Disclaimer: I don't own Merlin
The Great Dragon was once again flying high above the land and the occasional villages with people who were specks that scuttled across the ground. He was angled towards the kingdom of Nemeth, the only distinct location he had managed to extract from Merlin; Kilgharrah knew he had to for Arthur there and, if the Pendragon was not present, he would seek the druids for information. Those three words took much for Merlin to relay; it only revealed to Kilgharrah the importance in each, especially Nemeth. He hoped what little reassurances and promises he had made as well as his given strength would give Merlin enough to resist Morgana long enough for Kilgharrah to find either Arthur or the druids and bring the help the young warlock sorely needed.
When the dragon first arrived at Camelot, hovering above the citadel hidden in the shadows of the clouds, it shocked the ancient dragon to see the source of his Dragonlord's distress. Beneath him laid the city, one that he knew was often teeming with life, deserted, with the occasional person who rushed across the street to their destination. No one dared to stop, not even for a quick greeting to a fellow neighbor, as they kept their heads down and their eyes to their feet. Instead of the usual merchants and people lining the streets, there stood soldiers, tall and straight with cold eyes that watched the roads, and chimeras that growled and snapped at anyone who got to close.
Kilgharrah had felt irate at the discovery of chimeras. Vicious vermin that sole existence was to cause misfortune to those they were directed against. Though not impossible to kill, Kilgharrah knew they were still difficult to defeat, even for a dragon. Many dragons, before the Purge, had hated them and often chose to ignore or even attack one another if the two creatures of magic were within reach. A dragon's might was able to easily tear them apart while a chimeras' numbers could easily over run the dragons. However, it was not just the dragons that the chimeras sparked such ire; most that walked the land held hatred against them for the chimeras had no place among the world of the living. Many often frowned upon a summoning of those creatures.
Kilgharrah veered away from the city, choosing instead to circle the perimeter by the forest edge as he extended his mind out to search for Merlin. The dragon was glad he had decided to fly above the trees, away from the city, for the moment he made contact with Merlin, the force of the warlock's pain caused Kilgharrah to swerve off towards the ground barely managing to avoid the trees as his great body smashed into the ground. Thankfully there was a clearing close by for he had managed clip his wing against a tree but otherwise roughly land in the middle.
It was as the dragon was trying to grab the warlock's attention that Kilgharrah fully realized just how dire the situation was. Merlin did not have much time that was what Kilgharrah was certain; the dragon could feel the insanity and desperation that consumed the man. He could feel the mandrake-treated armlet's dark magic as it dug into Merlin's mind. The cruel device tore out the memories, the people, who made Merlin the man he was and twisted them to its advantage; the images of his loved ones were nothing more but puppets, used to lay the warlock's failures before him.
The mandrake armlet alone was enough to bring down even the strongest of men within hours of use, and even with Merlin's power, there was little his magic could do when restraints held it back. Kilgharrah knew his short conversation would not be enough to ground the warlock into reality from the armlet's twisted us of Merlin's memories but the dragon was at least able to provide aid, as little as it was, to the young warlock.
When the dragon had finally pulled away from Merlin's consciousness, the dragon was not given much time when a sizable group of eight men, a patrol, discovered the winged reptile. With the coordination born of countless hour training, the group had swiftly surrounded the dragon. They had all unsheathed their blades and held themselves at ready as they tried to determine their plan of attack. Before the dragon could take full note of them, two of the men lunged forward, the points of the swords scraped uselessly across Kilgharrah's hide.
Kilgharrah huffed. Humans were pitiful and these men had not the means to defeat him. With a great intake of air, Kilgharrah turned his head towards the two who had first attacked, his inferno cooked the men alive as the screamed in agony. The rest of the soldiers took a step back, uneasy on how to approach the dragon. With a quick whisper, they began to withdraw from the clearing with thoughts of reporting the dragon's existence to Morgana.
The Great Dragon narrowed his eyes; it would not do for Morgana to know of his proximity, though he doubt the witch would make much of a connection between him and Merlin. Kilgharrah lunged towards the patrol, with talons outstretched and fire bloomed from his maw. His claws snagged onto the closest soldier while the fire burned the rest. One man had managed to dodge the brunt of the flames only to be pinned against the ground by Kilgharrah's other claw. Golden eyes met the frightened browns before Kilgharrah released another short bout of flames, which effectively killed the remaining man.
He glanced around the clearing, ensuring he had killed the last of the patrol, before he leapt back into the darkening sky and once more flew towards Nemeth while his thoughts drifted towards the situation in Camelot.
Morgana was on the edge of achieving her goals, Kilgharrah had felt it; he had felt the temptations the warlock had for an ensured death that Morgana's revelations would provide. Never before had the warlock thought of death as an option for the warlock had proved time and again he was strong. Even Kilgharrah's own experience with his Dragonlord showed that he had stood strong with his ideal. It made the dragon wonder if Merlin's stubbornness was what kept his tongue still.
So immersed Kilgharrah was in his thoughts that he did not notice the arrival of his kin until she had rammed, full speed, against his side, knocking both of them momentary into free fall before either was able to straighten themselves, readjust their wings, catch the wind, and rise up once more into the sky. During the whole charade, and to Kilgharrah annoyance, a laugh burst from the scaled beast as they finally righted themselves.
"Hatchling, do you want to kill us both?" Kilgharrah scolded Aithusa, not having patience for the young dragon's usual mischief.
Aithusa merely rolled her eyes before giving the elder dragon a toothy grin, "Don't get your senile tail into a twist, if it was that easy to kill either of us, we might as well join a pack of slobbering wyverns."
Aithusa had grown much since the warlock first called her from her egg. Her once dull, soft scales, typical for newly hatched dragons, hardened and shone into brilliant, pure white as Aithusa matured; no longer was she the small, frail creature when she first crawled from the shell. Instead, she was the size of a large horse, after she had gone through several growth spurts that came rapidly in a dragon's life cycle. Though she had grown into the perfect image of a noble dragon that had been praised during the years before the Purge, it did not change the dragon's temperament and love for mischief, no matter how much Kilgharrah admonished the youth.
"This is no time for fun and games, young one. You should know as well as I how grave the situation is," lectured Kilgharrah.
"I know, but doesn't mean I can deny myself a laugh. If I can't have my fun and games, my hatred towards that witch will drive me mad!" exclaimed Aithusa in an attempt to remain cheerful, though it felt as forced to her as it was to Kilgharrah. The two flew side by side for a moment, with the wind going by, past their streamlined bodies, under the starry night.
"I can't lose him," Aithusa said, her voice lost. "We can't lose him. Without him, there is nothing but chaos in the future."
"Agreed, we can't allow the witch to continue. Her actions lead only to doom for everyone."
In a small, frightened voice, "How could anyone do this?"
Kilgharrah shot a glance towards his young kin and noted the confusion, sorrow, and, strangely, guilt present on the dragoness face. "Her darkness led her to her choices, twisted the way she was by her upbringing. It is of no surprise that she is capable of the cruelest of magic. Many forget how far a human can fall."'
Aithusa gave him a tired nod as she wondered over her early days, after she hatched, when she stood no taller than her Dragonlord's knees. Dragon hatchlings were capable of living on their own when necessary and it was often that Aithusa flew off, away from Kilgharrah disapproving and lecturing voice, on her own and explored her new world. It was simple to hide during those days, when a small flash of white could be glanced over by a human who believed that theirs eye were playing ticks with them rather than the baby dragoness. It was during those times that Aithusa encountered the witch.
She knew of the battle that took place in Camelot, where her beloved Dragonlord faced danger and fought beside the Once and Future King. Aithusa recalled how she had wanted to rush to Merlin's side, only to be stopped by Kilgharrah's order not to be involved. As dragons, they would only bring about panic amongst those they were trying to protect and the people may even attack them rather than the enemies; it was for those reasons that Aithusa minded her kin's wisdom… well, at first.
Anxiety clawed its way in her gut and became too much for the hatchling. Aithusa found herself flying off to the city, prepared to wet her claws in battle and release the fire within her belly; however, by the time she had arrived, the battle had been on the path of victory, Camelot's warriors were chasing the remainder of their foes away. Aithusa flew around the city; her white coloring gave her the perfect disguise against the clouds. Satisfied that she had worried for naught, Aithusa veered away and skimmed over the forest, simply enjoying the act of flight. It was while she glided through and dodged the trees when she noticed a dark figure lay stretched across the forest floor, unconscious.
The only human she had ever seen up close was her own Dragonlord, and though Aithusa had little experience with the strange, two-legged creatures, she knew that the one below was in trouble, perhaps a victim to the battle that had occurred within the city. With a tilt of her wings, Aithusa directed herself to the forest and landed beside the human. Closer, Aithusa saw that it was a woman, pale in the face framed by tangled, long raven hair; she was clad in the strange second skin that humans were fond of wearing. Aithusa tilted her head to the side and wondered over the source of the woman's current condition when her nostrils caught the fresh scent of blood that wafted from a wound hidden within the folds of black cloth. It took Aithusa a half a second to realize that the woman was dying, her hand crushed between her side and the ground in a desperate attempt to stem the blood that leaked from her body.
Aithusa bowed her head and gave a small whine; her heart lurched at the lack of acknowledgement from the human. Then, with a single-minded determination, Aithusa felt her magic, the source of her flight and internal furnace, rise up for her, ready to be molded to her wishes. The magic built up and, instinctually, Aithusa gave it form, purpose, before its gentle warmth released from between her maw, carried by her breath, across the dark woman. The magic drifted above the human and settled into her, its power melded into the woman's being. Aithusa felt as her magic knitted the muscle and skin together, and returned the woman's flesh to health.
Fatigue hit Aithusa at the completion of her released the magic for it was the first time she attempted to use her magic outside its unconscious use. But it was okay, thought Aithusa for she believed that it was a small sacrifice to make to save a life. Besides, she was not too tired to make the journey back to the caves that became home for the hatchling and Kilgharrah when he had not been tired of her. With that in mind and the sense of pride for her good deed, Aithusa flew away, her mouth formed into draconic smile. Below her, the woman roused into consciousness, surprise and wonder dominated her face as she watched the dragoness' flight.
She was young that time, but Aithusa never understood Kilgharrah's remarks on her naivety. Dragons, much like many others, were shaped by their experience and choices throughout their lives; however, dragons also possessed a unique connection to the earth's magic, and in turn a shared inheritance of knowledge. Aithusa was born with full understanding of the current state of the land, the sad truth of the near extinction of the dragon race, and even the prophecies and those that destiny chose to carry out her wishes, the Once and Future King and Emrys, the warlock who Aithusa easily recognized as her Dragonlord. She was even born with the knowledge of the prophesized enemies of Albion.
Perhaps it was from Aithusa's confidence that she would be able to recognize any figure of prophecy that she had allowed herself to be carefree with her magic. She didn't realize that the seemingly innocent woman in the forest she had heal was the one who threatened everything the dragons strove to accomplish, threatened her Dragonlord and the world he was destined to create. It was all Aithusa could do not to hide in shame before Kilgharrah. She feared her kin. She fear of his reaction, of his disappointment, if he had found out she had saved the witch. Saved the witch so that Morgana may once again destroy the dreams the magical community held for the future.
It wasn't until she had been struck by the desperate call of her hatcher and the subsequent hurried flight to Camelot, that she had fully realized the consequences of her actions. She had arrived above the city before Kilgharrah, the sun still shown through the horizon and forced the dragoness to swoop into the clouds' shadows to hide as her sharp eyes searched the city below. Aithusa tried to extend her mind the way Kilgharrah had taught her before, but she was too far from Merlin for her inexperienced magic could handle. As she glided around, unsure on her next action, Aithusa felt her magic react, a reaction instigated by her proximity to two opposing forces.
With no control, Aithusa felt her magic release, and her vision burned and changed. Though she could feel her body, still maintained itself in the air and her senses attuned to the sky, her sight had provided her with a flash of images. The dragoness immediately recognized what she was viewing. It was prophetic visions, ones dragons were often seeing that gave them the vague knowledge of destiny wishes. In it Aithusa saw the great figures, good or bad, of prophecy, from the proud blond-haired man clad in metal to her own Dragonlord, his eyes glowing gold and his body emanated warmth and light. Many more images were seen, though only flashes, from the Queen to the knights.
Aithusa began to see figures shrouded in darkness, their heart laid bare before her mind eyes; she saw the dark-haired young boy with intelligence beyond his young eyes turn into a young man, whose eyes burned in hatred and anger. Aithusa saw a woman sheathed in a red dress, her black hair fell around her shoulders and blood covered her hands as she held a blond babe. She stood, with betrayal and hatred, before a pyre, an effigy to the executions that took place since her deal with the King of Camelot. The image of a blonde woman followed, her dark influences leaked from her, tainting all those who stood too close, too trusting.
Then, to Aithusa surprise and shock, appeared the woman from the forest. Her beautiful face twisted in insanity, so unlike that vulnerability the dragoness had seen in the forest. The woman, whose hand was covered in her own blood on the forest floor, was drenched from head to toes in blood. Even with dark clothes, Aithusa could tell that the woman bathed, with glee, in the blood of the innocents; blood that Aithusa recognized was from her victims. For the first time, Aithusa felt cold pit in her stomach, one so cold it felt as if her furnace was nothing but a candle.
The woman had been the witch, the one by the name of Morgana. She was the one who caused all the pain; she was the one responsible for her hatcher's frightening call.
Aithusa felt horrified.
How could she have possibly helped such monster? How could the innocent woman she had saw when she was younger be so cruel? Kilgharrah was right; it was surprising how cruel anyone could be. The revelation served only to shake Aithusa to her very core. Flying beside her older kin, Aithusa wanted only to find the loneliest cave to hide in and wallow in her shame, in her guilt. The dragoness was almost tempted to confess to Kilgharrah so that she received the punishment she deserved. Yet as the time passed, Aithusa could only say,
"Kilgharrah, what can we do?"
"I managed to contact Merlin. He did not give me much, only three words: Nemeth, druids, and Arthur. My only guess would be that we could find either the druids or Arthur at Nemeth. I hope we can find the young King, he will be necessary of freeing Camelot. With Nemeth being a valued ally to Camelot, I would not be surprised if he was there."
Aithusa snorted, "How are you even going to check if the King is there? Just fly in the middle of the city?"
Kilgharrah gave her his own toothy grin, "Well that would be one way to get the King's attention, though I doubt it will be appreciated."
From over the sound of the wind rushing past, Kilgharrah almost didn't hear the sardonic comment from Aithusa.
"So it's okay for you to have fun, hypocritical, senile piece of dragon dung."
Kilgharrah rolled his eyes, "And what a proud dragon you turned out to be."
Morning found Arthur, Mithian, and Elyan preparing to travel back to Nemeth. All around them the druids scurried about, busy with bidding goodbye to loved ones and ensuring that they had everything needed for their travels and the upcoming battle. Arthur soon found himself sitting around the fire with Elyan, Mithian, and Kayla again as they waited for the druids' departure when the young Aithne emerged from the tent behind Kayla, pale-faced and rubbing her eyes. The girl collapsed straight into her mother's lap and soft whines garbled from her direction as she pressed her face into her mother's chest. The King could only assume the girl had a nightmare as Kayla brought her daughter closer and began to whisper reassurances into her daughter's ears.
Aithne shivered but soon she calmed and peeked around from her mother's arms. Her eyes landed on Arthur and the King shifted uncomfortably as the girl intense stare seemed to see into his very core. Then she turned to Kayla and whispered quickly to her. The woman's eyebrows rose in response and after a moment of internal debate, Kayla nodded to her daughter. With that, Aithne extracted herself from her mother and made her way towards Arthur, her eyes radiated determination.
Arthur gave her a questioning look when Aithne's small hand grabbed onto Arthur's sleeves. She tugged at him, beckoning him closer; Arthur, confused, relented to her unspoken request, curious in what the girl wanted.
With the King's full attention, Aithne spoke, "Be wary, my King, of the trials that lie ahead." The girl's voice adopted a tone far more matured than children her age adopted. Her bright, clear eyes served to only disturb Arthur more for he no longer saw the carefree child from the day before.
"What do you mean?" Arthur asked, glancing for a moment at Kayla who stared intently at her daughter.
"The power that you seek is your hope; in it is Albion's salvation. However, it is not to be taken lightly. It is like a double-edged sword, when not treated with care, it can cause more harm than you can ever imagine. Beware, my Lord, that when the time comes, when all is beyond control, only one thing can calm the storm."
"What storm?" Arthur asked, confusion marred his voice over what he heard.
Aithne shook her head and her eyes began to tear up, "I-I don't know." Her voice was back to that of a child and, with a shake of her head, Aithne ran off, away from the campfire.
Kayla stood from her seat and casted a look towards Arthur, "Heed her words, Sire. As I said before, Aithne has few visions, and for one to have resonated this strongly in her dreams only shows its importance." With that said, Kayla left in search of her daughter for the mother knew how much vision scared the young druid.
Arthur glanced at Elyan and Mithian, only to see confusion reflected back at him for they knew as much about what Aithne had said as he. Though Arthur had seen Morgana's sleepless nights, she was always more direct with her warnings her nightmares had prompted her to say. Arthur knew better than to disregard the words as just mindless prattle spoken from a frighten child, but he did not know what those words meant.
Arthur continued to ponder over the girl's words when they finally left the druid camp, traveling with the druid warriors and healers back to the city. Arthur thought of the power and wondered if it was in reference to his manservant, for Merlin was revealed to the King to be Emrys. Such revelation was hard for Arthur to accept for it was already difficult for him to believe that his servant was a sorcerer, but the most powerful one of the land?
No. It was too much to believe.
How much had his servant done since coming to Camelot? How much of Arthur's own accomplishments could he count as his own and how much was truly his friend's doing? Arthur had already been wondering what his friend had done with his magic since his service in the royal household, but it was always with the belief that it had only been small spells; spells that would not take much from sorcerer. If Arthur had a guess on when the servant began practicing magic, he would say it was when Merlin first set foot in Camelot and placed under Court Physician's care. Gaius had been a practitioner of magic and though the man denied he still meddled in sorcery, it was the only time Arthur could figure out Merlin had access to it, unless there was another sorcerer hidden in Ealdor. The King even started to believe that the servant may had learned magic in Camelot's defense.
But to had been born with it?
The feeling betrayal returned, stronger than before as Arthur thought of the secrets and the lies Merlin kept about him for years in service. Merlin was the only one Arthur trusted with his own shortcomings, his own indecisions. He had spoken of feelings to Merlin that he never told other before. Yet the man failed to tell him of the power he possessed, choosing the play the idiot manservant of the King.
As much as he wanted to be angry, Arthur could not deny that it was humbling, in a way, that this mighty Emrys, who seemed to command the respect of the magic community, had mucked out his stables. The image Arthur's mind had painted of Emrys clashed against the view he had on his servant; he could not consolidate the two, Emrys and Merlin, as being one and the same. Merlin was not the all-powerful warlock who held command over the elements at his fingertips but rather the bumbling, idiot servant whose clumsy disposition was well known throughout Camelot.
Was the fool merely a mask the servant donned in public, taken off only in the shadows as he disposed of his enemies. Was the Merlin he had known a lie? Arthur remembered the few moments he had received sage advice from the servant; was that his mask slipping? Was that Merlin's way of showing Arthur his true self?
Arthur dreaded the day he and Merlin met face to face.
There were too many secrets, too many situations, for Arthur to pretend the meeting would be anything but painful. He was scared of what he would find in Camelot, of what remained of his friend. He feared that when he next met Merlin, if the man survived, that with all his secrets laid bare, the servant would no longer be the same. He would no longer be the best friend Arthur had gotten to know over the years. Instead, in his place, would be the powerful, wise Emrys meant to guide and teach Arthur to his destiny, to become worthy of the title of the Once and Future King. He would lose the one person who viewed Arthur, not of a man of royalty, but as his equal.
Would that change now that they each knew their true stance in the world's hierarchy? Would his friend look down at him as a one who lacked the power to match the man who was the human incarnation of magic?
Oh how he wished that he never learned Merlin's secrets. All he wanted was to go back to those years of banter and friendship, when they were nothing more than King Arthur and Merlin the manservant. When Arthur believed there were no secrets between them.
Ignorance was bliss indeed.
Arthur's thoughts were still on Merlin when they arrived at the city, with the sun at its highest. After a quick discussion, the druids decided to camp outside the city's walls for the city was already at its limits between the citizens and the refugees from Camelot; the group settled within the fields on the opposite side from which many of the men had been trained for combat. Cyric nodded to Iseldir before he turned to help organize the camp.
Leaving the druids to settle, Arthur, along with Mithian, Elyan, and Iseldir, entered the city and headed towards the citadel. Within moments of entering the castle a servant, red faced and sweating, ran to the King of Camelot.
"Sire! King Rodor sends for you in the Court Physician's chambers immediately!" The servant panted, dropping into a low bow.
"Why, what's going on?" Arthur asked.
"Two men, knights, and a woman arrived minutes before and is being tended to by Helena and Gaius," responded the boy.
Arthur nodded at the servant in thanks and then found himself hurrying towards the direction of the chambers, the rest of the group following behind. With a burst, Arthur rushed into the chambers, staring in shock at three faces he did not expect to see. Sitting at the patient's table sat Gwaine, shirtless, as Helena dabbed at a shallow wound that stretched across the knight's side Beside the worktable was Percival who allowed Gaius to examine what appeared to be a burn that covered his left shoulder. The giant winced as the physician pressed a poultice into the mark but sighed at the relief it brought to his skin. Sitting in a chair by the fire, Gwen sat with Hunith, wrapping a treated gash on the woman's forearm.
"King Arthur," greeted King Rodor from where he stood by the entrance, "I am glad you returned, with good new I hope."
Arthur nodded, "They have agreed to aid us in our endeavors. They have set up a camp outside the city with about fifty warriors and ten healers willing to help our cause."
"Good," said Rodor, "These men are your knights I presumed?"
Arthur nodded when Gwaine noticed Arthur's presence in the room just as Helena finished wrapping the injury. The knight shrugged his tunic back on before he addressed his King.
"Glad you joined the party, Princess," laughed Gwaine, though the mirth did not quite reach his eyes. "Must be nice relaxing here while we played the loveliest games in Camelot."
"How did you escape? I thought Morgana had the city thoroughly guarded," Arthur asked.
"She does, but then again she wasn't expecting our… particular way of escaping," Gwaine admitted, meeting Percival's eyes.
"Wha-"Arthur started only to be interrupted by warning bells.
No.
Not now.
They weren't ready for Morgana, not when they needed more time. They finally got enough men, with the new recruits and King Lot's added support, and a solution against Morgana's magic and chimeras. For an attack to occur now, when they were so close to their goal, would be a fate most cruel.
Arthur met Rodor's eyes before he all but ran from the chambers, heart pounding. Rodor followed at Arthur's heels shouting orders for everyone to remain in the room. Once they confirmed it was Morgana, Rodor wanted to be able to return to those chambers and to organize an evacuation. They would continue the fight, even if Morgana captured most of them, as long as someone remained to defy her.
Arthur knew that he must focus on the current situation. He must think of the best way to save as many people as possible, but another fear bubbled into his mind. There were only two thoughts on Arthur's mind, each tried to dominate one another as they spun around in his head.
Did Morgan finally make a move against them?
Does this mean Merlin is dead?
Arthur could only hope neither was true, but his hopes dissipated, as he got closer and closer to the battlements, where he would find the best view, the screams and panic got louder and louder. With a grim expression, Rodor followed along outside to peer over the walls to the distant edges of the city.
What?
Arthur could not understand what he was seeing. Below him, people ran for cover or hid in their homes, but from a danger neither Kings could spot. Arthur expected to see a scene of fire and blood that had painted Camelot below him. Instead, the walls looked to be intact and the streets lacked an army. Even the buildings appeared to be intact. The only people Arthur could make out in the distance, past the walls, was the druid camp, still busy pitching their tents. In contrast to the city, the druids were calm as they went about their chores. Befuddled, Arthur could not figure out what was the cause for the panic that unfolded throughout the city.
That was when the King of Camelot, from the corners of his eyes, saw Rodor's upturned face. The King of Nemeth gawked up at the sky, hiding none of his surprise and horror.
Arthur looked up.
Then he froze.
For hovering above them, as big as Arthur remembered, was the massive form of the supposedly dead, golden dragon.
AN: Updating a day early ^^ I actually wanted to get this out sooner, but I underestimated how busy I was during the week. I want to apologize again for the last chapter, I skimmed through it after I updated and already found mistakes, so that thing is probably riddled with issues. I fixed a few of them, but I won't really be able to give it a thorough look through until I'm done. So once again, sorry about that. Lessons learned: don't edit while sleep deprived.
One other thing I forgot to mention last chapter is on the spells. I'm starting to figure out how to actually write them in rather than give the vague "he said a spell" thing. The issue with this, of course, comes from my lack of knowledge on Old English (also I'm assuming it is Old English) so the spells are most likely not correct. I'm using a combination of a translator to get the words and my knowledge of Latin grammar (which seems to be similar) to make the spells.
The next update should be out, at the latest, next Friday.
Thank you for reading and everybody who reviewed/favorite/alerted, you guys are fantastic! ^^
Reviews and constructive criticism are greatly appreciated!