}!{
Ofir
In the lands south of Nilfgaard, hidden in the rolling sea of dune and cacti, lay the red sanded badlands of Topept. Home to the marauder tribes, inhospitable to outsiders, it was the edge of civilization for the old kingdom. Before the Fall of Saggrel, there was little of worth to find in the badlands. After, it was the final resting place for the wandering world's many treasures. Pieces of long dead cities littered the mountains like thorns on a budding rose, tempting prospecting tomb raiders from all across Ofir to invade Topept and plunder its secrets. If the tribes weren't trouble enough, the undead denizens that haunted the world-shards certainly was reason enough to abandon the potential dig sites.
But for men like Zaziq Ibn-Rassad, there were certain treasures worth sacrificing for. The Ofiri prince sat back against the puffy red pillows that covered the bed of his wooden carriage, which was securely tied to the back of the lumbering war elephant that acted as his personal travel beast, and peered across the dizzying haze of the distant wastes. He could see the sprawling spires of broken cathedrals, castles and towers from the Fall. He spied the fluttering red banners of the Lasra, the dragon-worshipping nomads that called this part of Topept home.
Zaziq smiled beneath his golden kuffiyah. They were close.
Zaziq was the firstborn child of one of the concubines of the Malliq, the king of Ofir. A savant of the sorcerous arts, and an ambitious one, the young prince long dreamed of ruling the dune kingdoms and creating his own dynasty. Such were the dreams of young men like him. But as it so happened, his mother was neither the queen nor the favored wife. His name held little weight in court, and his station could never rise beyond that of an Ofiri prince. Nevertheless, Zaziq managed to make a name for himself among the magisters of the capital city with his sharp mind for the arcane. With enough support from like-minded individuals such as himself, the prince mustered all the coin he had for the Topept expedition.
A wasted effort, it was dubbed by the Ofiri nobles. But not to Zaziq. He didn't come to Topept to gain riches or unearth some incomprehensible relic of the wandering world. The Lasra were protecting a dragon hidden beneath the dunes, more powerful than any of the creatures that made the passage into the Continent. It fit no category known to man, its sacred name was known only to the nomads, and it was perfect for the sorcerer prince's plans.
What he cannot gain through birthright, he would take by force. Through fang and claw, dragonfire and sword, he would claim his father's throne. Ofir had no dragons like the rest of the kingdoms of the Continent, he would be the first Ofiri since the Fall to gain one.
"My prince, they come!" The captain of the Immortals, the elite soldiers of the royal army, pointed to the cloud churned up by Lasra raiders.
The nomads, armed with scimitars and composite bows, swarmed over the small caravan. Their mistake was assuming it was a caravan of Ofiri scientists and clerics, come to pilfer the sacred ruins that the Lasra were sworn to protect. This caravan was filled with warriors, veterans of the wars waged against Nilfgaard, not reserves who've never seen battle. Zaziq's elephant groaned as several arrows struck its face. The coat of mail protecting its body held true, but the animal was easily frightened. Zaziq calmed the beast with a simple spell and prepared an incantation. He caused the ground to open up beneath the thundering hooves of the horses bearing the Lasra, unleashing grasping black roots with thorns the size of small daggers. Men and horses shrieked as the land swallowed them up into the dunes, never to reappear. Those that managed to get close to the caravan were repelled by crossbow fire. The Immortals drove the raiders to retreat, leaving a path open for the caravan to travel through. Once past the crumbling stone pillars and weathered marble statues of dead gods, the prince's expedition entered Topept and set up camp at the foot of the holy mountain where the tribe's dragon god was said to inhabit.
Zaziq dropped to the ground and summoned his staff from thin air. The ornate ceremonial oaken staff; etched with silver and gold, had a large shackled idol of a naked winged woman at one end, and a bejeweled base at the other. A blazing red ruby held up by the woman's hands pulsed with raw eldritch energies, waiting to be unleashed upon the prince's enemies. There was a large book hanging from his belt by a silver chain, containing all the new spells he created throughout his life. Zaziq wore a large hauberk of bronze mail over his royal robes, which complimented the loud orange colors that adorned his headdress and boots. Here was a man who didn't mind catching someone's attention, even if that someone was a would-be assassin. The rings that were on his fingers were also of magical make, and they would protect him against both spells and outward attacks. His eyes took in the vastness of the world-shards, the remnants of alien civilizations buried in ice now laid bare by the baleful Ofiri sun. He couldn't blame the expeditions that came before him for trying to unearth the treasures therein, for there were indeed many untapped riches in the detritus of Saggrel.
"Forward!" Zaziq declared, raising his staff against the yawning maw of the cavern entrance. "Destiny calls from within!"
The Immortals followed his command and assembled in a tight circle around him. Then, they proceeded into the mountain dwelling. Inside, the Lasra guardians mounted a fierce defense in response to the bold trespass of the foreigners. But alas, cloth against steel made for poor contest. Tradition over skill drilled to perfection through decades of warfare even less so. Through the blades of Ofiri elite warriors, and the powerful spells of the sorcerer prince, the Lasra nomads were no more. Of the twenty Immortals that came with the prince, only two were felled, while scores of Lasra men and women littered the narrow corridors of the sacred mount.
"Such paltry blows." Zaziq sneered, dusting off his shoulders with a dismissive wave of the hand. He arrogantly stepped into the dim light spilling from the random cracks of the mountain face.
The chamber hollowed out and widened, revealing a grandiose temple of hand-carved rock and chiseled black stones. They were not the craftsmanship of the Lasra, from the look of it. It predated the tribes, perhaps even Ofir itself. Huge statues of red rock and limestone alike were erected in neat little rows all over the courtyard, while treasure troves and piles upon piles of glittering gold formed mountains and rolling dunes all over the ruins. Greed set alight the eyes of each man, except for Zaziq. The prince's eyes gleamed with academic curiosity. No man could carve these statues, the attention to detail was something beyond mortal skill. This was the handiwork of a dragon, a very intelligent one.
"Damnation!" Zaziq breathed. He could foresee how difficult it was going to be now. A mindless winged beast, driven only by blood and instinct, would better serve his purposes. But a dragon that thinks? No, that would be a problem.
"LEAVE THIS PLACE!" A booming voice rang heavily in their ears. The gargantuan silhouette of the dragon stirred in the deep recesses of the temple. Eyes gleaming with wrathful fire shone clear in the darkness, while the faint glow of dragonfire crept up the length of its neck as it took a breath. Steam wafted from its nostrils like smoke from a furnace. It looked magnificent in the dim light. Great black scales, rugged and jutting like the rocky face of Mahakam, covered its body from head to tail. Mottled lines of gold, swirling and stretching into incomprehensible patterns, decorated the dragon's chest and neck. A great collection of horns and scales adorned its head like a crown, signifying its regal status among its kin. The dragon was not an emperor dragon, it was a sovereign in its own right.
"My prince?" The Immortal captain whispered.
"Tell your men to fan out..." Zaziq commanded, "I will draw this beast's fire."
The dragon crept forward, unfurling its wings. At full height, it towered above the great towers of the Ofiri capital city, the wings spanning thrice the sails of fishing dhows. The prince's men followed their orders and spilled out into the dragon's treasure troves, using the statues to cover themselves as they surrounded the monster. The dragon attacked first, bathing the Immortals in green fire. Ofiri soldiers failed to utter their final cries as the air burned around them, and they fell as ash. Zaziq defiantly stood his ground and prepared a host of his most powerful spells. The great grimoire hanging from his belt fluttered open and hovered in the air, landing upon the right verse with a snap of the sorcerer's fingers. "To me, beast! Come to your new master!"
The air grew heavy with magic, and upon realizing that the sorcerer was trying to draw it in, the dragon instead chose to make its exit. With a deafening roar, it leapt up and flapped its wings so hard that the winds carrying him aloft sent a storm of biting, singing gold coins flying in all directions. The Ofiri elite staggered back and were tossed aside, but Zaziq remained where he stood. An invisible bubble surrounded him, protecting the prince as he neared the spell's completion. The dragon barely touched the ceiling with its snout when a dozen ethereal chains, glowing bright blue and crackling with fell powers, coiled and snaked around its limbs. Wings bound together, arms and legs tethered to unseen anchors, the winged serpent was brought down to earth with a thunderous crash.
Furious, the dragon lashed out with all its might, sending gouts of green flame in all directions. The sorcerer prince uttered the final incantations and cast a spell over the beast's shackled form. Zaziq smiled triumphantly at the sight of the spell working its magic, the dragon screeched as its bones shrunk and collapsed in on themselves. Its massive limbs, even its wings, molted away to give way to something lesser than its majestic form. When the dust cleared, the dragon was revealed to have been transformed into a man.
Naked, shackled and burning with vengeance, the dragon's soul spoke through the man's mouth. His voice, carrying with it the fury of the ancients, shook the foundations of the old temple and set everyone's ears ringing. Even Zaziq had to brush a finger across his lobes and saw that he drew blood. Angered, the prince struck his prisoner with a backhanded slap. "Be silent!"
Without a moment's pause, Zaziq summoned a lavender stiletto with a coiling viper carved into its handle. He spoke a few words to enchant the weapon, and the magical words glowed hot upon its blade. With this, he went to work on his captive. The blade cut into the man's flesh, but its effects ran deeper than that. It seared the beast's very soul, binding its will to its new master. Zaziq carved his name into the man's chest, into his arms and onto his forehead. When he'd finished, the wounds disappeared- but the marks on the dragon's soul remained. Finally, the sorcerer prince pierced his own tongue with the enchanted stiletto. When he spoke, Zaziq's eyes were aglow with sorcerous strength.
"Kneel."
The man knelt.
"Speak your name."
There was a struggle, the dragon would not yield so easily.
"Speak it!" The prince demanded.
"Roédvekkhar." His captive spat through gritted teeth.
"Roédvekkhar, attend your new master!" Zaziq commanded, bidding the creature rise. His Immortal guardians approached, surrounding the pair with awe shining from their masked faces. The victorious prince bragged of his feats and released the bound man, "Behold, my loyal soldiers, the beginning of a new era! Take the gold you can carry, bring it all to the wagons till they overflow! These riches shall finance my campaigns, and soon the throne of Ofir shall be mine!"
City of Cintra
Averon returned to Cintra, a changed man to a changed city. His absence had caused him to miss much, for the peace that his people enjoyed had been broken. The Nilfgaardians were approaching their borders; bringing with them all the might of the South, their machines of war and their dragons. They would be met with Cintran armies at the Marnadal Stairs, while all the North assembled to meet this new threat as one. Calanthe had long prepared for the war, just how prepared they were would be determined in the coming days. It may not be enough.
For the moment, Cintra would stand alone against the black storm.
When the Myrmidon emerged through the gates of the city, he spied the many new defenses added to the walls and battlements. Soldiers of the royal army marched by the dozen to rally to their barracks, dragonrider knights swooped from the skies to assemble at the palace courtyard, while the cityfolk began packing for the long trek through the roads. Calanthe made no official statement regarding the retreat of the civilian population, for to do so would demoralize her men. Whoever wished to flee the fighting was allowed passage, but the crown encouraged those who stayed to stand fast.
The tense atmosphere kept prying eyes from deducing Morénn's woodland origins as she accompanied him through the streets. Averon got her to stay at the Golden Harpy, which he found had been closed down and boarded up since the threat of war loomed over the city. Only Half-Leaf and Sandy remained inside, busying themselves with stowing away the last of their belongings in the carriage. When they saw him, they ran up and embraced the man, relieved at his return.
"Gods, we thought you were dead, Bov!" The elf exclaimed, "Rey went in after you, saw the bodies of the queensguard around the woods. How... how'd you survive?"
"Long story, I'll tell you all about it later." Averon said, "I have to go see the queen."
"Oh, and who's this?" Sandy referred to his companion, who looked rather strange with her patchwork cloak and strange light green skin.
"This is Morénn. Could you keep her company for a while?"
"Certainly." Sandy replied, "Should be a good chance as any for us to get to know each other better."
"Why, Averon?" The dryad inquired, "Where are you going?"
"Somewhere you can't be seen following me." The Myrmidon declared, "Stay with them and behave yourself. I have some business to take care of and I'll be gone a while."
Indeed, he was gone a while. Word had reached the palace of Averon's return, borne from the lips of the guards who saw him at the gates. Averon expected Calanthe to be furious with him for failing in his task, but the queen proved to have bigger things to be worried about. She didn't have the luxury to be angry with him. In fact, she needed his help now more than ever. The queensguard elite would accompany her and King Eist to the front, alongside all the host of dragonriders Cintra had to offer. So soon after arriving at the capital, Averon would have to prepare himself for departure.
They were to leave without delay. Each guardsman would ride with a dragonrider, Averon would mount Sorlanmaeger with Calanthe. Eist would take to horses alongside the Skelligean warriors he brought from the isles, for the king didn't trust the winged beasts as his wife did. Averon wished he had time to at least say something to his mother and half-sister, but alas, duty could ill afford that detour.
With great reluctance, Averon followed his queen's commands and vowed he would find his family later.
}!{