Chapter 1
Author’s note: footnotes can be found at the bottom of each chapter. They’re denoted by a bracket, followed by a symbol like so [0]
curly braces {} denote a conversation in a language spoken outside of Common “{like so}”
No matter how hard The Black Dragon tried, the shadow of war followed. Every time the knight closed their eyes, the smell of death and the sounds of the screams over the clash of steel echoed. They could see the bodies of their comrades from their company lying twisted and broken around on the battlefield, and taste the acrid gunpowder on her tongue as the cannonballs screamed overhead in cadence with the spells of the hired magi.
But most of all, The Black Dragon simply saw her.
It was always the same in these nightmares; the sight of the dragonian [1] woman impaled by a spear, the assailant cloaked in red. Their own screams muffled and distorted, the figure and the billowing of their cloak, and the scores of dead bodies that lay scattered around them in the hollow of that sunken temple beneath the sands.
And every night, The Black Dragon would wake in a cold sweat.
Tonight was no different; save that it occurred in the back of a wagon on the road to the capitol of Anaestra, the cold sweat on a convertible seat-to-bed contraption, and the sheets and blankets of a higher count than anything the knight dared to dream up. They glanced around, wiping the sweat from their brow, then remembered where they were, adjusting back into the fabric of the bedding on the carriage ride.
There was a knock at the front of the cart, where a thin amount of wood pulled back from a slider knob to reveal a familiar set of grey-blue eyes.
“We are almost there, Black Dragon.” came the soft soprano voice of the young lepash [2] woman who sat across from the knight.
The Black Dragon nodded, signing back across the room. {I’ll need help with my armor.}
The Lepash spoke to the driver, the carriage coming to a stop before the rabbit woman climbed inside to begin assist with fitting the knight in their armor. “The man says we’ve not much longer. Are you sure you want to go through with this?” There was concern in her voice.
{I’m fine, hurry with the platemail.}
The lepash girl sighed, tightening up the lacing on the first layer of the armor. “Fine, fine, stop moving your arms so I can get this on. What are you going to do without me to do this?”
{I’ll manage, sister.} signed the Black Dragon. {And you?}
“I’ll be fine, it’s you and your Commontongue [3] I worry about. Practice your syntax for me?”
{Says the soon-to-be-student. Don’t start any trouble while I’m away.}
“That’s my line. Now, seriously. Stop moving your arms, I need to get your greaves on.”
***
The carriage was but one of many to arrive in the city of Anaestra that summer day. It was soon lost in the traffic that led through the forests on the fringes of the Ruby Pride, nestled between a ravine and a jagged gully, up the path known as The Throat. When they had finally cleared that pass, that was when the beauty of Anaestra could be witnessed through the small slit in the carriage compartment.
The city had been built on a magnificent ziggurat, and though the forebears of their construction had long since perished, it did nothing to diminish the beauty of the former Fae capital of creativity. Gardens spilled over the sides of the trapezoidal layers, all leading up a massive set of marble stairs that could be seen even from the distance while the city was still naught but the horizon in the distance. At the topmost slat stood a stone ring, sundered through the center. What remained of that shattered splinter was nowhere to be seen, but the view was dizzying and magnificent; the setting sun settled perfectly through the center of the structure as the cart arrived first at the foremost gate, then passed on and began the ascent up the center road.
The carriage stopped only once more, letting the young Lepash woman off in front of a gated mansion along that great center road. She stopped to get her belongings from the carriage roof (admittedly, even more than the Black Dragon’s singular duffle bag), stopping to give a hug to the knight one last time.
“Good luck. If things go south, I’m just down the road.”
{If things go south, Let us meet at that tree.}
The lepash turned, looking where the knight was pointing. She nodded. “I can do that.”
{Study well. Do me proud.}
The carriage pulled away from the curb, the assistant Lepash waving goodbye before turning to head into the boarding school, leaving the knight to an unfortunately similar fate.
***
At the top of the ziggurat, beneath the shadow of a broken Fey Arch, The Caretaker’s Palace had stood firm. The structure had seemed miniscule in comparison to the portal it once encapsulated, and the kingdom of the feylands that had existed some hundred years ago. It was as mysterious as the caretakers of the grounds, the de-facto leadership of the Four city-states. None knew the face of the Hanakaze clan; most assumed them to be half-elves or loyal humans to the feyborn precursors, but none could be certain. The top of Anaestra, and with it, the tip of the iceberg of the guilds that ran the continent of Mindria, was as much shrouded in mystery as was the reason for the summons of The Black Dragon.
Through heavy gates that an army could have been matched through, the sole carriage arrived at the top of Anaestra. A stone balcony hung over a massive courtyard, where once a path to the other side, now a viewpoint over the grounds converted as gardens to sustain the family. At the end of the path, a stone circle provided a place for the carriage to turn round. The driver opened the carriage door for the knight, letting the figure step out in their full plate mail for the first time. Ebony armor glistened in the sunlight, reflective like glass, with a horned helmet in the shape of the eldwyrms [4] of old. From the waist, a half cape of maroon satin hung, fluttering with the movement as the knight stepped out and approached the large stone steps that lead to the entrance beneath the balcony.
An attendant was already waiting, a human woman garbed in a black silk kimono. They bowed, and The Black Dragon returned in favor.
“The master awaits, and thanks you for your travels.”
{It is nothing. But I was not told the details of why I was to come.}
The woman frowned, speaking slower and louder under the pretense this would make things translatable. “I. apologize. I. don’t. understand Steppe Sign. [5] Can you hear me? Understand me?”
The Black Dragon nodded.
“Oh, wonderful. Well, I apologize for the trouble. But I know none who speak within the grounds who speak it. I will need to see to finding an interpreter-”
The Black Dragon held up their hand in protest.
“Ah, very well. The master is just up these steps anyway.”
And so he was. They were but a silhouette in the evening sunlight as the knight climbed the steps, armor glistening, clinking up the marble stone of steps that ran up the sides of the stone circle and to the palace proper. The knight turned their head, glancing up as the shadow of the great circle (so great that it managed to shade most of the front of the palace) where the figure awaited.
As they approached, the host’s outline became more visible; a dragonian man, in his 50’s. Black hair, and scales where one might have found a beard. They seemed almost twin in shade, a shimmering obsidian in the summer light.
“I present Lord Hideo Hanakaze, Caretaker of Mindria, Overwatch of Anaestra, and Guildmaster of the Guildlands. and Lord Hanakaze, I present to you The Black Dragon, Champion of the Rebellion of the Eversands, Slayer of the Bandit King.”
The Black Dragon stepped forward, removing clasped from their back a large greatsword, wrapped in a deep purple fabric and held together with buckles. As they presented it, they dropped to one knee, bowing their head.
“Lord Hanakaze, it seems that our knight is, in fact, mute.” the attendant spoke in an almost apologetic tone.
“I… am not.” The Knight spoke, their voice distorted through the helmet. “Common-tongue is not of my first language. But this shall not hinder me in protecting of you.”
“Then I admire your tenacity, sir.” Lord Hanakaze said. “Please, rise. I did not send for you and offer what wages I have to you thus far simply for protection. Please, you are safe here, you may remove your helmet.”
The knight stood with a slight hesitation, and though they were a few steps below Lord Hanakaze, matched eye level with the dragonian man. Sheathing their claymore, they pulled off the helmet, shaking out a pair of long lepash ears and even longer white locks of hair. One crimson red eye, the other, the right, covered by a patch that covered most of a vertical scar; long lashes, and soft pouty lips. Not a dragonian. Not a man. Not what the Guildmaster of Mindria expected.
“My name is Freyja Alltafsandr, My Lord. How may I serve?”
Footnotes:
[0] a footnote
[1] Of all the races in Temrin, the dragonians had been the last to appear. They were humanoid in appearance, ranging from almost human with scant traces of claws or scales, to what could only be described as bipedal tanks, twice as wide as lizardfolk and four times as formidable on the battlefield.
[2] The Lepash were a mono-gendered beast-race that could be spotted by the appearance of their long rabbit-like ears, and arched padded feet. Of all the beast-races, the Lepash were the most tolerated outside of the Beast city of Guhk-al, which was to say, your mileage varied between borough and bigot.
[3] The shared language found between the three continents of Avalon, Mindria and Canaan.
[4] It was said that the eldwyrms had existed long before the world itself, and were the origin of all the great dragons that had once flown the sky, and lowly wyrms that slithered through most deserts even now.
[5] The language of the deaf and mute of the Southern Steppes of Canaan. It had long been adopted in the Eversands as a way of communicating across vast distances with the assistance of looking glasses.
