Chapter 23: Cult
Alidorim knew fear.
Fear was cold. It shocked the very soul like a polar plunge. His pulse would race, but it left stout hearts frozen and numbed the mind to thinking. Skilled hands would shake, and every breath would burn like ice in one's chest. Fear was likened to the hand of death. Once within its grasp, His fate was almost assured.
Alidorim was no stranger to fear. It had set his mind to panic in Triboar. It had dragged him down the night he carried Yulia through the storm. He'd seen it in the eyes of a trio of Goblins. In the Evermoors, he'd fought it. Far to the south on a mountain trail so long ago he'd faced it.
Fear was as familiar as breathing. What Alidorim felt now...was terror.
"What words do you bring the great Venomfang!" the Green One declared.
Almost at once Fenric and his followers bent a knee in supplication. "Oh, mighty Venomfang we count ourselves blessed to know your name!"
Alidorim tried not to flinch in surprise. The cultist had already spoken to the dragon before and was just now learning its name? Did Venomfang not completely trust the cultists? That would make sense. Green Dragons were known as master manipulators. That also made them highly paranoid, especially when it came to guarding their lairs and hordes.
They'd come to Thundertree to find herbs. He had no idea they would end up facing a dragon. Maybe with a full party of silver ranked adventurers they could stand a chance, but it was just him. Could he fight a dragon and protect Yulia and Lesmythe at the same time?
No! He didn't have time to think otherwise. Alidorim just had to do it, with whatever skill he had. Maybe...just maybe...it would be enough for Yulia and Lesmythe to escape.
Glancing over his shoulder he saw the tears on the Tiefling's cheeks. She clung to a trembling Lesmythe. "I promise everything will be okay," he said in a hushed tone. Despite the fear in her eyes the half-elf nodded. Alidorim turned back towards the dragon just as Fenric began to speak again.
"Lord, I am but a humble messenger." He waited until Venomfang nodded before continuing, "The great goddess's time is nigh. She calls her children home." There was a moment of silence as the monster contemplated the man's words. Then the green dragon began to chuckle. That chuckle grew into a deep throaty laugh that shook the very air.
"Is that all?" the great Green One demanded, his voice taking on an icy edge. "Empty platitudes and a rallying call from a dead god?"
Whatever the cultist had expected, this was not the reaction they'd wanted. Perhaps realizing that his life hung in the balance, Fenric started to panic. The cultist began to gesture towards the Dragonborn and his companions, "If that is not to your satisfaction, I offer up these Sl-."
"—Servants!" Alidorim cut in. He wasn't sure who this Goddess was, or what the cultist's agenda was, but Fenric was desperate. If he read the cult leader right, Olkith had no desire to be his sacrificial lamb. "We are your...humble servants." He went to one knee, bowing his head respectfully. He had to be smart. Venomfang was a young dragon but still well over twenty feet long, with a wingspan twice that. At his full height, Alidorim barely came up to the dragon's shoulder. With armored scales, there were few if any vulnerable spots, and if he attacked straight on his teeth and claws would rend the warrior's armor in seconds.
Venomfang considered the Dragonborn for a moment. Fenric attempted to regain the dragon's attention and favor but fell silent beneath a glare. "You once served my ancestors." Its head lowered to stare Alidorim directly in the face. "How will you serve me now?"
Alidorim swallowed a lump in his throat. Thinking quickly, he unslung the satchel they'd found earlier along with his purse. "By first offering a token of my fealty." Slowly he laid out the coins and healing potion before him. "Please accept this poultry sum and slaves," Lesmythe and Yulia flinched appropriately as the dragon's gaze shifted towards them, "From a servant whose value is in his sword."
Venomfang hummed as he considered the Tiefling and Half-elf. His head slid closer until he was near enough to sniff the small mound of treasure. The cultists bowed in reverence. As the gold and silver coins caught the light a look of greed filled the dragon's expression.
Venomfang had been right. The Dragonborn had been slaves to the Dragon Lords of old. For centuries they'd served them in their courts, enslaved their enemies, and died on their battlefields. His people had attempted countless revolts only to be quashed every time. Their freedom only came during the Spellplague that brought his people to Toril. It had cost them their world, but they were finally free.
"And we will stay free," his mind affirmed.
Blinded by the golden haze, he didn't see Alidorim's hand go to the knife at his hip.
"RUN!" He shouted as the blade flashed upward. Venomfang screamed in pain, dark blood spraying from where his right eye had been. Alidorim didn't wait to see if the girls obeyed. He prayed they did. Blood still glistened in the air as he sprinted towards the spiral staircase. Fenric stumbled backward in shock, but one of his men rose to block the Dragonborn's path. A dagger appeared in the man's hand before the warrior's short sword removed it at the elbow.
"Traitors!" Venomfang bellowed whipping its head back and forth, "Liars! I'll have your blood!" With that, his jaws parted. A toxic scent filled the room as a great plume of green smoke billowed forth. Cultists screamed as they were engulfed. Their cries quickly faded to gurgles as the poison when to work on their gullets and lungs.
Even being on the upper landing and above the cloud of poison, the acrid stench burned his eyes and made his throat clench. Alidorim couldn't stop. He hadn't heard Yulia or Lesmythe scream so they must've escaped. If they had any chance of getting away, then he couldn't waste his time coughing.
Drawing his blades, Alidorim launched himself off the landing. Far below him curled the great green one still spitting curses and poison. There were no second-guesses, nor second chances. The Dragonborn had to make every strike count!
"Father!" Yulia screamed, but Lesmythe had snatched her up the moment edged metal parted draconic flesh. The cultists were either too busy being supplicant or staring dumbfounded as their 'God' writhed in pain.
"Traitors! Liars!" the dragon had roared, "I'll have your blood!" There was the sound, like a great wind building up. She was shoulder barging the door to the cottage by the time it reached its peak. Outside the pair of cultists shouted in shock and alarm. They'd just started to reach for them when several screams were carried out on a cloud of poisonous green smoke. Lesmythe kept running even as the two cultists fell clutching out their throats. Another almighty roar erupted from the tower but Lesmythe didn't look back. She didn't slow until they came to the base of the hill.
"Father!" Yulia cried into the half-elf's shoulder. Lesmythe stroked her hair. Though gasping for breath she managed to whisper soothing words to the child. Behind her, she heard heavy footsteps. Relief filled her. Alidorim must've gotten out through another entrance. Turning a cold hand gripped her heart. Instead of the Dragonborn, they found themselves staring into the bloodshot eyes of a white-haired man wearing black robes. Fenric had a rag pressed to his face and looked almost as surprised to see them as they were him.
Another deafening roar shook the trees causing all of them to recoil. They looked back at the tower just in time to see the remains of the roof explode outward. Great wings bore the green dragon aloft. Lesmythe held Yulia closer as she screamed in fear. Lesmythe was bout to run when she noticed something. Venomfang wasn't banking to begin pursuit. Rather he was twisting and turning, roaring in pain and frustration. As it flipped about, she caught a glimpse of a crimson figure clad in armor clinging to its back. Lesmythe could hardly believe what she was seeing.
"Father!" Yulia called out.
At the sound of the girl's voice, the dragon cultist seemed to remember who they were and what their master had wrought. "You!" Fenric hissed brandishing an ornately curved dagger. Lesmythe took several steps back, dropping Yulia and pushing the girl behind her. "You and that Strixiki ruined everything!"
"Yulia go!" Lesmythe ordered doing her best to keep the quiver out of her voice. The Tiefling looked up at her, tears streaming down her face. "Everything will be alright," she said trying to sound reassuring.
"No!" she sobbed. Her lips trembled as terror filled her gaze. "Pazmyr said same thing!" Yulia grasped at the woman's skirt. "Lesmythe no leave me too!" The half-elf didn't know where to begin understanding what the girl meant, but the overwhelming sense of loss and grief resonated within her soul. Yulia's pleading tore at her heart but there was no time to argue. Fenric was advancing with murderous intent.
"Yulia, run!" the half-elf cried drawing her knife. It felt like a pitiful weapon in her tiny hands, but she held it firm. She had to protect Yulia, just as her master had directed.
"Months of planning!" he bellowed not even glancing at the blade, "I'll gut you both!"
Lesmythe slashed at the air trying to dissuade her attacker, but the cultist continued his advance. "In the house Yulia," she ordered, and the girl finally obeyed, closing and latching the door behind her. Now Lesmythe didn't have to worry so much about protecting the Tiefling.
"Loreat wux riika!" Venric shouted. He charged sweeping aside the half-elf's guard and slamming his shoulder into her chest.
Lesmythe stumbled back, crashing through the damaged door. Yulia screamed in fright, ducking behind an overturned table. Desperately the woman tried to keep her feet but failed. She scrambled backward as Fenric stalked towards her. Lesmythe felt around for her weapon but she'd lost it in the fall. Shouting curses, the man stabbed downward with the knife. Her hands grasped a section of wood. She brought it up just in time to block the attack. The point sank into a length of plank still attached to the door handle.
Frustrated the cultist attempted to withdraw the weapon, but it was stuck fast. Growling he heaved upward with all his might. The exertion pulled Lesmythe to her feet and she found herself lurching forward. Momentum carried her into Fenric, slamming him into the wall. Stunned the cultist released the weapon. The half-elf couldn't let the opportunity pass. Yelling an incoherent warcry she slammed the section of the door into the man's head. She hit him again and again and again, driving him down until he slumped lifelessly to the floor.
For a moment she couldn't take her eyes of the ruined remains of Fenric's face. Her stomach began to churn as the implications set in. She'd just killed a man. Knees weak she turned and wretched. She'd just killed a man, but Yulia was safe. Though her insides rebelled at the scent of blood and gore her mind remained steady. Lesmythe had done as her master had ordered.
"No..." she realized, "I did it because it was my duty. Because I wanted to." Lesmythe would continue to do so even at the expense of men like Fenric. For her master and for Yulia.
"Yulia," she said wiping a bit of bile from her mouth. No answer. "Yulia!" she called out. Turning she found the ruined house empty.
