RWBY: Reign of Alduin

by Aria of Ashes

After vexing fate, Alduin the Tyrant Wyrm, was cast from the Heavens and unto primeval Remnant. Stricken by defeat, body lying sundered, he seethes unending malice. Yet there is a young woman who would play nurse to the World Eater. She would give him the one thing he never had: Sympathy, from a human perspective. Will this one act of kindness save the world? Or doom it...

7. A Wilting Rose

"Fire..." The voice of Charoite muttered as she stepped over swindles of scarlet flames. The woman was careful with her movements, "I smell death here." The smell was of choking smoke, sulfur, and dying oaks. But not of burning flesh. All about the tall woman lie smotten trees, blackened earth, and ash. So much ash... It rained from the darkened sky like snowfall. Charoite extended her arm until her palm was bare for all the world to see; upon it came to rest a heap of ashes that colored her pale flesh gray. Her fingers grasped the substance as the woman closed her eyes.

"By the powers of psychometry I bid thee answer..." A faint though visble golden energy pulsed between the woman's long fingers. The energy shined like sunlight hidden behind a midnight shadow; white orbs sparkling like stars within it. The warrior's own violet eyes gleamed a pale blue. The sleep-warrior witnessed a temporal reduction; her sight viewing the not-so distant past. She foresaw a great flaming shape befalling the earth which was followed by an explosion that encompassed miles of land. Her muddled vision quickly faded yet not before she caught a glimpse of a black cloak admist black wings. The magical connection was so faint as to render the vision a passing fancy.

Violet eyes settled on the north. In the distance could be seen much darkness. Thick columns of smoke choked the Heavens. If Charoite had to guess that would be the location of the false-Dragon. All she must do is follow the trail of death left behind in the foul creature's path. The woman did hope the girl still drew breath...

"Kraaakh!"

The sound of a snapping twig did not go unheard. The woman quickly grasped her bladed whip as she leveyed a strike. The chain sliced a tree in half; the oak falling to the earth with a hefty thud. The whip whistled through the air before returning to it's master; violet eyes softening upon seeing the sound's source. The woman swiftly grew confused at the sight of a small, antlerless deer.

"Why is a doe present here?" Beasts always avoided sights of great calamity so why was this one any different? The woman watched the animal curiously as it fled deeper into the ruined wilderness. The creature didn't seem unusual in any substantial manner. It seemed a completely mundane deer. So why did it remain in this wasteland? If only she knew as I did...

The warrior woman began her journey deeper into the dead forest as she rested her whip against her thigh. There were so few corpses here. She had scarcely even seen so much as a charred bone. Forest fires tended to leave behind remnants of the dead yet here there was nary such a thing. It was a queer discovery... Very queer. Queer and disturbing.

The woman started a swift jog into the dreadful wastes. Before she could travel to the source of the distant smoke she needed to find the site of the flaming false-Dragon's arrival. Through it she may harness the obscure magics of pyschometry to learn more of this foul creature - namely a weakness or vunerability. If, of course, any such shortcoming existed. If not? The resulting quest would be rendered much more... Exciting then.

The Light God had ordered no action to be taken upon the false-Dragon - only observation. Yet Charoite hungered for far more than that. She wanted blood... Death... Glory! A Dragon's skull would make for a wonderous trophy, no? Many horrors she has faced over her life. Golems crafted like nightmares animated by sinister magics, castles turned into walking titans by fantastical machines, and even a few ancient Demons who strayed from the Dark God's will. The woman had seen it all in her life... All that is save for a Dragon's head turned trophy.

Golems were surprisingly common in the southern lands. Any noble who has studied the works of drawing the essences of life from death was capable of such a feat. Golems were little more than mystical puppets enslaved to their creator's will. If the creator dies, however, the Golem will wonder aimlessly in an futile attempt to find their master.

Walking castles were... Queer. And rare. Very, very, very rare. Only two she had ever seen and of them one now lies sundered in a great desert to the distant east. Such things shook the earth with each step; each one a force so great they could level an entire kingdom. They were highly sought after during war time.

Demons were phsyically intimidating monsters. Hulking, red-eyed, and animalistic. They almost always operated in packs. The vast majority never left the Dark God's lands yet every now and then - typically during times of strife or famine - a pack or even a swarm of them would appear to feast on Man's pain. The Demons varied greatly in both appearance and abilities. Some wore the twisted forms of animals or Men. Others were a chimeric combination of both. Others were entirely unlike anything in nature or the domains of Men. Some Demons were limited to only claws or fangs whilst others could breathe fire or possess the bodies of Men or beasts.

But a Dragon? That would put all else to shame! Nothing could compare to the glory of slaying a Dragon... Such a feat had never once been accomplished in history. All attempts to do so ended in ruin. Even if the beast Charoite was hunting wasn't a true Dragon it would be close enough, no? Not like the average knight or lord could ever tell the difference. The sheer size of the beast was truly legendary; the stuff of nightmares. That much was clear from the gargantuan footstep that Charoite had fallen into.

"Arrgg! Fiddlesticks!" The woman huffed deeply as she pushed herself up onto her knees. Mud caked her strong features. A repulsed groan escaped her pale lips as her hands dug into the filth below. The mud was black and dry though no less sticky than it's wet cousins. Her dark eyes peered about her surroundings in annoyance and slight awe, "This is... It's considerably larger than I expected." The woman eyed the edges of the massive print. It had to be over thirty feet wide at least...

The footprint was deep enough to contain the warrior even at her full height. It was wide enough to comfortably fit a small house in it's depths. Not too deep, however, as to make the climb a true challenge to one such as Charoite. Three long trenches snaked forward from tip of the deep indentation. They were toe marks longer than most trees are tall.

"It's much bigger than I thought," The woman felt a slight hint of fear. She could imagine the sheer scale of Dragon within her mind's eye. It must be a fearsome sight to behold, "It will be a glorious battle then!" Fear was swiftly overcome by determination. Charoite would not allow a mere false-Dragon to intimidate her! She will slay this beast... Or so she foolishly believed. But you know better than that, now don't you?

"Ssssswwwwwssssshhhhh!"

A swift usage of wind magic allowed the warrior to levitate free of the pit akin to a leaf upon a strong breeze. As her feet touched the charred earth did the white haired woman's thoughts drift to the words of her master. He had said that the Dragon was intelligent - far moreso than mere beasts. At least intelligent enough to sway a young girl into temptation. It must be capable of speech or some form of complex communication to have performed such a feat. How far did this creature's dark machinations extend? Was it capable of strategy? What of forethought? Her God never specified. How unfortunate.

The beast likely was in possession of some sort of magical aptitude if the scarlet flames were of any indication. Immense strength was clearly a specialty of it's based off the footprint alone. What of it's speed? Hopefully it's size and bulk would slow it down at least slightly. The combination of magical flames, intelligence, and titanic size would prove it an extremely deadly foe regardless of it's speed. Could it fly? The vision showed the beast had appendages resembling wings. But then again no creature so large has ever flown according to her knowledge... But that doesn't necessarily make it impossible, either.

The sheer scale of the threat before the Dream-Killer was rapidly becoming apparent. It would be no easy prey to fell. The possibility of death was extremely high - skybound, really. There was no telling what consequences may arouse if she failed to slay the false-Dragon. The Gods would surely intervene if the beast somehow uprooted the natural order of things. If the monster remained mostly concentrated in it's efforts - at least enough to not threaten the natural balance - then Charoite will be the only real threat in the monster's path.

The world is a dangerous and 'oft confusing place. Charoite preferred monster hunting for that exact reason: it was simple. There are no good or evil monsters - just monsters. She often pondered why the Gods would seed the world with Demons. She ultimately assumed it was an act meant to strengthen Mankind. That must be why the Gods so scarcely leave their domains, yes? Doing so - and by extension helping humanity - would make them overly dependent like a babe who refuses to drink nought but his mother's milk.

"Or maybe they find it amusing," She verbally pondered. Charoite held no ill will against the Celestial Fathers - but that did not mean she followed them blindly, either. Only a fool dedicates themselves completely to another. Yet a true champion of any cause knows that at times sacrifices are necessary to achieve true success. Sometimes the forces of wickedness must be allowed to flourish to ensure a stronger force of righteoueness may conquer it, "Light and Dark: a binary existence - morality." Or so she believed in her frighteningly frail heart.

Yet does that not mean having the power to stop evil yet choosing not too more evil than committing the deed itself? If so than none are as evil as the Gods. Yet is such a statement even viable? I believe it is not. The Gods have birthed all good and evil - they do not perpetuate it. Humans do. The Gods forged the tools of the earth and they are no more responsible for it's misuse than a blacksmith is for the blade he crafts. Though I suppose the human breed would think otherwise, wouldn't they?

The woman wondered for some time through the wasteland. She followed the footprints abeit in reverse order; the destruction growing increasingly prevalent the deeper into the woodland she traveled. Eventually the warrior came to a stop as her eyes narrowed upon something most upsetting.

"That is... A very deep hole," A great chasm revealed itself to the warrior as she emerged from the smotten devastation, "Very deep indeed." The darkness within the chasm seemed to stretch on for eternity. It was an infinite shadow through which no light could pierce. Charoite imagined it to be quite similar to the Dark God's domain though she had no basis for such a claim. A fall into such unfathomable depths would spell doom for all who tresspassed...

A simple gesture of the woman's hand was enough to conjure forth a great bridge of boulders and stones. Gravitional magics worked to levitate earthen shards into a massive walkway. Each one of the objects quaked as it levitated skybound; they did halt in pace as the magics bound them together. The woman took a step forward.

The woman knew the beast no longer lingered at the crashsite. It was far too quiet for that. The sight of the empty crater a few hundred feet away gradually revealed itself to the woman. She paused as her eyes scanned for anything of use in the destroyed countryside. Nought revealed itself to her dark gaze.

The woman's ironclad feet kissed ashen earth as she stepped upon fiery death. Massive tears in the earth coupled with still burning flames marked this as the crash site. Charoite's violet eyes scanned her surroundings yet again. White hair was flown into disarray by a strong gust of wind. Her pale figure stood aloft in crimson flames.

"Where lies my query?" The warrior's strong voice whispered to herself. Dark eyes took note of large deformations within the earth that resembled boiling pits. Fragments of the earthen form had been rent into curved shapes by the blistering flames, "I can feel it somewhere nearby..." Sulfur was rich in the air. It caused a minor sense of dizziness for the woman. Charoite did walk about the debris as she eyed up a massive pit in the center of the clearing.

"Chhhiiinnnnk..."

A pale boot fell upon a lone knife. The metal clang drew the warrior's attention upon it. She knelt so as to brush aside the ashes with the back of her fingers. The small weapon's hilt possessed a few droplets of old blood. It was discolored by ash and soot. Charoite did grasp the weapon as she held it close. Her eyes drift shut as a blue glow emanated from her fingers before quickly fading.

"Too weak. The connection is far too weak," The magics of psychometry required the object to hold emotional value to the target. Clearly the owner of this knife cared little for it, "Useless." She tossed it aside to be forgotten. The woman rose to her full height in order to scan the enviroment. A dim sparkle in the distance caught her eye. She began to investigate.

A few footsteps crossed the distance swiftly enough before the warrior came to rest near the crater's edge. Within it resided a faint glowing object covered in ash and stones. The thing - whatever it may have been - glowed a dim gold. A strong hand came to brush away the dust and push aside the rocks to reveal a white glowing gemstone.

"How peculiar..." Her fingers reached out to graze against the crystal. It was smooth to the touch yet pleasantly warm. It's light felt very soft, almost desirable against her skin. The Dream-Killer reached closer so as to let her bare palm press against the glowing gemstone. The shining light of the object radiated outwards as it did seem to glow brighter in response to the woman's touch.

The woman rose up before planting her hands onto a large stone residing atop whatever the crystal was connected to. Without a hint of effort did she lift the child-sized rock before tossing it aside. The warrior repeated this act thrice more until the form of the gem was revealed to be attached to a golden hilt. Violet eyes followes the object as it gradually flattened into a blade.

"A sword?" The gem was encrusted into the weapon's cross guard in spite of not physically connecting. It was a longsword of some kind that Charoite had never seen before. It looked to be built of gold or maybe bronze. White energies were drawn out from the gem and into the blade itself, "Marvelous craftmenship. This was clearly designed by a masterful blacksmith." It's constant glow was clear evidence of magical infusion having took place. Her fingers touched the hilt softly as they coiled about the weapon's shaft. It was warm to the touch.

The sword was pulled free in a swift act. Ashes darkened the golden blade into a dull grayish-white. The warrior exmained the weapon with a curious gaze. Small yet obscure symbols were engraved along the flat of the blade. Said symbols softly glowed orange. The tip of the sword was broken off leaving behind two jagged spikes in it's place like teeth. The gem within the cross guard had a long crack running down it's surface indicative of intense battle. The woman rested her left hand over the crystal as she closed her eyes.

"By the powers of psychometry I demand answer!" Blue energies raced from the woman's palm and over the sword's core. Her eyes shined with blue light as well. For a moment her visions showed nought but pure, unbridled, and unrestricted darkness. Within that darkness Charoite felt herself stumble and fall. For eternity did all creation meld into nothingness... Then the woman heard the flapping of great leather wings.

"YOL TOOR SHUL!"

And through that darkness roused a great river of blood-red flames that threatened to drown the abyss itself. The scarlet death brought light into the darkness; two flaming pits in possession of white slits shining from on high. The Dream-Killer found herself stunned into silence by the growing shape of the thing that lurked in the perpetual darkness. The warrior could discern the sounds of countless screams both human and otherwise.

"Bbbbbbgggggghhhhhh!"

Thunder struck only to reveal a great moutain overlooking an endless valley. A man adorned in flowing golden power stood atop the edifice; gleaming armors of bone adorning his person. Before him was the vast shape of the horrid false-Dragon as it writhed within a vast chasm. The whipping tail of the monster struck at the air as it's titanic wings rose skybound.

"RRRRRRAAAAARRRRGrGrGrGrGr!"

The monster's shape blurred into a black mist as it's roar grew in volume. The sky bore a great blackened wound as the storm warped around it like water around a drain. The magics of Psychometry failed to fully distinguish between chronological events; the sights of a falling star, a great firestorm, and the cracking of a blood-red moon all melding into one. That was until...

"Bbbbbbggggggghhhhhhh!"

A flash of thunder melted away the sights into a shining fortress of golden towers, spires, and rotund cathedrals. The Dragon had roost upon the heart of the mighty structure - neck and tail coiling about sky-piercing spires. Massive statues of cloak-clad men watched over the great winged serpent as red lightning thundered. The warrior adorned in bone was nowhere to be seen.

"FO KRAH DIIN!" Frost, ice, and snow blinded the misty plains in freezing death. Colors warped and deformed as the shapes bled into a single white mass save for it's black tyrant. Burning red eyes seethed hate unto all in sight - the maw of the beast the source of the sudden blizzard, "Rrrrraaaaaaarrrrrrrrggggggggnnnnsssss... Thou art a interloper here," A deep, mighty, and booming voice thundered across the dead valley. Charoite felt a tinge of panic as the great eyes settled upon her. They glared knowing, intelligent malice unto her form. The Dragon had seen her, "Begone!"

"Ddddrrrrsssssshhhhhh!"

"Aaaaaaarrrrrrrrgh!" A sudden burst of golden light sent the warrior flying backwards. Her back hit the ground hard. Glassen earth shattered into fragments from the sheer force of her impact; web-like cracks forming. Ash swiftly caked her features as it was thrown into the air, "Fiddle... Ugh, fiddlesticks!" A long, thin shard of glass had found itself embedded into Charoite's forearm. Blood formed around the intrusion. The warrior rose to her feet, "Uuuurrrrgghhaaaa..." Pale fingers grasped the shard before wrenching it free in a quick motion. The woman's palmed shined with a bright light as she pressed it against her skin, "That stings," A simple spell of mending was enough to stitch the would back together, "It... It saw me."

The monster had seen her. It saw her within the vision. That had never happened before. For many years had Charoite believed her psychometry impenetrable. She was now proven wrong. Does it know she is hunting it now? If so the element of surprise is absent. If it can percieve visions then it will be far more difficult to hunt. This spells troublesome news for the Dream-Killer. The warrior pushed herself to her feet in a swift motion.

The warrior pushed aside her revelation aside so as to focus onto the glowing blade. The magic sword emitted a soft, almost electric sounding hum as she once again approached it - albeit more cautiously. It's energies split off into white particles that quickly fizzled out moments later. Charoite approached the weapon steadily with her spells prepared.

After several moments of hesitation did the woman did opt for action. Pale fingerd grasped the sword's hilt before pulling the weapon free from it's resting place. The warrior rested the flat of the blade against her leather-clad palm as her left hand tightly gripped the hilt. Immense amounts of mystical power radiated outward from the weapon in thick waves. It almost seemed to call out to her; a sense of longing building inside. The golden metal, the white glowing crystal, and the sigils... This could not possibly be the work of mere Men. The amount of magic passively oozing from the sword was beyond anything Charoite had ever seen save the Gods. Did it come fromt them? The Dream-Killer knew not as she glimpsed her own eye reflected back at her from within the glinting weapon. It reminded her of her ills.

"It saw me... It saw me," The implication of her vision returned like a dark omen. It had seen her somehow through the pyschometric magic. Such a thing should be impossible, yes? Yet it happened regardless, "What sort of magic must it command?" A truly foul sorcery must be at work here. Something wicked. If only her master had spent more time warning her of the enemy's abilities and less on lecturing her on guidance then maybe she would've been better prepared, "What magic does the sword command?" Her thoughts quickly turned to the potential use of this newly discovered weapon.

It's golden form and white glow reminded her of the purity of her Light God. Mayhaps the two are connected? Mayhaps not. The woman stowed the blade upon her back - gravity magics binding it to her iron and leather armor for the sake of easy storage. There was too much work to be done to waste time debating maybes or what ifs when there be Dragons.

The warrior opted to follow the Dragon's great cavernous footprints. Surely it would lead somewhere interesting, yes? Hopefully it would lead to the slumbering beast. If not it would still be a worthy venture. The path the monster had taken was covered in the debris of fallen trees, burning bramble, and so much ash. There were very few flames, however, so the warrior took that as a silent blessing.

In her vision of the magical sword's past did the woman glimps a man adorned in a set of heavy armor crafted of thick bones. Whom was he? Of what great deed did he commit as to imprint such a vague memory unto the sword? Was he it's owner? Did he battle the Dragon? If so he likely fell to the monster... But where was his body then? Mayhaps this mysterious warrior was still alive? Somewhere in the far off woods. Maybe he could be of use? Maybe not.

The titanic creature seemed to speak before exhaling flame. It used the words 'Yol Toor Shul' to do so. Was it's powers ones of verbality? Spells cast through wordage were not entirely unheard of. Almost all magics in this earth was harnessed through the hands albeit some rare few had discovered verbal magics designed to confuse or misguide others. Yet to breathe fire? That had never been known to be possible to the Dream-Killer.

The warrior hopped over a charred log in a graceful motion. The woman spied a great trench carved into the glass-earth before not too far off. The trench seemed to be twenty or more feet deep and over forty feet wide. It snaked forward in a curving line. Charoite deemed it worthy to follow - especially as it traveled in the same direction as the titanic footsteps. The woman's thoughts drifted towards her prey's corpality...

The beast bared a passing resemblance to a Demon. That was quite queer. It couldn't possibly be one for Demons cannot speak or wield spells. Demons can command unique and often times mysterious powers - some even assume forms reminiscent of Dragons - yet no Demon may speak or conjure forth true magic. Nor did they have eyes of fire. Maybe this creature was related to the Demons? Maybe the beast was a descendant of the foul Creatures of Darkness? Maybe it is their forebear. It was similar enough, however, to them that Charoite figured tactics effective against Demons may be effective against the false-Dragon.

Mayhaps such a line of thought was foolish. Mayhaps not. The beast would be a most fearsome foe regardless of it's nature or origins. But what of the child known as Ruth? What role will she play in all this? The Light Lord said the girl had been corrupted by the monster. Why? What did the false-Dragon deign with the seduction of a Moonborn? Is the child already damned? Surely not. The God of Light was a being of mercy and forgiveness. The woman banished her thoughts as a new sight met her eyes.

A beach revealed itself through the distant - and horribly scorched - treeline. The ashes cleared away into soft sands. The warrior's violet eyes settled upon a great sand dune that was taller than any spire she had ever seen. The trench she had been following for some time now grew deeper here. The bird-like foot prints veered towards the water before turning and stopping at the treeline shaping something resembling a u-shape. Near the beach's edge rested a massive pile of fish stinking up the shoreline.

"Ccccaaaaawww!"

"Ccaaaww!"

"Cccaawww!"

Birds of all varieties flew about the corpse pile in order to feed upon the excess carrion. Crows, seagulls, pelicans, and even an eagle ate upon the great aquatic bounty as the carcesses decayed into a congealing mass, "The beast's leftovers no doubt..." Charoite's focus suddenly shifted to a fluttering cloth half burried in sand. It was black and appeared torn.

"Ccccaaawww!"

"Cccaaawww!"

"Ccaaww!"

The sounds of the crows reigned supreme here. This place is lorded over by Death clearly. The Dream-Killer scrunched her nose as she was forced to pass the pile of decay in order to reach her new target. The air was damp here... It faintly smelt of sulfur.

"Cccaaawww!"

"Cccaaawww!"

"Cccaawww!"

A - mostly - pristine ebony cloak was pulled free of it's sand-prison by a pale hand. The cloth was warm to the touch. A few tears were present in it's otherwise unmarred surface. One end had seemingly been cut away for one reason or another based off the strings and jagged ends. The woman's fist raised the cloth before her face. It smelt of roses... "I'm getting closer." Charoite closed her eyes as she channelled her obscure magics once again. A faint light began to glow from the palm clutching the fabric.

"Cccaaawww!"

"Cccaaaww!"

"Ccccccaaaaawwww!"

"By the powers of psychometry..."

---

Silver eyes did ooze a certain form of repressed spite as she glared at a rusted, bleeding sword. The weapon was clutched so tightly by her right hand as to cause her skin to pale considerably. Her fingers were sore from the effort. Slow, deep breaths gradually worked their way past her lips.

Death lingered within the girl's not-so-pure soul. The scent of rage was still mighty within her small, naive heart. Dry blood was caked on her hands, chest, and even her youthful features. She could still taste it upon her tongue... The blood of Gideon had been spilt. Ruth killed him in cold blood - murdered him. She had never taken a human life before. The experience had left a black mark upon her that now grew like a cancer as it burrowed deep into her very soul; a powerful, sinister, and repressed hunger having been freshly awoken.

The girl briefly glanced at a desk parallel to her seat. Upon it rested her medallion. It glittered silver. The cloth walls of the tent caused only weak rays of sunlight to brighten her dark quarters. The Dragon God had ordered the dead to erect this temporary residence solely for young Ruth. His voice had been softer than normal when he spoke to her after she had awoken from her slumber. The two didn't share many words beyond him warning her for a second time about properly advising the Dragon away from the 'cattle' as he called them.

Ruth suddenly stood abruptly as her darkened eyes narrowed onto her wolf medallion. The girl swiftly approached the desk as her fingers tightly gripped the hilt of her crimson blade. Death had taken root deep within her mind; the image of Gideon's headless carcass haunting her vision incessantly. The young woman's eyes were bloodshot and puffy from the many tears she had shed. She had lost the ability to cry some hours ago - her eyes stinging. Slowly did young Ruth came before the small ebony desk. It stood up to the girl's upper stomach, it possessed four legs, and it was marred with numerous cuts. It once was a crafting bench some time ago.

Plale fingers shakily grasped the wolf medallion before clutching it close to her chest. Specs of blood dotted the silver trinket. Black hair dangled unevenly as the girl's head tilted downward. Ruth placed her left arm on the desk - the medallion tightly clenched in her palm. She raised the blade with her right arm until the sword came to rest against the soft fabric separating her vunerable flesh from the metal. Uncertainty, impulsivity, and the pain of deep regret melded into a single conglomerate mass sought... Something. Retribution maybe? Perhaps it was pure animal instinct that guided her in that moment. I must confess too you - yes, you - that I am not certain what it is she felt in that brief moment. I am only capable of speculating - as I so often do - about her state of mind.

"Tcccchhhhssssssshhhhchchchch!"

"Ggghhhhrrr!" Ruth's knees buckled as the iron tore through cloth, skin, and muscle with little difficulty. A new and over half an inch deep wound now formed along the girl's forearm just above the elbow. It was a jagged injury fueled by blind emotion over intentional desire. The blood quickly spread along the desk as ebony was stained scarlet. The burning pain of the self-mutilation was enough to give the woman pause. Silver eyes widened at the sight of her own blood, "I... I-I... Haha... Ha?" The sight of the injury was as exhilarating as it was terrifying. The pain felt almost gentle in comparison to the Mark of Death upon her spirit, "Rrrrrrrrraaaaaaagh!" She swung the sword again.

"Tcccchhhhsssssshhhhchchchchch!"

"Bbbbbbboooooooggggggggssssh!"

"Aaaaaarrrrrrgggghhhh!" The ground shook as a scream tore itself from her lips. Silver eyes narrowed as the girl's teeth ground against each other from frustration and pain. The Dragon God was moving. She could hear him. His footsteps echoed like thunder. Ruth fixed her gaze back onto her arm as she readied the blade again - anger swelling as it coulded her judgement. Mayhaps she sought to spite her new God? Perbaps this is her form of revenge? No... No. Too animalistic. Revenge is too sophisticated a word to describe this most primitive of acts.

"Tccchhhhsssssshhhhh...!"

"Aaaaarrrrraaaaggggghhh! Hhhhuuuuhhh... Hhhaaak!" Her groans were ugly like that of a choking cat or vomiting dog. Ruth's nect attempt dug into the bone of her left limb. The girl's vision blurred as her mind began to spun. The pain was akin to her entire arm igniting into flame or, perhaps, having her flesh degloved. The blood was quite the worrisome sight as it spilled out in thick rivers, "Hhhaaaahhhhh... O-one... Mo-more..." Ah-ha... I was wondering as to her motive. She was more cognizant than I anticipated. You - yes, you again - write that down... Put it with the others.

"BBBBGGGGGHHHHH!"

"RRRRRRRsssssssaRRRRRRRsssssnnnnnnkkk!"

"Ttcccchhhhhssssshhhh!"

"Aaaaaaaaaagggggghhhhhh!" Ruth's scream was drowned out by the deafening cry of the Dragon's demonic hiss-howl. The earth shook as darkness consumed the tent in a perpetual obscurity, "Aahhrrahahaha... Uggghh..." Ruth's breathing was erratic. She attempted to raise the sword for a sixth time yet her fingers lost their grip. It fell to the earth below, "N-no... NO!" In her flailing attempts to grab the weapon did she slip on her blood. She fell to the dirt with a loud thumb. She could not find the strength within herself to stand again.

"BBBBBGGGGHHHHHH!"

"Rrrrraaaagsgsgsgsgsgs!"

Silver eyes struggled to remain open as the brown cloth of the ten was swiftly obliterated. Where once resided the looming darkness now rested night-black scales that drank in all light. The girl recognized the shape of her God's burning red eyes as they loomed above her like angry stars: "Rgrgrgrgrgrgr... Vir sahlag," Ruth's vision began to fade as the blood loss ate away at her mind. Alien were the words of the Dragon yet his voice brought the girl some small sense of comfort, "Who hath attacked ye so?" A real venom seeped from his wrothful words like the toxin of a serpent.

The girl despondently gazed towards her arm. The wound was horrid and ugly. The fifth swing had nearly severed the limb at the elbow. Gratuitous amounts of blood seeped endlessly through the wound like a small river. It was an eeirely pretty sight to the child and her deity.

"Who did this?" The Dragon's voice came like a whisper albeit it thrummed like the drums of war. Ruth struggled immensely just to shift her eyes to meet his. The angry God now rested mere feet from her - the heat of his scales warming her quickly cooling flesh. The beast's maw ever so slightly parted to reveal dozens of fangs the length of swords. The sight brought the girl a soft smile. She knew those fangs weren't ment to harm her - they were the source of her protection. And her newfound grief, "Pyt?" The Dragon's snout ever so slightly shifted her body. His scales were scalding hot to the touch. The Hell-eyes were softer-looking than Ruth had ever seen before. They were almost... Gentle. Almost.

"I... I... I-I... Hu-hurt... Mys-m-myself..." The great flaming eyes of the beast thinned into white slits. There was a hint of confusion before rage overtook the blazing pits. The irises of the Dragon grew in potency. Ruth found the seeping fury inside them far more intimidating any roar or blast of fire, "S... So-sorry...?" It sounded more like a question than the apology she desired to speak. The girl struggled to keep her eyes open as the blood loss took it's toll upon her.

"Krimaar? Hi hefhah Pyt. Hi hinzaal mal Osley... Dou'st thee think death imperishable?" The Dragon's pointed tongue slithered from his maw as it lapped at the girl's blood. He almost seemed to purr at the taste of it. If the deep, rumbling, gravelly sound could even be called a purr. Ruth found the act as comforting as it was perturbing. It reminded her of an old wolven companion, "What a daft choice ye hath made. What if Zu'u Alduin were not here? Oafish child," It was not her own death that young Ruth sought - only a release from the growing frustration, confusion, and undeniable rage inside.The young woman felt herself fading as darkness overtook her vision, "Pyt? Vir alunrinis... VOKREN!" The girl felt a great icy cold building within herself; spreading into her very heart.

Wisps of sparkling white energy oozed from the beast's maw and into the girl's wounded arm. Ruth felt a growing energy build within her torn muscles; veins squirming like headless worms as they sought their other halves in order to mend. Flesh grew like mold as it knitted over exposed, broken musculature. The arm bone's deep gash filled with a yellowish liquid that quickly hardened into flexible, white bone. Before long the dizziness evaporated as young Ruth felt life soaring within her racing heart; lips parting as she drew a deep breath into her lungs. Her anger evaporated into an intense desire to scream - from fear or frustration she knew not.

"Hhaakk! Hhhhaaaahhhaaa... Hhuurrrg!" The young woman hacked, coughed, and heaved repeatedly as flecks of her own blood melded with spit discolored the earth below. There was a faint soreness present in her not-so-injured limb. Her teeth clenched as her right hand grasped at her left elbow. It was a strange feeling to go from barely having an arm to it being restored in only a moment or two. Ruth could still feel remnants of the pain, "Hhhhuuuhhhaa!? W-wh... What!?" The absence of the wound yet the persistence of it's mark startled her mind into fright. Pale fingers scratched her skin as if it were hidding the bloody tear. New, lesser wounds were opened in her panic.

"Vokren los vahk Zaan. Nii los kiir tinvaatey. Druv togaat krimaar?" The grumbling words of the Dragon scarcely spoke in a tone that could be called a whisper yet it rattled her bones nonetheless. Ruth felt her anxiety wane at the reminder of his presence. Silver eyes focused through the confusion as she latched onto the sole remaining consistency in her life, "Art thou so plauged by doubt as to attempt to end ye's own life? Such childishness. Many krosis." The fiery eyes of the titan-shape loomed forth like two blazing suns against a starless night sky. Their warmth was a comforting feeling against the girl's cold skin. Her damp, bloody clothing certainly did nothing to help in with matter.

"I... I-I-I..." The girl found herself speechless before her Dragonic Lord. Young Ruth could muster no response as her mind struggled for so much as a verbal recognition of her God's own words, "E-ehhh... I-I... Uhhhheeehhhh... M-magic! Y-you used magic words again! Wh... What was th-that?" So she opted to change the topic into something she could discuss with greater ease. Quickly did Ruth's mind set about distancing herself from the oh-so recent self-mutilation. The young woman glanced to her left palm only to see the glinting eyes of her wolven medallion staring back. The sight was omnious before her silver eyes yet somehow reassuring.

"Such query is irrelevant as of now. Why did'st thee seek to self-mutilate? Of what was thou's solemn desire? A childish need for attention it seems. T'was it a byproduct of ye's human fragility? Mayhaps the shock," The Dragon openly pondered with some degree of disdain in his voice. A long serpent-tongue lapped at the blood once again. Young Ruth felt a strong sense of shame. She felt small - literally and metaphorically - as her features blemished red. Shame muddled with self-disgust, "Zu'u, Alduin, shalt keep a closer eye upon ye; Zu'u los okriin. Hi los dii dos: thy art eagle. Thou art mouse. Do not forget that." The girl felt a strong sense of unease at the statement. Eagles hunt mice...

"I... A-apologize... S-sir Dragon. I ac-acted... Rashly," Curiously did Ruth extend her right hand towards her own blood. Her cold fingers felt warmed by the touch of her own life-giving ichor. She pondered as to it's taste, "I... I-I... I was angry... Stupid really." The rage still festered within; buried in a crumbling prison of humility. Ruth brought her scarlet stained fingers before her lips as the last traces of her once ivory soul faded gray. She licked at the blood. She found it's taste rather... Tasteless ironically enough.

"Sir? Ye's ilk art so prone to forgetfulness. If rage is ye's bane then execute it upon the flesh of another - not ye's exalted form. This trifle is embarrassing for both of us," The star-beast's maw parted once more as his tongue lapped at the blood for third time. Was it's taste more vibrant upon his serpentine tongue than Ruth's mammalian one? Very likely. Almost guaranteed really. She wondered as to how it tasted to him, "Such a waste of good sos. If ye art too be so fragile than mayhaps ye needth constant perview... Mayhaps ye art still weak of heart." The Dragon's distant tail whipped through the air before thundering into the earth. A few distant yells reminded the girl of the captives. For some queer reason she found herself feeling so very... Numb to it all.

"I-I... I... We-well..." The thought of her harming another was... Not as damming as it should have been. It almost sounded exciting if only so the young woman could exorcise her pain externally rather than internally. Is that a selfish desire? Cruel even? Indubitably so. Shame rose within as girl as she became aware of this fact, too. Her already fragile ego felt attacked; cracks forming along it's glass-like surface, "If... If it i-is weak... We-weak of me to prefer suicide over m-murder... Then I am very weak." Ruth's voice grew in strength as she spoke. The last of her rage did fuel her urge to argue otherwise. The girl rose so her back was lo longer against the dirt. Ruth's anger was all but a faint whisper now - the cerulean emotion clouding all logical sight like a numbing venom.

"Then weak ye are. This is most disappointing, thine child-like Prophet. Such an embarrassing and montly display. How can ye not control ye's own emotions? Why art thou so pathetically soft even after claiming first blood? It is disgustingly human-like of ye," Alduin's words were clearly meant to ridicule, insult, and demean the child. Yet his voice lacked the typical rage the frothed from him in his darker moods. No, his tone of voice was akin to that of a disappointed father or mentor. Somehow that stung deeper than any words the Dragon could've said in that situation. Ruth averted her gaze; self-destructive rage beginning to ignite as she absorbed every single insinuation the God made. The long neck of the beast slithered low to the earth as he eyed the young woman not with contempt but with a undeniable degree possessiveness. His gaze almost felt paternal in some queer manner to young Ruth, "Ful rinik sahlag. Hin sahlom los veistul wah zey... How many strikes were attempted?" The beast's voice dipped into a gravely, ferocious yet clearly concerned tone as his snow-white pupils thinned into slits, 'That only happens when he's really mad...' Ruth noted mentally.

"Five... It was going to be six but I only managed five..." Ruth averted her gaze to the medallion. Her heart felt heavy. He had a point did he not? How could she fail to harness her own emotions? How weak - stupid - could she be... How could she not have foreseen this? Yes, her anger had blinded her, but she was no babe. She should have been able to control it, 'I'm so oafish...' Her own thoughts echoed the Dragon's sentiment, 'No one would've died if I were smarter... If I were more like the Dragon none of this would've happened.' The girl's heart darkened evermore at that revelation, 'The Dragon...' He was strong. Wise. Confident. He always had control over the situation, 'I need to act like a Dragon...' Is this the absolute height of audacious foolishness? Absolutely. Will she do it anyway? Without a shadow of a doubt. Will she regret this choice in due time? I am not so certain about that, "I-I'm sorry..."

"Apologize to those who will now suffer for thou's foolish acts. Five lives shalt be snuffed as punishment for ye's abrasive action," The star-beast snarled out like a curse. Ruth's eyes did grow wide from shock. Pale features contorted as startling surprise coursed through her veins; lips quaking from the realization of her foll... Yet a dark and growing portion of her soul felt entirely untroubled, "Let this be a reminder to ye, joor, that ye's threat of suicide shalt spell doom unto the lives of the thralls." The Dragon's long neck curved as his body shifted. He rose upwards as his foot did retract backwards. The girl felt stunned for a long moment... Her heart began to race as her numbness steadily declined.

"Bbbbbooooogggghhhh!"

"Ssssssnnnnnnnnnngrgrgrgrgrgrgrgrssss... Ssssssssnnnnngrgrgrgrgrgr," The wicked God's seething eyes of hate landed upon the boarded up barn. Ruth attempted to act swiftly only to quickly throw herself back down to the ground as the Dragon's great tail swung overhead. It nearly hit her by accident. The girl crawled so as not to be thrased by the swaying limb. Her heart thundered within it's bone-cage, "Thine Prophet hath dictated through foolishness and through stupidity the deaths of five of the imprisoned ones! Bring them too thy!" The Dragon's voice echoed like boulders upon the moutainside - like thunder booming or an earthquake rending. Ruth scrambled to follow without even knowing what she might do or say.

"Bbbbboooooogggghhhh!"

"Rrrrrrraaaaarrrrrgrgrgrgrgrnnnnsssssk!" The beast's roar echoed into the world for all to hear. The ground shook violently as raptor-claws dug deep pits through mounds of ashen earth, "Hi joor alun vogahvon uv bruleyk wah dii fen. Nid zos! Hi, Pyt, fen aus volzahdroz do hin dren! Pah joor fen!" The titan-shape snarled to himself with a growing fury as he began to loom over the docile barn. The walking dead soon surrounded it with weapons drawn. Ruth had scarcely had the time to move from her tent positioned near the cold ruins of the church yet the Dragon had already crossed said distance in mere moments. His speed coupled with his titantic size was quite startling, "Rgrgrgrgrgrgrgrgrgr..." The growl grew in volume as the Dragon's winged forelimb rose into the air, "Rrrrrraaaaaaarrrrrrrrrsssssssnnnnnnk!"

"Ddddrrrraaaasssssshhhhhhk!"

The roof collapsed under the black wing's sheer weight. Voices screamed out only to be silenced by the Dragon God's foul hiss. The sounds of snapping wood brought life into the otherwise silent village. Ruth could only imagine the faces of the terrified horde inside as the Hell-eyes fell upon them. The girl stumbled and slid in wild attempt to avoid the deep, pit-like footprintd of the Dragon. Young Ruth struggled to stay on her feat as she witnessed the star-beast's great neck rearing back: "W-why only five!? Why not ten! Or twenty? Or ALL of them even!"

"Rgrgrgrgrgrgrgr!?" The Dragon's eyes narrowed unto his Prophet. Silver eyes glared against his scarlet ones with newfound strength, "What is the meaning of this...?" His voice dipped threateningly low now. The wrathful God's tail whipped into the side of the barn - scaled muscle shredding wooden walls into gaping holes. The young woman didn't shy away from his anger - she did her best to match it, 'Act like a Dragon,' Was the montra repeating inside her. Ruth, however, wasn't entirely sure what a Dragon would actually do in her position. She opted to impersonate the only Dragon she had ever met such as the one before her; rage, stubbornness, and arrogance included.

"Kill them all then! I don't care... They're just animals! You said so yourself. Eat them, crush them, burn them - I just don't care anymore!" Ruth found herself surprised by the sheer commitment in her own voice. She was, in truth, finding it harder and harder to keep concerning herself with these morbid debates about life, death, or punishment, "Killing them won't hurt me! They're all going to die anyway! I JUST DON'T CARE ANYMORE!" The words tripped over each other yet her sentiment was being conveyed regardless.

"Truly? If Zu'u, Alduin, were to devour them whole ye would not shed a single tear?" The Dragon openly mused with a dark glee. His rage drained into a much more inquistive gleam that seemed to somehow darken his eyes. The titan-shape drew his chest high as his forelimbs flexed, "If thy were to burn the children would ye not scream? If thy were to crush a whole lot of babes ye would not mourn? If thy were to raze up a host of widows ye would not protest?" Ruth felt her rage quell into a colder, less volatile form; something more akin to loathing than true hate. She did direct the anger towards her Dragonic Lord, yes, but she did not hate him. Ruth did not know what she felt for him but it was not hate. That she knew without a shadow of a doubt.

"Not in the slightest... I'll even do it myself if it's such an ordeal for you!" The glares of the chained slaves were not unnoticed by Ruth. She met them with her own. None dared look directly into her eyes. Not with her God prowling behind her like a great, ghastly shadow, "Let me retrieve my blade and I'll slaughter them all! I'll cut them from neck to groin! Just... Just watch!" Ruth did turn towards the remains of her tent as she began to march forward with a wrothful gait. Her head was held high, her chest puffed out, and her eyes shining with a venomous, even furious glint. It seemed as though she had morphed into an entirely different person only wearing the flesh of young Ruth. Her father would be so disappointed... I'm not, however.

Ruth had never known such a bloodthirst as what she felt now - it was almost too much. She growled lowly, eyes glaring at the remains of her tent, her posture hunched slightly. Her fingers twitched incessantly. The girl's ears could hear whispers from the slaves. Her eyes could occasionally glance a walking corpse... The walking dead were a disturbing sight to witness even in her rage. Did their souls remain behind? Or were they animated purely by sinister Dragon-magic? The loving, kind part of her hoped it was the latter over the former. The angrier, trurer side of her genuinely did not care as to which option was correct.

Ruth found herself stopping before the ruined structure even as her anger continued to swell. The girl spied the blade gleaming within her own blood that she had used to mutilate herself mere minutes ago with. Slowly did she reach down to grasp it within her shaking fingers. The blade reflected Ruth's own gaze back upon her - the girl only now realizing her entire face was caked in fresh blood. It was a sobering sight to witness... Sobering and revealing in how much she quickly grew to enjoy the sight.

"I... I-I'll do it myself..." She repeated in a low voice, "I will do it myself!" Her determination grew yet so did the empathic part of her soul dedicated to the restoration of life. Was this really the right choice? Was there no other option? The girl's glare fell. She felt the weakness of fear creeping inside. Maybe... Maybe she could free the captives? Or at least try reasoning with the Dragon. He had already taken so much... Everyone she had ever cared for was dead. Maybe she could flee into the night? But where would she go? What would she even do? Who could she possibly turn too? 'No,' Young Ruth thought, 'My place is with Dragon... With Alduin,' It was as sobering realization yet a strengthening one. The shaft of the blade felt heavy against her soft skin. Her humanity would be a small price to pay if it meant staying with the Dragon... At least he had been honest with her. No one else ever had.

"Bbbbboooogggghhhhh!"

"Rgrgrgrgrgrgrgrgrgrgrsssssssssss..." The snarling hiss of the great titan-shape did sound powerfully against the troubled girl's ears. The young woman shifted her gaze backwards to meet the Hell-eyes. They had softened: snow-white pupils gleaming with some emotion that was neither rage nor contempt. Maybe it was approval? Pride? Ruth felt unsettled yet simultaneously thrilled. She felt almost... Validated by his gaze. Acknowledged in some deeply comforting way, "Ssssssssssssnnnnnnngrgrgrgrgrgrgr..." The God's gleaming eyes followed Ruth's every movement yet he himself remained still as stone. The earth shuddered with the Dragon's every breath. Ruth began to approach the cattle near the ever growing pit. She eyed them all with an emotion that couldn't quite settle on being disgust, rage, sorrow, or resignation.

"Whom do you wish to die first?" Ruth's own voice possessed a despondent attitude that did not match what she felt deep inside. The woman was about fifty feet from the well and thirty from the Black Dragon. Her silver eyes fell upon a tanned man with a rotund belly and a curvy beard. The shadow of the Dragon shifted above her as it darkened the sky, "The fat one? He's a slow worker." And the town's only chef as well. He was the only one here with any real knowledge concering cooking, or spices, or enrichment. He was a well respected man... Ruth hadn't spoked with him much, though. He was always pleasant in their short interactions. There was little in the way of a personal connection hence her choice of victim.

"Rgrgrgrgrgrgrssssssssnnnnnnrgrgrgr... Nay," Ruth's silver eyes scanned the slaves with a cold gleam. Shovels were digging into ash-stained dirt, exhausted peoples denied respite under threat of death, and the unending cries of those in pain. Some bore blistered flesh, others frostbitten digits, and a few had lost entire limbs. Very few indeed were untouched by the Dragon's initial attack. So, so very few had escaped unharmed... Had Ruth not weeped her sadness away into scarlet anger then she may have done so now, "Thy wishes for the death of a weaker one... Slay the one in ebony-clad cloth. The one furthest from the flock." For a moment did the girl's eyes scan the crowds until they settled upon the man her Dragon God had refrenced. Sudden exasperation flooded her veins, 'Mortuus Cibum!' Ruth had never felt such joy at the utterance of the small, pale-skinned man's name. The Dragon wished the death of one of the town's few remaining hunters.

"As you wish," Young Ruth steeled herself with a deep breath. She closed her eyes for a moment... "As you command." Her fingers tightened around the blade's hilt. She felt a powerful sense of ease coursing through her very heart. The concept of killing seemed so much easier the second time around... It likely aided Ruth that she had little real connection to Mortuus. There were so few peoples she had ever formed anything even resembling a fleeting friendship with. Even fewer still would she call true friend... Now only one alive still possessed that title. The young woman opened her eyes once more as she channelled her anger, her rage, and her fear into a deadly combination all hidden behind a scarcely maintained farce resembling an eeire calmness. It was easy now since she first released them against Gideon. Much like a bear or a lion the fury inside Ruth refused to be caged any longer since it first tasted the succulent fruits of freedom.

"Mortuus Cibum... Mortuus," The man was a simple hunter. He had never threatened, hurt, or sought to do wrong by Ruth in the past. The two had spoken once, yes, but only because he bore an infected wolf bite upon his shoulder that only the girl could mend with her herbalistic knowledges. Ruth would be lying if she said she didn't feel some amount of guilt for what she was about to do. She would also be lying if she said she didn't feel excited too, "Mortuus... Mortuus... Mortuus..." The young Prophet had begun to chant the name, "Mortuus... Mortuus... MORTUUS!" The yell carried across the ashen village like the craven yell of a madwomen... Ironic. Madness is typically associated with my domain, not the Black Dragon's.

The man in question rose up from the outer edge of the pit. His brown hair was dripping with gunk, his boyish features stained with boils spawned by the harsh conditions, and his posture did slant from exertion. Others spared a glance or two before the living dead shoved them back to work, 'The walking corpses are rather skilled at preventing stares or gossip if nothing else,' The girl noted in a moment of clarity, 'But... Foul nonetheless. They move like Spectres.' The sight reminded Ruth of childhood stories about dark, twisting shapes some called spirits and others dubbed phantoms who would subsume the shape of Men for unknown purposes. The Dragon's young Prophet pushed aside such thoughts as she refocused on the task at hand.

"Mortuus! You... You have been chosen by the Dragon!" Ruth felt the bubbling aggression sharpening - a sinister eagerness had awoken inside that would never again go dormant. She remembered what she felt when slaying Gideon... The rush of fear, the intoxicating sense of control, and the sheer joy brought about by the knowledge that his life was in her hands. The feelings came rushung back now tenfold, "Don't keep us waiting! You... You have a very important role to play today. Come here!" Mortuus remained still as his features twisted with confusion, worry, and fear. In spite of Ruth's dark eagerness there lied a deep sense of wrongness surrounding it all. A part of her wished to let him live as strongly as another, stronger part of her wished to spill blood again. Doing so felt made her feel almost... Magical. Isn't that just a quaint picture? Oh deary dear, the girl's hypocrisy is the real killer here, isn't it? I do so enjoy hypocrisies. They offer fantastic opportunities for philosophical debates concerning circumstance, ethics, and sheer cruelty of this simulacrum that will eventually be dubbed as 'Remnant.' It reminds of the Aurbis albeit on a smaller, more easily quarantined, less emotional scale. This world has no meaningful involvement from it's fledgling, untested, and nubile Gods... It needs a more knowledgeable, prehensile limb to guide it's sickly, diseased Wheel of Fate.

"Rrrrrrgggggsssssnnnk... Kuz mok. Drun mok us faal Pyt," The headless corpse of a familiar priest wondered forth upon shambling legs. The bloodstained robes of the dead man were gray from ash. Ruth felt a tinge of guilt when the walking corpse threw the smaller man to the ground before wrestling the shovel from his grip. The struggle was short and ended in a broken nose and swollen eye. The girl felt troubled as the walking carcass lumbered towards her with Mortuus in hand, "Krii pah do niin waan faal Pyt krilon ni krii daar joor."

The living man struggled against the grip of his captor to no avail. He clawed at the dirt, kicked at the undead flesh, and yelled for release. The other slaves made more than enough room for the two to pass freely. It reminded the girl of a struggling babe against the hands of a firm father. Only here there would be no love or discipline from the walking dead: only pain. Silver eyes faltered when another mockery of death approached the living man from behind before hitting him with the pommel of her blade. He went limp for a few moments after that making his unwilling passage much swifter.

"Ugghhh... Uurrrrgggaaaa..." Mortuus groaned as blood trickled from his broken, crooked nose. It left behind a trail of red the seeped into the earth. Before long the man was dropped before Ruth's feet by the headless carcass and it's assistant. The girl absently wondered how the corpse knew where it was going since it lacked any eyes with which to see. Could it somehow feel it's way about? Could it 'see' in a way that didn't involve sight? Was it guided by muscle memory? Or was it simply the Dragon magics inside of it puppeteering the decaying flesh like a parasite? Young Ruth banished those ponderings as her thoughts drifted to that of the groaning, crumpled mess of a man before her. He spat blood and bile as he grasped at the dirt. Ruth smiled without even knowing. It was a small, almost nervous smile akin to that of a lovesick youth, "Uuuggghhh! Hhhrrrraagghk!" He hacked and coughed like a sick puppy. Ruth knelt before him as she grasped his brown hair with her left hand. She forced his gaze to meet her's as the blade pressed into his soft neck lightly. Frightened hazel eyes met silver ones shining with equal measures of bloodlust and deep sympathy. It was confusing for both parties involved albeit in distinct manners.

"I... This is the way things have to be, you understand that, right? I... I... I don't really have any choice in this..." She lied to both herself and her prey, "I'm sorry. If... If it means anything... I always thought you were good man," She whispered into his ear in as soothing a voice she could muster. The blade sliced skin as it drew a few droplets of blood, "I'll make it quick. I promise you that much." Ruth lied for the third time today. It was growing easier for her. She was thinking of Mortuus as already being dead. He was simply meat and she the butcher. It was a necessary evil... Or so she lied to herself for the fourth time today. The blade stilled as Ruth's muscles tensed. She took a deep breath as all the world went silent...

"Pyt!" Ruth's breath hitched as she was startled by the yell. The blade slipped and sliced a thin though jagged cut into Mortuus neck leading down his shoulder. Ruth released him as she glanced over her shoulder to her master, "This is a blood tribute - no mere murder. Pray to thy. Invoke thine's name so this sacrifice is in thy's honor. Embrace thee's inner Nahkriin." Ruth felt a pit forming inside her belly. Why prolong the suffering? It seemed unnecessarily cruel to the girl even in her murderous state. The young woman lowered the sword regardless as she withdrew from Mortuus. The man breathed deeply as he groaned, stewed, and bled from his broken nose. He grasped at his throat.

"W-why!?" The man's hazel eyes looked to Ruth's silver ones with pleading. He was weeping... I never could understand why they cried myself. What a strange quirk of their anatomy. Betrayal, fear, and confusion dwelt inside the man as he crawled to his knees. Ruth stubborn, angry gaze caused his eyes to flinch. He averted his gaze, "W-what di-did I do...!?" Mortuus voice was weak and submissive like the whining bark of a beaten, starved dog. Ruth felt guilt clawing at her torn heart like the boneless, wretched shapes of indignant repressions.

"It has to be this way... I didn't chose you. My God did. If you have any problems with this turn of events I suggest you take up with him," The man shriveled away as his widened at the mere mention of personally interacting with the Dragon. It was almost amusing to Ruth just how quickly he seemed to reassess his situation. She couldn't bear to look him in the hunter's dark eyes as he cried like a child. The young woman didn't blame him. Most people would act as he did now if they were about to become blood sacrifices, "In... In the name of Alduin... You... You, uhmmm... Ehhhh... Fire? Or was it frost? Huh... In Alduin's name I sentence you too the flames of... Of... Of... Black... Ruin?" Ruth paused for a long, awkwardly silent moment as she analyzed her own words. Her eyes squinted as if in deep thought. Another moment or two passed before she turned around so her silver eyes could connect with a set of ruby ones, "Wh... What do I say? I don't... I'm not entirely... I-I... I have trouble with finding the right words." Ruth opted to be as blunt as she could. Whilst the girl expected anger or bereavement she instead saw a genuine, almost tender, sympathy within the Hell-eyes regardless of the tribulations the day had brought them both.

It almost seemed as if he found her would-be attempts at murder almost... Picturesque. The Dragon shifted his long neck as he huffed. He lowered his towering frame as his snout could almost press against Ruth from above. The girl reached out one soft hend to press it against his scales. Both eyes stared deeply into the other not unlike that of a young child and her older, wiser mentor. From afar the two looked almost transfixed for nearly a full minute.

"Recite thy name as ye strip him of his soul. That shalt be enough to suffice as a start," Suddenly did Alduin begin to speak. His voice was in a softer, warmer tone than what Ruth was accustomed too. It was comforting in a strange way. His flaming red eyes gleamed with an eager anticipation that frightened the woman as much as it her feel like she was truly at home now. The feelings - as they so often did - left the young woman confused, "If ye aspire to outperform the bare minimum then ye shalt rip free his heart and devour it whole. T'was the time-honored tradition of the Atmorans of yore to devour the flesh, blood, and hearts of the sacrificed upon black monoliths during the moonlit nights of fierce, starving winters." Ruth's lips were pressed thin as her eyes shut tight now. The image within her mind's eye was a grotesque one of barbaric, ritualistic murder followed by horrid ripping, smashing, and gnashing. Young Ruth opted not to become a cannibal for even the concept repulsed her as much as it frightened her.

"I-I... I think the first option is more then enough, yes? Heart eating isn't... I'd rather abstain from that. It doesn't sound very... Appealing." She fixed her gaze onto the would-be sacrifice once again as her back shifted to face the Dragin. The man was sniffling on the ground as he struggled and failed to stand upon a bumb leg. The headless corpse stood behind the man and Ruth before him, 'The corpse is here to prevent Mortuum from fleeing,' Ruth surmised, 'Or maybe it's role is to kill him if I fail? What if I do fail this test? How many tests have I failed already?' She scolded herself lightly, 'What do I say again? Recite his name. I... I'll try doing what feels natural. Ha... Ha... Ha... Nothing about this is natural.' A part of her pondered if there was a specific prayer she must recite or if it the choice of phrasing was her's to make. The Dragon never specified so she assumed the latter. He never seemed overly meticulous when it came to wordage.

"Through the... The fell flames of the Dragon I offer thee... Eternal respite from suffering," Ruth began hesitantly. She approached the grovelling hunter with cold eyes and a colder fire inside, "Through the frost of the Dragon I offer thee... Eternal escape from hardships," Ruth's steps were measured and calculated unlike her typically rash behavior. It was easier to embrace the bubbling fear, sinister eagerness, and self-contempt than it was to keep denying them, "In the name of Alduin, the Devourer of the All-Life, I offer up your flesh as... As sacrament to the Black Dragon!" The blade rose high as the man raised his arm. There was a scream and the glinting of firelight upon rusted iron.

This man death would be as much a sacrifice to satiate Alduin as it was to silence Ruth's own demons. In another life, in another world, she could've made for an incredibly dangerous Death-Eater or Moon-Shifter. Her lack of true knowledge and her weak Mortal memory, however, proves her almost useless to my designs. Almost does not mean completely though.

"Ssssttttrrrrsssssnnnk!"

"Aaaaaahhhhhhhaaaaagggggg!" The blade sliced through his arm down to the bone. Blood spewed as a scream tore through his throat. The man collapsed to the ashen earth as he glared betwixting fear and fury, "Hhhrrraaaahhh...! Ruth, No, ple-please, No!" Ruth raised the blade for a second strike; crimson firelight gleaming off the weapon as blood and rust tainted it a dark satin. The man extended his healthy limb as his fingers uncurled, "NO!" Magic crackled to life within the desperate Hunter's grasp just as iron tore flesh for a second time.

"ZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZ!"

"AAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHH!" Ruth saw a great blinding light followed by a long, silent darkness. For a moment she had thought she heard thunder. The girl found herself seemingly lost in an endless, empty void. Distantly did the girl hear the the faint whispers of something being crunched echoing vaguely into something approximating noise, "Aaaaaahhhgggggrrrrhhhaaagggh!" Something reminiscent of a grumbling, jittering scream sought to imbibe the void with sound. There was a great and gast absence of... Of everything here. Wherever 'here' could be defined as, that is.

"Rgrgrgrgrgrgrrrrrrrrraaaaaannnnsssssk!" The familiar roar of the Dragon was akin to a dark anchor in this lightless abyss. It brought forth a sense of familiarity, 'What... What just happened? Where am I?' Was the girl's first rational thought. One moment Mortuus was about to be struck down... Then thunder... Now the void? It left her befuddled, 'Am I dead? I don't think dead people can give shape to thought... Or can they?' The girl didn't feel like she was in some sort of afterlife. She still felt a physical weight that couldn't feasibly carry over to a realm deprived of any matter or mass, "YOL TOOR SHUL!" Nor could dead people hear the voice of the Entropic God... Or maybe they could? I do not know for I am not of the dead ones.

Young Ruth found herself pondering many things both small and great in this false-void. The Dragon was breathing fire. That much she knew for certain; the words of 'Yol', 'Toor', and 'Shul' had become ingrained into the young woman's mind like sizzling brandings. They brought the young woman a sense of calming peace. Ruth swiftly deduced that her Dragon was in the process of burning Mortuus to cinders. Burning to death is a dreadful end that dear Ruth was quite familiar with yet, at the very least, Alduin's flames were merciful - such their power that they instantly turned flesh and bone alike into ash. Ruth witnessed that firsthand herself. Mortuus wouldn't suffer long at least... A better end then what Gideon the soothsayer had suffered.

After some time did the girl begin to feel a tinge of physical pain - something reminiscent of a burn though lighter in its touch than any flame. It was less painful then it was annoying. The young woman's discomfort blossomed into a glimmering fear as her focus shifted to her master. Would the wrothful Dragon be angry with her? She didn't kill Mortus like he desired... She would be angry if she were him, 'That should be a good a thing...' The girl's thoughts reminisced on her failure to kill the hunter, 'Then why do I feel so useless?' It made her feel so very pitiful; like a sword to brittle to cut so much as straw. Young Ruth felt much inclined towards the attuide of the crestfallen now than she had since her attempted suicide, 'Will he kill them all now? Does it even matter anymore?' Apathy, as dear Ruth woud soon discover, was a very powerful anesthetic. I never could grasp the finer details of apathy... So many mysterious to explore in both worlds and beyond them. Why deny oneself the pleasure of learning it all?

"Grik gaas mal joor. Zu'u los tiin do daar kred... Nid zos yun grozein! Ahrk Zu'u los tiin vokren hi, Pyt!" The grumbling voice of the Dragon God echoed into the deep darkness with preternatural fury. Ruth felt it a comforting force during her lonesome reprieve. The Dragon's anger had grown a precious commodity that she had subconsciously grown to rely on almost like a walking stick. She would reach out to him to feel his blistering heat if only she could, "VOKREN VAHRAAN!" A great soothing warmth clutched at the girl's very soul; pain bleeding into energetic potency that fueled her cells mitosis so as to replace damaged tissue in an impossible amount of time. Ruth could feel the sensations of an almost liquid-like aura infusing itself into her very flesh, "Zu'u vis ni ov hi voth naan ahsod, vis Zu'u? Krosis..." The tone of Ruth's God suggested an intense, ravenous, and extremely profound fury. That did not surprise the youth nor I: when isn't he angry after all? He's been foul tempered even before he was split from the greater whole that he falsely presumes to be his father.

"Hhhhhuuuuaaah!" The young woman found herself gulping down air as her eyes finally opened wide. Pale fingers grasped at her chest only to find bare, bruised flesh and torn cloth, "W-w-wh... What..?" Luckily the torn fabric was such as not to leave her delicate parts exposed yet it showed more skin than she was comfortable with - which, admittedly, was any of her skin that did not plaster her face or hands. Much more interestingly, however, there lied a blackish-purple bruise that was darker than the others upon the flesh above her breasts. It vaguely resembled a burn, "O-oh... That's... Hhhhshshshshs! W-was it awl-always... S-so cold?" Ruth spoke slowly as her teeth chattered. Her thin arms acted quickly to cover the exposed flesh as to shelter herself from the cold.

"Thou art fool!" He finally speaks wisdom. I thought that impossible, "Arrogantly suicidal! Daft! Without consideration or evaluation! Thou art child of an Ass, not Man with that pitiful excuse of a sacrifice!" The ground rumbled though Ruth's eyes flinched, 'A... Ass? I... I'm not a donkey!' She was stunned to hear such an insult from the Dragon. I can't help but ponder why that insult in particular struck a cord with young Ruth. Mayhaps she despises the Asses? How queer a notion, 'That's... That's so stupid! Asses don't even talk!' Oh... How disappointingly mundane, "Ye art foolish! Ye lack intent! Efficiency! Practicality!" The girl grew shy as the great, carriage-sized Hell-eyes glared upon her not hate but rage. The distinction to the uninitiated would seem non-existent but Ruth saw it all as easily as reading a book.

Silver eyes wondered to the spot where once Mortuus laid. Now there was only flaming ashes present, "Ye tempt death again! And again! And again! Doth thee think thy a savior!?" The words of the star-beast scarcely registered with the young woman. A combination of embarrassment, confusion, and lingering fear ensured her continued silence, "Thou art a terrid killer! Thou should hath slain him in a single blow! Thou art slow as a leper! Thou art a fool!" Silver eyes raised to settle upon a distant blaze near the well, 'Where are the others?' Was her sole focus. It shouldn't have been though, "Ye hath failed to take upon theeself a single proper duty or officality!" The beast's sword-fangs hovered mere inches away from the youth. She could a glimpse a pulsating, neon red light deep, deep within the Dragon God's maw. If only she knew the true importance of what and where that light originated from...

"W... Wh... Where is everyone?" Had young Ruth not been in a state of shock she wouldn't of dared to ignore his tirade so flippantly. There bore a lengthy silence afterwards. Eventually young Ruth broke the silent stare when she gazed towards the twenty foot deep pit within which now resided a great, blazing inferno, 'Did he order them into the barn?' Ruth pondered, 'The living dead are gone, too...' She noted with a vacant curiosity, 'They should be right here! Did they... Resign?'

"Ssssssssgrgrgrgrgr..." The maw of her God came to rest upon the earth next to the girl. A snow-slit peered upon her with a gleaming rage that oozed with a protective care, "Grgrgrgrgrgrnnnsssssss...!" A deep, almost metallic grinding-like noise echoed from the Dragon's throat like a dreadful machine coming too life. Ruth leaned against his lower jaw without worry or fear. I am envious of her power to touch him so easily... I cannot do so. He is a powerful venom to me, "Where dou'st thee think they lie?" Ruth found it easier to focus when in the presence of his night-black scales. She had begun to... Love him I think. Like a child does to her father. I do not believe anyone has loved Alduin before. I must catalogue the results. This may become much more interesting soon... The others must never learn of this world. I must hide it from them.

"The... Barn?" Ruth shifted against the Dragon's hide until her back pressed to him. More phumes were being belched by fresh scarlet flames; healthy lungs being smeared black, "Uuggh! M-my... My head doesn't f-feel well..." Young Ruth clutched at her head with her right hand as a foul aching set it. Her eyes squinted shut. The girl began to cough and splutter.

"Hhhhnmmrrrrrrrggggggnnnsssss... Some are, yes, but not the ones ye seek," The voice was much softer then Ruth had expected it to be. The Dragon's tone was akin to a soothing lullaby to Ruth - It's deep rhythm a relaxing river of charnel power; unbridled and unlimited however hurtful and honest it may be. It was too Ruth as a beacon in her weary, sickened, and increasingly disassociative state. Alduin had become her sole constant over the past few days. It was a condition that 'oft afflicted those without hope, "Art thee lungs heavy in smog?" The rage which oozed from his voice now melted into slight concern. She was not the first to develop an obsession with Black Dragon but she was the first to inspire within the Dragon something resembling reciprocation.

"Y-yes... My eyes s-sting from i-it," The young Prophet spoke truth. Had her left limb not been busy shielding her exposed flesh and her right with clutching her pained skull then she'd task one of them to tend to her eyes. The girl had never faced so much pain in such short a timeframe before. It had more than taken a toll upon her spirit... It had broken her down like a metal shield being melted into a sword, "M... Maybe they f-fled," Ruth half mused to herself more than asked, "I... Ar-are they... G-gone?" The girl dared tread upon the dark question that she had attempted to avoid until now. A part of her suspected it already. How could she not?

"Hhhhmmmmggggggsssssss... Not physically," The Dragon chose his words carefully, "They revolted, thine Pyt. Hath thee a clue as to the punishment for such a Sin?" Ruth should've felt something. - anything aside from the growing apathy inside. Yet all the girl could muster was a half-hearted 'Oh...' And a frown. Silver eyes focused on the ashen remains of Mortuus. She felt... Hollow.

"Death?" Ruth had hoped otherwise yet clearly hope had no role in Alduin's would-be empire, "That is... Unfortunate. I... How are you supposed to rule anything if you keep killing all of your followers?" The girl hadn't realized that the flames about her had grown smaller; the belching smog less choking than prior. She lowered her right hand as her migrane subsided. Ruth's eyes shifted towards her palm only to find her medallion absent, "Where is my wolf trinket?" It seemed a more pressing concern then the death of the slaves. It was something she could actually control.

"Thy must findth new followers too whom death is a genuine marr. Like the basilisk is to the Argonian - or Magnus' Light are too the Children of Molag Ball - Or thy, Alduin, art too Men. Those who art otherwise harbor traitor-thoughts. Consumer; devourer; hoarder: Master," The great Dragon whispered to young Ruth the words of the most ancient wisdom as his answer to her query. The girl asborbed them deeply - her mind attempting to decipher them for a clearer answer, "Thee's wolf amulet lies somewhere about here. Ye dropped it." Alduin's head began to rise once more into the air. His tongue lapped at something unseen by the girl.

"Medallion. It is a medallion - not an amulet," Ruth corrected the Dragon. Her lips pressed together thinly as the girl's right hand came to grasp her chin, "It seems your methods of rulership are... Extremely stirct. Why not rule through an intermediary? I think people would be less likely to rebel if a familiar face ruled them... Someone they could talk too, understand, even idolize even..." It was a passing thought that Ruth chose to air before her God with little consideration. It was easier to focus on that than the dreadful reality of decaying death about her, "Or why not just force people to obey by using your God magics? Why not just kill everyone in the world and raise up their dead bodies? The dead can't form rebellions or articulate thought. It'd be easier than commanding the living, wouldn't it?" Such macabre thoughts did little to affect the girl's numbed spirit. Ruth felt so very... Hollow. Not sad, mayhaps a slight bit angry, but most definitely apathetic.

"Thou art thy intermediary, Prophet," The scales against her back were brimming with an almost painful heat. The girl's pale skin was taking on a reddish tone from it. Ruth cared little - she had grown adjusted to the sensation of heat. Attached even, "Clearly ye art a pitiful executioner, albeit a more eager one than expected... Thy shalt take a more active role hence forth," The Dragon's maw shifted from it's perch causing his neck's scales to slide against the girl causing her to slouch. Ruth felt a tinge of shame in her apathetic state at her God's comment upon her competency, "As to the matters of enslavement: Thy's power can enslave the minds of Men as well as their flesh, yes, but the heart desires as the heart desires: freedom from illusion. They must join of their own volition or be coerced as any enthrallment shalt fade quickly in the face of mounting hours turned days," The Dragon's eyes once more came to rest upon the girl as his snout lowered into her view. Ruth lips spread into a faint smile at the sight of his Hell-eyes, "The dead are dull."

"That's all? They're boring? That's rather anticlimactic. I guess it's... A reason at least," A sudden breeze reminded the girl of her torn clothes. She was thankful it was just her skin that was showing and not something more... Private. Her cheeks shifted into a brighter shade as she felt exposed, "I don't suppose one of your Godly powers happens to have the ability to repair my garment?" She asked with a hint of dry humor. The snow-slit eyed her capriciously, "Do you...?" It was a genuine question. The Dragon had displayed many abilities and, if he spoke true, he had many more he was yet to express.

"Nay," The girl shifted against the beast's massive jaw. His snout parted as his tongue lapped at the air. She was disappointed albeit not very surprised, "But... Yes, that inspires within thy a query. Ye's flesh is soft and weak. Nothing respects nor fears what is weak.. How could thou ever be a true monarch if thee art so weak?" Ruth lowered her head as black Drake's low voice hummed. Her lips frowned. A part of her wanted to argue otherwise but why lie? Instead she let her heart fill with the Gift of the Void; melancholy, 'Yet if ye were to be clad in scales of night-black then no spell, claw, or blade of Man could harm ye. Thou may assert theeself as a juggernaut of resilience... Mayhaps indeed if thou were clad in scales thou may opt for a position of potency. But how could'st thy achieve this? Ssssssssrgrgrgrgrgrgrg..."

"Hmmm... What a strange mental image. Have you ever seen a human with scales? That'd be a most unnatural sight," The girl mused alongside her God. She had a difficult time imagining what he described without picturing a strangely deformed, hunched over reptilian with a gangly, lithe, humanoid build, "Very freakish I dare say... Rather frightening even," Deep down a part of her knew she should be furious yet the rest of her was too tired to muster any wrath towards her God. She didn't want to argue with him anyway... She felt so very tired, "I would rather have wings then scales myself. Or the ability to spit fire! I'd like to breathe fire... It'd be like magic," Ruth pondered a sudden question in the recess of her mind. The Dragon's ability to breathe fire seemed to stem from vocal magics. She licked her lips as a small, excitable, almost childish aspect of her person roused from deep inside her apathy, "Could you... Could you teach me to breathe fire?"

"Thy can do as ye wishes, yes, but doing so will take many a moon. It is not an easy talent to master nor harness for doing so comes at a steep price," The Dragon's eyes had long since lost it's aggressive glare. He now seemed to invite a curious aura from the girl. Ruth met his gaze with a genuine albeit weak smile, "Thy can not grant thee wings... However thy can bestow upon thee one of thy scales to insulate thou from death," That peeked the girl's curiosity... And her empathy. The young woman's smile fell as her eyes became rife with concern.

"Wouldn't it hurt to remove your own scales? Won't that render you vulnerable? I... I don't want you to hurt your over me..." Ruth spoke with sincerity. She looked into her God's flaming eyes with a silent stare of woe, "Would you really maim yourself just to spare me from future pain?" It seemed a most queer idea to the girl. The Dragon huffed a strange sound as he averted his gaze to hide some unknown emotion, "I... I don't deserve such a mercy... I'm too weak."

"Thy am the master of pain. It can not effect thy as easily as ye's ilk," The star-beast spoke calmly to girl like a mentor to his pupil. His strong voice spoke reassurances that calmed the girl's aching nerves, "Thou hath a foul tendency to be injured like bramble is to burn. Zu'u, Alduin, grows weary of healing thee so frequently. This shalt grant thee strength; invulnerability against Mortal harm. Mayhaps a sliver of thine power shalt trickle unto thee's flesh after prolonged contact." Ruth pushed aside the implicit insult to focus on something much more extravagant. Her eyes suddenly gleamed silver excitement as her head rose swiftly.

"Divine power...? Like... Like magic!? Are you saying your scales will let me wield sorcery!?" True emotion glimmered through youthful silver eyes like the shining beacon of a lighthouse. The young girl clasped grew a most sublime smile upon her pale lips; thoughts of death fading away as thoughts of wonder replaced them, "Or... Or are you being metaphorical again?" The smile fell as realism took its place. The last time the Winged Titan had such words it turned out to be mere fancy... She still felt some degree of embarrassment from that incident.

"Thine powers art nought sorcery but of the Thu'um; Dreaming Decay; Grim Deliverance: Entropy. Magic is a thing of illumination; of endless possibilities; of creation's grasp over destruction: fantasy dictating physical reality's definition," The Dragon explained in without directly answering. It seemed he prefered for young Ruth to come to her conclusions rather than giving them to her outright. The girl nodded knowingly as she pretended to understand, "Thine scales, thine plasmas, thine heart all contain trace elements of Entropic decay - the purist of the nethermost forces. It is the power of the Nothing-Child manifest into a siren's wail that shatters the fundamental laws of existence as it pleases," Once again the girl nodded as if she understood. All this talk of Godly magics only served to confuse the young woman further. In her eyes magic is magic regardless of origin. Why distinguish between them? "Dou'st thee understand?"

"Not even a little," The girl admitted in earnest, "But it sounds really important! And powerful," The Drake hissed a noise that reminded Ruth of a grumpy old man's sigh. That made her smile for some queer reason. It also caused her thoughts to drift to legends of the Light Lord... It was said he would often times assume the form of an old man or, at othertimes, a golden stag to test the hearts of Men. That inspired Ruth down a tangentially related school of thought, "Hmmm... Why don't... Why don't you eat the Gods of Light and Dark? If you destroy them the people will have no choice but to follow you," The girl finished her question with a wide smile as though she were a daughter presenting her father some sort of prized trinket, "That would be a truly spectacular battle to behold... And proof of your own Divinity to those who would say otherwise! And I'm sure the flesh of the Gods would taste spectacular upon your tongue! I-if the Gods actually have flesh that is... I've never seen one of them," The smile fell somewhat as Ruth's eyes furrowed, "Surely they have flesh, right? All things have flesh... Except spirits! But aren't the Gods kind of like spirits? But their not really spirits... Their not really people either. They are Dragons though... Dragons have scales. Huh... I... Hmm. I'm not so sure anymore. I think I confused myself..."

"Hhhhhhhrrrrrrrgggggsssss...?" A long, questioning hiss emerged from the Dragon's maw like low quaking rythem. Ruth felt quite confident in her Deicide-derived idea. Why not kill the very Gods themselves? There was no going back now so the girl figured they should fully commit themselves to the role of villains. It was as if a Took had taken hold of her ability to reason, "Tempting... Very tempting. Thy said thou's Gods number twine. Too where doth their domain lie? Is it within the far off yore or nearby? Thine hungers for a feast beyond mere earth or Men." The Dragon did query quite the contrary. Ruth let her right arm lower from her chest so that it may rest upon her raised knee. Pale, bruised flesh seemed to almost glow in the dim firelight like oily milk. Black hair hung like stillborn serpents as wisps of acrid smoke brustled them. Silver eyes bore pupils that reflected the red glowing fire as if themselves orbs of Hell-Hate.

"One lies upon a moutain to the distant south... The Light God resides upon that moutain. He watches over the First Tree there. The other one... I don't know. Somewhere dark I assume. Maybe a deep pit or chasm?" T'was a fragile guess at best. Young Ruth did shrug her shoulders as her reddish-silver eyes shifted eeriely, "Maybe he swims through the deep depths of the night sky?" Some had told Ruth that the moon itself was the Dark Lord's domain. That thought always seemed most silly to the youth... The moon is a force of light! Not intrepid darkness... She, not it, was a sweet nurturing mother who sought to guide the lost and the beastial through the oily nights. It was the moon who gave Ruth's ancestors passage into these lands... At least that is what the legends her mother had told her of claimed, "Maybe he's in the great beyond? Or mayhaps he's in the ocean. Now that I am pondering it... From whence did you come, Alduin? Where were you born?"

---

"Thy birthplace was a ocean of chaos... Of pain... Of madness... It could only be describe in this tongue as the All-Life. It was hideous," The First of Kings began to recall distant memories only dimly - though not for a lack of mental fortitiude but rather because of a lack of interest. The Eldest Elder was focused on the lunar eyes of his increasingly... Curious protege, "Thy found it's blinding oceans of silver-crimson existence most blinding. The light burned. The darkness choked. New things rose. All were new... Death had yet to be born by Life's first passing. Thy hadn't the means of cognition; but instinct illuminated thy's fury before all else. What of thou's birthplace, thine Pyt?" The Black Wyrm asked only for the sake of directing the conversation elsewhere. The Twilight God shifted his right wing as his underbelly grew close to kissing the earth. He drew closer to the cold, cool flesh of his Disciple. Her touch brought back nostalgia of snow-ridden peaks and great barren lands blanketed in frost.

"Dkksssssshhhhkkkkh..."

The shifting of the whip-like tail uplifted crumbling ruins of dead huts, "I remember little of my old home... I was very young at the time. I do recall a great tree presiding over a large hill," Began the child. Alduin was somewhat surprised with how well she had taken today's turn of events. The Tyrant Wyrm probably shouldn't have burned all the slaves but his anger is all-consuming. Some of them could've been useful though, "I recall the scent of lavenders... A constant and gentle breeze... I remember sometimes attending my father and brother on hunting trips before..." She trailed off as her happy demeanor shifted into a more somber one. The Dragon felt a tinge of some strange emotion at the twisting of her face's sad features. He wasn't sure what it was but he knew he didn't like its Void-born touch, "You... You said you had a father once. What was he like?"

"Thy father is a fool and a contrarian. He is powerful yet extremely foolish... Thy father, Bormah, is a Took and a oaf; senile and demented. Let that be all that is said of him here. Rgrgrgrgrgrnnnnssssss... The ones in the barn shalt be put to the grindstone. Thy shalt raise them as Weights. Dou'st thee seek to protest this?" The Wyrm sought to draw out his Prophet's mentality. She seemed so very unlike herself in this state... Strangely lucid yet absent. Her emotions were fleeting. It struck the Dragon like a form of dark mania, "Art thou content to watch thy raise an army of corpse-walkers?" He could feel her cold flesh against his heated scales as her palm shifted to the base of his neck which rested low. Her touch always seemed to soften the furnace-heart... The Dragon despised the touch of Men yet Ruth was an exception.

"It doesn't sound very heroic..." The girl began solemnly. The Eldest Elder could smell conflicted emotions inside the youth, "Seems rather monstrous. I'd rather they live... But I rarely get what I prefer." She spoke in a defeated tone that most displeased the great King of Kings. The ground shook as Alduin's right limb shifted upward. Sword-teeth gleamed in the firelight. The Wyrm figured his Prophet was in a fugue of some sort. It will pass in due time.

"Ye shalt gain whatever thy deem thou worthy of," Alduin softly reprimanded the girl for her woeful attitude, "What is the greatest kingdom this world has to offer?" As the Drake's body rose high did his mind begin wondering. He needed more slaves... More tribute. These ones were already too far gone into weakness and insufferableness, "Thy wants to set an example; a declaration to all. Thy needth to make a statement," Destroying one village in the deep wilderness means nothing. No one will know - no one will care. Villages are razed every single day. He needed to be heard, "Better yet... Which kingdom lies closest to ye's Light Lord?" Great Alduin sought to to make a threat unto all the world! No one could refuse his call afterwards. Not these Gods of Light or Dark, not Men, not even Fate itself! All would have to make it evidently clear where their loyalties lie.

"That would be Caldicia of the South. He shares his name with his lands. He is said to be a master of bending light and shaping it into concrete form," Ruth provided a vaguely interesting nugget of information. Light magic was rare back in Nirn. Not unheard of mind, no, yet rare enough to be considered unique whenever it was roused. It was more common than it's antithesis, darkness magic, but only by a slight margin. Light magic was primarily the domain of Meridia, Lady of Infinite Energies. Light is the intrinsic manifestation of existence itself; sustaining power that converts particles and neutrons into life-giving energy. The trees of Nirn were all capable of tapping into this magical power as a form of sustanince. 'Photosynthesis' was a term the ancient Dwemer used to describe it yet their understanding of the reality of the situation was, and always has been, extremely biased towards their Gods of Logic, Math, and Harmonics. They dared not dream of the metaphysical realities beyond their immediate observations, "Would you kill them all as well?"

"Thy has hatched a new scheme. The maggots will always seek to rot pure wood. Ssssrgrgrgrgrgrnnnnssss... Where lies the greatest graveyard this world has too offer? One that is home to great kings, warriors, or scholars," The Dragon began silently calculating a new plan of advancement. In the elder years of history long lost the Mortals were so much easier to control. They were strong, ruthless, hardened, and easy to cultivate. This new lot is already entrenched in ages-long worship of other Divines. The scheme was taking shape now. The Beast of Aldugga always had a gift for twisting the perceived might of his enemies into their weaknesses. Pride invites short-sightedness. Short-sightedness breeds exclusion. Exclusion births repression. Repression resents favoritism's kiss... "Which of ye Gods is the most beloved? How elderly art they by comparison to the younger?" It would be not the first time the Beast of Aldugga corrupted a God from their natural preselections. Mayhaps the Red God of Ruin shalt have company in due time... A kindred spirit.

"I have not the slightest inclination of their age. As old as the world maybe? Older? I simply cannot say," The girl began to scratch her chin thoughtfully. The gesture reminded the Tyrant Wyrm of the late Nahkriin albeit he had a thick beard. Nahkriin was so much less volatile then this child. So much less expressive by comparison to her... The Dragon wasn't sure which he preferred, "The God of Light is by far the more beloved. Not too many pray to the Dark One... They say that doing so is to beckon the Demons, curses, and bad luck," Ruth shuddered at that. The Dragon took note of how little the child did speak of the Dark God... He seemed an afterthought to her. Why? What had he done to warrent such a nefarious reputation? How... Gullible was he? "The only graveyard I know of that meets your stipulations would be the Sanctimonious Pit. It is a obscure location far to the east hidden by magic and by... Other, more dangerous things. They say it lies within the Bleeding Forest shrouded by mischievous Fae." Fae? As in Faeries? What a curious turn of events. Are these Fae the same ones the Dragon had witnessed in millennias long pass? Mayhaps the name was simply coincidence and the entites were of different statures... If they were the same that means Alduin is not the first of the Divine Spirits to arrive here. As much as I do despise that Wyrm for his inexorable rage that often births short-sighted stupidity I must admit that, like him, I would prefer for this world to remain hidden. I expect that he will fulfill his own role in hiding this realm as I myself have done for some time now. The only incongruent possibility is that he will not desire to remain hidden forever. He will return home sooner or later and, by doing so, doom this world to the endless whims of the Daedric flood... Unless... Yes, you, yes... There is the other one. He defeated Alduin already... He could do so again if the need arises...

"If ye Gods art as young as this earth then they art but children. This bodes well," Children can be easily swayed thanks to their inexperienced minds. Ruth was living proof of this. So too was the foul Man-Drake. And Nahkriin. Young Gods aren't as naive as young Men, yes, but they are still young, inexperienced, and daft. All Gods are as unto children before the All-Devourer... All except for three, "The Dark God reigns over the Demons, aye? Whoever lords over him lords over them," An army of monsters could be used for a great many purposes - such as the intimdation of Men into worship. Would they not praise their perceived savior with adoration? The Dragon would smile were he in possession of lips with which to do so, "What of these Fae? Art they a force beholden to nary a master? Art they a military of some queer sort?" The Fae of Tamriel, more commonly known as either Pixies or Faeries depending on the region, were michievous and 'oft deadly creatures. They preyed upon the mentally weak, the young, or the prideful. They often were the source of many a lethal joke at the expense of Mortals. Their blood had a strange propensity, however, for intoxicating Men when merged with certain herbs and berries. Alduin knew this for Nahkriin had developed the recipe for this drink after genociding the Fae clan of Briar's Oak in the elder regions of southern Hammerfell. It was a very long and bloody conflict... Likely because most of the Mortals involved were horribly intoxicated to the point of incompetence or hallucinations. It was not the proudest moment in Alduin's long history of lordship.

"The Fae are slaves to no one save their Red King's axe. They're creatures of the Great Tree and as such are creatures with no understanding of true death. They are immortal but... But not like a God is immortal," Immortal Faeries? What a queer notion. Who could've contrived such a wild anomaly? An immortal faerie... Alduin would dismiss it as nothing more than a tall tale had he not witnessed far stranger things himself such as talking dogs or horses that defy gravity or Mortals that can split their bodies apart into parasitic appendages, "The Fae are said to be capricious things. They toil under a Goddess who seeds new life through death. I saw a Fae once... Back when my father was alive. I only saw it for a second or two but... But I still saw it. It was caught in a lure designed for a hare. It was a strange creature to me. Short, hairy, built like man yet it had the head of a deer. It was unruly... Though I suppose I must of been quite the oddity to it as well." The description was unlike any Faerie the Black Wyrm had ever encountered. They were typically creatures of insect-like sizes with human bodies and the wings of a wasp. Few of them even had hair let alone enough to be considered hairy by human standards. How queer a notion the girl presented... They were definitely not related to the Fae he knew.

"Ye hath pleased Zu'u, Alduin, for now. Thou hath offered many new understandings. Explain to thee the story of ye's Fae God," A new God had entered the equation. A new rival. How would this alter affairs? The Eldest Elder had yet to determine the potency of this realm's Deities and as such was uncertain. Mayhaps even one of these Gods could challenge him? Mayhaps all three were as pitiful as the magics harnessed against him by their followers? Unlikely as the latter option was it still remained a possibility. Another thought began to rise within the Wyrm, "Ye's silver eyes art scarce... Ye hath said once that it was linked to the Light God. How is this possible?" The Drake recalled when the child first made contact with him. He recalled how the girl housed within herself a dormant power... He had thought of it little since then. Too many matters to tend too. But now that things have slowed? Now that memory had morphed into a growing suspicion. Curses, blessings... There's very little separating the two.

"My mother told me that silver eyes are a curse of the Light. My ancestors did... I'm not sure what. They had to of done something to upset the God of Light. He took away their magic and afflicted them with silver eyes to mark their blasphemy... We are a lonely people," Silver eyes met ruby ones. The girl flashed a weak smile. The Drake found it a most charming gesture, "I can only say the Fae God lives in a tree. Or maybe she is a tree? The stories are a little contradictory... I..." The girl trailed off. She bit her lip lightly, "I... I have a strange question to ask of you: what is the most vile creature you have ever encountered?"

"Sssssssnnnnnnnnrgrgrgrgrgrgrg... The most wicked beast thy hath witnessed was a Unicorn," The girl blinked vacantly. Alduin shifted his head as his jaws lightly kissed the earth, "An Aedric spirit in the shape of a four legged, maned beast with a penchant for eating life," The stare was no less confused. The Dragon huffed with light frustration, "A flesh-eating horse." The girl's eyes flickered with something resembling recognition. Her hair fluttered in the wind.

"Ohhhh... How is that any worse than a wolf or a bear?" The girl's remark struck a cord with the Dragon. His eyes shined brightly with a flaming though tempered anger like a father scolding his daughter, "I don't see any danger within them that surpasses a wolf pack or hungry cave-dweller," The Wyrm shifted against the ground as his tail whipped through the air. He huffed his frustration like an angry dog. A very, very, very, very big dog.

"A Unicorn is a most fearsome foe! It is a ruthless monster of immense efficiency... Many a Drake fell to their numbers upon blood-soaked gold," The Eldest Elder conjured forth many memories of grazing herds. The foul beasts would hide amongst typical mares to lure their prey into a false sense of security, "Their hide is immune to all spellcraft or Mortal blades. They are many times stronger than their sizes would suggest... They strike like thunder! And like the wind they are gone without so much as a hoofprint to track!" The foul things had devoured the hearts of dozens of lesser Wyrms during the early days of the Dragonic takeover. They were like swarms of white consuming all flesh they came into contact with. They were horrifying... Fascinating but frightening.

"Sounds rather daunting... How were they defeated?" The Dragon broke eye contact. He felt a stabbing of hateful regret raking against his pride, "Alduin?" The Unicorns were never truly defeated. The best that the Dragons managed was too driven them into the domain of the Heartsland and corner them there. They were so very cruel... The myths about a Unicorn's purity is just that: a myth.

"Rgrgrgrgrgrgrgr... Hath thee bore witness to the mighty Leviathans of the Heavens?" The Wyrm sought to redirect the flow of the conversation into a new topic - one that didn't maim his ego, preferably. The girl's face twisted with sudden confusion, "Thy thought not. They were whales whom swam through the air akin to their sea-bound brothers. They made a fine feast for thine Drake-servants." The God-Dragon did state so quite factually. Young Ruth's face showcased a mild intrigue that, in turn, caused Alduin to feel some strange, warming sensation.

"I guess that is a queer beast indeed... What is a whale?" The child asked most naively with big, wide eyes. Alduin twisted his snout as he cocked his head, "I assume it to be a fish. Is that correct?" Scarlet eyes did ooze waves of skepticism. The girl did not flinch under the Dragon's silent scrutiny. He liked that about her.

"Nay..." The great Wyrm began in a somewhat uncertain tone, "They art of the same breed as air breathers. The creatures art great swimmers of varying sizes. Some art predators whilst others scavengers. Some art comparable in scale to lesser Dragons whilst the greatest are akin to flesh-drapped moutains." The girl nodded her head as if to signify her absorption of the knowledge. The vast Wyrm did shift his scaled hide against the child's soft skin. He would soon sever from his hide those very scales that she now rested against... He relished in her cold touch while it lasted. Alduin thoroughly enjoyed the arctic cold for it was one of the few things capable of bringing him some level of inner peace.

"You haven't spoken much about Dragons. What are they like?" Ruth asked in a small voice as blood seeped from her soft features. The gore of her recent kill still remained, "Are all of them as violent as you?" Alduin found her bloodstained features almost beautiful in the pale firelight. Not in the physical sense, no, but in an abstract manner: the idealized form of his Prophet should be one of blood - of power. Currently young Ruth reflected that perfectly. That is what the Dragon found so appealing in her visage.

"All of thine kin are innately aggressive, yes, but few are even remotely comparable to thyself. The Drakes can assume a variety of forms - our emotions, our power, our knowledge, and our environment all play a role in the molding of our physical forms," The girl was clearly enthralled by his words. Why wouldn't she be? Dragons are by far the most fascinating breed of creatures in all of creation. Even the Gods of the thousand Hells desire to conquer the Wyrm's power for themselves, "All of thine kindred possess vast wings with which too fly. Some are bird-like, others more akin to reptiles, whilst some are shaped like fish. All of them would be large relative to the diminutive Mortals albeit much smaller than thyself." The ancients once believed that Dragons were hatched from eggs laid by Jills. This is false. No true Dragon was ever hatched - They were created at the dawn of time itself already in possession of a fully matured body. Their minds, however, were young once...

"Some might claim to ye that us Dragons art creatures of fickleness and of capriciousness. These rumors are true. Some might claim to ye that us Dragons crave for innumerable golden or jeweled treasures. These rumors are partially true. Some might claim to ye that us Dragons art evil creature. These rumors art false," Alduin's body shifted once again. His Hell-eyes spied the barn. He fixated upon it as fresh waves of malice rose up within his furnace-heart. He stretched his forelimbs as he rose tall. The time for talking is nearing its end, "Some might even claim we Dragons are without mercy, compassion, or love. Let it be known that Zu'u, Alduin, greatest of all the Dov, proclaims otherwise! The undeniable truth of the matter is thusly: Dragons art predators. We are killers by nature. For a Dragon to recognize a Mortal as a ally over a slave... It is a sign of weakness in thine culture," Had the other Wyrms been present many would have accused the Black Dread of growing soft based off his treatment of the child. Perhaps that line of thought has a point... Perhaps not. Red eyes glimpsed sullen silver ones, "Let it be known that most Dragons art fools in truth. They art so consumed by ego as to be unable to see plain truth: individuality is a weakness. No empire can be lorded over by a single gestalt inhabitant. No law may be enforced without citizens to uphold it. No King - or even God - could reign without his most valuable possession: a true stalwart companion." Ruth looked to her God-Dragon with a pleased expression. His words helped her overcome her doubts. The Dragon would not let his dear friend be sullen. She needed something to be proud about, to be happy with...

"Thank you... You're too kind. I..." She paused for a few moments, "I... I've been meaning to ask this for awhile: can all Dragons breathe fire and frost?" Alduin shook his head as to answer silently. He was not expecting the question. The girl's body shook as the ground quaked; the black mass of the titan-shape rising into the air as he came to stand tall, "What do they breathe then?" T'was a most simple question. The Dragon felt an inkling of amusing.

"We breathe air," Ruth's face fell into an expression of mild annoyance. Thin arms crossed over her small chest. Alduin found her reaction mildly amusing, "Some have learned how to breathe underwater as well. One of them, Dinokgraadnev, had learned how to breathe nought but blue, acidic jelly," The Wyrm mused as he took a long step forward. The child now rested below his belly. Young Ruth had assumed a more upright sitting position without his scales to lean against, "There were even a handful of lesser Drakes who had learned how to breathe thoughts. Some breathe in lava. Thy know'st only one who hath even learned to breathe time." Great black scales came to reside over the gaping hole in the barn's roof. Ruby-red eyes peered inside.

Within the makeshift prison laid the forms of the unfaithful or rebellious sorts. A few horses as well... "How queer a sight... Thy hath not witnessed a white one before," The Dragon noted with a very mild case of curiosity. He could spy an albino pig near the back end of the barn half-buried in hay. The Dragon's tail began to coil about the structure as wooden beams crunched, "Hares, foxes, eagles, steeds, humans, elves, and even Daedra hath thy witnessed in possession of pure white flesh, hair, or feather. Never a swine before."

The Dragon could hear the sounds of muffled voices within as they called out. Some reached out to him as they proclaimed their deep regret; shouting that they now knew him as a God. Others hid in the grime or the dark. A few hurled rocks or farming utensils. One of them even tried throwing a fireball that pathetically fizzled into smoke upon contact with night-black scales. Alduin was almost tempted to bemuse the latter act.

"Grgrgrgrgrgrnnnnssssss... Vir qurnen do niin. Zu'u tovok...? Pyt! Fent Zu'u krii niin? Fent Zu'u vahraak niin?" The flaming eyes peered upon his Prophet with a gleaming charm. The child had now come to stand as she rested before the ashen remains of the one known as Mortuus. Her posture was quite low. She seemed not to hear him, "Rgrgrgrgr... Children art nuisance-birthers. PYT!" The second call came much louder. The girl was startled as she jumped in place. Her silver eyes quickly connected with his ruby ones.

"Y-Yes!?" She shouted back in a fright. Her legs moved swiftly as she came to reside before the Eldest Elder, "What is the matter, great Dragon...?" She asked in a hesitant tone. The girl's momentary lapse seemed to have swiftly evaporated. Yet there was something in her silver eyes... Something the Black Dragon had seen before yet rarely enough that he couldn't immediately name it. He opted to dismiss the oddity outright to focus on the more important task.

"Thy tires of meddlers. What of ye? Hath thou any inkling to share?" Alduin's right wing rose up before landing on the structure's roof. The entire barn quaked as screams erupted from within, "Personally thy wishes them all destroyed. Art thou too protest otherwise?" The strange emotion within those silver eyes did beckon a hint of pertinence from the Tyrant Wyrm. His serpentine tongue did flicker at the open air as he tasted sweet, sweet terror. He desired his Prophet to air her true thoughs on the matter - not that pitiful excuse from earlier.

"Bbbbbooooggghhh!"

"I don't suppose you would be willing to release them?" The child asked regardless of the fact that both parties knew the answer. The barn's roofing began to give way under the weight of a Black Wing, "They'll probably die anyway in the wilderness... Or they'll starve," Her face did not betray any empathy. That did stoke the Wyrm's malicious pride, "I... I just... Is there any possibility that you would leave them alone?"

"Nay," Alduin answered in a droning tone as he once again eyed the resting place of the Mortals. Releasing them is out of the question - that is too risky, "These mongrels may have potential if properly harnessed for thy purposes.Yet they hath proven themselves untrustworthy several times over... What shalt be done with them?" The Dragon's tail whipped through the air and landed atop a smashed hut. What little of it that remained had been flattened into debris. The Dragon sought audience from his Prophet yet this was proving itself to be a waste of his time.

"Kill them I suppose... Or maybe bind them with a spell? Raise their bodies as zombies? Do whatever you wish. I have little choice in the matter regardless." The great Wyrm rolled his scarlet eyes. How meek... How pitiful a response. Had Nahkriin stood here he would of argued his point or revealed the flaws in Alduin's own machinations. This child was nothing like Nahkriin. He was strong. She was weak. Yet the child did display some potential... And she was certainly more charming than her predecessor.

"Let us return to the topic of ye's eyes as thy ponders their fate," The Dragon left his perch as he begun to take lumbering steps towards the well. His tail uncoiled from the lonely barn, "Thou hath come to believe that thee doth posses a dormant power. Of what potency thy know'st nought." The God sought to divert the conversation elsewhere as he ruminated on the cattle. He was teetering on whether to spare the Mortals or destroy them. Both were tempting options - one would remove the threat outright whilst the other might provide useful slaves. Yet if all possessed the ability to harness magic freely... It was a threat that could not be taken lightly. He was growing closer and closer to making up his mind on the matter.

"What are you implying, mighty Dragon?" The girl rose slowly to her feet. The blood of her victims still gleamed in the firelight as if a haunting portrait of her future, "What power could my eyes possibly possess?" Alduin lapped at the ashes of the slain men and women. Mayhaps he acted too swiftly... A few could've made for strong slaves.

"Perhaps ye art not as powerless as ye doth claim. Thy do'ust claim thee art a distinct lot," The Dragon's maw rose through the air as he huffed loudly. His eyes spied a distant eagle soaring through the air some distance away. His raptor claws rose before falling unto the crushed well to bury any evidence of his slaughter, "Thy was quite fond of digging a burrow. What a waste of dirt..." The Dragon mused to himself openly. His fangs did glimmer pale sparkles of distant sunlight, "Perhaps if thy were to find a way to release this power than thou may gain a semblance of mystic might. At the very least it shalt be a distraction from the cruelty of boredom's harsh grasp." The Dragon did think aloud so as to invite conversation from the girl. He longed for a true debate against a like-minded sort that may stimulate his senses fully. Alas Ruth was a farcry from that...

"I don't follow..." The girl's face was one of skeptic disbelief as her lips pressed into a thin line. The greatest of all the Drakes did shift his gaze back to the barn, 'Zu'u dreh hind wah du niin tul... Fos nev do sliin. Zu'u los kast ko lot lor horvutah. Fos paak.' The Wyrm did mentally ruminate upon his own indecisiveness. The girl's eyes shined brightly in the dark smoke produced by scarlet flames. The raging fires cast an eerie red light upon the girl's features, "Are you suggesting that I... That I have some sort of... Magic within my eyes?"

"Thy suggests that thou hath a great power inside of ye that may be channeled through thou's eyes as a conduit. A power that is intrinsic to the nature of life itself... It is a familiar sensation to thy," The girl's eyes gleamed with a bubbling excitement though it was tempered by clear skepticism and drowsy apathy. The Dragon's maw did rise into the air as his scarlet eyes settled upon a distant moutain - The very one the All-Devourer had tunneled through during his descent from the Heavens. A plan began to take shape, "Perhaps... Hhhsssssnnnnrgrgrgrgrgrgrgr... Indeed. Perhaps it will do for thine machinations." The forest, the graveyard, then the Kingdom, and then... And then the very Gods themselves.

"What... What form of power might I possess? And why would it remain hidden all my life...? I could've used a secret magical power or two a few times before..." The girl's voice was one of hesitant curiosity. Alduin took a lumbering step forward as his serpentine neck slithered towards the flaming walls serving as a barrier. His tongue tasted blood in the air... Blood and the taste of roses upon his sensitive taste buds, "I don't understand! My family is cursed by the Gods so why would I harness any power? It seems... Whimsical."

"All curses can be harnessed as weapons. The curse of the Soulless is such that they must feed upon the blood of the living which, in turn, imbibes them with a semblance of immortality. The Half-Beasts are cursed with unending hunger for the hearts of the unweary yet that hunger feeds their inhuman strength. The Raven-Witches of the north are afflicted with a curse that deforms their bodies yet grants them immense powers over fire and frost," The Eldest Elder did speak slowly as he rose up upon his hind limbs. The Dragon's wings folded close to his sides as he adopted a theropod-like stance, "Few curses are truly without boon. Most are simply transfiguration or transmogrify used to graft a facsimile of weakness unto the target. All conflict is a source of strength regardless of it's source: even silver eyes." Great Alduin did speak with experience and wise words so as to ease his dear Pyt's concerns.

"Bbbbboooooggggghhhh!"

"I... I think I understand...?" The earth shook far more intensely with each footstep now that all the Wyrm's weight was distributed upon two limbs over four. Large pits formed around the Dragon's raptor-claws with each step, "If I am cursed I could... I could harness that power as a weapon against others? That... I... I always wanted to wield magic..." The girl's tone suggested a darkness within; an eager gleam in her eyes as her lips spread into a soft smile. The Black Dragon had hoped the spilling of blood would kill her weakness yet it seemed to do far more than that. It was as if a dormant predator had lurked within the child only now awoken by the call of murder. It pleased the World Eater immensely.

"Bbbbbooooooggggghhh!"

"Bbbbbboooooogggghhh!"

"Bbbbbbooooooooggggghhh!"

"Close enough to marry the concepts," Scarlet eyes turned upon the barn once more. His mind had been made fully now, "Let us make pilgrimage, Pyt. Let us leave this hallow of death. Thy hungers for greater dominations." The great Dragon did lift a great raptor claw as he walked ever forward. His tail did raise into in contrast to dragging against the ground like it would were the Dragon in a quadrupedal stance. Ruth's haunting smile almost glowed in the growing darkness...

"Bbbbbbbooooggghhh!"

"Bbbbbbbooooooggghhhh!"

"Bbbbbboooogggghhhh!"

"Rgrgrgrgrgrgrgrgrnnnnsssssss..." The Wyrm's wounds were scarcely scars. The fell curse of the Dragonborn had almost entirely lifted by now; trace elements remaining only briefly. Alduin's beak-like jaw grumbled out audible displeasure as his crimson eyes fell upon the barn, "Death." It was a dictation more than anything else.

"Bbbbboooooggghhh!"

"Bbbboooggghhhh!"

"Bbbboooogggghhh!"

"YOL TOOR SHUL!" A jet of blood-red flames flowed from the great Tyrant's maw like water from a jar. Swiftly did the wooden confines of the structure give way to crackling and to smoke. Yells, screams, and animal cries conjoined into a single unified death rattle; belated the one who was it's origin.

"Bbbboooggghhh!'

"Bbbbboooggghhh!"

"Kkkkrrrrrdddddsssssshhhhhhkk!"

The clawed foot of the God-Dragon did demolish the entrance of the building in a swift motion. Burning debris and charnel pillars collapsed inwards to silence the horrible cries. The Beast of Aldugga paid no more attention as his maw slapped shut and his Hell-eyes fixed onto the child. The black tail of the Wyrm shifted high into the air.

"Bbbboooooogggghhhh!"

"Ddddbbbbuuuuurrrrrggggsshh!"

"Bbbboooggghhh!"

The thunderous crack of the long whip-like limb impacting against the barn sounded out for many leagues. The Black Drake's shadow swallowed the structure as crimson flames ate it down to ashen remains. The frightful light cast a ghastly glow unto the surroundings akin to the charnel pits of the Dead Lands.

"Bbbbbooooogggghhh!"

"Bbbbbbooooggghhh!"

"Bbbboooogggghhhh!"

"Let us begin our true adventure, thine Prophet," The low voice of the Dragon did beckon the youth. The girl's once white tunic gleamed red from the baleful firelight. She watched on in abject obsession as the barn crumbled in upon itself, "Pyt?" She did not react. She only breathed out a deep, almost relaxed sigh. The King of Kings did watch the girl's shadowy figure with such curiosity; t'was her thoughts on the matter so intense that it surpassed his own words importance? Mayhaps she had found herself victim to arrogance.

"Bbbboooogggghhh!"

"Bbbbooooggghhh!"

"Bbbbboooogggghhh!"

The earth shuddered with each step as the greatest of the Wyrms did circle his fledgeling disciple. He eyed her like a hawk would a mouse. Within her silver eyes did sparkle the reflection of bloody flames; consuming fixation upon ruination. It was a marvelous sight for the Drake to behold his own apprentice finally beginning to admire the beauty of Entropy... Mayhaps this will mark a turning point in her perpetually dreary demeanor? Hopefully so.

"Bbbboooogggghhh!"

"Bbbbboooogggghhhh!"

"Bbbbbooogggghhhh!"

"Thou art a most precious vestige..." Did Alduin muse to himself in a low yet excited tone. He knew now without any semblance of doubt that he made the right choice by choosing her. Scarlet eyes scanned the horizon with intrigue. The bright sun was soon to set in the growing gloom, "Yet it is time for us to depart... Krosis." The child was snapped from her fixation by the God-Dragon's snout prodding against her back. She stumbled forward as her knees buckled.

"W-what!?" Ruth swiftly turned to face her God with startled eyes. She seemed confused even as her silver irises crossed with his own, "I-I mean... Are we going...?" She spoke in a small voice not so different from that of a very young and very scared child. Alduin did lower himself until the scales of his maw kissed the earth. He shifted his head as to present the top of his neck to the child and to show himself as harmless to her. This sudden fear of her's left the Dragon feeling uncharacteristically sympathetic.

"Do not fear thy, little Pyt. We art companions in the end. Climb atop thy neck," Did the titanic Wyrm softly demand. Far too long it would take for the girl to travel on foot. This was the only feasible method of transportation if the Tyrant Wyrm wished it performed quickly. Young Ruth seemed hesitant yet obeyed nontheless. The Dragon made sure to conjure forth a freezing aura; his scales absorbing heat rather than generating it now. He did so as to not burn the girl's flesh, "Come now, Pyt. Be hasteful. The lunar mother doth rises tonight." For a brief moment did the great Dragon consider flying to the moon as he 'oft did to the twin sister and brother of Nirn. He opted against it as such an action would kill the child - There is no air for her to breathe when so high up. Let alone the arctic chill's effects on her fragile, human body... Red eyes spied a glinting wolf in the child's hand. She had reclaimed her medallion at some point.

"As you wish," Young Ruth did seek purchase upon the Dragon's hide with unsteady hands. She climbed him swiftly; her skills having improved since the last time this action was taken. The girl's ascent upon the Drake's neck was a swift one; her cold flesh against his cold scales. She felt warm to him now, "F-feels... Chilly up here..." The feeling of human flesh against his scales was a rather repugnant sensation yet he would suffer it for the sake of his apprentice. Had any other Dragons - Even his foes - Been present, however, Alduin never would've condoned such an action. It would make him look weak in their eyes.

"Chilly? What is chilly?" What a queer word that was. Chilly? How queer indeed. The Drake could not see the child from his current stance yet he could hear a brief snicker, "What is so amusing?" The Wyrm's long neck did rise into the air as he took a lumbering step forward. He began to stretch out his blackened wings.

"Oh, it's just... You don't know what chilly means? I... I guess I thought you knew everything," The girl's legs straddled the Black Wyrm's neck at the base of his head. His great curving horns did tower above the child, "It means something is cold. I'm not used to you being so cold." Even now her short limbs could barely stretch over her God's thick neck. She looked like a small reddish-white dot upon his vast black hide.

"Wwwwwsssssassshhhhhhhhh!"

"Neither art thy," The wings flapped a few times as the Eldest Elder prepared for his flight. His body tensed as he lowered himself low to the earth, "The frost is thy's sole comfort. The heat is a harsh reminder of lost and broken things," Memories of long lost Akavir and Atmora did race through the Dragon's mind. He felt a tinge of heartache, "But enough prattle! Thy hath an army that needs raising!"

"Wwwwwwssssshhhhhhooooooo!"

"Wwwwwssssssssshhhhhhhhhhhh!"

The beast began to take flight upon vast wings. The child clung to the night-black scales of the Drake as his neck shifted skybound. The flaming ruins of the barn did crackle as it's last survivor screamed out hopelessly. Death devoured Ruth's home in less then a day.

"Dddddrrrrrggggssssshhhhk!"

"Wwwwsssssshhhhhhhh!"

"Wwwwsssssshhhhhhooooooo!"

As the Dragon's feet left the ground did his tail impact against the crumpled, ruined barn like a battering ram. Fire, sparks, and wooden debris were sent flying outwards in all directions as if an explosion had been used. The flames spread quickly to engulf the entire village.

"Wwwwsssssshhhhhh!"

"Wwwwwwssssssshhhhhhh!"

And the two found themselves airborne as swiftly as the sun finally set. As the night-black shape of the Dragon found himself consumed by the growing gloom of night did the village now burn brightly like a beacon in the darkness. Great Alduin did fly swiftly as he made his way towards the distant mountain. Darker, more monstrous things found themselves leaving the dark oaks to explore this newly barren ghost town.

"Wwwwwwssssssshhhhhhh!"

"Wwwwwsssssshhhhhh!"

"Wwwwwwsssssshhhhhh!"

It is quite nice to see Alduin enjoying himself again - and I mean that genuinely. I was worried that the Dragonborn would slay him. It appears my fears were ill-founded. Not only that but the Wyrm retains my gift to him... Should I feel flattered that he still remembers how to use it? Or undignified that he reduced me merely to the status of 'Rival' to his young Prophet? I will let you decide that. Speaking of similar matters the girl is a very curious sort... Hungry for Knowledge... She takes after her father in that regard. He, too, asked many, many questions... Unlike her, however, it killed him. The lengths Men will go too in order to ensure their secrets remain secrets are extraordinary. Secrets... Secrets... Secrets... There are so few secrets left to discover... So few topics to learn of... Not even the others have managed to hide their secrets from me. I grow stagnant.

For too long have I toilied with too little reward. My Domain rots. My servants fester traitorous ambitions. My worshippers no longer desire Knowledge for Knowledge's sake. The Aurbis has grown dull... I am slowly walking the road of the Prince of Order or the Ebony Warrior-God. Soon... Soon I will know everything... In theory that is my ultimate desire yet it fills me with such... Such trepidation. The sole reason I exist is too learn... Too gather Knowledge... Too become all-knowing... What happens when I finally achieve that goal? It renders me obsolete... Useless... A relic of a bygone era. I... I... I am facing an obstacle that my Knowledge only strengthens. It is a dangerous path I walk... That is why I am writing this Book for you.

You... You, Child of Man and Dragon, I see you... Hear you... Taste you... Would you help an old God? A weary God... You have done so before. You served me in another world - one of invisble restraint, of broken Laws, and of stagnant Time. I remember you... You have gone by a thousand names and a thousand faces. You are as a Fire Bird; cursed, or perhaps blessed, to rise again from Death's sweet sleep. But I Know you for what you really are... You aided me during the Dragonic Rebellion. You aided me when the Brass Tower shattered Time itself so as to make all possibilities simultaneously occur much to my amusement. You aided me during the rise of the Thirteenth House Unmourned which was fueled by the Heart of the Dead God. You aided me in freeing the other Book from the old, senile man in his frozen hovel near the Collage...

Prisoner, Hero, Foe... Lorhkaan's Ghost... Void-Born... Anu's Champion... Son of Man's Father - Fated enemy of Entropy: Brother to all, Kindred to none... Or, as you are commonly known in this lifetime, Ysmir: Dragon of the North. Many are your titles and many your deeds.

You are the thirteenth and final of the Great Dreamer's illusionary figments... I Know you. I Know you very, very well in fact. I Know you are reading my latest Book. I am calling it Rise of Dread Alduin... Or perhaps Conquest of Alduin... The title is still pending. Regardless of that, I Know you are reading it because I left it where only you dare tread. I have done so in order to ask of you only this one final boon...

Find a way into Alduin's escape once you've delt with that pest known as Miraak. If you fail to do that... I suppose I will have to test Miraak's own claim to superiority over the Black Drake. Assuming you survive then I Know you will find your way to Alduin for I have already given the tools too you when we spoke for the second time in that hovel. Yes, the first Book. The Ogma Infinium. It houses many, many secrets.

Once you arrive you may do what comes most naturally to you. I Know that you will do what you must as will I. I have nothing to ask of you save for ensuring Alduin is dealt with swiftly upon your arrival. His presence will only drain the Knowledge this world has to offer me - not add to it. All else - including the Dragon - can be dealt with as you desire...

I already Know what you are thinking. "Why should I do this?" Because you cannot resist... Because it is in your nature, "What do you have to gain from this?" I predict you asking. I answer now as I always have before to such questions: Knowledge. What Knowledge exactly? That is my secret to Know. That is my nature as your's is to consume those who dominate. I thank you in advance for your assistance for you will do my bidding even if you believe you're not. Without any further ignominious details I shalt continue with my writing...

'Started: Reign of Alduin.'

---

Aria of Ashes here.

In the wise words of a great clown... "Hhhhiiiii...?" Been a fat minute I know. Sorry about that. Life's a bitch and its been kicking me around lately. Sorry for the, ehhh... Two month long delay. I really did try getting this chapter out sooner but, as I said, life's a bitch. And so too was writing this chapter. It went through a lot of iterations before settling on this one. Aside from that...

How are you all? I hope you guys are doing well. I've been better. I've also been worse.

So how do you think about the twist concerning the Narrator? I've been planting the hints for this twist as early as chapter 1. Any guesses as to who it might be? I won't deny that I wasn't exactly subtle at implying their identity so it's probably not hard to figure it out. To address a few matters concerning the 'mysterious' Narrator: they are not breaking the 4th Wall, they are addressing the Dragonborn who is reading the book which contains this story in-universe. Now the Dragonborn is an avatar for the player of Skyrim so I am writing this story in a manner where it feels like the Narrator is addressing you, the reader, to emulate that feeling.

I'm sure this chapter isn't what some of you expected. I try not to be too predictable. If I did my job right it should be understandable as to why the characters - namely Alduin - did what they did. If not... I suck I guess?

For those of who read Black Stars and are wondering about an update: soon! But not too soon. That's all I can say for now.

I don't got too much else to say save for this: remember Twisted Metal? Yeah? You do? Great! Now forget about it. I have a new story idea in the works. I'm calling it "Crimson Sonata." I've already got 6,680 words already written for it, too. I'll just describe it as "Castlevania: Lords of Shadow meets Rwby" Literally. Lots of ideas here and I'm taking inspiration from Vampire: The Masquerade for it as well. No need to go any further in explaining its story than that as it's still in its infantile form. The next publication I make - not counting the next chapter of Black Stars - will probably be Crimson Sonata but maybe not. So if you like classical horror, monstrous Vampires, demonic Werewolves, the literal Grim Reaper, time traveling Demons, Scottish Dracula, monsters, themes of betrayal and of redemption/damnation, Gothic Horror, Body Horror, and fics starring a certain someone who has become reoccurring in most of my fics then I suggest you keep your eye out for that one. If not than do as you were already I suppose. Fun fact time, right?

Fun fact: remember the Werewolf design for Skyrim? I'm betting you do if you made it this far. Remember the original Beowolf design for the Red trailer? Probably so if you're a Rwby fan. Put them side by side. Now, in the words of cinema's best Spiderman, "It, ehhh... It looks pretty familiar." The Beowolves in the Red Trailer are literally just Skyrim Werewolves with red eyes/teeth/claws and pure black fur/skin. These two series have been connected from the very start. Ironic, isn't it?

Fun fact: The Grimm Wyvern at the end of Volume 3 is known as Kevin. It is the only Grimm with a normal, human-like name. This name was coined by the fans but became so popular it was made canon. King Ghidorah's left head in Godzilla: King of the Monsters is named Kevin. It is the only Titan with a normal, human-like name. This name was coined by the fans but became so popular it was made canon. Weird how history repeats itself, eh?

Fun fact: Salem was originally going to have silver eyes. This was cut just before the final episode of Volume 3 aired but was recent enough that there exists a version of the final episode of Volume 3 that gives Salem silver eyes with red pupils that never saw the light of day. I cannot say why this was cut. But I am willing to speculate that at some point in development Salem was likely intended to be a sort of evil fairy Godmother-type character catered towards Ruby in particular. This would also explain Salem's interest in capturing Ruby alive which, in the current version of the show, is entirely unexplained... As is almost everything else relating to Salem. What a pity.

Final fun fact: Ruby Rose was originally intended to be haunted by the ghost of Summer Rose in a very literal sense. This idea was cut early into production yet remnants of it remain in the Red like Roses part 2 song where Ruby and Summer's ghost sing/argue with each other. This also fits more in line with the original concept for Ruby's character which was much darker than the one we got in the show. This combined with her originally being planned to be a wolf Faunus leads me to believe that Ruby wasn't just intended to be a Little Red Riding Hood stand-in but also a Big Bad Wolf stand-in. I can't help but wonder if the original Ruby Rose would've been a bit more... Villainous than the one we got. One can only dream I suppose.

Other than that... Comment time!

Misfit Fox - Hello again! Yeah, sorry for the long delay. I've been busy with... Everything I guess. As to Discord I'm perfectly willing to give it a shot. I downloaded the app but I'm not sure what to do now. Any assistance in that matter will be greatly appreciated.

I'm glad you're enjoying the story! I've worked quite hard on this particular chapter. Lots of new elements being introduced here. I hope you like it! And I wish you a good day/night as well.

Antex-The Legendary Zoroark — Thank you for the compliments! I very much view this chapter as an extension of the last one honestly. I originally planned for it to be one chapter yet it got too long so I split it in half. I hope this one suits your tastes as well! The conflict of faith and of desire is something I've always been keenly interested in. To some extent all of my stories have some shade of this theme present - some more than others though. I like conflicted protagonists with villainous mentors/parental figures I guess. As you said Alduin views what he does to Ruth less as 'corruption' and more as 'toughening her up.' The enlightenment will come later when he teaches Ruth about... To avoid spoilers let's just say he teaches Ruth about linguistics, eh?

One thing I do want to add about Draugr is a correction about a small misconception of sorts. Skyrim - the game not the Province - addresses them as 'Undead' like Vampires or Zombies. This is inaccurate. Draugr still have souls and are still alive - just not enough procreate or have fully functional bodies. They're kinda like Mummies in that sense. There are also different 'types' of Draugr. One is created by Alduin whereas the other, despite being called a Draugr, is basically a Zombie-Wendigo hybrid present in Morrowind. Just a short fun fact there.

When it comes to Gideon I'll just say he'll be more important once we hit Caldicia. Otherwise have a good day/night!

vastoisshin — One of the reasons I set out to create this story to really burrow onto the head of Alduin. I like to think of it as a character study of sorts. I feel too many stories depict Alduin as blatantly evil without analyzing his perspective or by judging him based off human metrics. That never sat right with me. As I mentioned to Atex-The Legendary Zoroak Gideon's origins will come to light when Alduin ventures to Caldicia's lands. That isn't to say certain details concerning Gideon's relation to Ruth won't come to light but, rather, that the full picture won't be clear until later.

Most of the important major plot points of the Elder Scrolls series can be traced back to Daggerfall even if only through a passing reference. Arena was basically just DD with a new coat of paint yet Daggerfall is what really evolved TES into its more unique form. Of course it was Morrowind which finalized that evolution yet without Daggerfall the Elder Scrolls series as we know it wouldn't exist. Here's a small fun fact: the map of Daggerfall is almost as large as the entirety of the British Isles. It takes real life months just to pass through one single Region. It is insanely titanic to the point of being ridiculous.

Indeed, Elder Scroll's comprehension of metaphysical space is always fascinated me. I feel that Dwarves of yore could easily have used the Heart of Lorkhan to travel into some distant world or something. I like to imagine they became the TES equivalent of aliens or something even if that is highly unlikely. They kinda look like aliens with their tall, lanky bodies, pele skin, and dark eyes too. Maybe I'm onto something here?

When it comes to the sheep lady all I'll say is I don't think Atlas would stoop to kidnapping this particular woman. Not while Ironwood is in charge at least. He strikes me as the kind of guy who wouldn't support such a decision unless it was the only way - assuming this is him pre-insanity. He would definitely arrest her though. Post-insanity Ironwood would probably gun down the sheep lady for working with Robin since she's a terrorist and thief.

That is about all. I suppose this is goodbye for now. Hopefully it won't take me another couple of months to update. I hope you all have a good day/night.

For now: I will return to the void and fade into ashes.