The Dragon Knight (Closed)

[Ozoric]

The Dragon Knight (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3NpsvqUEyzE)

3082


Indirect sequel to the war between the Ixian Knights and Phoenix Ascendant, and The Red Dragon's Muster (http://www.althanas.com/world/showthread.php?25222-The-Red-Dragon-s-Muster-(Solo)&highlight=red+dragon%27s+muster).


Closed to Silence Sei.

“I don’t know why I didn’t think of this before,” Ozoric mumbled.

The carriage continued to rattle along the dusty road, pulled by four drakes, and brazen in the sunlight of a new day. The metallic fixtures, brass, gold, and mithril spoke of riches, its guardians, of well thought out rise to power.

“We have become so used to war, the ways of diplomacy have been forgotten,” Captain Aelfric replied. He did not look up from his dusty tome, ensconced as he was in his continued learning. Despite being a gruff, well-built man, he had a keen mind well suited to the front lines.

“Attempting to curtail the Ixian Knights with subterfuge almost seems childish now,” the dragoon continued. He flicked his fringe from his eyes, though futility, as the road continued to roughen as wagon tracks churned up the highway. Even without looking out of the window, Ozoric knew they were approaching Radasanth.

Aelfric, finally relenting in his academia, looked up at the youth. He scratched his beard, sighed, and flapped the book closed. He set it into his lap, and ran his leather gloves over the ornate cover.

“It was fun, though, was it not?”

Ozoric nodded. “It was interesting to see the Corone armed forces at work. I think they are the exception though, Dale and his unit. If they were all as well trained, and well suited to the soldier’s life, the empire would not have lost the war.”

“Tosh, they lost the war because the Red Dragon was at the helm of the enemy.”

The nickname ‘Red Dragon’ had amused Ozoric, the first time he had heard it. It evoked imagery of flames, diamond hard scales, and tyrants of the dragon world of old. The kings and emperors of the skies had similar namesakes over the decades, and long before petty mortals occupied Corone, they called one another grander names still.

“It’s funny…that’s the last name that comes to mind when I see pictures of him.”

Aelfric mused for a moment, before he set the book down on the black cushions of the carriage. He picked up his helm, which had a griffon motif around its visor, and undid the leather clasp that kept the neck guard straight.

“I really hope you don’t keep looking like that when we come face to face with this devilish foe.” Aelfric’s stern tone belied his smirk.

Ozoric chuckled, which quickly grew into raucous laughter.

“His wings…,” he giggled, “are like a butterfly’s.”

Sei Orlouge had grown a thick skin over the years, and the nicknames that came his way he wiped off his opponent’s tongue with hard work, respect, and a good strong dose of stubbornness. To Ozoric, this was entirely new territory, but to the ageing mystic, whatever the youth said, it would not bother him in the least.

“Keep focussed, would you?” Aelfric said light-heartily. He put on his helmet gracefully, being a man that was most comfortable when covered head to toe in platemail. His voice turned hollow and echoed. “The future of the Drakengard depends on your performance here today.”

Ozoric took ‘here’ to mean that they were almost at their destination. Eagerly, and with child-like glee that belied his wisdom, he pushed aside the drapes, and stuck his head out into the open air.

The city of Radasanth rose up from the horizon ahead. Its scope took Ozoric aback, who had only looked upon Corone’s capital from hundreds of miles up on a dragon’s back. Down on ground level, it was an industrial behemoth. The walls alone could blot out the sun, and even though they remained mottled with siege warfare’s scars and age, the dragoon pictured nothing penetrating them.

“What do you see?” Aelfric shouted.

Ozoric let the wind whip away his hair, which glistened in the sunlight, and dropped back, into the cabin he dove, as if exposure to the outside world were toxic.

“Oh my,” he smiled, “we’re here.” He began to pack various pieces of paper into his leather satchel, and gathered his bangles, token of thanks, and headband into a pile on his lap.

“Are you ready to sit at a table and fight a war of a different sort?” Aelfric’s humility faded, and his humour vanished for a moment as his voice took on a serious note. Though Ozoric outranked him, today, the ageing guardsman was the boy’s senior, and his guidance would make or break not just Corone’s future, but that of the Drakengard, and the skies themselves.

Ozoric nodded stoically.

“Good,” Aelfric barked, as the carriage came to an abrupt halt at the checkpoint. Rowdy voices from outside cajoled the carriage driver into an inspection. “Then let us meet this ‘dragon’, and see just how strong his bite is.”

[Silence Sei]

The Red Dragon

It had been a name given to him by his enemies during the war for Corone. It made sense; Sei Orlouge was calculating, wise, and absolutely vicious when he needed to be. Though his hair had more of an orange tinge to it, the name seemed to fit the Mystic perfectly. His foes would tell their children that if they did not go to sleep at night, the Red Dragon would take them straight out of their beds. He was a sign of good fortune to his allies, and bad luck to his enemies.

He was Sei Orlouge, the Red Dragon.

He sat at a local bar in the bazaar, titles The Barkeep's Coin. His eyes shifted around the establishment as he thought about the name of the keep. Apparently, he thought, the coin goes to good use.

The tables were all round, the woodwork made smooth and of the finest maple. Each table, even the one he sat at now, had no lost legs to them. The floor was free of debris and vermin, a waiter or waitress coming by every few minutes with a precautionary sweep of the redwood floors. Above, ceiling fans lazily rotated around, providing a cool breeze for the patrons below. The clientele was filled with people who could handle their alcohol; each person was dressed in fine suits and armors. The tables, he had noted, had been spaced out just enough that each conversation would be between that table and that table alone. It was the perfect spot for their meeting.

During the war, he had heard tell of dragoons watching the battles from the skies above. Sei had only known about these warriors through legend. Though his general, Zerith, was the closest the Mystic had ever come to meeting a true-to-life dragoon, the warrior fancied himself more of a halberdier than an actual dragon warrior. This was the first meeting Sei had ever established with this elite caste of warrior. He had to make sure he gave the right first impression.

He still wore his classic gray gi, yet it was covered by a white coat. His left side had been completely hidden thanks to the fur cloth draped over his shoulder. His hair had been combed, though still made into the fine pointy top that he was known for. His face showed no signs of dirt or grime. This was a time for Sei Orlouge to be a diplomat, after all. He had to look the part.

His eyes moved downwards to his hands, towards the manilla envelope that held the summons. The dragoons had requested a meeting with the leader of the Ixian Knights, and they preferred not to have the meeting in Ixian Castle itself. Sei chose this bar in particular due to it's location. The bazaar outside was a perfect way to blend into the crowd should the Corone Armed Forces decide to take a drink break, and recognize the once revered Hero of Radasanth.

Sei had no idea what this meeting was to be about, or why the dragoons had chosen now, during one of the greatest defeats in his career, to contact him. He tapped the edge of the envelope upon the table, producing a slight tapping sound as he awaited his company. With any luck, this meeting would mean good things for not only Sei, but the Ixian Knights in general.

Only time would tell if the Red Dragon had to unleash his fury.

[Ozoric]

The journey through the gatehouse, and into Radasanth proper, was uneventful. To Ozoric, however, it was a wondrous adventure into the unknown.

“Even the slums are palatial,” he bemoaned.

Aelfric, ever full of mirth, could only chuckle. He pushed his young charge out of the wagon, and pointed, with a heavy gloved finger, to the doors of the tavern in which they had agreed to meet the leader of the Ixian Knights.

“Then this mystical place will be akin to the emperor’s palace itself!” he chirped. He pushed.

Ozoric stumbled towards the steps, lip puckered, and every part of his soul scouring the captain.

“Oh, you’re so funny,” he retorted.

He straightened himself out, taking on a palatial air of his own, and set a foot onto the stairs that rose, five in all, to the battered veranda of the tavern. Once, the half-dragon had no doubt, this place would have been a place that tied together communities. In the wake of the war, and the direction of gold to arms, and not amazement, it had fallen into disrepair.

“Let’s just get in there, do what we came to do, and be done with it,” Aelfric said. His voice turned from jovial to just, and as he rose behind Ozoric, he continued to push, cajole, and clash.

“Yes, yes, yes,” the boy mumbled. “The future of this and the possibilities of that hang in the balance,” he paused to push against the door. It offered no resistance even against his lanky form. “The Drakengard is relying on us.” With a heave, he flicked the door inward, and stepped into the beyond.

The Barkeep’s Coin, contrary to its shabby exterior, was a well enough to do establishment. Chairs clung to tables, empty or not, and the dutiful staff kept empty glasses from lingering too long, and over-the-limit customers from slurring too much maddening doubt. It was an altogether more civilised affair compared to the Drakengard’s mess hall, which was a den of debauchery an inebriation after every successful shift, scouting mission, and assault on the enemies of the dragons.

“Well,” Ozoric mused, “this was not what I pictured.” In his vision of meeting the ‘great’ Sei Orlouge, there were more golden tiles, armed guards, and precarious orations. He was glad, for all his learning, to be on common ground.

“Is he what you pictured?” Aelfric asked, slapping Ozoric on the shoulder to catch his attention, and pointing across the room.

Ozoric’s tattoos scintillated with faint light and excitement. Ever since his excursion with Dale and the Corone Armed Forces, he had started to hear so many different stories about the Mystic line. Some were horrifying, edifice to legend and torment and misconception. Others spoke of the man’s deeds long before the empire’s rise, and all the good he had done in the name of Thayne’s he did not worship, and kings he did not recognise.

“I see wings,” Ozoric chuckled, finally setting eyes on the solitary man at a distant table. Ozoric learned enough to be able to describe the man’s garb, and understand the delicate politics between Akashima and Radasanth, but the simplicity of the ‘Red Dragon’ humbled him. He felt proven quite incorrect, and the day was still young.

“After you,” Aelfric erred.

Ozoric tucked his dossier under his arm, which contained all the evidence and props he would need to convince the Ixian of his severity, and the Drakengard’s pledge. With heavy footfalls, his pallid skin dancing in candlelight and the laughter of the patrons, he advanced. He stomach turned in knots, and his bile boiled. Nerves, to the Lancer, were a sign that he was ready.

“Lord Orlouge?” He set the dossier onto the table edge. The mute looked up from his thoughts. “My name is Lancer Ozoric Newalla.” He bowed. “I have been sent as the envoy from the Drakengard, on behalf of Knight-Commander Jacana.” He trailed off, hair eschew, heart racing, and ears pricked to obey every facet of the man’s wishes.

[Silence Sei]

Sei nodded to his new guests, gesturing his hands to the empty chairs sitting across from him. The scrapping of the furniture's legs against the floor was enough to let the Mystic know his invitation was taken. His eyes scoured back down to some documents he had meticulously laid upon the table. He placed his fingers upon the document, his fingertip tracing something along texts. He sat there for several minutes, his finger moving sporadically across the parchment.

“I have heard rumors about your legions exploits, gentlemen,” Sei's eyes kept looking down at the papers, “though honestly I was starting to think they were just legends. Then again, I suppose this new nickname of mind is something forged in lore as well.” Sei's eyes drifted upwards, towards both of the knights. “After all, I hardly breathe fire and terrorize villages.”

“That's actually a stereotype about dr--” the younger of the two knights spoke, his older compatriot raising a hand to stop him in this instance.

“I see humor is lost on your young friend.”

“He has a penchant for a different type of humor, my Lord.” The elder warrior spoke, the fingernails of his friend rasping upon the wooden surface of the table. It was a sign of impatience, and one that had not been lost on the Mystic warrior.

“So it seems. As I was saying, I have a particular need for the skillset of you lancers.” Sei raised his hand, waving over a waitress and pointing to his new guests. The waitress nodded, moving the bangs that had fallen in front of her face to the back of her ears. Out of her meticulously clean apron pocket, she removed both a feathered quill, and a small piece of paper, awaiting the orders from the dual knights.

“How so?” the youngling spoke again, his head turning in interest towards the strategist now.

Sei turned and met the man’s eyes, a slight smile plastered across his face. “Gentlemen, what if I told you that underneath Ixian Castle is a whole nest of dragons?”

[Ozoric]

Ozoric considered his response. He teetered between incredulity and cold, bitter indifference. Though well trained, despite his age, in diplomacy and politics, he went for the former.

“A whole nest?” he sputtered.

Aelfric chuckled at his expense, and turned to examine the bar.

“Oh, miss, I think we best have a quick tour of the top shelf,” he chirped at the expectant barmaid.

She rolled her eyes, flipped her notepad closed, and strolled over to the counter with a jaunt in her step.

“I won’t be long, gentlemen.” Aelfric turned back, smiling, and already bored with their soon to be tedious exchange.

He rose slowly, gestured to the bar with a finger, and disappeared without further comment or instruction. The sound of his heavy bulk, worn armour, and whistling echoed through the tavern.
#s

“They have been there for centuries.” Sei elaborated. The echo of his voice caused Ozoric to strain his ears. The lancer was open minded to many things, but ‘mind speakers’ still tested his belief.

“I am shocked.” He truly was. “I thought dragons were gone from the world, save for the deepest depths of Raiaera,” named crystal wyrm, “and the steppes of the mountains to the north.”

There, the Drakengard rose into the clouds, testament to the Empire’s determination to hide sinners and saints in equal measure in a nest of worthy guardians.

“They are awakening…and I don’t know why.” The mute contemplated. From his pensive expression, Ozoric assumed that was where he came in.

“-and you want me to do something about it how, exactly?” His tactile sense failed him. It seemed like an impossible task for one who had never as much as ridden a dragon on his own merit before.

Whilst the lancer’s question hung in the air, Aelfric bartered with the maid to service them with her finest ales, a glass of wine (he assumed would be Sei’s preferred choice), and a poultice of salsa for the ample supply of breadsticks at every table.

[Silence Sei]

Sei looked to his drink of wine, a solitary finger running it’s way around the edge of the glass. “I was actually thinking that this may be a good way to test one another’s capabilities. You see, I used to have a Dragon Knight of sorts under my employ. His name was Zerith, and he had a great penchant for slaying the dragons that would terrorize Corone. A few months ago, Zerith disappeared while the Ixian Knights were acquiring this country. I have yet to hear from him since.”

“And?” came the reply from the young upstart.

Sei’s finger stilled on the glass, his gaze meeting the brash youth. “And I am looking for someone to fill his former position. My Public Face Team is without a leader, and I thought ‘what better way to seal our allegiance to one another than by placing one of your members at the forefront of our primary team?’ That is why I have called you dragoons to me.”

His gaze burned into Ozoric, who seemed to squirm a bit in his chair. While Aelfric seemed more apt for the job, Sei saw something in the young man that few people could. He saw it in a young Duffy Bracken, in a smart-mouthed Jensen Ambrose, and even in a vicious William Arcus. Sei had the ability to release the potential of this boy, and make him a shining star of greatness among the sea of legends.

The Mystic began to make his way towards the door of the tavern, his glass instantly being taken by a busser and his spot wiped with a clean towel. “If you wish to learn more,” Sei smiled, turning around and giving the two a thumbs up, “Then follow me.”

[Ozoric]

Aelfric made to follow, but the moment Sei was out of sight, he turned about sharply.

“Did he say Zerith?”

Ozoric had risen to pursue the mystic, and was not entirely looking where he was going. The sudden shift in tone took him by surprise, and he hesitated on the spot. He seldom saw Aelfric lose his temper, and from the way his nostrils were flaring, he was doing just that.

“I…think.” Ozoric retreated a step. “Yes. Do you know him?” He raised an eyebrow questioningly, but also to show surprise. It was most unlike his companion.

Aelfric snorted. “I know of him, and that’s more than enough.” He folded his arms across his chest. By now, the tavern’s attentions turned all on him, and he realised too late. “He kills dragons,” he spat.

Ozoric realised he had glazed over that small fact in the remiss notion that Sei Orlouge was a ‘saint’, a hero of sorts. It had never occurred to him that, as a member of Corone’s society, he was anathema in many ways to the culture of the Drakengard.

“Now is not the time,” the lancer replied. He pressed his hand softly on Aelfric’s arm, turned him around, and frog-marched him after the Ixian Knight. “Or the place,” he added, as an afterthought.

They ventured past the kitchen helper, still polishing his glass, and stepped into another room. It was a small, poorly decorated corridor. It lead, from what Ozoric could observe, to a quieter part of the tavern. It gave his over analytical mind time to process everything discussed. He had been flattered, to say the least, by Sei’s offer.

“Do you think he meant what he said, about the alliance?” The change in subject snapped Aelfric from his brooding, and gave Ozoric a mind to bounce ideas. “I mean, I always knew I’d never muster the courage to be a general…,” he trailed off.

“You’re a thinker, lad.” The captain’s gruff voice softened, but still sounded like mountains crumbling. “Public relations?” he said with a slight hint of mirth over his shoulder, “sounds right up your street.”

They trundled on, turned left and right, and then stepped out into the courtyard beyond. Sei awaited them, and only one question pressed down on Ozoric’s conscience.

“We want to know more Mr. Orlouge.” He stepped out to Aelfric’s right, and they stopped in tandem atop the small flight of stairs leading down. “But…where are we going?”

Out in the sunlight, his tattoos glowed with primal energy. His fringe flicked in the breeze, and his hands rested on his hips. Perhaps, just perhaps, Sei saw something in him after all.

[Silence Sei]

He could feel the tension in the air, so thick that it could be cut with the dullest of knives. As he looked at the two dragon riders that had followed him, he knew that they had become uneasy about their alliance. The one with the potential, Ozoric, stepped up to ask the mute where they were going, to which the mute smiled, raised his hand, and lowered it as if to tell the man to lower his voice a bit.

“The caverns I am referring to, Sei’s Tomb, has an entrance in Radasanthia Park. It is the entryway I am most familiar with and therefore the best way for us to enter the Tombs. I know you have your doubts about my intentions, but I assure you, if there is a peaceful way to resolve this conflict, I would much rather take that route than any other. If it comes to it, however, I need to know that the two of you will do what it takes in order to secure the safety of the Coronian people.”

He did not await the response from the dragoons; he did not have time to. He simply began his stroll down the streets of the capital, his visage being met with either silent praise or quiet contempt from the townspeople. Sei had long ago understood that sometimes in order to stay the hero, one had to make themselves a villain. Still, with his war done, nobody could argue with the results that the battles had wrought. Corone had grown exponentially safer under the guard of the Ixian Knights, and the trade routs remained open even to the most loyal of imperialists.

Though they had not claimed Radasanth, the Ixian Knights had won the rest of Corone.

As the rays of the sun soon became blocked by the branches of trees, Sei could feel the raw magical energies growing stronger. He strolled through the park, careful not to draw any unwanted attention to his person. The last group that had tried to enter his tomb came back beaten, bruised, and definitely worse for wear. The telepath approached a small stream, several rocks dotting the water that lead to a cavern’s mouth on the other end. Most people would never notice the cave underneath the shade of the nature, but for people with keen eyes, the entrance was all too obvious.

“Well then gentlemen, shall we?” as Sei asked the question, a terrifying roar echoed from without the cave, sending small tremors across the ground. “Perhaps you may just be able to explain in further detail how your organization works as well…”

[Ozoric]

Ozoric blinked. The ferocity of the roar contrasted starkly with the tranquil idyll of the park. He had followed Sei on the merit of his charisma. There was something enticing, god-like, almost, about the Ixian Knight. He admired him for that alone, never mind the echoes of his exploits which wove into the history books he studied day in, and day out.

“The Drakengard?” he enquired. He tried to seem authoritative on the matter, but as they moved to the cave entrance, he still felt very much a pupil instructed by his mentor. “I thought you would have heard of them…”

I have heard of them, Ozoric. Sei said churlishly. He ducked, wove through the narrower entrance, and stood upright as the entrance became a passageway, and rough rock became smooth as nature transited into nurtured architecture. I have not, heard anything about them.

Ozoric understood the difference, but did not know where to begin. The Knight-Commander had bestowed a unique position upon him amongst the Dragoons. He was their historian. He was the Caller of the Storm hold. He was the son of Charizae. He glanced over his shoulder at Aelfric, who smiled weakly in silence, and then redoubled his stride and in turn, his efforts.

“Centuries ago, the Drakengard was a barren outcrop. The forerunners of the organisation, as you put it, tamed the dragons there.” The process had taken almost a hundred years, and the ramshackle huts had taken a hundred more to begin to approach a fortress. Sei pointed to a portal on the left side of the corridor, which lead them into a wider passageway lined with vines and roots.

“They were soon militarised, and the Empire found itself with a powerful, though unpredictable weapon,” Aelfric continued. He had, despite loathing books, mustered the courage to read one annul in his life. The story of the Drakengard ran in the blood of all its citizens. “The harsh reality of the environment in the mountains, and its seclusion, posed a unique opportunity for the emperor of the day.”

Ozoric frowned. He did not like this particular truth about his home. The Drakengard was a penal unit, its guard’s criminals, and its dragoons brigands and traitors redeemed into self-actualised glory. He supposed it did not matter in the end, but he was concerned about what Sei would think.

“So they trained, harder and harder, and worked their knuckles raw in the defence of Corone.” By that, Ozoric meant the Empire, as the Dragoons seldom deployed for any reason asides the Viceroys whims. “We have not been called for almost twenty years, however.” His voice trailed off, glib and succour, as though hiding something.

It seems strange, given the war…Sei remarked.

“I am afraid that is my fault,” the Lancer confessed. He followed the mystic as he lead them through a small subterranean garden, once a tranquil Zen retreat for mourners, and into the first of many ante chambers. “The current emperor, whom you have worked so hard to usurp, is my father. He exiled me to the Drakengard, in turn, the Drakengard fell from his favour."

Sei stopped in his tracks. He did not turn. He waited for Aelfric and Ozoric to stumble into one another, and make themselves presentable. They stood in a small triangle at the centre of a gangway, cut into the rock, lined on either side by clear crystalline pools. The chamber was a long hall, pillared and trestle with ornate carvings in marble and sandstone. Green ferns swayed in vast planters, touched to life by a draft running east to west.

You…are the emperor’s son.

Ozoric could not be certain if it was a statement or a question. He bit his lip. The more worried he became, and the more he dwelt on the matter, the brighter his tattoos glowed with a primal energy.

“Illegitimate,” he said, half-blurting it out in an over defensive manner. “My mother sired me with what she believed to be a powerful role-model.” The irony in that was a constant source of belittlement for the youth. “I…,” he fell silent when Aelfric patted him fatherly on the shoulder.

“It’s alright lad…,” he eased. Behind his gruff beard, the captain was composing an excellent retort, to put the mystic’s unease to rest. When Sei turned, eyes glinting, he threw his plan out of the window.

Your mother?

Aelfric and Ozoric replied in unison, swelling with pride instilled by years of hard drill and almost religious training.

“Chalazae.”

Sei raised an eyebrow; half-expecting a non-descript name and a blubbering explanation. Chalazae, even to he, was well known.

You are the son of the emperor…and the mother of dragons. The slight bemusement in his mental thoughts unnerved Ozoric. He was not in the mood for belittling sarcasm from both sides.

“It does not change my determination to forge an alliance between our ‘organisations’,” he snapped. He balled his fists.

I did not doubt that. If anything, young Ozoric, that makes you the perfect candidate…the voice of reason in uncertain times.

With that, Sei turned, and continued to lead them deeper into the heart of Corone itself. Ozoric, bewildered by his meaning, resumed pursuit with a flustered mumble and gangly arms barely falling in time with his boots. Aelfric, chuckling with his fatherly grin, tagged close behind.

“I think he likes you,” Aelfric whispered into the lancer’s ear, with far too much enjoyment.

“Oh shut up,” he hissed, trying not to smile himself.

[Silence Sei]

The elegance that was the front of Sei’s Tomb slowly began to fade away as the trio wandered deeper through the cavernous depths. The lush ferns were replaced with more cave mouths, the intricate designs and crests of the Orlouge clan had become stalagmites. The cheery atmosphere had become dark and humid, the occasional ground rumbling roar growing louder as they approached.

“Since you allowed me to learn a little bit of your history, Lord Ozoric,” Sei spoke as his hand began to illuminate with a white light, creating a makeshift torch from his magic, “Permit me to explain to you why this particular cavern is known as Sei’s Tomb.”

“It’s not named after you?” Ozoric questioned.

“Why would it be? It was here years before the ‘Silence’ of Sei became a household name in Corone,” Aelfric answered.

“Lord Aelfric is right, of course. This labyrinth is not named after me, but after one of my great ancestors. You see, a long time ago, there were two Mystic brothers of the Orlouge clan. Their names were Sei and Vat’Clefor. They were often rivals, as many brothers typically are. One day, Vat’Clefor and Sei got into a big argument, and the former, in his rage, knocked his brother unconscious. Due to Sei’s shallow breathing and blacked out condition, Vat’Clefor had thought that he had accidentally murdered his brother.” Sei rounded another corner, another loud roar echoing through the chambers.

“What a lovely family the Orlouge’s must have been,” Ozoric replied.

Sei ‘laughed’ and continued, “Well, in order to cover up his would-be crime, Vat’Clefor buried his brother deep within Radasanth. He had buried him so deep, he thought that nobody would ever be able to find Sei’s ‘corpse’. Now, Sei had taken the Shadow Magic Trials, a ritual amongst the Mystic people that allows us to live off of shadows. Mystics also possess the gift of longevity, and can age upwards to several hundred years should they not fall to disease or other causes of death. Sei woke up to find himself surrounded by dirt and shadows. Knowing he had to get out of his situation, my ancestor clawed and dug every which way he could possibly think of. It took nearly twenty years for Sei to get out of his ‘grave’, but when he finally made it, he had managed to build a long series of tunnels that lead practically anywhere on Althanas.” Sei closed his eyes for a moment, taking a second to let the thoughts sink in for his comrades.

“You mean to tell me that Sei’s Tomb…” Aelfric began.

“Is really just the tunnels created by one man who happened to get buried alive?” Ozoric finished.

Sei opened his eyes and nodded, the trio now finding themselves in a three way fork in the ‘road’. The east tunnel appeared to be the most unstable, rocks crumbling from the ceiling each time a thunderous roar came about. The middle tunnel seemed calmer, sturdier than its shaky brother. Finally, the west tunnel possessed a faint white light glowing from its depths. Sei bit his lip, his mind registering the advantages and disadvantages each corridor potentially held. When his mind had reached a stalemate between the three, he turned to his compatriots. “So, who wants to take point now?”

[Ozoric]

At first, Ozoric did not know how to respond. He was a soldier, bred to follow, not lead. To be given the point by Sei Orlouge, of all people, was bewildering to the youth. He sighed.

“I do not know which way leads to what end,” he admitted.

Before Aelfric could prod him in the ribs, Sei offered guidance.

Dragons dwell at the far end of one of these tunnels. If you are truly their prince, you should hear them, no?

The captain eased off, slinked back a step, and with an all-knowing smile he waited. Though Ozoric could not see his mentor’s face, he felt the condescension on the back of his neck. Every mishap and misdeed was ever a chance for Aelfric to ‘educate’ Ozoric in the ways of the Drakengard.

“Okay…,” he erred. He closed his eyes. He reached out into the dark, resounding silence reached back. “I…I can’t sense anything.”

There was a low roar, barely audible, and more a phantasm in the ear than vibration in the air. Sei tucked his hands into his obi, and waited.

Do not look, listen.

“I am listening,” the lancer retorted. He grimaced, though his eyes remained closed.

The corridor farthest left contained nothing but darkness. Ozoric saw him running along at, faster than his true legs could carry him, and then plunged into abyssal night. He jolted, as though something struck him, and opened his eyes with a gasp.

A wise decision, Sei mused with a smile. Not all things can dig themselves out of this tomb.

Ozoric whimpered, and closed his eyes again. Though the Ixian Knight had not said so, he was certain the sentence ended with ‘and some are best left buried’. For now, however, the other secrets of Sei’s Tomb would have to remain beneath the cold, war-torn soil of Radasanth.

“What about the middle tunnel?” Aelfric offered. He scratched his beard.

Ozoric had already met a similar end exploring that route. Ready for the shock, he showed no signs of his discomfort to the others. By the time the captain realised he was being ignored, Ozoric felt the dragons, and immediately began to glow. He heard voices in his head, and for once, they were welcome words, not Mystical hammering.

“Huddak sin, Ozoric ymname, u?” High draconic slipped from his lips as though he spoke no other tongue. Sei’s eyes widened, tell of his growing trust forming on his sombre features at long last. Aelfric rolled his eyes.

“I hate it when he does this,” the captain bemoaned.

You hate it when he speaks with his kin? He raised an eyebrow at Aelfric, though he added a smirk to the gesture.

Aelfric frowned. He adjusted his breastplate, gauntlets, and scabbard. He did anything to avoid looking at Sei.

Or when he levitates, perhaps?

The two men looked at Ozoric in unison. True enough, he had begun to hover a few inches from the floor. His tattoos, stark, foreboding, and mysterious, were all that glowed of him now. They burnt bright at their centre, petering out as though the lava, the passion within, were cooling in the dank air. His hair danced, as though in a breeze, and his hands and clothes wavered as though in a thermal strong enough to lift boulders.

“That’s…that’s not good,” Aelfric hesitated.

Ozoric opened his eyes when the dragon, or dragons, answered. The roar in his mind was deafening, and it caused him to fly back down the corridor they had entered via. Aelfric flinched. Sei, unsure of himself, made to help. Aelfric held out his hand to bar the way.

“Leave him, he’s fine.”

Sure enough, the boy righted himself and stumbled back into the fork.

“Sei…,” he whispered, as though winded. “Whatever is wrong…they’re angry.” He corrected himself. “They’re really angry.” Certain his ribs were not broken, he pointed to the third path, and took a step ahead. “You have to help them.”

Me?

Ozoric nodded, and walked on.

“They’re really angry at someone in particular.”

Aelfric followed, and gave Sei an accusatory glare.

“I think he means you,” he spat, before turning his armoured back to the mystic.

[Silence Sei]

Sei was taken aback by the sudden realization that the dragons were mad at him. He took a step forward to Ozoric, his body becoming sluggish to his mind’s commands. Just what had he done to anger these beasts when he had just realized their existence weeks ago? There was now reluctance in his movements even as he came to the boy’s aid. Sei Orlouge, the mighty Mystic, seemed to have learned the sense of fear.

“O….R….L…O...U…G…E”

The voice caused Sei to stop in his assisting Ozoric to his feet (Aelfric had become more than capable of the task by this point) and turning to where the dragon knight had faced. He shifted his gaze towards his companions, who seemed to be more preoccupied with their own affairs. Without speaking to either of them, the Mystic continued, his body trembling with dread at what he might find deeper in the catacombs of his former home.

“Or…Lo…Ug…E…”

The lights from the cave were quickly enveloped in darkness, forcing Sei’s body to radiate with a white light around his form. This light provided the mute with enough vision to continue, while also acting as a beacon to his now left behind companions. The voice in his mind was becoming clearer, as if slowly understanding tradespeak the further he went. He looked straight ahead, his eyes ready to meet whatever called out his family name.

“Sei…..Orlou….Ge….”

His body froze, this time thanks to the four arms wrapped around his form. Several small rocks tumbled in front of him from his brisk pace, falling deep down into what appeared to be a pit. He turned his head behind him to find Ozoric and Aelfric, out of breath and holding onto the telepath for dear life. They pulled him back in unison, saving the three of them from the large orange flame that erupted from the bottom of the pit.

“You will pay Sei Orlouge!”

The tactician fell to his knees, scampering over towards the rocky ledge once more. When the fires exploded from below once more, Sei could finally see the source of the roars that had haunted his party. A large dragon sat at the bottom of the pit, his claws, wings, and tails impaled by the stalactites and stalagmite for so long that rock formations had actually become created around the appendages. He could see tinges of green amongst the pale white scales of the beast. Blood had been drained from the creature for a long while, so much so that his yellow, slit eyes fought to stay open, only fueled by rage.

“You will pay for what you did, Sei Orlouge!”

What was most disturbing about the dragon, however, were the various wyrms, wyverns, and the single basilisk that was feeding on the fools of blood formed by the crucified creature…

[Ozoric]

Ozoric, unthinking, ran forwards. Before Aelfric could stop him, and Sei warn him, the dragoon leapt from the end of the corridor. His boy, pallid skin and dank cloth, illuminated by dragon flame, hung in the air. In the wake of the flame’s ascent, the air, heated to tropical levels, held the boy aloft. He tugged at the thermals, prayed for salvation, and then dropped out of sight.

“That boy is not afraid enough for my liking,” Aelfric grumbled. He stood upright, dusted himself down, and walked to the edge. He stared down into the madness, cold, hirsute features taking in the scene as it unfolded.

The many-limbed mystic appeared flustered at the captain’s side.

Is he mad?

Aelfric chuckled. He saw Ozoric amidst the fluttering shapes, and then heard the crash as his charge crashed into the crater, his thermal cogitation at an end, his power spent.

“I gave up asking.”

The roar of the injured dragon permeated every inch of the cavern. The rock itself rocked, as though the tomb were trembling for fear of its existence.

“The pertinent question is: is he mad enough to know what he is doing.”

Sei tried to reason. He plucked two blades, identical in form and twinned with gods and grandeur alike, from his obi. They shimmered with a light from another world, as though mirrors held to a portal. Whatever strange gift the boy had, he was about to discover just why he felt so drawn to the youth. He was about to discover why Ozoric Newalla, son of a dragon, was etched into the rock that had prophesised the rise, and fall of the Nine.

I fear we are going to find out soon enough.

“After you,” Aelfric offered. He gestured with a gauntleted hand to the precipice, and flinched as a gout of flame rushed up through the gloom. “I don’t think, even Ozoric, can talk his way out of this one.”

Sei blinked. He watched the captain follow the dragoon’s leap of faith, and remained silent and motionless as he found himself alone.

I am not sure I will like the answer.

With less confidence than his strange bedfellows, the mystic began to descend the clifface; one sword held in each upper hand, two lower clinging to the warm granite. As he descended, the surface began to turn to quartz and then coal, as though the heat of the dragons nested hear had begun to warp the very heart of Corone.

“Stop what you’re doing!” he heard Ozoric roar, the second he landed feet first at the bottom of the pit. Sei turned. The scene ahead was remarkable.

Instead of a toasted human, the boy stood before the injured dragon, feet half submerged in the ichor and the bile. He held out his arms, like wings, and tried to reason with the creature. His tattoos, though Sei could not see them glow, permeated power into the chamber that outshone the ancient lizard’s rage.

“I beseech thee, Charizae will not love a child who turns so readily to anger!” he roared.

Sei narrowed his gaze, began to approach, and found himself flanked by Captain Aelfric. The gruff pugilist nodded at the mute, and pointed out several smaller drake lings that were swarming nervously around the ichor pools. He knew what the man meant immediately. Whatever Ozoric was doing with the mother of the brood was of no concern to the men. They had to keep the carrion away from the soon to be carcass.

I will make this right…he mumbled in his mind, even though he was still unsure what he was supposed to have done.

[Silence Sei]

As soon as Sei understood where the elder of the two dragoons was coming from, he went to work. The mute quickly made his way into the pool of black, the stench of aged vomit dancing across the Mystic’s nostrils. He did all he could to try and keep his own food inside his belly as he withdrew his chakrams, slamming the bladed rings into the water in order to incapacitate the lesser dragons. He was well aware of Ozoric and Aelfric’s concern for the dragon breed, so he made every effort to avoid killing the damned beasts.

He slammed his fists into the liquid, causing loud splashes. The eldest dragon shifted his eyes towards the mute, taking a deep breath as if he were prepared to incinerate the hero. It was only due to Ozoric’s protests that the sage being stopped. Sei had no time to thank his new recruit, instead completely focusing on the smaller breeds until the larger dragons were drawn to him. The last thing he needed was to be attacked on all fronts by the winged lizards.

He could her Aelfric grunting behind him, but the Mystic was unsure if he was attacking or simply communicating in a similar fashion to Ozoric. Either way, the leader of the Ixian Knights continued his assault, the tiny squeals of the creatures echoing throughout the Tomb.

~~

The injured dragon, meanwhile, was staring Ozoric down, as if he were judging if the child were worthy of his attention. Every so often, his focus would shift back to Sei and the rage in his heart would ignite anew, but Ozoric’s cool demeanor and words always brought him back from the precipice of destruction. Eventually, the hurt monster closed his eyes and shared his history with the boy. Ozoric had passed his test, now the boy would see just why the eldest of these creatures was so angry at the Hero of Radasanth.

[Ozoric]

The captain’s grunts were of stoic, venerable approval. Seeing Sei’s distraction, he calculated the flight of the lesser dragons, watched, and waited. They descended moments later, eight in all, wings beating, and fangs snatching. From the tales, if they were true, they would prove no match for the mystic. His concern, however, lay with his charge.

“Ozoric!” he roared atop his lungs. He appeared at the dragoon’s side, sweating and berating his own lethargy. “Stop it.” His voice flattened a calming, cogitating, loving tone to his command.

The youth was staring upwards, tattoos aglow, and skin bristling with goose bumps. The dragon still stared down, his gaze oppressive, his presence absolute in the rumbling chamber. As Aelfric grew closer, he could have sworn the air felt warmer, and he lighter for the privilege of being close to a Dragonborn.

“He’s hurt…,” Ozoric whispered. It was so faint, when Aelfric furrowed his brow to strain to hear, Ozoric repeated himself with a clarification. “He has been hurt.”

“Find out why, and sort it out.”

Ozoric blinked. The bluntness of Aelfric’s tone aside, the shortness of his command irked Ozoric. This was not a problem to solve. This was not a problem to address. This was kin, wounded and aggrieved. He turned to the captain with a glare, but Aelfric was already gone.

“Leave the real fight to us!” the veteran roared, sword drawn, shield raised, and arms flailing madly as he too waded into the muck and the mire.

Sei was now under siege proper. When he hit the liquid, it sent an echo through the cavern. Like carrion to a corpse, they descended. Chakras flew, Gemini copies flickered, and now, a half-maddened captain of the guard knocked skulls and sent beasts flying. Fortunately, for Aelfric, less so Sei, the guard’s senses dulled by the Drakengard’s dragon dung picked up none of the putrid overtones of their environment. He splashed and carolled through the ichor quite happily.

“What happened to you?” Ozoric whispered into the dragon’s mind, after several minutes drowning out the chaos from his ears. When the silence fell, his mind and the overlord’s touched. His tattoos shone brighter. His feet lifted from the rubble, and his hands drifted out sideways, wing like and menacing.

With a deep, undulating drone, the creature spoke of the wrong doings against him and his offspring. Ozoric listened, transfixed by altruism and wonderment.

[Silence Sei]

Flashes of an orange haired man flashed within Ozoric's mind. The dragon caused the young knight to feel all the pain he had suffered, all the emotional trauma he had gone through for so many years. There was guilt, grief, and anger all mixed into a ball of emotions that stewed within the creature for centuries. He had developed a hatred for those that lived in these caverns, one particular individual above all, and his rage would not be sated unless Sei's head was placed before him.

The beast looked to Ozoric with pain-filled eyes, the giant bead like structures shifted to its children, which seemed to be fighting a losing battle. The wyverns were felled by shards of glass, the newborn dragonlings easily dispatched with the hilt of the Gemini Blades. Sei had been doing his best to simply incapcitate the creatures rather than kill them. He needed to prove that he was true to his word, honorable in the sense that he would not allow for the death of any more dragon kind.

The stench of the feces wrapped itself around his nose and threatened to take him down with its arouma. Sei tried to fight through the stink, but his stomach continued to churn in reaction to the large, beastly bathroom that he currently occupied. He could feel the sting in his shoulders as a small wyvern flew towards his shoulder and sank its vicious fangs in. The mute yelped in pain and batted the creature away, but now the blue blood of the Mystic had been drawn, and like sharks, the various dragonkind honed in on the injury.

Almost as a cohesive unit, seven wyverns targeted the shoulder, too many for Sei to fight alone. Sei growled as he tried to swat away as many of the creatures as he could, but found himself outmatched by the beasts. "Ozoric... Sei spoke, small 'yelps' of pain transitioning through the heads of both lancers, "Any time now would be simply wonderful!"

[Ozoric]

Like a hurricane, a stream of words archaic and powerful permeated the chamber. From Ozoric’s mind swelled the draconic tongue, unspoken before mortal kind in aeons. Unbound from moral code and unmetered law, the prince tried all he could to stay the wrath of the chamber’s occupants, fearing for Sei Orlouge’s life, and that of his captain.

“Pok nomeno sva huena!” Sei heard it, the dragon heard it, and the wyverns heard it. Only Sei and the greater lizard paid it any attention. Mute ducked, swords lashed, captain came to aid.

It is not working! Sei bellowed back at the lancer.

“Pok nomeno sva huena!” Ozoric spoke with words and his empathy in tandem. His voice echoed about the chamber like a bolt of thunder.

“Or you do what?” the matriarch of the cavern revelled with a voice like granite. Though Ozoric spoke draconic to her, she did not deem him worthy of hearing it in kind.

“Si mi deevdru di wer daariv.” With a heavy right boot, he slammed it down heel first into the blood slick rock. He clenched his fists. He grit his teeth. He glared, as though unto the face of death, directly at the dragon. He blotted out Sei’s cries for help as his pain, his acquiescing memories continued to flood into his head.

“Wux bevi renthisj jacioniv ominak!”

An awkward silence followed roils of thunder that thundered through the thunder. The dragon’s voice was so loud all thoughts left Ozoric’s mind and all the Wyverns skittered away in fright. This left the mystic aloof and wasting time celebrating with mock salutations amidst the carnage and chaos. He was shaking, but alive, and it was no thanks to Ozoric’s gall in standing before tyrants and daring to speak.

“I am Ozoric Newalla,” the boy continued in the lull. “I am not here to hurt you, but free you.”

Wait an m…Sei began, but cut himself short when Aelfric appeared at his side with a grimace of scorn that matched even his grandfather.

“You trust man?” it replied, pensive, thoughtful. No trust revealed itself in the question, only distrust in establishment and jailor. It craned its neck slowly to gesture at Sei with a horn, and looked back at Ozoric expectantly.

At first, he was not certain how to respond. He had barely known the man accused, and seeing all that had unfolded made him doubt himself. What he told, however, seemed to be the significant part. He unclenched his fists. Ozoric Newalla transcended his rank, and for a brief moment, an air of the divine surrounded his lanky, pallid form.

“With my life,” was all he said.

A promise I will honour by doing all in my power to help them, the Mystic pledged.

The dragon leered forwards, long neck stretching to bring its head before the upstart youth claiming to be her mother’s son. The nostrils, as tall as Ozoric, and as wide as his stretched arms, flared threateningly. A silence. Wyvern claws scuttling, wings abating. She snorted. Once, without much force. Laughter filled the cavern at the sight of Ozoric embalmed in spit and phlegm.

[Silence Sei]

The sight of a noble warrior such as Ozoric covered head to toe in dragon mucus was enough to bring the entire cave to a standstill, and then to a thunder-like, echoed laughter. Sei had almost a similar look about him; his body stained blue, his clothes ripped, and his breaths labored between pained laughs. Aelfric had placed one of the mutes arms, limp and almost useless, over his shoulder to support the great strategist. Together, the two of them slowly managed to make their way over to Ozoric and stand before the draconian matriarch like a defendant before a jury.

"What is it that I have done to offend you so...?" Sei asked as his eyes looked over the giant lizard, "Why is your hate for me so strong that you despise all of mankind for it?"

The dragon lowered its large head and closed its boulder sized eyes. Memories surged through Sei's mind, but not those of his own. Instead, he watched as a young man entered the same entrance his trio had entered moments ago. This person actually made the entrance, his hands covered with so much dirt and grime that they were completely black. The man's form was fashioned in a similar way, filth around his entire form and an occasional worm would peek out through the soil that seemed to assimilate this person.

Sei did not have to see this mysterious figure cleaned up to know who it was. His posture, his long hair that reached down to his back, the aquamarine blue eyes that clashed with the black dirt, everything about this person seemed to scream at Sei that this was his namesake; the original Sei Orlouge, the man who had carved this tomb out with his hands. The warrior stood before the dragon humbled, his form bowed before the beast, who at the time was only as large as a common child.

He could feel the monsters joy as he listened to Sei's tale, learned to speak the ancient Mystic's language, and even started to billow tufts of smoke for the first time ever. The two had a symbiotic relationship; with the dragon's aid, Sei continued his journey to dig out of the tunnel. Eventually, the to of them had formed the wide area that Ozoric, Aelfric, and Sei's descendant stood. The two experienced years of happiness with one another, but one day, tragedy had struck.

A stalagmite had come loose during a dig and impale itself upon the dragons wings. By this point, the beast had grown almost ten times its size since meeting the original Sei. The old Mystic was not strong enough to pull the giant rock from the limb of the creature, but made a vow to the beast that he would return with help, and one day, they would feel the sunshine upon their faces together. The dragon understood, and watched as Sei continued to dig his way out of the Tomb.

He waited for a man who never returned.

Back to the present, Sei Orlouge stood mortified at the tale. Why would his anscestor not come back for someone he had such a strong connection to? According to all the stories the Mystic had read, the original Sei was nothing but kind and compassionate; he had even forgiven his brother for the murder attempt that put him in the Tomb in the first place. To see his forefather make such a promise and then never make good on it made Sei weak mentally and emotionally. He nearly collapsed, Ozoric quick to grab at his other arm for support. Sei's eyes met with the beast, his beaten body at the mercy of the monster.

"Ozoric....Aelfric...let's get her out of there." Sei spoke, his eyes focused on one the the rocks that pierced the creatures skin. Chunks of rock flew through the air as Sei stared at the sediments, and holes slowly started to bore through...

[Ozoric]

By morning’s rise Ozoric, Aelfric, and Sei spent. Through midnight’s mass, and dawn’s requiem they toiled. Though the Mystic did much of the work, his strange cogitation power unlike any witnessed in the Drakengard in aeons, they did their bit for the freedom effort. In sunlight’s renewed caress, victory.

The dragon mother lounged longingly in the courtyard of Ixian Castle built anew. Her wyvern offspring, minuet and staccato cries dancing in the air, clambered up and down newly risen towers and along sky bridges and temple gardens. Ozoric and Aelfric watched from atop a parapet’s battlements, teetering over into the sun kissed breeze of the high and mighty.

“That was a strange turn of events,” the captain commented. His gruff voice, coarser yet for whiskey’s turn, ran down Ozoric’s spine.

He leant back, turned, and frowned. His pallid skin was porcelain in the looming midday sun.

“What does that mean?” He bit his lip, contemplating and divining the many different emotions and faces of his mentor. Politics were his game but altruism was not.

With a long stretch of his legs and a chuckle, the captain prepared for oratory battle. He wore only a white shirt, sweat-stained proudly displayed and black breeches. His boots arranged to his left, side-by-side, and waiting use once more. The table to his right, matching the white iron framework of the only chair to hold his girth in Corone was laden with a silver try and various appetisers and drinks.

“It means I did not expect a diplomatic talk to turn into a confrontation with gods and an afternoon lunching with monsters.” He winked. The lancer did not appreciate the overly familiar tone.

“Are you suggesting Sei is a monster?” He rested his hands on his hips, hooking thumb beneath the simple brown leather of his belt. He too wore white shirt, devoid of signs of strain, and black breeches. His hair danced in the breeze, or perhaps the constant thermal whir that brought the air around his form to life day and night.

“To the contrary my dear boy, you are the monster.” A smirk set Ozoric straight, but left further questions unanswered.

“I didn’t do anything,” he chirped.

“Precisely,” Aelfric barked.

Ozoric frowned as he began to pace. He circled the stairs delving deep into the tower, and the infirmary beneath them; a womb of health in the regenerating site of Ixian power. A roar in the distance, a dragon’s contentment, brought about passion and focus in him.

“I have long been a pacifist Aelfric. I am a proponent of peace, of stability,” he trailed off when the Captain raised his hand. A simple, regal, empyreal cessation.

“Times have changed too quickly for your old ideals to remain worthy of upholding. War is come, to us, wherever or not you will it away with political fallacy.”

“War is come?” The rhetoric was obvious, even to Aelfric. Ozoric stepped towards the captain and partook in a rather hefty draught of Riesling from the wine jug. He swirled the glass, cut crystal ablaze in the heat, and downed half of it without thinking. Dry, acrid fruit washed away his self-doubt. “War is never come, it is forced upon us.” He slammed down the glass, spilling it, and clenched his fists.

“You will swing a sword and kill a man someday soon, Ozoric Newalla. Your mount, when you tame one, will fight and die by your side. God’s providence runs through your veins,” Aelfric sighed and pushed himself upright. “Chalazae is no pacifist, and no rebellion against your nature will bring peace to these lands, or any other.”

The lancer chuckled. Suddenly, he found himself unable to fight, even when he wanted to.

“You find that funny?”

Ozoric shook his head. “I find the fact I’m so hell-bent on not fighting, that wherever I go, I end up fighting.”

He had come to find peaceful union in Radasanth, and found war. He had risen to the top of the spire to find peace in the sun with his mentor, and found war. Even when he climbed to the Knight-Commander’s tower to commend for peaceful action, he had ended up on a scouting mission…in a war. He understood now. He could not bring peace with words. He had to forge peace in the flames of battle. Flames of battle conjured in the mouths of the dragons below, and the enemies of his enemies, once long ago his friends.

Aelfric took his time before he responded. His scar covered visage, a weather patterning of experience roiled through different emotions. It settled on contentment, and then turned to placid smiles.

“When we return to the city, a sword in your hand you’ll find, and a day in the sand pits of the Citadel. Agreed?”

Ozoric shrugged. He recovered his glass, drained it, felt dizzy, and waned.

“Agreed.”

“Good. Now, time to put on your armour.” The captain pointed to the buttress, where sabatons, red leather armour, and thick undercoats awaited his disciple. “You’re going to train, all afternoon, until Sei Orlouge returns from his business. When he does, you are going to stand before him in that feasting hall and enact the Edict of the Emperor. Our kind, and his, will be as one. The Ixian and the Drakengard; forged in a battle, forging ahead for peace.”

For once in his life, Ozoric Newalla smiled with true, undulating emotion. His tattoos glowed with fire and evanescence. He grinned. Without his sabatons, his armour, and his shield, he turned and ran towards the parapets. As he leapt, tantalisingly slowly, from the top of Ixian Castle a prophecy fulfilled. With wind, sun, and destiny beneath him, he fell gracefully through the dizzy heights of success.

The Dragon Knight fell to earth a new man.

[Quentin Boone]

U]Thread Title[/U]: Thread Link (http://www.althanas.com/world/showthread.php?25740)
Judgment Type: Full Rubric
Participants: Silence Sei, Ozoric



Plot: 20/30

Story- 7/10
You both managed to craft a compelling story that kept the reader hooked from start to finish. It linked the past and future well, and served its purpose. It also had a few good twists that helped keep the reader engaged. An even higher scored was missed here because the end game was revealed at the beginning of the tale. Had the purpose of the meeting and its intended outcome been left more of a mystery, the story would have packed even more of a punch by its end.

Setting- 7/10
Both of you did a great job of setting and kept the reader in a world that was real and alive. The setting never lost attention and as such yoru characters moved in a well-developed world that was mostly clear in the reader's mind. Yu lost points for two reasons, however: Firstly, during the meeting in the bar, it would have been nice to see it really live, even throughout Sei and Ozoric's conversation, by including tiny details about the goings on around your characters. Secondly, once the action started in Sei's tomb, the use of setting dropped and it was difficult to really picture the pit in which the three men fought the dragons. If you had maintained your level of description of setting consistent here, you could have scored at least an extra point.

Pacing- 6/10
The pacing of the story was overall very good. It didn't drag on to bore the reader, and generally kept a pace that allowed the reader to wonder about the events happening and what they'd lead to. However, points have to be docked for fight and the ending.

The fight was clearly meant to build tension throughout, but this failed due to pacing of it. While usually, yes, battles and fight scenes should be written in a quicker pace, in this case it actually hurt you. Had the pace been slowed (from what you had written), it would have helped build the tension and really impress upon the reader the danger Ozoric, Sei and Aelfric were in. The quicker pacing also dimished the epicness of Ozoric's actions in front of the dragon; they were impressive feats to behold, but weren't given anywhere near enough time and attention to really garner that feeling of epicness in the reader.

The ending felt rushed and tacked on to the thread to finish it up. To get technical, you missed the 'falling action' phase of a plot's five-phase structure altogether and went straight to the conclusion. As such, it felt disjointed and more like an epilogue. One extra post before the final one would have bridged the gap and made the conclusion feel much more part of the story.



Character: 24/30

Communication- 7/10
Both of you used communication very well. A few highlights were Aelfric and Ozoric's interactions, which showed not only excellent dialogue but also non-verbal communications extremely well. These interactions also did a fantastic job of portraying their relationship. Sei's very formal style of speech did a good job of portraying his personality, though there should be other ways of doing this as it can become a little dry and boring. However, Sei managed to pepper it with a bit more 'character' which was enough to make it more interesting and colourful, so well done.

Despite the effectiveness of the communication, some of it felt a little forced, most noticeably during Sei and Ozoric's conversation in the bar. While their conversation would indeed have been forced in-character, this shouldn't be conveyed in such a way to the reader: Rather, they should feel the dialogue is flowing and get the impression of awkwardness through the other tools available to the writer. Notably, stronger use of body language would have helped. Because of this, you missed out on a higher score

Action-8/10
From start to finish, action played a vital role in the story. Both of you added little details that built depth. From Aelfric with his book to Sei tapping the envelope on the table. Ozoric and Aelfric's interactions were fantastic in terms of action as well. A top-tier score was missed out here due to the points I raised in Communication; that lack of extra depth during the conversation hurt you a little. Overall, however, a very solid performance.

Persona- 9/10
All three main characters really breathed life throughout the thread. The high point came from Ozoric, however, who did a spectacular job of really showing the young, inexperienced soldier thrown into a situation way out of his depth and trying his best to swim to safety. Sei did a good job of portraying the hero, as always, but also added the depth of someone wth regrets about his actions and ambitions for improvements.

Overall, you both did a brilliant job here.



Prose: 19/30

Mechanics- 6/10
While your writing was mostly technically sound, there were quite a few typos and spelling and grammatical errors from both of you. Sei used it's instead of its at almost every occurrence, and Ozoric misplaced a number of commas: either too many or not enough. A proof read or two would have solved a lot of the problems here. If either of you want specific feedback here, feel free to PM me.

Clarity- 6/10
While near everything was clear, you lost points because of the battle. The lack of description there made it very difficult to clearly understand exactly what was going on and where characters (and dragons) were in relation to each other. Some of Ozorics unconventional sentence structuring (which didn't necessarily hurt mechanics) makes things unclear and can occasionally require a re-read to fully understand. Sei's clearer, more succinct, writing helped to maintain clarity levels.

Technique- 7/10
Both of you did a great job of using foreboding throughout the thread to build tension and anticipation. Metaphors were used well to add colour to the writing and prevent it from becoming dry. Sentence structure was varied and used to add pacing differences to minute pacing; it added a good variety to the writing that stopped it growing stagnant.

Be careful of placing emphasis where it isn't needed. Sei tapping the envelope on the table gave it much more importance than it should have, as it was never mentioned again. Likewise, Ozoric's alliteration (which was awesome, by the way, props for that) forced the reader to pay far too much attention to something that wasn't actually all that important. While the alliteration is appreciated, it felt clunky and somewhat redundant.

Overall though, you both used literary devices well and show a definite comfort in your individual styles.



Wildcard: 6/10
This was a great tale that I really enjoyed. You both kept me asking questions throughout the thread that made me want to read eagerly on after every post to get answers. However, I was disappointed to see the abrupt end and that some of your long-standing weaknesses are still there. It would be good to see growth from two of the best and most prevalent writers on the site.



Final Score: 69/100

Ozoric (http://www.althanas.com/world/member.php?15834-Ozoric) receives:


1202 EXP!
138 GP!


Silence Sei (http://www.althanas.com/world/member.php?30-Silence-Sei) receives:


2402 EXP!
125 GP!


Congratulations!



Spoils:[/size]

As it stands, the IK cannot yet use all the dragons. However, they are allowed access to two of the younglings; one male and one female. They are large enough for one rider each at present. If you wish to improve them or gain access to more of the dragons, subsequent threads will need to be completed and spoils requested in the same vein as they were here.

[Lye]

EXP and GP added.

Please link this thread where proof of spoils is applicable.