contacted to come with him. His flight from Radasanth was wrapped up in the sheer excitement and wonder of what he had found. His sister, a powerful psychic in her own right, had led him to a powerful legend tucked away in scrolls of folklore. As he’d been reading over it, daydreaming of the beastly might of the creatures listed within the sheaves of parchment she had come by. Leaning down and whispering in his ear, “I have a good feeling that you should read more about this one.”

Her slender finger had dove straight towards the page at a wood cut printing of a great monster. A river dragon, all serpent coils with sharp claws and eyes full of menace and cunning, lay splayed across the page. He heeded his sister’s words and began to read carefully through the legend, his excitement soaring when he came across a particular entry on breeding.

“The dragon lays two eggs every 150 years,” he read aloud, pausing now and again to process the archaic spellings. “When the young hatch, they will often fight until one remains. The dragons are easily tameable at such a young age, if kept alone, and the great General Ygdar rode one as his steed into battle.”

Now he sat in Alerar. His sister’s health was much too frail for such a journey. Instead, he had hired on a medium to help him find the dragon. The woman he had found had explained the limitations of her craft to him. He could use what research he had done to point them in the right direction, and when they got close to their prey, she would guide them more precisely. Although, Darius thought to himself, he had a little extra boost in his last days of packing before catching his ship out. Absentmindedly, he patted the pouch in his front shirt pocket and took another deep drink of the cider. On the road into town, a rider was approaching. Darius couldn’t make out any features in the quickly darkening square, but something inside told him that he may not need to wait another day after all. The horses hooves thundered into town with an echo of destiny, and the merchant smiled into his cup.

[Kalanit Chulda]

The sharp winds of early autumn whipped at Kalanit's cloak as she rode north to Belsten. Storm clouds rolled in overhead, lightning arcing in the distance beyond her destination. She counted the sets of hoofbeats, one, two, three, before the thunder crashed. The sparse trees on either side of the road rattled and waved in the oncoming gusts that blew back her hood. Her thick, black hair blown free, she shook it out, musing as she did how early the leaves turned, this far north.

She hadn't visited the town, nor anywhere this close to Kachuk and Raiaera, in the years following the queen's death, and her forced retirement from royal service. High Graf Schynius' decision to relieve her of political duty had never made sense to the medium, even given her close service to the late Queen Valsharess' personal staff. Her loyalty was not to the Queen, nor even to the Crown itself, but to Alerar. "For Queen and Country," her peers always said, and she barely held back her invective "Fuck the Queen" each time. She knew the Crown was little more than a figurehead in this time of political upheaval, and she served only to better the homeland. Had served, she thought bitterly as the iron shoes crossed from dirt path and began sparking loudly on cobbled streets.

In the dwindling twilight, few of the dwarven-majority townsfolk were out and about, and only one place of business had its doors yet open. The local miners' tavern, unnamed and unmarked but for the smell of alcohol in the air, was her destination, and she trotted the roan beast to the hitching posts and dismounted. She bridled it there and tied on the feedbag before sweeping her cloak away from her sword as she entered the, ahem, little establishment.

[The House of Dying Lights]

When she saw the young woman enter and look around, Damien stood and waved her over. Always the gentleman, he pulled a chair out for her and beckoned her to sit down. Aside from the manners his mother had managed to teach him over the years, he had to admit that his chivalry was driven by the good looks of his business partner. He hadn't quite expected her to be so pretty, with the dark good looks of a woman who had survived puberty well and would likely age just as gracefully. After a few moments of greetings and introductions, Damien smiled amiably and pulled a pack from where it had been sitting on the floor by the table.

"Can I buy you something to drink or eat? It's a long trip, and I appreciate you coming to meet me here. I trust the money I sent ahead was adequate for your travel expenses?" he asked. He readied himself to signal the barmaid in case the lady wanted anything, meanwhile pulling parchment from the pack and unfurling it on the table. A simple map of the mountains was sketched across the paper, with a shaky circle enveloping an area marked with caverns and falls.

"Our creature is usually seen in this area," he said, his rough fingers dragging across the page. "I don't mind spending as much time as we need to search, although in your letter you mentioned having something personal to the creature?"

He fished from his shirt pocket a large tooth, dark with age and serrated along one edge. It was more wide than tall, the thick, strong tooth of a predator that ripped it's food to shreds. He placed it down in the midst of the circled area on the map and grinned. He thought he'd done well in coming across the piece not long before he'd come into the country. He had no idea how old it was or if it was even truly authentic, but he had hoped it was considering the lengths he'd gone to retrieve it.

[Kalanit Chulda]

"No, thank you," she said, reaching for the tooth as she refused his offer to drink. "I would much rather begin the work, that we may be done with this town, and on the road away, that much sooner." As she grasped it, Kalanit felt the grooves of the cuspid, worn in over decades of use and natural corrosive decay. Its serration was blunted by age, but doubtless it would have been no less effective for it. She clasped the tooth to her nose, getting the scent of the thing. After a breath, she placed it within her own jaw and bit down, grinding her own molars against the castaway.

Letting herself take in all the detail she could, the medium closed her eyes and opened her mind, gently and lightly, to it and drew from the impressions on the bone. An instant of insight put her in icy alpine waters, the foam splashing against her scales as she gulped down her prey. Sluicing across her tongue, the water was fresh and cool, washing down the fish that were snapped up in her powerful jaws. She wound her snaking body through the water, diving deep into dark tunnels against the rushing current. It was ecstasy to whip her tail, powering through the gaps in stone and out into the open air and blinding sunshine above.

With a shiver and a gasp, Kalanit was human once more. Breathlessly, her spine arched and fell into a feral hunch, curling fingertips and palms slamming against the oaken tabletop as much for balance as for the pure rush of the hunt. As the tooth rattled hollowly upon the floor, forgotten, the woman's eyes grew alight with hunger anew. With another shudder, and a deep breath to compose herself, Kalanit Chuldah leaned back in her seat, a satisfied grin spreading across her face.

"On second thought, I may have to accept your offer. Perhaps the trout?" she suggested, eyes still closed, tongue pressing against the tips of her teeth.