The citadel of Spurhorn is a cold place... but more borne from no need for heat rather than the cruel, unforgiving chill of Irrisen. The companions have been well received by Commander Pharamol and the council in general. The commander has even consented to give away his prized two-headed eagle - a cauldron key to their next destination - provided the companions take out Malesinder and join in a raid on Ivoryglass (where the second key, a bearskin rug, is located). The companions agreed, and were told that they must take to the skies if they were to be effective in combat.
The revelation that some of the slightly humanoid dragonkin are willing to take on humanoid form has been astounding, to say the least. Two dragonkin stepped forward, willing to be bonded with aliens from Golarion. Talsune, a literally huge copper dragonkin wielding a greatsword gruffly challenged Eoferwick to ride him, if he could... and the two went off to train. Aoife found kinship with Nevra, the female blue dragonkin who greeted them upon their arrival at spurhorn. She wields the traditional glaive, and the two young females seem to be getting along famously.
Marcos himself finds training with Calissus, a female white dragonkin summoner who teaches him how to grow his eidolon's wings. Redwood meanwhile is given a pair of winged boots and trains himself in their use.
Kheycear was stunned by the revelation that he is this 'Promised One' a prophesied 'Traveller from Beyond the Stars' who was to restore the Skyfire Mandate as the one true power on Triaxus. What this meant, he did not know, but Marlen - a robed white dragonkin and high priest of Apsu - stepped forwards and collected him from the council meeting. The two now go to the chapel at the northern edge of the underground complex of Spurhorn.
"Is it true?" Marlen asks Kheycear, "Have you come from beyond the stars to restore the Dragon Legion as the caretakers of Triaxus? Will you be the one to tip the balance against the Draklanders and allow us to rule once more?"
Ishbaad seems at a loss at first. His companions are taken away and paired off or given some other means of flight. The light-furred Commander Pharamol approaches him with a smile on his lips. "Have you a means of flight?" he asks the beleaguered inquisitor.
"Thank you very much, Calissus, de energy around dis realm is remarkable, no?!"
The Kitsune had never before realized just how much the surrounding environment could affect his summoning. It's something that he subconsciously must have known but now, having someone spell it out in detail, it all made perfect sense. After all, Whitecap had evolved from a Pan-like creature as the two wandered the world and more times than not, out of necessity, became the intimidating Centuar before him now.
Evolution is nothing new to Whitecap. It was his nature to take on the needs of his ward and meet the challenge, although this time things are much different.
"I was not made for the skies, land was a stretch for me to master from my aquarian beginnings. Two legs felt awkward on these hard surfaces, when my second set of legs formed, it was a blessing to balance on the firm terrain. I have since become stronger and more confident in my abilities on land, but now I have these new appendages sprouted from my back and soreness in muscles I never noticed before! Marco, we have been through difficult situations in the past, I urge your aid to assist me now!"
Seeing the usually sure and sturdy Whitecap unsure and off balance reminded him of their meeting when Marco had to teach him to walk then eventually run and fight. He knew Whitecap had an inner strength and once tapped it would fuel an inner fire allowing Whitecap to soar above his obstacles.
"It 'tis ok my old friend; we are in dis together as always! Calissus has informed me that air is much like water, yet not as ah wet yeah? De air has currents such as rivers and waves, heat affects flow too so just ah like when jew are in de wetlands, jew must feel de movements around jew and use de flow, not fight it. Jew will get it, I am sure."
Perched atop the sheer cliff faces of an enormous peak, the stronghold of Citadel Spurhorn towers above the surrounding range of the Parapet Mountains. Its frozen walls cling to the mountain, merging with the craggy, snow-blanketed rocks until its hewn structure is indistinguishable from that of the Parapet’s stone. Cold, icy wind drifts through the stone halls carrying wavering motes of snow that float in the air and hang visibly within the shafts of dull light that stream in through random paneless windows scattered throughout its interior.
Inside the enormous, high-vaulted room, Aoife stands motionless looking up and up to the massive dragon-shaped creature sitting before her. And though the beast rests and crouches, it still towers high above.
The dragonkin looms over the child, staring down with pale, cold eyes.
”Summerborn… you are only a child. You have known very few years of life… and you have not known war,” Nevra cranes her long, serpentine neck toward the child, twisting her scaly-maw slightly as it comes inches from Aoife’s nose. With their faces nearly touching, the pale radiance of the dragonkin’s eyes seem to pierce straight through the youth’s body, as if able to plainly see Aoife for the frightened child she is. Behind Nevra’s words there was vast intelligence and terrifying power, produced by a throaty, rolling growl that made the child shudder and tremble. ”What have you been through that you wish to become a rider? You would risk your own life to fight in our war… a war that is not your own…”
”Come, summerborn. Tell me your tale. What has brought you to this?” Nevra’s rolling growl coalesces seamlessly into a terrifying, animalistic mockery of speech, but the child can also sense the sadness and genuine caring words hold.
Aoife stares ahead, speechless for a moment when faced with such a powerful presence and the studied, piercing gaze of the blue dragonkin. As the creature pulls back its exceedingly long, slender neck, the child feels her muscles relax, not realizing how fearful she had been when the dragonkin’s dangerous maw was positioned so close.
Looking at Nevra, the child realizes that the creature is not simply blue, but rather, she is the color of pure, glacial ice. The hue of the dragonkin’s scales are brilliant and pristine, the joining of living sapphire with the coldest frozen rime and somehow made flesh and blood.
A heavy winter coat covers the child, though inset with an exceedingly soft, white fur liner. Wrapping countless times around her neck and head, a thick, but faded yellow scarf crisscrosses and interlaces with itself until only her brilliant green eyes show through a gap in the weave. Resting over both garments is a stained and weatherworn white cloak, now faded to a dull gray, with black spotted fur inlays lining the interior seam, draped over her head, shoulders, and hanging nearly to the floor.
Turning her gaze down, the child looks to the enormous leather gauntlets covering her hands, the elegant stitching weaved along the hem coming all the way up to the crooks of her elbow. The gloves clench and flex as Aoife’s hands form into fists, and she again, for maybe the thousandth time, is surprised that she can even manipulate her father’s gauntlets without each simply falling off of her and to the floor.
”Nevra…” Aoife begins, her voice timid and mouse-like by comparison to blue dragonkin. ”I…”
The child pauses, unsure where to start or begin her story. There was so much that had happened. So many things she had seen. So much pain. And most of all, so much loss.
”I’m not sure where to begin.”
”Dear child,” Nevra’s voice rolls out of her throat. ”It is always best to begin at the beginning.”
Nodding to Nevra, Aoife exhales and watches as her breath forms into a pale, opaque cloud in the frozen air before her.
”My first childhood…”
The blue dragonkin cannot help but twist her head sideways in confusion. Her gaze still piercing into Aoife, it is clear to the child that Nevra finds her statement confusing.
”I know there are vast differences between your world and mine,” the child begins, careful to explain her meaning. ”But it is not common on my world either, for us to have two childhoods.”
”I think what happened to me was a gift from Baba Yaga. But sometimes I’m not so sure. Maybe she did it to hurt me…” Aoife pauses for a moment, shaking her head in frustration. ”Maybe it was torture…”
Aoife once more pauses, and shakes her head.
”Wait. Let me start again…”
Nevra continues to look down upon the summerborn child, and as she does the corners of her mouth, just visible beyond the countless rows of jagged teeth, curl upward into a gentle smile.
”Take your time, summerborn,” her voice is surprisingly soothing and gentle, helping to lull Aoife into a sense of comfort. ”There is no need to rush, or fret, tell your tale as you are able. We are simply having a conversation, you and I.”
Nevra spreads her wings and stretches her surprisingly dexterous arms wide to either side of her body, indicating the massive chamber is empty save for themselves.
Nodding in response to Nevra, the child takes a further moment to compose herself and then begins.
”In my first childhood, the only family I grew up knowing was my father. He was the best father in the world, and he was a hero. But I knew nothing of my mother,” Aoife says as her eyes flit to the side and she recalls some long forgotten memory of her time together with her father. ”My father was a pathfinder… He was someone who searches for lost secrets, going on dangerous missions, and collected ancient, powerful artifacts. He was very good at it too. The other agents, they called him a seeker.”
”He was gone a lot, always on expeditions,” the youth pauses for a moment, her eyes glistening even in the frigid air. ”Then one day, he didn’t come back.”
”Around that time pockets of winter started popping up all over our world, even in places it should have been warm and filled with summer. My dad had some theories about what was going on and set out to understand what was happening… maybe even to try and stop it.”
”Months later, I received a letter stating that his gauntlets had been found in a forest that had been frozen… again, in a place that should have been in the full swing of summer,” the child holds both hands aloft, showing both sides of the enormous gloves that cover fully up to her elbows. ”These were my father’s gauntlets…”
The supple brown leather looked new and exceedingly soft to the touch, as if they had never been worn for a day, even when the rest of her cloths were tattered and faded from months of travel. Along each hem, intricate and interwoven gold stitching created a beautiful elegant cuff. On each of the palms, the brilliant stitching seems to swirl into vague shapes, the thread itself coalescing to form the odd glyphs of some long forgotten language. On the back of each glove, the exquisite stitch-work encircles what appeared to be a large red gem which shimmered and glowed independent of the faint light filtering in through the windows of Citadel Spurhorn.
”A friend of my father’s lived close to my home. He had always been like guardian to me. Comforting me when I was scared, keeping me entertained when my father was away, and letting me get into a little bit of trouble here and there,” she cannot help but smile slightly, though her mouth was still hidden beneath the wrappings of the scarf. ”He is Ishbaad the Chosen. And when I was not allowed to journey to the place where my father’s gauntlets had been found, I chose to run away and find my father. And when I did, my Uncle Ishy travelled with me and led the way. I knew he would help me, even when I showed up on his doorstep in the middle of the night. I don’t even know if I had to ask him to come with me, or if he volunteered before I could even ask…”
”We arrived in the sleepy village of Heldren what seems like months later, though it could not have been that long in actuality. Even though I had hoped to find my father there, just as the letter stated, the gauntlets were all that remained of my father in that town for me to find. I did however, find adventures that became my friends… and later my family…”
”Coramus, wise but eccentric. Ice Melts Quietly in Sunlight, silly but loyal beyond measure. Kuragin, stern and cold- or at least, he wanted to be- but he was actually caring and paternal in his own way. And Jorvik, who became my brother. He was loving, protective, and kind to me at all times.”
”We traveled far and wide.”
”We ventured first through a portal near the town of Heldren into the very heart of winter. We liberated the village of Waldsby on the other side of the portal, and razed the Pale Tower as a symbol of the ending of a reign of tyranny. Next we ventured to an enormous city, ruled by witches, named Whitethrone. There we killed a dragon, and then later, we killed a very powerful witch left in charge of the city. This also led our party to the very hut which brought us to your world. It first brought us to another place… another world… and then it brought us to you…”
”Along the way, we met a fortuneteller, who performed a very special ritual… a ritual that foretold our futures. I thought one of the fortunes meant I would find my father along my journey, but I was wrong. When we were in Whitethrone, I learned my father… he…” the child’s voice begins to crack and her words are clearly labored. Even through the thick layers and wrapping of her winter clothes, her chest heaves as Aoife fails to catch her breath. Looking away for a moment, the child wipes her eyes with one of the enormous gauntlets, then waits for a moment longer as she continues to gaze away from Nevra.
”My father… Tighearnán… died along his journey before I could find him. I was either too slow in catching up or I was never meant to find him.”
”I will never forgive myself not finding him in time. But his passing is what drives me now…”
”The fortune I misunderstood instead led us to Black Midnight and powerful warrior and he bestowed upon me and my family a great gift. He gave us his own power, but we had to agree to take up his quest before he passed. For me- for my part- it was an easy decision. His quest aligned with what I already wanted to accomplish. He asked for us to find and free a godlike being known as Baba Yaga, and in order to do that, we would have to first kill a powerful witch known as Queen Elvanna.”
”You see, Queen Elvanna is the one responsible for killing my father. So agreeing to find Baba Yaga would also allow me to avenge him.”
”This quest is all that drives me now. It fuels my heart and keeps it beating. I will find Queen Elvanna and I will kill her.”
”The fortune teller revealed this to us during her reading,” the child takes a moment to drop her backpack to the ground and after a few minutes spent searching through its contents, holds aloft a tattered, creased, and dog-eared harrow card. Brilliantly penned and colored upon the surface of the paper is a scarlet insectoid queen. ”This is the Queen Mother and for me it represents Queen Elvanna. After our fortunes were read, I later snuck in and stole this card. I have carried it since and I will continue to carry it until I find and kill the White Queen. Then I will leave it on her body, for at that time my quest will be finished.”
Looking at the back of the harrow card, Aoife’s eyes fall upon the strange glyphs that are scrawled upon its surface, ”I hope one day to find out what these symbols mean, before I place the card- forever- upon the still and cold breast of Queen Elvanna. I don’t recognize the language it’s written in, but when I took the card from the fortune teller these strange markings were already penned upon it. I can tell you though, these symbols weren’t on the card when our fortunes were read. I think the fortuneteller put them there for me to find… as if she knew I would return to take the card… She knew what I would do, before I even decided to do it.”
Aoife stands, having now turned back to face Nevra, and revealing a glow behind her eyes that seemed as a blazing fire.
”Another hurdle has been set before my quest to reach Queen Elvanna. There have been many things blocking my way since I left my home in the middle of the night to find my father. Since I will not allow myself to turn back from avenging him, I must try to overcome each wall set before me,” Aofie continues to explain, and there seems to be a power building within her own words, as if the child also held the fierce soul of a dragonkin but somehow kept it hidden outwardly from sight. ”This is why I wish to join your war and fight along side you. I cannot fly, but I must fight in this war, all the same, if I am to continue on the path to find Queen Elvanna.”
The revelation that he is some kind of "Chosen One" spins in the mind of the silver dragonborn as he faintly hears a question from the High Priest. An awkward silence causes Kheycear to pull himself back to reality and replay the question in his mind that he just ignored.
"Chosen One? People of my village have thought that about me and those few who have come before since it's founding, but I have always thought of myself as more of a symbol of Apsu, not "chosen" for anything."
Kheycear considers his statement for a moment, then quickly adds a follow-up.
"But I have found myself here amongst these other travelers, and I must say it seems more fate than simple chance. I am pledged to help in what fashion I can."
Kheycear does his best to sound confident, but notices himself fidgeting with the bolt of his rifle.
Ishbaad takes in the majesty of his surroundings with his typical stocism, little emotion displayed on his stony face. Were there a mirror close by, he might see the age spots showing through the once lustrous, shiny skin and betraying his awe, ever so subtly.
I am a man carved from the mountain. Here I stand, in a fortress carved from the mountain. This place... He looks down to the enameled red plate mail that covers his body I feel a kinship with it. Like I've returned to a beginning point. Deja Vu, I think that is what Madame Enfer called it... Familiar, yet unfamiliar.
One by one his companions begin to make their acquaintances with the locals of this strange world. He instinctively clenches his fist around an imagined sword hilt as Nevra approaches Aoife, even going so far as to take a step closer to the child when they get close. It is only moments, but the genuine affection the dragonkin shows to the girl is clear to the perceptive Oread. Ishbaad releases a breath he hadn't realized he had been holding as the tension in his mind suddenly breaks. The girl and the dragonkin walk from the room in a probing, intial meeting type conversation. Their words echo from the stone walls and with each step, much like each echo, the sounds fade into the distance of the stone hewn halls.
Before long, he is left alone.
Ishbaad seems at a loss at first. His companions are taken away and paired off or given some other means of flight. The light-furred Commander Pharamol approaches him with a smile on his lips. "Have you a means of flight?" he asks the beleaguered inquisitor.
Dutifully, Ishbaad reaches into his magical bag and retrieves a small, bluish vial. "Yes sir. I used one of these earlier in our fight against the frost drakes. This is my only one left, however. Do you, perhaps, have a means to acquire more?" he asks, apparently missing the pointed direction of the Commander's question.
His mind drifts back to the combat with the frost drakes.
Tiny dots in the sky slowly turn into not-insignificant blotches, which eventually form into humongous, winged creatures as the frost drakes careen over the frozen landscape. Malice emanates from each wing beat like a beacon as they race towards the gathering of aliens and the two locals of this world.
Dragonkin and Rider mount up with practiced precision and uncanny synchrony, launching themselves at one of the beasts. Their meeting with the creature is viscous and violent.
Ishbaad turns towards the remaining threat and pulls his greatsword from his back. He knows it is not the weapon of his goddess, but still revels in the blessings she has bestowed upon him. He pushes his left foot forward on the frozen ground and digs his right heel in, summoning the connection to the earth from which he was born. Or at least, this world's version of it. Crystalline nodules on his knuckles glint in the foreign light as he grips the leather-bound hilt of the massive weapon.
Come to me and see my power beast! he thinks in his mind.
He brings the blade back in anticipation of the monstrous creature charging into him. His mind pictures his frame absorbing the blow and dealing a devastating one in return as he brings his mighty sword, sanctus custos, to bear.
Suddenly the beast pulls up, opens his maw and unleashes a torrent of frozen hell down upon his helpless and motionless form. An easy target, bound to the ground, and no more significant than a simple boulder, moss or no moss.
The sound of the commander clearing his throat snaps Ishbaad out of the vivid and haunting memory.
"Yes, apologies sir. I am fortunate I had one of these available. In a prolonged war though, the resources available are definitely a concern." He finishes with a deep breath.
"To be honest sir, It has been some time since I've ridden." Ishbaad clasps his hands behind his back and walks in a lazy circle, looking back up to the ceiling and the walls, admiring the construction of the fortress around him. "You see, I've had only begun to study what it means to be a mounted soldier. I've spent years as an infantryman, a foot soldier before I began this journey with Aoife. I was... gods, it seems so long ago, but I suppose it has only been a short time since she first showed up on my doorstep."
"It was on that journey that we came across a magnificent beast. My goddess has found many ways to bless me, and to teach me, but Onyx was one of the best. I had never ridden before, but with a dear friend's help, I learned. He became my companion, my redemption, and my mighty steed. Together we slew our enemies, but our time together was short."
Ishbaad pauses for a moment, unable to continue without his voice cracking, and unwilling to allow that to show. He clears his throat and takes a deep breath.
"He was cut down in our final push to unshackle the fabled hut that we eventually traveled here in. I've not given myself the proper time to grieve my loss, let alone put the thought into replacing him."
Commander Pharamol looks genuinely pained to hear Ishbaad's story. "It seems that you, like we, take the bond you share with your mount very seriously. There are few things that can match such a relationship, and that is doubly so for we Triaxians and our dragonkin companions.
"I get the sense, however," the commander strokes his lightly furred chin in contemplation, "That you would best be served with another kind of bond... one that brings out the most in your mount, and one that is more a rider-mount kind of relationship. I do not think that companionship is exactly your thing.
"Tell me, Ishbaad, how much do you know of true dragons?" The oread gets the sense that Pharamol is not interrogating him and would be equally happy with an answer that shows much knowledge, as an answer that shows total ignorance. He is merely curious and assumes little from this alien life form that he is now addressing.
"We are all chosen for something," the high priest of Apsu makes a whistling noise that Kheycear later comes to recognize as an amused snort, "And those who read the stars know that there is no such thing as 'simple chance'. You should know though, Kheycear, that I was very specific when I did not say that you were 'chosen' rather 'promised'.
"In our holy chronicles, it is said that Apsu told of this time of great strife when dragons and dragonkin would war with one another and threaten to destroy all that we hold dear - that the Skyfire Mandate would be threatened. In that time, Apsu said that he would send the bravest of his heroes from beyond the stars to save us. This hero would be neither dragon, dragonkin nor Triaxian. It is told that he would not know us or our ways, and that much that he spoke of would be strange to us... but that he would aid us anyway and tip the scales in the favor of the just in this war." High Priest Marlen continues about their chronicles of Apsu as they relate to the Promised One. He clearly favors the prophesy as the truth, referring to something 'foretold' interchangeably with something that 'will be'.
"I believe that hero to be you, Kheycear, for who else could it be? Here you are in the twilight of this war, just in time to fight with the Dragon Legion to save the Skyfire Mandate. Just now you pledged to help... and my heart sings to hear you say it, whether you believe yourself to be the Promised One or no.
"Do you, though?" the high priest seems anxious, "Knowing what I have told you, do you believe you are indeed the Promised One? If not, do you at least accept the possibility?"
As Aoife turns over the card, she has a flash of recognition regarding the symbols. She still can't make out their meaning, but they are... yes, she is sure they are... Russian. There is a book on Russian in Baba Yaga's Hut.
Not noticing the girl's revelation, Nevra smiles at Aoife, "Climb on board, then, little one - 'human' did you call yourself? - and let us fly the skies together and see what heights we can reach. Let us see if we cannot find this next key and get you your revenge."
As soon as Aoife has climbed onto Nevra's back, the dragonkin flies straight upwards and out of the open ceiling of Spurhorn. "Where to, Aoife?" Nevra asks.
Aoife thinks. There is a book on Russian in Baba Yaga's Hut.
"To the Hut, then!" Nevra replies out loud, not realising that she had just heard the last of Aoife's thoughts.
"Tell me, Ishbaad, how much do you know of true dragons?"[/b] The oread gets the sense that Pharamol is not interrogating him and would be equally happy with an answer that shows much knowledge, as an answer that shows total ignorance. He is merely curious and assumes little from this alien life form that he is now addressing.
The thoughts that are processed in Ishbaad's mind in response to the question are deep and extensive, but only span enough time to capture a breath, or at best a prolonged sigh.
First, his brain flashes back to a darkened room with several candles and dusty tomes. His younger, stony hands turn page after page of manuscripts, detailing some far-off wizard's accounts and descriptions of many types of dragons and their ilk.
Second, and perhaps more weighty in his heart and mind, he flashes back to whitethrone, and the days of preparation for a certain beast that terrorized the skies and streets of the city.
Third, the brutally quick fight flashes through his mind with pristine clarity of detail. First Aoife being flung across the room. Second the arrow of Jorvik and the bomb of the goblin, then his spear thrust. Lastly, the look in the dragon's eyes as the life within them drained like the blood from his neck.
"*Ahem* I've studied them a fair amount. Most recently the chromatic white variant," comes the perfunctory, oblivious response.
Ishbaad pauses for a few moments, leaving his recent history, and self-appointed title, unspoken for now. "This seems like a strange question to ask, but this place is foreign in so many ways, and familiar in so many others, it seems pertinent to ask anyways. What you say are true dragons, I wonder if it is the same as what I know of them?"
It is several, silent moments before the intent of Commander Pharamol's original leading question, in reference to the type of mount he thinks might be best for Ishbaad, finally hits him like an avalanche.
Me? Borne by a true dragon? Could I possibly be worthy?
A master of hiding his emotion and thoughts, there is no concealing this exciting and surprising revelation on his face. Crows feet on his eyes with tiny crystalline formations at the ends like talons give away what perhaps a younger, smoother face might have hidden. There is no doubt in Ishbaad's mind that the perceptive commander didn't miss it.
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After a moment of contemplation, Kheycear clears his throat slightly and, realizing his meandering thoughts of prophecy and his place in it have caused him to slouch, straightens up to his full height before addressing the High Priest.
"Certainly, I must believe I am this Promised One of which you speak. The circumstances are too specific for it to be merely chance. However..." His voice trails off as he is taken back to the moment before his old world was shattered between the charged and crackling maw of the Blue Dragon who killed his companions and left him alone. "... that means everything that has happened since the moment of my birth and throughout all the narrow escapes and companions lost was all part of this larger plan."
After a silent prayer to Apsu and a quick rememberance of Ziona, the Elven Sorceror and Angreston, the Human Dragonslayer who once accompanied him, now ashes at the base of a burned pyre near the site of their deaths, Kheycear meets the gaze of the High Priest and nods.
"This war of yours is now a war of mine. Our fates are intertwined, and the deaths of my friends will not have been in vain. I shall need a way to reach this battle though, as I have no means of flight. Will one of your number bear me to battle?"
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Pharamol and Ishbaad get lost in a long conversation that ebbs and flows between dragons, military formations and logistics and the finer points of proper use of a cavalry regiment and what that means when the combatants are all aerial.
"Aerial battle is distinctly different from that on the ground," Command Pharamol notes at one point during the discussion, "Three dimensions must be considered at once. You cannot be flanked as easily when you can also travel up and down. However, you must also take care because your enemies can come from any direction. You must use your mount's eyes as well as yours if you would hope to see where your enemies are coming from."
The chat continues for a long while, at the end of which the commander smiles and moves to the doorway to have a private chat with an aid. When he is done, he returns to Ishbaaad. "I believe you are capable of the task I have for you. I believe you are the one to tame this mount. Her name is Cindrix, and she is a white dragon. Being a true dragon, that would typically mean she is evil to the core, but Cindrix has suffered greatly at the claws of her own people. You see, for a dragon, she is somewhat of a simpleton. This has resulted in some cruel treatment from her own kind. As such, she defected and joined the dragon legion.
"However, her first combat for us was not a stellar experience. Her mind is ill suited to the tactical situations required. She needs a rider to form a bond with and to guide her. Triaxians, though, are more adept with dragonkin than true dragons. You, I believe, will have the aptitude required to ride Cindrix as a mount rather than an equal companion like we are used to." Commander Pharamol pauses while this sinks in.
"Would you like to meet her?"
High Priest Marlen smiles when Kheycear agrees that he is indeed the Promised One. "Do not feel that all of your life was pre-determined," he assures Kheycear, "It may be that Apsu promised a warrior and only through your deeds did he decide to send you to us. It is possible that through your actions you have earned this most sacred role in our struggle."
The high priest shrugs, smiles again and moves to a door leading further into the inner sanctum of Spurhorn. He signals for Kheycear to follow. After a short walk down a narrow corridor, they arrive at what appears to be guard quarters. Dragonkin of all colors and genders are dressed in acolytes' robes bearing the holy symbol of Apsu.
"All of these fine dragonkin have volunteered to be paired with the Promised One," Marlen begins, "Talk to them, find out about their lives, and then choose one to serve as your bonded mount and companion."
"Would you like to meet her?"
Once again Ishbaad is lost in his memories, seared in his mind from his fight before with Logrivich. Aoife, sliding across the floor and falling through the trap door in a heap. The blast of frozen breath that they likely only survived thanks to the extensive magical protections they had.
Would I even be able to handle that much cold?
His mind suddenly shifts to a cold and spartan bedroom, and a ravenous female he seemed to have an unlikely connection with.
That didn't kill me I suppose, and I was much more... exposed...
"Yes. Yes I would like to meet Cindrix. I will judge her, and she will judge me." Ishbaad nods and makes to follow the commander.
Will one of us be found wanting? he wonders as he begins to walk through the halls.
A simpleton? I have seen human children who grow physically over the years, but their minds never make it past when they were a toddler. Is this what he means?
Hard stone steps echo off of the walls in the stone hallways as Ishbaad follows the commander on a winding path through the fortress.
I have flown before, aided by the potion. But I had control. Trusting Onyx to move beneath me was strange at first, but eventually I got used to it. There were times when it seemed as though riding would become more intuitive than walking. A nudge with my knee or a small dig with my heel. Could I get there with Cindrix? I don't have much flying experience to compare to...
Another staircase. Up this time. Ishbaad's enameled armor clangs in rhythmic fashion as his greaves bang off of the stone steps.
I wonder how I stay on a flying dragon. If we were to fly upside down, or if she were to go on a steep dive, what would keep me in the saddle?
A wide open courtyard greets Ishbaad and the commander as they finish descending yet another staircase. The sound of strange creatures baying gives away the purpose of this place. Up ahead a darkened archway in the corner of the space shows telltale signs of frost and ice around the edges. No light shines into the space, leaving whatever is, or isn't, in there, a secret for now. At least, until his black and white darkvision gets close enough to unveil its contents.
A statue of a creature that reminds him vaguely of a goat leans on two legs against the wall next to the darkened portal, as if the statue were being carelessly stored there. After a few moments, Ishbaad realizes that it is no statue at all, but a completely frozen creature.
"Dinner? I assume?" he finally breaks his long silence from the walk.
A massive white maw appears from the darkness and snaps up the goat, chewing it noisily. Gradually, the creature owning the jaws steps forwards into the light. A spiny frill above her beaked, lizard-like face sports a row of sharp bony outcroppings, and her long neck carries with it a similar set of spines, each getting larger the father down her back. White scales cover her icy flesh. Her wings splay out as she walks towards Commander Pharamol and Ishbaad on all fours, sniffing at the air like a wild animal.
she bellows. A chunk of goat, covered in dragon spittle, strikes Ishbaad full in the chest.
"Ishbaad. Ishbaad the Chosen, some call me." he says in quick response, doing his best to ignore the frozen hunk of meat and the bell tone still resonating like a gong
Thank Iomedae I have this armor on still... He thinks to himself as he reaches for the hem of his cloak to wipe off any debris left on his pristine armor.
"And you are Cindrix? I've only heard of you, and wanted very much to meet you. We have something in common, I believe. Neither of us belong here, and yet here we are. Both of us willing and able to fight alongside these Triaxians and defend their home."
Something in common indeed, and yet so different.
Ishbaad stands motionless for a few moments. The sight of the massive dragon in front of him is awe-inspiring. His initial reaction is to reach for his blade in order to defend himself, but something about the beast gives him the courage to stop, wait, and see what happens next.
She was abused, so the commander says. If she were evil, she would have already been put down. They are normally quite feral, the chromatic whites. For a simple mind, she has remarkable restraint.
"Would you... would you tell me about yourself?" he asks tenatively, realizing suddenly that she may or may not understand anything he is even saying.
How simple is simple? he wonders, not for the first time.
comes the booming reply, Cindrix spreads her wings, smashing a frozen conifer-like tree into a thousand ice-shards as she does so.
"Sorry," she says, slightly sheepishly to Commander Pharamol.
"FIGHT... DEFEND... ALSO," she adds in the same, cowed tone, "TRI... TRIA... TRAX... ANS... KIND." It is clear that mono- and bisyllabic words are all that she can easily manage.
"Cindrix doesn't like talking about her past overmuch," Comannder Pharamol tries to be helpful. He walks over to the big dragon and runs a caring hand down her side. Ishbaad gets a better look at Cindrix's scales and notices massive lines of scar tissue running up and down her flanks. "I'm not even sure how much she remembers. Most of it seems to be simply pain and emotion."
Pharamol walks around to the dragon's front and holds up a hand for her to smell. His slow, deliberate actions remind Ishbaad of how horse wranglers treat their mounts. "Cindrix, Ishbaad is to be your rider. If you want revenge on the Drakelanders, he will is the one who can train you how to get it. He will be able to teach you to fight in a squadron and - if all goes well against Malesinder - he will lead you to victory against Yrax himself."
At the mention of Yrax - of the Lord of the Howling Storm's name - Cindrix looks visibly afraid. Her tiny eyes narrow even further, however, and she sets her jaw firmly as she looks Ishbaad over.
she addresses him,
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Ishbaad steps closer to the powerful serpent who still seethes with her hatred of her former kin. ”Yes. Before we get started, dear Cindrix, I want you to remember one thing.” Closing the gap, Ishbaad reaches out for the pearlescent white scales on the side of her head. Cindrix’s eyes flit nervously, keeping Ishbaad square in her sights. Her muscles are tense, a reaction no doubt conditioned over time from the treatment that she was subjected to before overcoming her evil nature to dwell with these Triaxians.
Finally placing a stony hand at the base of her skull, Ishbaad pauses for a moment to fully take in what is happening. His palm rests on a grouping of pristine scales, while his fingers curl over a knotty scar on her neck where a tooth penetrated some time ago in her adolescence. ”Remember this most of all Cindrix,” he repeats in a soothing voice, ”You already know how to rain destruction on your enemies. Together we will learn how to ride as one. Together we will be stronger than you can possibly imagine. A unit, greater than the sum of its parts. We will not be a blunt instrument of chaos, but the tip of a deadly spear. We will learn together, and soon we will pierce the heart of our enemy.”
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Slowly, and with great effort, Cindrix closes her eyes to revel in the moment and the declaration of the tiny creature she has only just met.
The effort is not born of strain, but of a release of mistrust. For so long she was always on high alert, ready for an attack to come from any direction, from any creature. Where she had only known abuse from her kin, she had finally been introduced to care and gentle treatment at the hands of the Triaxians here at Spurhorn. Despite that, she would not allow herself to trust. She would not allow the wall to come down and become vulnerable to anyone who could hurt her again.
Until now. It is not instinctive, nor is it a pleasant experience. Through force of will her eyelids flutter closed, until her measured breathing begins to finally help her relax. With each passing second her reactive anticipation of a brutal attack subsides, until she finally accepts the contact from the strange, obsidian-skinned man by her side.
When her eyes suddenly snap back open, it is several minutes later. She hops excitedly into the air, flapping her giant wings and doing a quick summersault before crashing back down on her feet, wagging her overly large tail and knocking over a neatly stacked pile of grains as well as a wooden scaffold, scattering tools and other odds and ends across the floor.
She cries. If dragons could smile, Cindrix’s face would have been beaming.
"Thank you very much, Calissus, de energy around dis realm is remarkable, no?!"
"It was rumored that the dragon-god Apsu himself created the planet of Triaxus," Calissus notes, her nostrils flaring in pleasure at having the opportunity to talk about theology, "Perhaps humans - is that what you called them? - grew to be the dominant species on your planet they were shaped by certain energies. In this planet's instance, those energies worked to create a different kind of humanoid - the Dragonkin. Who knows if we would have become the dominant species or not had true dragons not interfered? Either way, the native Triaxians soon outnumbered us. At least those in the Skyfire Mandate live with us peacefully, some bonding with us as riders.
"You, however, already have such a bond. That wish you share with your eidolon is special indeed... but it precludes you from bonding with a dragonkin. The bond I share with my eidolon also means I cannot have a rider. It is a strange thing, but I guess in the end it makes sense."
Calissus watches as Marco brings Whitecap into being, and admires his eidolon's new wings. "Your eidolon is much more advanced than mine," she notes without a hint of jealousy, "But you will find those magnificent wings must always take dragon form.
"I wonder if they will persist if you should choose leave this planet? I guess I personally will never know."
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”Yoo’re gonnae want tae keep yer heels doon, an' yer feit forward. Yoo’ll see when she goes intae a divfe, yer weeght will be balanced, still allowin' ye tae swin' yer blade.”
A small, obviously young, Triaxian boy swats Ishbaad’s hands out of the way in order to tug on a strap holding the fine leather saddle into place at the base of Cindrix’s neck and shoulders. He rattles his instructions off so fast that Ishbaad can barely even register what he is saying through the thick accent.
”Thes strap heur will hauld ye tae th' saddle. Once yeur ian, ye aren’t gettin' aff. Tink ay it lokh yeur weapon cord, except fur Cindrix tae make sure she doesn’t lose ye. Ye hae tae troost it, oor yee’ll spend aw yer energy focused oan hangin' oan insteid ay fightin'. Ye hae tae relax, lit th' saddle hauld ye oan, an' 'en ye can focus oan controllin' 'er an' yer ain barnie.”
The boy finishes his lecture staring up at the large, imposing figure of Ishbaad. It is clear that he is not intimidated or phased in the least by the powerful, armored inquisitor, having spent his entire life in the company of the majestic dragonkin.
His fur is smooth and clean, well groomed. His clothing is simple, yet clearly well cared for. Each motion of the boy’s arms and each step is purposeful. He points out each of the different buckles and explains what each one does, and how it adjusts around the body of the powerful dragon in the same, flowing thick accent. It takes all of Ishbaad’s focus just to try to keep up.
”Barnie?” He says when he can finally get a word in edgewise, raising an eyebrow at the stable boy.
”Aye. Barnie. ‘Ave a go. Wallup th’ wanker. A foight.” he says with an incredulous look on his face, making mock fists and swinging an imaginary sword with each separate explanation of the slang word.
”Right. Thank you very much lad.” Ishbaad gives the boy a smile and moves to pat him on the head.
”Don’t tooch mah heed ye radge." The boy pulls back, avoiding the gesture and flashing a dirty scowl at Ishbaad. "Jist giet oan an' tak' 'er fur a spin. Start wee an' hae 'er brin' me th' wee wagon ay scran stocks waitin' at th' sootheest stair. Ance ye gie a feel fur ridin' in th' air, i’ll toss up puckle dummies fur ye tae try tae cut in half.”
Ishbaad stands with his mouth half open, unable to bring himself to ask the boy to repeat what he just said, and trying to comprehend how a child can talk so fast.
Wagon, southeast stair, then tossing dummies. Oh boy… Hopefully that’s right!
Cindrix, gaining confidence and trust in Ishbaad bit by bit, allows the stone man to climb aboard the saddle. She feels tugs and pulls on her scales as he slips his feet in stirrups and pulls the straps tight that will keep him on her back while she dives and rolls in the air. The words and conversation around her happen so fast she quickly gives up trying to understand what the two small creatures are saying. Patiently, at least for a half-feral white dragon, she waits for the specific tug on the stirrups attached to her new rider’s feet to give her the direction on what to do.
Moments later she feels both straps pull up against the sides of her neck. She takes the cue and begins to flap her leathery wings, rising and falling with each wing beat. Crouching close to the ground, she times a powerful leap forward into the air with another downstroke of her wings, and in an instant dragon and rider are screaming upwards through the air and into the sky above Spurhorn.
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Kheycear stands humbled before the dozens of acolytes before him.
"Thank you, all of you, for your willingness to bear me to battle. You honor me."
I only hope I live up to and deserve such an honor...
His eyes wander across the kaleidoscope of dragonkin and look for a spark. A regal white Dragonkin takes the initiative, steps forward and addresses Kheycear.
"I am Ghalmud, Promised One. I have lived my whole life knowing this moment would come. I pledge my service to you. May we find glory and prestige while we fulfill your destiny!"
Kheycear regards Ghalmud for a moment, and with a moment of study into the eyes of the determined Dragonkin, he nods his head and speaks.
"Your tenacity is respected, Ghalmud. However, it is not for my glory or presige I would face this battle. It is for the knowledge that when the air clears both the Dragon Legion and Drakelanders alike might know peace, might know security. Your place in this battle is unquestioned. You will be needed before the end, of that I am certain. But not at my side, I fear."
A clever red Dragonkin, majestic and sultry, smirks at Ghalmud's disappointment. "Always too eager, eh Ghalmud?" she states before moving her gaze towards the Promised One. "Clearly, you need someone who can complement your strength and cunning with that of her own. Kheycear, Son of Apsu, Red Rider of Baba Yaga, what better companion could you choose than I, Rytallia, Acolyte of Apsu? I am swift, smart, and tenacious. Together we could be unstoppable! And," she adds with a wink and a flourishing gesture across her scaly flesh, "your red cloak is colored to match!"
Kheycear nods again as the red Dragonkin speaks, but is drawn to a blue Dragonkin, more quiet and reserved than the others. She seems a bit ill at ease and perhaps even overwhelmed by the display for the "Promised One" that she stands as part of.
"You look troubled; are you well?" Kheycear asks.
"Oh, no sir, do not worry for me, I am fine, it's just..."
"Just what?"
"It's just, this is all a bit much for me."
Kheycear regards this statement with careful inquisition. "You do not wish to go to battle?"
Her gaze falls a bit as she thinks, then meets Kheycear's eyes again.
"Absolutely not. Although I wish for the end of this war, and I know that battle is necessary where diplomacy has failed, I do not wish war upon my kinsman or my enemies. It is too great a cost. Apsu would not want it so, His children fighting amongst themselves as hundreds, maybe thousands die in His name."
"Then...I'm sorry I have not yet gotten your name."
"Baenlynn; Faithful of Apsu, Promised One" The blue Dragonkin answers.
"Then, Baenlynn, why do you stand amongst those who volunteer to ride with me to battle?"
Her faith and strength find her as Kheycear poses this question.
"Because...because my Apsu's Promised One would be benevolent and would not fight for thrill or glory, but would instead fight to bring an end to this conflict and usher in a new era of peace between the Dragon Legion and the Drakelanders and I...well, I came to see if you might be that individual."
Kheycear nods a third time. the color of this kin's body reminded him of Verilstraangiliix, the Blue Dragon that hewn apart his allies. But the soul of her reminded him of Angreston and Ziona, reminded him of how they died needlessly not at the maw of the Great Blue Dragon. He was but the weapon. The twisted human view of the church of Apsu, that was the wielder. He felt then like Baenlynn felt now about her war.
"Marlen, I have decided. Cunning and might will be aplenty on this field of battle, but the Promised One, the weapon of Apsu himself, must be one of compassion and humility. Baenlynn, I know not whether I am your Promised One, but would you honor me by helping me to be that which you expect Apsu to send?"
"You seek and end to this war, but no glory?" Baenlynn asks, a little surprised, though Kheycear fancies he can her delight in her voice, "It would be my honor and pleasure to bear you into battle in Apsu's name. He created the universe, and so we shall be the caretakers of this portion of it. Let us have peace, and end the hold that Tiamat has on the Draklanders."