Chapter Five
Chronicles of the Dragon
"Something's wrong, shut the light
Heavy thoughts tonight
And they aren't of Snow White
Dreams of war, dreams of liars
Dreams of dragon's fire
And of things that will bite, yeah"
Metallica - Enter Sandman
The rampaging elder black dragon BahorAgyrtCiym descended from the skies upon the helpless village bordering his territory. His mighty roar scattered the villagers he found there and for the most part, those who simply fled in terror were allowed to pass unmolested as a warning to the next village about the perils of ignoring the rampaging black dragon's demand for tribute.
He made first one pass spewing his acidic breath weapon, then a second and a third until he had laid waste to houses, crops and virtually annihilating their meager defenses. The powerful acid spewed from his maw ate away equally well at the armor clad bodies of any pathetic soldiers who'd dared stand and fight against him, as it had the collection of wood and stone structures of their pathetic little village. Only when any meaningful defense of the village had ceased, did he set down on on his feet to slaughter any further token resistance.
Those villagers not wise enough to have fled nor lucky enough to die in his initial assault were hunted down and dispatched with his sharp six inch talons, his powerful jaws or crushing sweeps of his armored tail. He fed heartily upon them and their farm animals within sight of the smoldering wreckage until his hunger and blood-lust were finally sated.
The last sound any who fled would hear from what remained of their ruined charnal house of a village was his triumphant bellowing roar before he once again took to the skies. BahorAgyrtCiym, the Black Death, jealous lord and master of Hollander's Woods had exacted his tribute in blood...
William Bracken woke with a start. It was always the same dream.
Dreaming at all had been the hardest thing for him to get used to in the hundred years since he had been trapped in this pitiful form. His newly acquired subconscious had begun to torment him from the very first night, and nearly nearly every night since. Bombarding him with sense memories of the wind flowing under his beating wings and whistling against his scales. The rush of his breath weapon blasting from his maw. The wet, slick sensation of bipeds crushed beneath his feet, torn apart by his claws or rent asunder buy his mighty fangs. Dreams that tortured him with the memories of what he once was. What he was meant to be. What he would be again, if it was the last thing he ever did.
Every morning when he woke to this nightmare, wrapped in the pale, weak, wingless human form he was trapped within, with its spindly, claw-less limbs, jaws and teeth barely deserving of the name, an alien maw unable to spew forth his acid breath weapon, roar properly, nor even pronounce his own name, he felt the sense of violation and rage anew.
He had once been, BahorAgyrtCiym, The Black Death. He'd claimed this forest as his own as a youth and stalked unhindered as its undisputed master for over a thousand years, shaken the very ground under his feet and rent the air with his roar sending all but the bravest of puny bipedal mammals fleeing in terror.
His treasure hoard had been the envy of all but the eldest ancient, commanding the attention of breeding females the length and breadth of Faerun. He'd mercilessly slain any interloper and would-be treasure hunter who dared enter his domain, leaving their acid-burned, sun-bleached bones littering every clearing for miles around as a warning to meddlesome fools.
Nearly one hundred years ago this very day, he'd made a bargain with the Drow spider goddess, Lolth, allowed her pet priestesses to transmute him into Drow form to get the better of her chief rival, Zinzerena, the Drow deity of chaos, patron of assassins and illusionists, not to mention a fierce rival for the dark elves' hearts and minds whom Llolth had longed to be rid of long before the God's War had ever begun.
When he'd gone back to Lolth for what was promised him - the return of his true form and ascent into godhood in Zinzerena's place - the transmutation spell had backfired and he'd been made human instead.
She'd laughed in his face before ordering her Drow to kill him and unbeknownst to her taught him the one advantage of his current form: He could not be killed. He'd awakened not far from his lair in Hollander's Woods shortly thereafter, unsure how he'd come to be there and from that day forward he'd begun to plot and scheme, determined to have his revenge upon the Spider Queen if it took him a thousand years.
The first decade had been spent learning the pale mortal magics of necromancy, transmutation and alteration. Enough to turn on the necromancer who had taken him on as an apprentice, broken his will and drained his mind dry of every shred of arcane knowledge he'd possessed, which had been considerable... for a human.
He'd spent decades after that researching how to undo what had been done to him, amassing not only the knowledge to bring his goals to fruition, but also the loyal servants and lackeys he would need to do his bidding so he could keep his own hands clean.
To that end, he'd started a mercenary company that quickly made a name for itself by defeating Drow surface raids, which had won him some amount of notoriety as a Drow-slayer. He rather enjoyed thumbing his nose at the goddess who had betrayed him while gaining the power and influence he'd needed to operate with impunity in human lands. It had taken years to slowly corrupt the minds of the men and women he'd needed, drawing converts from across the lands of men. His efforts had slowly but inexorably borne fruit, drawing to his banner not only a dedicated corps of fanatically loyal shock troops, but also eyes and ears across the length, breadth and depths of Faerun, including Lolth's subterranean domain of Menzoberranzan.
Twenty-nine years ago he'd acquired everything he'd needed, having located a dead magic zone dating from the time of troubles within his own domain in Hollander's Woods and a living vessel to hold the magical power needed to free him from the shackles of his pitiful human form. A biped already broken to his will who would perform the deed as soon as he stepped from the dead zone. The plan had been flawlessly executed... right up until a human whelp had wandered into the woods interrupting the spell, sending the magic into him instead of the receptacle he had chosen, immediately followed by the sudden appearance of a Paladin of Heironeous who'd killed his trusted lieutenant, Hal Lockwood, several of his best men and scattered the rest. By the time the dust had settled and he'd recovered sufficiently from the effects of the null magic zone to enter the fray, both the Paladin and the boy were gone.
It was weeks later that Bracken had learned the spell could not be repeated by the same caster and he'd needed to find the boy if he wanted his plan to work.
Richard Castle had grown to adulthood in the time it had taken his spies and mercenaries to find him. Bracken had not been surprised to learn he'd not only developed an affinity for magic where there had previously been no potential at all, but he'd become a prodigy. The magic of the vessel had become part of him, and his potential as a mage had grown exponentially over time. But not as powerful as Bracken would have suspected, until he had slipped close to the man in a dark tavern and surreptitiously cast a detect magic spell on him.
James Beckett had obviously detected the raw power within Richard and bound it, rendering the magic within the traumatized boy dormant, the full measure of it only accessible in times of great peril if tales of Richard Castle's actions in the halls of Myth Drannor were any indication.
In hopes that it would weaken the binding spell and prevent James Beckett from interfering again, Bracken had dispatched one of his assassins to seek Johanna Beckett out, beseech her to summon her husband for aid against a great evil, then cut her down mere moments before he'd arrived, leaving her to die in his arms.
James Beckett's complete self destruction had been swift, and much more complete than he had dared to hope for. When it was certain that the now former Paladin had been truly broken and no longer posed a credible threat, he set the wheels in motion to abduct the daughter Castle had doted upon since her birth.
Shortly after his newest chief lieutenant, Cole Maddox had taken the girl and left the cryptic message for Castle, his eyes in New Amsterdam reported that the man had gathered a rescue party and departed for Hollander's Woods.
Bracken practically salivated at the inevitable conclusion that he would soon unfurl his wings and take to the skies once again. When that day came he would exact a terrible bloody tribute from the human race for every single day he had been trapped as one and slaughter every single Drow he saw for the next thousand years to avenge himself upon the Spider Queen as well.
Though he was so close he could nearly taste it, he could not afford to falter this close to his goal. Richard Castle's motley band could not be permitted to reach his domain before he'd shed the binding spell James Beckett had placed upon the magics within him, preventing him from becoming the vessel for BahorAgyrtCiym's restoration.
For The Black Death to once again take wing, the sleeper must awaken.