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Dragon's ire

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In the age of ashes, dragons the size of mountains blocked the sun's light. Dwarves didn't dare to exit their caves, elves shielded only themselves with their magic, and humans were too busy fighting each other than finding solutions to their burning world. Thousands died before everyone realized that they were being erased from the world, steadily but constantly. So the elves gave their magic, the dwarves offered their armor and technology, and humans sacrificed their blood to lead an assault against the dragons' nests. 800 years ago, brave beings killed those above them and rose in their place. Now, we are more divided than ever, scattered kingdoms with uncontested rulers. Unsettling reports from the edge of the kingdom, unexplained magical phenomena, and more draconic beasts than ever. Now we stand at the apex, now we are the ones kicking down on the anthill. Will we succeed where these magical beasts failed?

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Able 1 the dragonslayer

My boots sank deep into densely packed snow, the thick leather being soaked through already. With each step, I felt thousands of stings from the icy wind, launching frozen snow against the steel plate covering my upper body. My hood pulled tightly with both hands to minimize the frost building in my beard and brows.

How long had I been walking already? Hours, days, maybe only a few minutes. The sack slung over my back, the steel plate on my chest and my heavy axe at my side all sapped at my breath. Doing everything within my willpower to stop myself from hyperventilating, I barely had the mind to realize how quickly I had already lost feeling in my fingers, toes, ears, and nose. I heard nothing but rushing wind and a high-pitched ring, saw nothing but snow, and the gaping abyss to my side.

Finally, my boot hit something that didn’t give as much as the ground did previously. More and more, the land became only rock with a thin layer of frost covering it. I dared to raise my sight and stared into the mouth of an enormous hole made from stone. The width of this entrance was big enough for a small castle to fit inside of, while plates of frosted snow produced edges that looked like gnawing teeth, I kneeled down and ran my gloved hand over a pair of four deep gashes within the rock.

I closed my eyes for a moment and stared into the descending depths of the cave. ’If there hadn’t been a chance of one of them being here, the king wouldn’t have set this kind of bounty.’

Although the white curtain of storm obscured any attempt at seeing down into the valley, I knew that the village that lay there would never be able to feel safe if I didn’t continue. I placed my backpack on the ground and pulled open the satchel at the side. Five vials were displayed in it, two red, a blue one, and two more yellow fluids swirled inside the containers. I pulled the blue vial out and shook it a little to dissolve the last of the frostshade powder. After popping the cork open, I gulped down the viscous goop, feeling freezing cold coat my throat. I inhaled a few times, the sting of the frozen wind now even harsher. But soon, numbness replaced the sting, and quickly after I felt no more difference in temperature.

Undoing parts of my sleeve, I produced a cloth with an elven script on it. Admittedly, I was not fluent in the language but simply having it in eyeshot allowed me some needed assistance.

“Akr’ir, Dourar, Ish’grim,” I repeated the words for protection, sight, and quickness. Nothing.

I cleared my throat and repeated them, putting my intent on the magic around me. Finally, I felt my vision expand into the darkness of the cave where no light reached, heard the subdued dripping of melting snow, and smelled the burnt air of a recent lightning strike.

“Akr’ir, Ish’grim,” both of these words triggered immediately, the first making the tugging on my armor a thing of the part and the other shooting readiness through every muscle in my body. I put the script away into my sleeve again and advanced down into the cave.

The echo of droplets and the increasingly muffled howl of the wind painted an atmosphere that would have felt downright serene. Were it not for my reason for being here, I could have taken in the peaceful darkness more deeply.

A steady stream of flowing water followed me into the bowels of the cave. My eyes were locked onto the shadows, and my ears trained for any noise that wasn’t just a few tumbling rocks. The quietness only increased the further I went and once all of the wind from outside became only a distant whistle and the sun’s light only pierced in some angles, I stopped. I was not the only thing breathing.

It was very faint and far away, only noticeable thanks to my enchantment. I began breathing quieter, stepping more slowly and carefully as I approached the end of the downward slope.

Smelling fresh air, I strained my eyes to spot rays of orange light at the foot of a landing to the path.

A cavern of ice and snow, meters of frost covering the ceiling and walls, forming an egg-shaped space. At the opposite wall was a hold, broken through the mountain, like a massive window into the white fog of the sky, the bright light of the sun creating a golden spot inside the cavern. Directly in this ray of light was a spot of rock where ice had melted and been torn off, claw marks covered the spot in frantic patterns.

Its bright scales blended into the white snow almost seamlessly were it not for the spatters of blood along the leathery winged arm. As long as a ship, slouched down and turned away from me, clawing at the rock with talons as long as my arm. Its body was like a snake’s given wings larger than a sail on each side. So lost in its fever that it didn’t pay me any attention, my heart darkened with silent realization when I heard it speak.

“Malis Istá!” Like gravel in a metal can, its voice boomed with slurred vocals and growling vibrations, but it was definitely speaking. Wyverns had neither the mind nor the ability to speak.

I was careful not to get closer than absolutely necessary, knowing that my time was already limited before it would smell me. With a quick glance around the room, I saw a corner of bones and a half-eaten cow, next to a pile with an assortment of carts, parts of houses, a pair of pitchforks, and some other trinkets it must have collected.

As I debated on how to approach, now knowing that I wasn’t dealing with a mindless beast, the scraping of claws over frost pulled me back to the danger I was in. The wyrm spun around and with it came a flying piece of rock. I barely had time to duck low as it shattered into chunks behind me.

A small moment in time but an eternity within my thoughts, staring into the bright blue eyes and the suddenly extremely narrow obsidian slit. The wyrm froze, same as I, for a second but I saw this momentary standstill was fleeting.

I raised my hand, the beast reared up. It took in a roomful of air, I drew my battleaxe. And as the double-sided blade ignited in a surge of bright red flame, the wyrm unleashed a torrent of white, freezing wind and ice shards from its maw.

The air around me dropped in temperature as if I had been covered in freezing water, snaking through my armor and clothing, entering through my skin like thousands of needles, and cooling my blood into feeling like ice formed in my heart. But instead of freezing into a once-living statue upon being engulfed in the icy breath, the potion I had consumed was keeping up with the effect, keeping my limbs from locking up completely.

Hearing nothing and seeing nothing except for the blasting wind, I acted hastily to get out of the way.

My breathing steady, my grip tight, and the encasing feeling of the enchantments around me I lifted the engraved head of the axe high and then jumped. At the moment my feet left the ground, I extended the burning core in my chest from beneath my feet. The ice forming on my armor melted and evaporated into steam, and my limbs heated up enough to move efficiently. Shooting away from the stream of ice, I flew over the wyrm’s long neck.

Its eyes followed me into the air and so did the head. It opened its jaws again, emitting less ice than before but clearly intent on using its dagger-sized teeth to chop me in half. Despite being able to speak, this specimen was certainly not blessed with foresight. With my axe high above my head, I created a shield of flame to protect me from its breath and brought all of the momenta down at the tip of its lower jaw. Red fire exploded out and steamed with dragon blood. I saw the scales being sliced apart, the flesh splitting from force and heat, and when I smashed the jawbone into shards I felt it all the way through the handle.

I landed in a shower of steaming hot blood and broken teeth as the wyvern roared in feral agony and fury. Smashing its wings, tail, and back around the room in blind panic, I had no way to anticipate the sudden whipping of its tail.

Air left me and so did the ground. I blinked once and was suddenly 10 meters away, slumped against the wall. I sucked in breaths with difficulty, noticing that my metal chest plate had bent inward, constricting my lungs. My vision was blurry and littered with black spots for a moment or two before I made out the thrashing giant in front of me.

“Irlar Pùul, Fínu Apulámaz.” Like someone grinding stones together and somehow making a voice, its speech was so guttural and slurred that I barely realized it was words. Especially then, thanks to the new hole in its mouth, I had no way to even begin to understand.

Partly because of the unsettling rattle in my own breath and also the fact that it still spoke. It had cleaved a hole through the middle of its lower jaw, the forked tongue licking at the gushing blood. I dared to put a hand on my lower flank and found that my own chest plate had splintered and stuck a sharp piece of black metal into my stomach.

It seemed to notice that I was not continuing the fight momentarily and had reacted to its speech, seemingly deciding to continue. “Áshrga Bezca, Fínu?” Now that my assessment that this was not just a wyvern was all but confirmed, I started to spot something strange upon looking at its features. It was emoting, expressing its words with eye contact and pulling its scaled lips back to portray what I assumed was hatred. It also glanced noticeably at the scratched hole.

It took uneasy steps while I pushed myself up to my feet, battleaxe still clutched to my side, the fire having been reduced to meagerly flickering flames. I still felt the assistance of my enchantment and the burning core in my chest, but one mistake had already cost me a great advantage. Anything I did next needed to be without retaliation from the wyrm or I might just end up another frozen corpse and a delivered meal.

Cautious still but gaining a sense of intrigue with each passing moment, the wyrm motioned to the exposed rock. “Ed Turá Meiso o’ Hairis?” The scales above the eyes lifted, the features pulled back in inquiry. Whatever it said, it asked a question, perhaps about the thing in the ground.

“Ipàrlá,” I tried to be as quiet and subtle as possible, choosing to overwrite the enchantment of sight with one for healing. The word echoed in my thoughts and resonated in my body, a warm feeling spreading to where my blood leaked onto my undershirt.

“Where are your makers?” I asked though it was less from a desire to have a conversation, rather feeling that the tissue on my stomach stitch itself together with each second I was buying.

The wyrm eyed me carefully, still far enough away that I couldn’t make my move yet. The bleeding wound had already stopped, making my stomach sink. In fact, I saw a very similar process to my own regeneration, with the pieces of flesh pulling each other together again. The net of growing red flesh weaved itself thicker and thicker. That’s when I realized that it, too, was buying time.

There was no way around making the first move, seeing how quickly its innate healing was repairing the damage compared to my learned spells. “Clever lizard,” I mumbled before retaking a fighting stance.

The wyrm seemed to almost smile, or maybe just bare its teeth at me and gathered frost in its mouth.

I grabbed one side of the axehead, pushing in a dent and dislodging one of the blades into a handheld blade knuckle. Placing the axe over my shoulder, I sprinted from the side facing the open wall. With each footstep, a burst of flame propelled me forward faster and faster until I was only barely touching the ground, despite the heavy armor.

Icy wind threatened to push me into the howling chasm below but with my less encumbered hand, I stretched my essence through my arm, guiding heat into my veins and eventually through the palm of my hand and out into the open. Bursting through my glove came a bright explosion of heat followed by a steady stream of fire that matched the breath of my quarry. Like a living thing itself, the wave of fire clawed and scraped through the ice and parted it in front of me.

Having to hold my breath from steam and a few ice shards that slipped through my barrier, I charged almost blindly at the wyrm’s silhouette. It appeared to notice that its attack was not delivering the wanted result and spun its body around, screeching in the process. The armored tail came whipping around once more, like the mast of a warship. As soon as the pressure of its breath had relented, I prepared to counter whatever else it would throw at me.

Another straight hit to my chest would likely be the end of me, I gathered. Gripping my axe with both hands once more, I transferred my speed into a few steps, adjusting my position until I had the perfect angle, axe high above my head and feet wide apart. I saw death coming at me, like staring down into the depths of an ocean or the blackness of the sky. And I could not bare to look at it, for that terror was unbeatable. I chose to close my eyes.

“Don’t close your eyes when chopping, I’ve told you that too many times already.”

“But what if I get a splinter in my eye, like uncle Arkas?”

“Losing an eye is better than losing a leg and your eyelid won’t protect you from a splinter. Now, look closely,” my father placed a hand on my shoulder.

I looked around, spotting the autumn yellow and reds of a familiar forest. In a clearing stood a respectable hut made from wood and stone, leaves gathered on the roof from the close trees that gave cover from rain. Everything was bigger than it should be, at least until I looked on my hands and found them smooth and without scars.

Doing as my father instructed, I lifted the woodcutter’s axe high and focused on the piece of wood on the chopping block. Meanwhile, that man whose eyes were so full of joy, continued to speak.

“Remember that you will have to do to difficult things, things that might scare you. But if you close your eyes to them, if you ignore what is happening right in front of you, you will only ever harm yourself.”

A clean hit, my axe buried itself into the solid chopping block and the pieces flew off to the side. I smiled and he smiled back.

Suddenly, he turned with a concerned look on his face. I followed his gaze and spotted a dozen horses with armored riders and banners displaying a sigil that had burned into my brain; a red tree adorned with thorny vines along its branches.

“Go inside, don’t come out until I say so,” my father grabbed me by the sides and pushed me toward the cabin door, taking the relatively small axe into one hand.

I ran to the door, looking over my shoulder to spot the mounted men and their banners halting while my father approached, putting the axe behind his back. I got into the house and slammed the door behind me, barely able to reach the handle. Hearing an unfamiliar and militant voice shouting, I rushed to the side of the kitchen where a small slit in the wall allowed me to see outside.

Most of the men dismounted, except for a young adult wearing light leather armor and holding a pole adorned with the banner. My father was talking to an important-looking knight from a cart’s distance away. The knight wearing chainmail and a black undershirt, a sword at his side and a rough-looking black beard was holding a scroll of parchment, seemingly reading it to my father.

From this far away, I couldn’t understand most of the words said, unless they were yelling, which quickly followed. The armored man began, pointing at the cabin and saying, “Your son will get inspected, your agreement is not needed!” He took a step closer to my father, placing his hand on the pommel of his sword and pulling the steel from its sheath halfway. The other knights did the same.

“You will not take him,...” He mumbled something at the end which I couldn’t hear.

The knight’s all unsheathed their swords, but too late to save the knight closest to my father. I saw a splatter of blood and heard the yell of someone dying for the first time.

And I closed my eyes.

My axe hit true. The wyrm’s tail launched into the wall, now disconnected from the last third of its body. The momentum, however, did not suddenly vanish upon meeting my swing. Much like a morning star, building up speed and force through the entire chain until concentrating at the very end, I was struck with the force of a Greattree’s trunk splintering in a single strike. The ice cracked like a spider’s web throughout the hall, almost as loudly as the screeching beast and almost too loud to register hearing glass being shattered. Being a snake-like creature in body shape, the tail would have made up a large enough portion that its sense of balance was completely off. It tumbled over itself, spraying the thick, rose-colored dragon blood all over the walls and floor.

Within the darkness of closing my eyes giving me some faint level of comfort arriving, it was but a fleeting grasp at respite before I stirred awake, buried behind the severed wyrm’s tail. But I soon found warmth running into my sleeve and a sharp internal sting in my upper arm. Upon lifting my metallic shoulder plate, I found a piece of bone sticking out of my skin. Breathing in was almost impossible, feeling something heavy and unmoving constricting my chest. Blood ran into my already hazy vision, I was unsure whose it was.

With both arms trapped to the wall by the twitching, scaly mass atop of me, I looked around for my axe but found only the separated blade lying on the floor. With every muscle burning and delirium hitting me like a drummer within my skull, I forced myself to push against the weight until it rolled off to the side. I tried to stand but the wyrm, still thrashing around in confused agony and roaring out in sounds that I doubt formed words, smashed itself into the wall next to me.

I stumbled with the earthquake-like shaking throwing me to the floor. With the beast attempting to direct its rampage toward me, trying to squash me with any part it could reach, I began to claw at the ground me pulled my broken body forward.

“Kurma Za’d Fínu, Reshan Dort Kúl!” Talons digging into the floor trying to gain purchase and the sound of it inhaling to unleash another frost breath, I am surprised I even picked up these words.

Hearing the breath behind me and still being too far away from my only magical weapon, I had no option but to face the visage of freezing death above me. I saw something akin to pride in its feral eyes, one second before I pulled my hand up and released whatever the burning sensation in my heart would give me.

The recoil of my own blast pushed my entire body onto the floor, bright blue flame forming from a tiny strand of red light spread out in a fiery spout in the shade of the sun. I averted my eyes but saw the light even underneath my eyelids. Searing, white-hot pain covered my hand and arm, fire spreading onto my clothes. I couldn’t even find the air to breathe as all of it was used to give my fire life.

Feeling scolding heat battle over freezing cold at every point in my body, keeping me from incinerating myself while preventing petrification via frost by producing a constantly fluctuating middle. I lost any sensation in my outstretched hand. Not immediately but quickly after, I noticed the heat cutting out for a few moments, sputtering ever weaker. My fire came from a place of finite energy, something buried deep in my soul that I had access to but did not obey me fully. There is only so much it will give before it takes back.

I felt it tugging at the dark edges of my consciousness, those which grew in intensity with each moment that I begged it to prolong my life. Like a mighty bonfire, slowly smoldering into tiny embers, I too felt the heat within me dwindling.

My flame giving less and less protection and without a way to break the stalemate, I pulled my hand away. Pointing to my feet, I concentrated the remainder of it into a tight beam from both my hand and feet. Immediately, the scolding breath created patches of ice all over me, freezing shut my exposed blood. But I pushed myself along the ground on my back, sliding out of the wyrm’s reach and right next to my blade.

I reached for it blindly, meeting the blue eyes of the wyrm, then snapping my vision to that broken wall. With my blade in hand and the beast already beginning a furious charge, maw stretched out to snap shut around me, I launched myself at the hole. My breathing was indistinguishable from panting, sliding across rock and ice shards, massive fangs snapping at my heels. And without a moment more, my back left the ground and I began falling backward.

Lucky for me, the sheer drop had no surrounding cliffs I smashed on. And just as expected, that hellish wyrm was too furious, too confident in itself to do anything but follow me down. Folding the wings to the side and twisting in the air to gain momentum, it snapped at me again and again but I managed to give short bursts of flame to dodge.

Silently, I counted. ‘Seven, eight, nine.’

And finally, I blasted myself at the wyrm. Too injured to dodge properly, the beast panicked when it found itself unable to shake me off. The fog covered any visibility to our surroundings, except the outline of the mountain to our backs. Clutching the spiked frills on its back with my legs, I began stabbing. Digging my weapon into its back, carving chunks off it like a butcher until I finally separated the joints in the massive spine. I felt the beast’s body seize, now no longer resisting the struggle against wind. It still roared, or maybe screamed in realization.

I let my grip go and began falling, though slower than its massive frame. I closed my eyes again, drowning out all of the deafening noises around me.

“Slôh Zíshir” I mumbled, trying my best to visualize the elvish enchantment. Nothing.

“Ip’rar Naqtu,” I tried the spell in arcana. Nothing.

I heard the impact of the wyrm, blasting up a cloud of snow.


“Aihir…Kurb…ki Qe..Azè…” It spoke with its final breath, a rattling gasp followed by eternal silence.

I looked around, not feeling more broken bones than before. Underneath me was a circle of runes, carved in red light. Drop zone, the druid incantation of someone truly desperate for a non-lethal landing. Slow fall or soft landing were much more reliable magics, coming from one’s own determination instead of the grace of nature. But I was thoroughly certain I was alive, so I did my due diligence and thanked a seed of the Greattree within my pocket.

The bright golden seed was unharmed, unaffected by the fire. “Ìmandu.” I closed my eyes, focusing on the radiant warmth emitting from it, then put it back in my pocket.

Turning my attention to my wounds, I cast Ipàrlá, the healing word again before taking off my bent and broken armor. The freezing wind still didn’t affect me thanks to the frostshade potion. A few more times, I believed to see the wyrm twitching or stirring, but it was only my own reflexes tricking me. Grabbing the satchel with the potions from my backpack again, I saw what I had already dreaded, three of the four had smashed or shattered in some other way. Luckily, the single red potion, made from Greattree root, troll blood, and honey, tasted good considering the ingredients. I felt it spread like the warmth of tea, entering my limbs in a clean sensation. I gritted my teeth when I felt the bones of my shoulder springing back into place and growing back together.

Letting the potion and my fading enchantment do their work. I continued to stare at the growingly rigid wyrm, catching my breath. I would need to collect the blood first, then the eyes, followed by the heart and frost sack. Grabbing the carving knife from my backpack, I approached the fresh carcass and got to work.

A regular, unenchanted weapon would not cut deep enough to cause permanent damage, thanks to this one’s innate regeneration. But now it was dead, the neck bent upward at an impossible angle, and with it went most of its magic. But not all.

Making the first cut along its chest, I opened it up until I saw exposed ribs. With a few strong kicks, I broke through and started filling up my empty containers with thick, deep red blood, as close to the heart as possible. While there, I sliced out its heart, almost halfway into its chest cavity. I put the heart, which barely fit into both my hands, and was adorned with grotesque, scaled muscles, into my backpack.

Moving up the long neck, I trailed my still-burned hand over the cold, glassy smooth scales. I recognized that so few people have ever gotten to touch a draconic being, maybe I should have been grateful. But all I now saw was another murdered beast, one I needed to now butcher. I found the cold spot along its throat by touch and slid my knife inside, making only a small incision large enough to reach inside of and pull out something with immediately froze to the blood of my hand. Ice wyverns’ blood was as cold as it is because this little pouch would freeze them otherwise.

It felt like silk, or maybe that way just my numbed hand lacking feeling. Looking like a glowing pouch of weaved snow and barely larger than my hand, it dripped with the wyrm’s blood. Handling it carefully so as to not let it touch my clothing, I placed it in a metal box built within my backpack. I took my time to carve out its bright, gemstone-like eyes. Maybe because I couldn’t tear my vision from my own reflection, or the sight of panic in its expression. And yet, I still took them, leaving behind the corpse of a once-magical being, robbed of its heart, life, and soul.

They say dragons can see the world in ways that we humans can’t even imagine. It’s why the smartest humans, elves, dwarves, orcs, and magi folk all agree on the fact that dragons are smarter than any and all of us. “What the eyes of dragons see, we cannot even dream of,” I repeated to myself, staring at the bloody, lifeless gems in my hands.

Just out of sheer hope that I wouldn’t have to remake my weapon, I looked around again once I was far enough away to get a full picture. And I wish I hadn’t. The sight of crimson leaking out into the snow blanket, seeping it in a sight I couldn’t draw my focus from. A battered, burned and cut, bleeding corpse, in the middle of a cold grave, left out for whatever came after me. I gritted my teeth, a glimpse of a similarly grizzly sight from years past.

Without another look, I turned and left my fallen gear to the elements, distracting myself with a thought about how many weapons of mine must have been found by some magi folk in confusion. Maybe they got a pretty piece of gold for it. Then again, the creature which usually lay next to it was far more valuable.

If you found a butcher, a tailor, an alchemist, and a wizard, all willing to trade without reporting to their lords, you could sell each part of it for a hefty sum. The tail was still somewhere in its cave, just as some of the treasure it surely had hidden. Talons, all ten would go for 700 to 800 gold. Teeth, if most were intact, I would guess some would pay 50 gold each – though these halfbreeds usually have crocked or unusual teeth. Hide and scales, depending on how quickly it is cured should fetch 1500 gold together. Bones, organs, and genitalia all depend on if someone is looking for them fresh, if cured and dried 2000 gold would be appropriate.

Overall, a peasant could stop working for a decade or two, a lord could move into an actual castle instead of their wooden fortresses. And I? I couldn’t do any of that. I could move across the sea, maybe, live in the warm fields of Akra, or perhaps even further south. Yes, south until the mountains were behind me and live out my days in the forest of Gurn.

I smiled to myself at the thought. Who knows, maybe I could have made it. But knowing who the king would send after me, thinking about abandoning the first place where I had this kind of freedom, I could not stomach it. Even murdering these draconic offspring, was a duty only very, very few had the honor of attending. No matter how much I hated looking at my deeds afterward, I was doing good, good to the small people just trying to live their happiness. Who was I to take it from them? Son of a traitor, a selfish man, a coward.

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