Reviewer response:
To Sol1234: Perhaps
To Bunnyblues: Don't worry, I'm not going to abandon my story. I think about a lot about this story, often trying to come up with new ideas for things to come or just plain old dialogue, but when it comes to actually taking time to type everything down, it's a different story. This mainly has to do with time constraints as I've not got all day to work on these chapters.
To darklighteryphon: Oh don't worry, this isn't going to be an easy for Cynder at all. In fact, it will be costly for her, but you will have to wait and see when I get to that part of the story. Also, thank you, I really am enjoying writing this story.
Chapter 5: The Journey Continues
The sun rose over the dragon city with a gleam to it that seemed to be unique each and every time it rose. On the streets below, the moles exit their dwellings to begin another day of work, Cheetah tradesmen bring in shipments of far away and exotic goods to be traded in the city market square, and Dragons going about their business. At the same time, those in nighttime workplaces made their way back to their homes for their much needed sleep. It was remarkable how fast the city had rebuilt itself and how well trafficked it have become in the aftermath of the world's destruction and restoration. There was also a new sense of unity among everyone. It was the nature of tragedy that it would bring the best out of everyone, and it seems to have been very effective at doing that. And many in the city wouldn't want it any other way.
Lucky for the Guardians, it was one of the few off days that they had from teaching the new generation that gave them some leisure time. Although for them, leisure was not what was on their mind. First up was Cyril, then followed by Volteer, Pyra, then Terrador. At first, they all went about their business without mentioning to each other that they had been contacted by Ignitus. It was evident however that they were all in a state of general concern and uncertainty, which did not go unnoticed. All it would take was for one of them to speak up for them. It wouldn't be any of them that broke the ice, rather their favorite cheetah, Hunter.
It was unknown if he had asked his way in or if he snuck in, either way, it was always nice to have him as their visitor. Just like the Guardians, he too was in a state of concern. It was all centered around the knapsack he carried in his left hand.
"Good morning to you all. I am not intruding on anything important with my presence?" He asked, his voice having a sense of urgency. It caught the Guardian's attention quickly.
"No, no, good friend." Cyril spoke up first. "What is it that has brought you here today" Hunter nodded.
"Well, if you wish to see it that way, it's a follow-up to the discussion that we had weeks previous. Many more villages have seen the same creature as before, as well as the unfortunate news that a handful of Cheetahs have died due to unfortunate circumstances relating to these creatures."
"So they have killed your peoples? How?" Pyra asked worryingly.
"Hacked and slashed. We know for sure because they left their belongings behind, including the dagger that was used. We think that the creature was ambushed by one of out tribesmen, but the creature got the upper hand and won the fight." There was no table that he could dump the contents of the sack onto, so he had to make due with the floor. Many items fell out of the sack. A bloodied dagger, a canteen, some rations, a journal with a writing utensils, and a couple of feathers.
The Guardians looked over these items with great curiosity. The journal that fell out was in particular was the item of great interest. It would give them an insight as to what this creature was doing and perhaps the reason as to why it was here in the first place. It was a small journal, not meant to be manipulated by a large dragon's paws, so it was hunter that had to open and turn the pages for them. While it was almost filled to the brim with entries, the writing system was completely different to what the dragons use. From that standpoint, any written messages that they could get their hands on would be basically worthless unless they had someone that could read the words.
Terrador though was most puzzled by the dagger, seeing as not only was he a guardian during the war against the Dark Master, but a high up general leading the charge with knowledge of the weapons their allies used. He could tell immediately that it had no origin within the realms. The wooden handle was that of a darken wood, possibly stained for aesthetic effect, and overall gave the dagger a little more character. The blade itself was sharpened on both sides, with a blood grove in the middle that ran the length of the blade to within an inch of the tip and inch from the hilt; the blade itself was about six inches long with an overall length of ten inches. Stamped onto the hilt was a sort of branding that read "Derick and Co. Forging and Smithing." Even though they might not have been able to have read the words, it was a clear sign of some sort of mass production.
"The dagger is that of one that would be mass produced for an army." Terrador voiced his thoughts out loud. "Look at it, it matches characteristics of one."
"Are you sure, Terrador? The implications of this do not bode well of any of us if that is the case." Hunter said. "The last thing that any of us want is another conflict, especially this soon after Malefor's defeat."
"I know, Hunter. We are in no position to fight a war right now, at least not effectively. Not only has the war against Malefor thinned out numbers by a bit, but it also has killed off people's willingness to fight."
"That puts us in a very bad situation if that is the case. Everyone in the realms will have to come together if that were to ever happen, even our former enemies."
"That'll be the day… Anything else, Hunter?"
"No, I believe that is it. I will leave these items of interest here with you. There are more scholarly resources here in Warfang than there is out in Avalar. Perhaps you will uncover the contents of the journal while we investigate those creatures more."
"You take care, Hunter. We don't want our best cheetah connection getting hurt."
Hunter waved everyone goodbye and the Guardians nodded back in return. Now that they had a new set of serious news to deal with, eventually someone opened up about their experience with the Chronicler, and that person would be Pyra. Although she did not open up about it all at once, at least it was something that shifted the topic from Hunter's revelation back to what they had all been lost in though over.
"Did anyone last night have dream with the Chronicler?" She asked. It got the attention of the other Guardians quickly.
"You too?" Asked Cyril. Pyra nodded back.
"You two are not alone. I had the same vision myself." Volteer quickly chimed up.
"Then I guess that we all did." Terrador boomed, his powerful voice sounding through the room. "I am also going to assume that the message was the same?"
"Did he talk about Spyro?" Pyra asked as the other guardians became fully aware of the situation. "That he was unable to see or contact him?" They all nodded.
"These are troubling time indeed. We have an unknown, yet militaristic group of peoples that we have no known knowledge of their end goals or capabilities." Volteer noted. The uncertainty among them was clear as the weather outside. They all stood there in silence, each one of them thinking, either the findings that Hunter brought in or the fact that someone as powerful as the Chronicler couldn't communicate with the worlds more powerful dragon.
"Well then, how do we go about telling him such?" Cyril said, breaking the silence. "With his current malady along with the fact that his girlfriend has gone on a wild goose chase, there is no easy way to tell him this without putting more mental strain on the poor boy." Cyril had a very valid point. The incessant nightmares along with the departure of his lover, on top of his daily obligations had but more mental stress on the purple dragon. There would be no telling how he would react with hearing the that new tidbit of news
"Perhaps then we should wait before telling him? I mean, it gives us some time to figure out the best way to break the news to him – easier to digest." Pyra suggested.
"Perhaps, but if something were to come along that would put more stress on the youngster, the surely he might have a breakdown. Oh ancestors, please help us." Cyril palmed his face as best he could with his paw.
"I suggest that we alert him to this situation now. After all, we are here if he need to cope with the stress of the given situation. If anything, I would need it too if I were in his shoes." Terrador interjected, giving his honest opinion about the matter.
Both prevailing ideas about how to handle it had their pros and cons. If they waited to tell him, then of course they could formulate the best way to address him on the matter. On the other hand, waiting could lead to the unforeseen increased stressors that, compounding off of previous and current factors, would leave their mighty hero an emotional and mental train wreck. If they told him about it now, they would not have to worry about telling him about it later. On the flip side, putting it to him frankly might not be the best course of action to take at all.
They thought and debated over it for several minutes in private, away from any sensitive ears that might have heard them otherwise. In the end, a compromise was reached. It was decided that they would tell Spyro about his condition now rather later, but they would wait until lunch time to do it where they would be naturally gathered in a social setting. It also gave them a little time to figure out how they were going to inform the young dragon. It was also decided that Pyra should be the one to break the news to Spyro because not only did she have a special way with words, but it might also help build their relations with one another; the bridge had been expected to have already been built by now but had some unexpected delays.
The Guardians adjourned their meeting, and went about their daily business, although none could say that they made much progress doing so. Their minds were focused elsewhere and on a more pressing issues. If Terrador was right and that was a military model dagger, and assuming that the creatures that the Cheetahs were frequently reporting were aggressive in nature, there was the chance that conflict would erupt once again. What was even more worrisome than that was that Spyro, the hero of all of dragon kind and the most powerful dragon in the world, was rapidly deteriorating with almost no explanation as to why,
/\/\/\
Spyro woke up mentally drained as he had ever been. It was just before noon when he woke from his bed. He was getting tired of the same thing every night. Some breath failure here, a little bit of shattered bones there, the usual things when dealing with his dark reflection. He was not that devoutly religious for daily prayers and to go as far as offerings, but he was now deeply considering it. For all he knew, he could have been cursed by the ancestors. Was it because of something that he did? Did he make the wrong choice? Was Malefor right about the nature of the purple dragon and as a result he was being punished for it? He was in no condition to be asking these sorts of questions, so like any other would do and pushed them out of his mind with other, more pleasant thoughts.
He slowly stepped out of bed, first stretching his front paws out, followed by his hind legs, wings, all while stretching his back in the progress. A couple of physically satisfying pops later, he was on his feat and leaving his room. As he walked lightly and slowly down the open corridors of the temple, his footsteps echoed and reverberated throughout it, with occasional click of his claws against the tepid stone floor. He originally had no direction in mind, just wandering about the temple until he found something better to do, but that all changed when his stomach gave a loud, prolonged growl. He hadn't been eating much lately and since he had missed breakfast, it might as well have been the perfect time to get lunch instead.
Finally with a destination in mind, he picked up the pace and walked with a purpose. He couldn't help but think of how Cynder was fairing on her journey – no, quest. Using some basic math, he figured that by the time that she was able to leave the previous evening and how long it took them both to go from the northern shores to Warfang, it was estimated that she would have spent around four to five hours flying in a straight line getting there to the shores, assuming that she had not used any of her wind magic to speed her flight up or not. Of course, there was going to be some errors in Spyro's calculations. Cynder was a natural-born flier, so naturally her average flying speed would have been faster than his, on top of her lighter weight and smaller yet aerodynamic frame.
Spyro on the other hand was not as fast in the air, having to do with his strange upbringing. While it was clear that he could have been flying at an earlier age, it was rather difficult for a family of dragonflies to teach a dragon how to fly when the dynamics of their flight would be completely different to that of his. Instead, he grew up being mobile on the ground. This ground speed was increased greatly when his mastery over earth magic. He smiled a little bit. It was funny how the love of his life would outclass him in the air almost every day of the week but if they were to take it to the ground, he had a greater advantage over her. In a way, it was like nature's balancing act.
When he finally arrived in the mess hall, he found all four of the Guardians sitting down at a table, talking over their lunch. He walked over to join them knowing that the moles would bring out another platter soon enough with his arrival. The table they the Guardians sat at had a spare cushion, almost as if it were beckoning him to sit there with them. When he sat down, the conversation that was previously being held was quickly wrapped up and the attention was brought on Spyro. He could tell that he was the center of attention now, but he did not know why. It wouldn't take long though for him to discover why.
"Good morning or afternoon, which ever is applicable." He said somewhat jokingly. It didn't break the seriousness of the situation, it only made it worse. "Wh-what's wrong?"
Pyra wanted to tell him right away, but the words got caught in her throat. She knew what she had to say but had an inability to speak. Perhaps it was nerves, maybe it was that she was scared of what would become of the young one. The last thing that she wanted was for him to feel as helpless as a lonely child. "Spyro, we need to talk about something"
"Oh? What is it that you need to tell me." He replied, his head tilted sideways in confusion.
"You should get comfortable, because this might take some time." Pyra said in the most comforting voice that she could manage. That didn't help all that much.
Spyro was visibly getting more anxious. "What is it?"
"I'm sure you know of the Chronicler already, yes? Well, we all got a message from him last night, and he wished to inform you about something."
Then why didn't he just communicate with me directly then? Certainly that wouldn't be out of his ability… would it? Spyro thought to himself. "Why didn't he just talk to me directly then? If he could talk to all of you, then he would have no trouble talking to me, right?"
Pyra shook her head. The look on Spyro's face quickly shifted from that of worried confusion to that of dread. "He has tried many time, and he has been unable to contact you for several weeks now. He's been working vigilantly to –"
"Oh great! What else is new? Am I possessed by a demon? Cursed by a witch? Jinxed by faeries?" His contagious sense of optimism quickly turning to an overwhelming sense of pessimism.
"Spyro, I know that this is not the news that you'd wish to hear, but you have to listen to us. The Chronicler has been working day and night to find a reason as to why this is happening to you. Just know that you are not alone in this. Volteer has spend the entire morning looking through the various libraries trying to find anything in Warfang that will help you." She flexed her neck back and forth in such a way that made it look as if she were trying to stretch and pop it, while in reality she was moving it to where she could wink at Volteer and not have Spyro notice. It had been an obvious lie that he had been looking through libraries in Warfang, but Spyro needed the extra reassurance that everything was being done to help him.
"Yes of course! I've already gone through many old manuscripts in search of anything that can help you, and there is still more places that I've yet to visit. There is still hope yet!" Volteer said in his usual upbeat voice with a radiant sense of optimism. He certainly knew how to nail it when it came to faking it.
"See, we are doing our part to help." Pyra said reassuringly. "We care about you, Spyro. I care about you."
"Okay, but what about my daily nightmares that don't go away and last for seemingly hours at a time?"
"The Chronicler believes that the nightmares – no, night terrors, and the lacking the ability to communicate are somehow linked together. So if we are able to solve the problem of one, then we will likely solve the problem of the other." That was a half truth. The Chronicler actually had no idea that these night terrors were happening whatsoever. It was the Guardians passing along that information to him that allowed him to make that connection.
"Are you sure?"
That was a tough question for Pyra to answer. There was no evidence that either of which were connected, only the best of educated guesses. "I'm going to be honest with you. I'm not all that sure." She said softly as Spyro's expression changed again, this time from dread to hopelessness. "However, I'm not an expert on the matter, nor do I have the resources to determine if that is true or not." The other Guardians looked at her with disbelief. They were certain that she had just shot herself in the foot saying that. "Just know this: We really do care, and we are doing everything that we can for you."
Spyro sat there in silence, not knowing what to think or say. By that time, the kitchen staff had brought out his freshly cooked meal. The aroma was more than enough to cause his stomach to let out a loud, prolonged growl. Thoughts of doom and despair slowly left his mind as the primal instinct of hunger began to take over his thoughts. He couldn't help but salivate as he sat there looking at it.
"Here, Spyro." Pyra scooted over next to him and gave him a big hug, one that he eventually reciprocated back. "Don't let the worry of everything consume you. If you ever feel like you need someone to talk to, don't be afraid to seek me out, okay?" Spyro nodded. The other Guardians couldn't help but smile at the scene before them.
They loosed themselves from each other. Spyro gave into hunger as he gobbled down his meal with haste, his lost appetite seemingly returning after that heart warming interaction. The other dragons at the table returning to theirs too.
/\/\/\
If there had been anything that Cynder had regretted when she started the flight across the ocean, it would be not changing her sleep scheduled ahead of time to a nocturnal one. The first two hours of flying had been easy to stay awake through. The cool night air blowing over her scales and the physical exertion doing a lot to keep her awake. Naturally over time, even with her physiological advantages, began to feel physical exhaustion. This could be counteracted by the usage of her large reserves of mana in the form of wind magic to direct wind into her wings and creating a tailwind, but that comes with the cost of not having it later if she did need it. This was the problem that she faced. It was either be exhausted and have it in the case of an emergency, or use the magic and gain incredible distance, but at the cost of not having any in case of emergency. In the end, she decided to keep her reserves.
By hour six, there was a desperate need to find some place to land to rest, or use every last bit of mana and physical strength she had to make a mad dash to the continent in her sights. The other alternative was to land in the water, and hope that she would float rather than drown. Cynder's eyes had adjusted well to the night, her pupils dilating wide to take in all available light from the moon and stars. It would be easy for her to tell where the land would be below her; the shimmering of the water, or lack there of being the biggest indication.
After some scanning with her eyes, there was in the distance a string of islands. Upon closer examination, these islands left a little more to be desired. Some of them were barely as tall as Cynder when it comes to their elevation, with most of it just being coral reef debris and the washed up shells of marine animals. There was an island however that was a little more hospitable. It was still small, but large in comparison to the other options. It had plenty of trees that provided great shade over most of the land. That would be her resting spot for the night. She had landed on the shore, water and sand being swept up and sticking to her scales. Walking wearily up to the palm trees, she only made it in about ten feet before collapsing in the sand, finally getting some deserved rest.
It was after noon when she woke from her slumber. Since she was already here, it was a perfect time to explore the island a bit to see if there was anything there that might be of interest. And seeing as how the army in the Pool of Visions was going to be sailing to the Dragon Realms, they might use this island as a jumping-off point. She first did a visual scan of the island to see if there was any structures that might of use, which there was none. And the lacking evidence of habitation, partial or full time, it was becoming clear that small reef was clearly avoided, most likely due to it being dangerous to sail here. That didn't stop her from continuing though.
Overall, the island was completely abandoned, accept for one particular spot in the sand. It was an unusual indentation that couldn't be naturally formed. It was the subject of an investigation, so she began digging. After about a minute of throwing sand out of the way, brownish wooden planks started to become visible under the yellow sand. She had found something made by intelligent hands, and was eager to get inside. Noticing a small hole in one of the planks where a knot in the wood had rotted away, it was discovered that sand that had been over saturated in water would drain out through the hole made in the plank, thereby making the indentation over the course of countless weeks. She was satisfied with her find.
Gaining entry was not problem either. Using shadow magic, her form melted away into an incoherent mass of darkness, and slipped through the tiny hole where she re-materialized into a solid form on the other side. Her eyes quickly adjusted to the lack of light in the room, which was clearly meant to be a storehouse of cellar of some sort. Shelves lined the with old glass jars, all of them filled with liquid. She stepped carefully to the shelf, and took a bottle off of the shelf. As the liquid inside churned around inside, Cynder's curiosity began to get the best of her. She had seen before during her more unfortunate times that races with the ability to make glass would make bottles to store drinks in; Dragons were not such a race though, their bodies requiring more fluids than a single bottle could hold, would have large clay or metal pots for beverage storage instead. Driving a single claw into the cork that sealed the bottle shut, she pulled out the cork, taking a considerable amount of strength to get the tightly packed thing out of the bottle. She had the opportunity to walk away from the foreign beverage, but curiosity killed the cat they say.
She brought her snout to the opening of the bottle, taking a sniff to see if the beverage was spoiled, and by the smell determined that it was not. It had a very particular, somewhat inviting aroma to it She put most of the neck of the bottle in her mouth, and turned her head and neck up to pour the beverage. She poured it slowly at first, allowing her tongue to get a taste for the beverage. It had a very interesting flavor that she had not experienced anywhere in the Dragon Realms, followed up with a somewhat burning after taste. It was tasty, and she greedily drank the rest of the bottle. It left her with a desire for another, which she grabbed another bottle and downed it just as quickly as the first one. Little did Cynder know, that would not be the best decision that she had ever made.
She phased back into shadow and went out the way that she came it, her belly filled with the interesting beverage. She orientated herself and took to the sky once again. This time though, it wouldn't be the simple flight that she had sustained the night previously. This time, she would pick up the pace a bit. She could maintain a fast flying speed, faster than most other dragons. Without knowing the exact pace that she was flying at though, it was hard to judge just how far she had gone. Three hundred miles? Five hundred? Maybe a thousand? There might not be another island to land on, the only good choice that Cynder had was to pick up the pace.
She had compromised on her magic usage. Rather than an all out dash for the other continent or just enough to keep her from physically exerting herself. She would get up to speed and sustain it for as long as she viably could before having to become physically reliant for flight again. And with the reserves of mana that she had, she could go a long way before having to become reliant of flapping her wings to stay in the air. All was going great for the first, until Cynder began to feel strange. Perhaps the drink that she had gone bad after all. She had too far from the island at the speed that she was going to make it back before things got worse, so the only thing to do was push through it and keep going forward.
An hour had passed, and Cynder was facing significant problems. Not only was her motor function severely impaired, but so was her cognitive processes. On top of that, she was on the verge of losing consciousness, which would lead to a certain and untimely death. Either this had to pass or she had to land before things got worse. And over the open ocean, it looks as if there would be no safe haven to land. All was looking bad as the black dragoness' flight deteriorated from somewhat manageable to a gradual but noticeable decline. That would have been the end of Cynder's story, had it not been for a little help of the somewhat divine.
Ethereal entities, colored teal, and with wispy outlines formed the general shape of a dragon. There was one, then two, then four, eight, six-teen, and even more. It was a flock… is that the right word? A flight of dragons all flying in a typical formation for long distance flying. The assumed leader of this group, turned it's head and took a long gaze at Cynder in her less than sober state. "I sense within you your desires, the destination you have in mind. Young one, you are a long ways away. You've overestimated your skills on top of impaired them. But because of our distant kinship, we will assist you on your travels. Good luck, young one. Know that you are not alone, and that should you need assistance, we will provide." The entity said in a distorted voice. Soon, a teal light enveloped Cynder, and in the blink of an eye, she was gone.
Cynder was not in the right state of mind to understand what just happened or the significance of what just happened. All that she knew was they she was on solid ground, with deciduous trees surrounding providing ample shade from the sun. The last thing that she could coherently remember was figures standing over here.
Today was the big day. It was time to sign the official order that would bring the Kingdom of Quillum into a state of war with the Dragon Realms. Bevan still had his reservations, but took the advice of Jadney from the night previously. There was no victory condition set in stone, so he would exploit that when meeting with his advisors and military staff. And with an event like this, there would be some preparations needed. With him being the only occupant in the room, it was clear that he had to pick up the pace.
First off was a well needed shower to ease his nerves. Removing his sleeping clothes, he stepped into the shower and turned the knob for the hot water, the hum of the magic powered pumps bringing heated water to the shower head. Once done lathering and rinsing himself off, he quickly dried himself with a towel to remove most of the water, and allowing for what remained to air dry. Next was a trip to the wardrobe for proper attire.
For this occasion, it was essential that he donned the best clothing that he had available, that which he reserved for events like this. Underwear was an obvious first, but that could have been any old pair since nobody there would be seeing them anyway, so he picked the most comfortable pair available. A finely sewn set of trousers and shirt was next in order, each of them not seeing much light since their creation. After that, all of the other rather unnecessary but formal accessories to the overall. A nice pair of shoes and a pair of long socks also helped complete the look. Last but not least was the crown jewels themselves. This was the prized possession of the House of Raemes, the jewels of the original royal family that had been killed off long ago. Once donned, he swiftly grabbed the ornate robe to complete the look. And a gaze in a mirror on a dresser showed it all in it's entirety.
Walking out of the bedroom door, he was greeted by four of the castles Royal Guard, the most elite of the Royal Army's soldiers who had the honor to serve as guards to the monarchs themselves. They had been waiting for him since their last shift rotation. When the large wooden door swung open, they did not move an inch or reacted in the slightest. When Bevan turned, they turned; when he moved, they moved; when he stopped, they stopped. He made haste down the hallways of the palace with guardsmen in tow. It would be the event hall where the signing would be held.
As they walked through the ornate halls, conversations from open-door rooms could be heard. The things that people will talk about when they believe that they are alone. Some were sweathearted in their nature, the things that their spouses had done or talking about their children. Other were a little more dark that he would have not wanted to hear about. As he passed the alchemy lab, a loud conversation could be heard through the closed door. While the fidelity of the conversation was lacking, there was a few key things that he heard that made his stomach sink. Did he just hear them say that a dragon was found in a wood? He thought that he would have been told this by now rather than have to learn about by unintentionally eavesdropping on a conversation. Then again, the alchemist were the veterans of the war against the Dark Army, at it wasn't out of the possibility that they were talking about the war.
He finally arrived outside the event hall, he pauses. He was reluctant to enter the room and just stood there at the door with his hand on the doorknob. The soldiers guarding him didn't think anything different of him, hell, their expression was the exact same as they had been since they had left. He pushed his fears aside, and opened the door. In the room sat the most powerful people in the kingdom at a long table set up for the even in particular. Generals, Admirals, all of they royal advising staff, and Jadney, who had woken up long before him judging by how much effort went into the donning of her regalia. The signing hadn't begun yet, so all of the formalities that would be seen if one walked in on said event was not present, instead having the formalities of a normal event gathering.
As if by nature, they all stopped conversing as he walked in and bowed their heads. It was awkward, but a sign of respect. As he walked to take his place at then end of the table with Jadney, an event staffer conversing with other staffers quickly approached him. "Welcome, your highness. Everyone is here and accounted for." She said excitedly. While the formalities were still not in place, he had the opportunity for some humor.
"So you are calling me late then, are you?" He said back with a fake sternness in his voice. She became visibly scared before Bevan stuck his tongue out in humorous manner. She quickly understood what just happened and gained composure back.
"Oh no, your highness, the event is scheduled to begin thirty minutes from now so you are not late at all"
'But I'm still last' Bevan thought to himself. Being later than everyone else made him look less responsible. And being the monarch of a kingdom, it was not good to be seen that way. "If that's the case, then we can get this over in thirty minutes."
"As you wish."
Bevan continued to his seat, when the event soon began after being seated. The pre-signing ceremony began with a prayer to the gods of the Quillian religion, soon followed by other activities. Then, the scribe that was sitting on Bevan's left passed the large parchment with the declaration on it around to table, to where it will eventually end up in his possession last. This was a way to ensure that everyone at the table had a chance to read over what was being formalized and a way to ensure that no unauthorized addendum were added to it. Judging on how fast the document was being passed around, it was clear that it was only the declaration.
Jadney was passed the paper, where she took time to read over it twice over. Once done, she passed it to Bevan and nodded her head. She approved of what he was about to do, and that gave him a newfound strength and reassurance. It was finally here, the parchment that would change fates. He read it all in it's entirety, despite being shown the drafts of it previously. Everyone in the room way eyeing him, waiting for his next move: to tear up to parchment or to authorize it.
A ceremonial knife, gilded and with jewels inlaid in the hilt, sat on the table to his left, as well as a small shallow bowl, and a quill. There was no inkpot to drawl ink from, instead, measures had to be taken to produce it. Bevan picked up the gilded knife and in his left palm made a shallow gash. Blood flowed from his left and into the bowl where it gathered. It was with his own blood that he had to sign. With his good hand, he dipped the nib of the quill into the blood, and begin to sign his name in an ornate style of cursive that required plentiful amounts of ink. When finished, he placed the bloodied quill back down beside the bowl, still filling the drops of blood from Bevan's hand. When finished, Everyone bowed their heads, showing acknowledgment of the decision.
Having to sign something with your own blood is a painful task, more so having to draw it than write with it. It was a symbolic gesture just as it was part of the ceremonial ceremonial aspects of it. All of the dead and dying that resulted from the war would be blood on his hands, just like that on the paper that brought the in the state of war. "Writ with steel and signed with blood" they say, but rather than a steel blade, it was a gilded blade made for such events.
Everyone in the room stood up from the seats and in unison said: "Long live the king! Long live the Kingdom!" With that, everyone made their way out of the event hall and back to wherever they came from. The room emptied with such pace that Bevan and Jadney were the only ones left in the room.
"I honestly didn't think that you had it in you, Bevan." Jadney said. "What made you decide all of a sudden."
"I'm going to be honest, my dear." He said back. "When you looked at me and gave me that nod, I knew then that I had it in me to do it. Thank you."
"All you needed was my approval this whole time?"
"Not entirely, but yes. I was afraid that you would have hated me if I did it because of the way that you've reacted to me talking about it to you. I can tell that you are against it and I have to be for war because of a royal decree that I had to uphold from my father."
"How sweet of you. But what royal decree? This would be the first that I've heard of it." Jadney had a very visible look of confusion on her face.
"That's because I didn't want it to be known. On my father's deathbed while I was away momentarily, he had made a decree that would ensure that the war with the dragons would be carried out. A notary there to make it official. Do break it would be to disrespect my father and tarnish my honor."
"But you could have easily have made a royal decree to nullify his. You didn't have to be held to it."
"To do that would be cowardice."
"Why would be cowardice? You are not the one that will be fighting the war, so why worry about it?"
"Because I'm the leader, well... we both are leaders." Bevan let out a sigh. "It's because to back down as a leader can be seen as equivalent to all of the soldiers backing down under the leaders command."
By whose definition?"
"Every one of those generals that was in here sees it that way. They'll court martial anyone in a leadership for simply not moving their troops forwards, despite not being able to."
"So? They are the generals and we are the monarchs. They take orders from us."
"Yes they do, but they are the ones that issue orders to the soldiers. And if it was up to them, they could use that position of power to overthrow us and set themselves as the rulers of the kingdom."
"I highly doubt that they are going to overthrow you under the basis that you are indecisive on your actions." Jadney nudged closer and put her arms around Bevan. "You worry too much. How about instead of overthinking and worrying your ass off, we go back to our room and get these ridiculous clothes off and get into something a little more comforting." Bevan smiled at her.
"I couldn't agree more."
"Also, make sure that your hand has stopped bleeding. You know that the launderers would be awfully upset with blood stains on the regalia."
Bevan took the moment to glace at his left hand momentarily. The bleeding had stopped and the gash had already scabbed over and begin to heal and the blood that ran down his had had already dried too. "It's stopped."
"Good, now give me a hug back, this is starting to look awkward." Bevan didn't hesitate and wrapped his arms around her torso.
"You know, I wish that we could have more sobering life where we could do this a little more often."
"I do too, and you can start that right now."
"Oh yeah, how?"
"By going back to the bedroom and getting changed." They both laughed.
It wasn't as bad as Bevan thought that it would have been. The signing ceremony went well, and to top that off, it was as if a weight was lifted off of his shoulders. As they began walking back to their room, it now occurred to Bevan that now he would have to worry about the war itself rather than if he was going to declare it or not. But that was a job for the generals to do. He would give orders and the generals would give orders for it to get done. Maybe that was something that he should do more often in other fields. As it stood, he had a lot of advising staff and not many departments within his government. Perhaps it would be best for him to make his advising staff the heads of their own departments and take the stress and strain of having to manage so much off of his shoulders just like signing that declaration would. If anything, it would be just as easy to do as the signing, except there would be an inkpot rather than a ceremonial bloodletting knife.
/\/\/\
The early morning briefing that Bradan did with his colleagues was anything but brief. All of the documentation that had to be discussed, a demonstration that replicated the same results as the previous night, which put a lot of skeptics at a loss for words, and held a long lasting discussions on the implications. It was an eventful morning for sure, which finally got wrapped up around afternoon. With that, he finally had some off time to spend, which he was glad for. Being a workaholic had the benefits of high productivity, but it also required a much needed rest time before the person gets burnt out. He notified the correct people and took his leave from the palace to make the journey home. The sad part of being the top alchemist was that there was a lot to be done and very little downtime that was given. He could open more leadership positions that would allow him more leisure time, but frankly nobody else had the level of expertise that he he over the many subjects of study that allow him to have such a strong leadership, and doing so would only benefit him in the long run while slowing down their work.
Thankfully for him, he did not live all that far from the royal palace, so getting home was a rather easy process. Technically speaking, Bradan and his family's house was still on the royal estate, although their land was graciously donated to them by Bevan and Jadney. He missed his family, or rather his future family. He had married his childhood sweetheart a while ago, and it wasn't until now that they had tried to start a family. It took them a couple of tries to get it right, but when they finally did, it was a joyous moment. It posed a lot of questions to Bradan that he did not have the answers to. Would the child have magical abilities at birth? How would being a father affect his ability to work? How well would bring-your-kid-to-work-day work out? He shook his head. There was no need to worry about things like that right now. Deal with them as they come along.
It was the trek was about an hour and a half, but he finally reached his doorstep. The door was locked as it had usually been. After a couple of knocks on the door and a what seemed to be the longest minute in his life, the sound on the inter workings of the door lock began to be manipulated, and the door swung open. There at the door was none other that the love of his life, Katrine Arren. The two embraced each other tightly in a hug that lasted for a solid minute.
"Oh how have I missed you, Bradan. I'm assuming that you've must have been worked to death in that room of yours." Katrine said longingly. Bradan looked deep into her ultramarine irises. It was not that hard to determine what she was thinking, he had known her for too long.
"I know that you hate my line of work with a passion. I know that it takes up large quantities of my time that I myself would love to spend with you. But it makes more than enough to fill our coffers and provide for everything that we need. And yes, I have been worked diligently."
They both let go on one another and walked into the house, closing the heavy oak door behind them. The house was a decently sized with two stories, a full wrap-around porch, and a decent roof with plenty of attic space. The inside was also just as equally sized. Both Quillians sat down in the living room on comfortable cotton-stuffed furniture. It was a nice living room, with windows bringing in adequate lighting without the need for candles or magical lanterns.
"How is the child? Is it doing okay?" Bradan asked, letting his head flop back and stareing at the ceiling.
"It is okay. So far so good." Kartine responded back. "Have you made any new discoveries or refinements?"
Bradan was not sure if he should let that information to be known. He was sure that Katrine was not one to gossip and discuss matters of the alchemists, but he could not be certain that she would keep shut up about all that he has accomplished, especially yesterday. "Yes, me and a specialized team did. It was an investigation on this strange energy that permeates from places of religious or cultural importance. It's still a mystery as to what it does, but the team and I are eager to find out more." It was a sort of half truth. It worked for the given situation.
"Is it dangerous?" She asked with a concerned tone.
"Not that we know of, no. This energy has been around us since they day we were conceived to the day we die. By that reasoning, it's likely harmless, at least in it's 'natural form.' We don't yet know what will happen when we try to manipulate it." He hated to tell lies in front of her, but had the truth came out on what happened last night, she would force him to quit.
"Then don't. I don't want you getting hurt."
"I know, sweetheart."
They both continued on their conversations. It was mostly about all the things that he had accomplished since his last visit. It was the best for both of them. Bradan needed time off from his work otherwise he'd become consumed by it, and Katrine needed it because of how little she sees him because of his line of work. It all went over well, with both of them having a good time together. Conversations about all that has happened, a couple of card and board games played. Hours passed by in the blink of an eye. It was their unspoken desires for moments like this to last forever, but that was about to change. It could be seen from the living room window that there was a messenger running towards their home at an incredible rate of speed, usually seen in times of emergency. He had assumed the worst, that there was an accident in the laboratory that destroyed most of it and compromised the structural integrity of the entire palace. Rather than let the messenger beat and bang on the door like an obnoxious kid, he was already standing with the door open waiting for the young runner.
"Bra-Bradan! You presence is needed immediately!" The poor boy managed to huff out, clearly out of breath from such an intense sprint.
"What is it, good sir? Has has there been an accident in the labs?" The time it took for the answer to fall on his ears felt like an eternity.
"No, something remarkable! A forest ranger found a dragon unconscious in the surrounding woods around Mystic Springs!" The messenger chimed up. Bradan's heart nearly skipped a beat at the thought of it. The last known sighting of a dragon was when the Dark Army's expedition on Treablesh began their evacuation off the continent. This was truly a remarkable event. Katrine however was not so excited about this news.
"Bradan, please put that thing down before it has the chance to wreak havoc on the kingdom like the last ones did." She beckoned to him, the fear in her voice was clear as a bell. Katrine lost her most of her family from a raid carried out by the dragons of the Dark Army.
Bradan turned to face her, she was still sitting in the living room. "Sweetheart… I don't think that the dragon they found was involved in the war against the Dark Army," he said.
"How can you be so sure? You haven't even seen the damned thing, much less had to opportunity to interrogate it."
"Okay, then." He turned back to the messenger, still panting on his front porch. "Tell me, was it a younger or older dragon?" The messenger gave him a look of confusion.
"Sir, how am I supposed to tell how old it is?" the messenger said.
"Can you put a saddle on it's back and ride it or would the saddle be too big?" Bradan gave himself a mental pat on the back for that comeback. Katrine's fear was briefly broken by a small giggle.
"Well, um, it would probably fall off."
Bradan turned back to Katrine again. "Well, that is your answer. It's a young dragon. All of the recorded sighting of them during the war against the Dark Army was older, much larger ones."
"Again, how can you be so sure?" She asked again.
This time, Bradan got short with her. "Because I was the one who killed the first Dark Army dragon. I was sixteen and a soldier twenty years ago, I drank the potion that granted me the abilities that I have today, and I threw the energy ball that sent the dragon down to the earth below! I know what the dragons of the Dark Army looked like because I've seen them first hand." he said with his voice raised. And he hated that he did that. He palmed his face with a tinge of remorse "I'm sorry. I didn't want to yell."
"Sure you did. Just run off again because family isn't as important as work is." Kartine wheeled around on her heels, walked in, and slammed the door shut. The sound of mechanical parts moving telling him that she had locked him out. Bradan sighed. There was no use in fighting it right now as it would only make things much worse than they already are. He tuned back to the messenger, why had a complete look of confusion on his face.
"Don't worry, she will be over it in due time. Now, let us go see this dragon, shall we?" He spoke to the messenger. "I'm sure that we will not be the only ones wanting to get a look at it."
The boy nodded back. "No sir, you are not the only one. Let us make haste. It will be a days travel, but we will make it there nonetheless," he said. Both of them quickly departed from the residence.
Bradan now had time to think. Found at Mystic Springs… That was name he hadn't heard in a long time. It brought back many memories. There was some good ones. The felling of the dragon of course was a good one. There was the camaraderie between him and his fellow magical soldiers; they had gone on to be the best of the best. There was also the bad memories or more specifically gilt. There had been many dragon raids since they drank their respective potions, but they were unable to do anything to stop them as their powers were still in their infancy. Of course, had they tried and intercepted a dragon without the proficiency that they had when they actually did, they would have ended up on a causality report.
As they traveled, he wondered what all that he could do with a dragon specimen. Sure, there was all of the things that could be done to test previously held assumptions about them. It was then that he remembered what he had told Bevan two weeks earlier. He was unsure on how proceed with that though. The method of detachment was a crude one, hell, it was discovered on accident. There was too many unknown variables. He would have to wait before him and his team perform such an action.
The arrival took more time than they expected, the sun hiding behind the horizon and the moons shining brightly in the sky. Bradan hadn't been in the town in twenty years. From memory, everything was different than things were back then. It was no different that the growth of Castle Town over the years, but the difference was that he can observe the change over time. In the case of Mystic Springs, that was not the case. Thankfully though, the messenger that had got him in the first place did have knowledge of where things were in the town, and therefor lead him to where he would find the dragon in question.
He was lead to to the town jail, which he found rather inhospitable for Quillian and dragon alike. Stepping onto the front porch, the boards creaked as he put his weight on them. The front door was equally as audible as the iron hinges moved against one another. Before he could go back to where the holding cells were, he had to go through what he presumed was the sheriff of the town, who was sitting at a desk with an orderly stack of papers and a mug of what Bradan could only assume was an ale, all lit by oil lamps throughly throughout the structure. His head was buried in his work, looking over legal documents with a wax stamp and inkpot ready to formalize those that needed it. It was an awkward moment as Bradan stood there in front of the man's desk and waited for him to look up. After scanning through the document on his desk, he reached over to quill in the inkpot and signed the bottom of it with great haste before setting the paper aside and finally looking up at Bradan standing four feet from his desk.
"Good evening, sir. How might be of help?" The sheriff said to Bradan, taking a sip out of the mug on his desk. "If you need a magistrate, then let me know and I will have a letter sent to her office soon enough that you have requested her presence in legal matters."
'Well that was certainly courteous. This might be the easiest thing that I've done in a long while.' Bradan thought to himself. 'But I'm not out of the woods yet...' He took a second to gain proper composure before speaking. "I am Bradan, head alchemist of the kingdom. I was told by this messenger here that I was to report here. You have a dragon held up in a cell is what I've heard."
"Yes, yes." The sheriff stood up from his chair and walked back around the desk. "Come with me and I will take you to it." He said a gruff voice. He walked down a hall way and Bradan as well as the messenger walked with him. Cells lined the hall on both sides, with a surprisingly low number of convicts. In this jail, the iron bars that separated the jailed from freedom were in a room of their own, with access through a heavy metal door to get to the bars. They reached the end of the hallway where two sheriff's deputies acting as guards at the door. The sheriff eyed the both of them, both nodding in understanding to the silent order. The guards move off to the side, and the sheriff took a set of keys out his his coat pocket and unlocked and opened the door. He and Bradan both moved deftly into the cell.
There he saw it. It was a smaller sized black-scaled dragon with a magenta underbelly and wing membranes. It was sprawled out on the floor, still unconscious as they had found it. It was a marvel to see a dragon for the first time in twenty years. Examining it closer, the claws, horns, and the blade at the end of it's tail was pristine, with no indication of stains and battle scars; examining the scales again revealed no sort of previous violent incidents. This dragon looks like a peaceful one by those indications, but he couldn't be sure on that alone. He would have to wait for it to wake to confirm or dismiss those assumptions. He could, however, get some of the little information that they already had.
"Tell me, sir, the circumstances of this dragon's capture?" He asked, turning his head behind him to the three others. One of the guards was first to answer.
"Well, the forester found it first." he said. "He then reported it to a deputy who is off shift, who then reported back here. We eventually loaded it on a covered cart and brought it back here. We are lucky nobody saw it, 'cause if they did then we would be in some serious trouble trying to keep them from burning this place down with the dragon in it."
"Fair enough. Was it ever awake at all between discovery and now?"
Both guards and sheriff let out a hearty laugh. "Have you ever tried to wake a drunkard after going head first into a keg? The damned thing was drunk when we found it!" Bradan had to hold back his laughter to preserve the seriousness of the situation.
"Are you serious? The Dragon Realms are over two thousand miles away. How might have a dragon gotten drunk on the flight here and still made it this far inland?"
"It's a mystery to us, but we can confirm that it had to have had it's fill; you could smell the alcohol from it."
"That doesn't make any sense, but then again being able to preform magic isn't either."
Bradan and the three others just stood there, watching over the unmoving an unconscious dragon. Each one of them had their own silent thoughts, concerns, and perhaps dreams of the future. Here they were, three of them unremarkable, one slightly less unremarkable, bearing witness to an event that had implications that were farther than any of them had ever expected it to be. Was this dragon truly passive? Was it a scout for the Dark Army, and that a fated return would happen? They could not tell. All they could do was wait for the dragon to sober up, all while waiting in the cell.
10,000 word chapter! Wooo! I had a lot of fun writing this one. The scene where Cynder gets shitface drunk was inspired a lot from a scene in Pirates of The Caribbean. Was it unnecessary? Maybe. What is entertaining? Absolutely, well, for me it was. Also, I was thinking of writing out what the declaration of war actually said, but I was not quite sure on how to word it all and what to include. So as a bit of audience interaction, I'll let you all contribute to it in your own way. Either in PMs or a review submit your ideas of what to put in it and I will try to include as much of your submissions as possible. Thank you all for reading and for those that will put forth submission, I wish you the best of luck in your writing!
- AbyssalBlue