Mountainkeep

“Now, follow closely girl, and keep in step! Mountainkeep is a maze of a city, and I will not be wasting my first day back home hunting you down!"

Osthryn resists the urge to roll her eyes at Oswald’s tone, and gratefully accepts what advice could be found in his statement. Oswald’s 80 years of age barely rivals her 400 years, yet he treats her as a babe. She could only ascribe it to humans aging quickly – and with that, they stubbornly exert authority over any appearance of youth, regardless of true years lived.

She gathers her patience and follows him off the boat. Osthryn cannot help but stare at the nearing city in the distance. It proudly dominates the open mountain slope, the Keep looming large at the highest point. The size of the city is not what catches her attention; it is rather its confidence in placing all its buildings in direct reach of the sky above. While the Northerners had long since stopped carving their cities into cliff faces and underground cave systems, they still build their houses low and plant dense foliage and trees throughout their streets in an instinct to shield themselves from the skies.

The elders spoke often, and at length, of how her people reigned with terror. A terror so great that the humans retreated underground out of fear, rising up in the Last Darkening to slay their oppressors once and for all. This story made less and less sense to Osthryn as she grew older. While humans in Bettramon are fearful, it appeared that they were more often the aggressor toward Dragons than the other way around.  The eager fearlessness with which a Bettramoni village would raise their silver-tipped spears to a suspected Dragon and the conscientiousness with which the elders taught her to hide herself contradicted this history. The underground cities and aversion to the skies must point to more than just the tyrannical debt of Northern Dragonkind. Perhaps Osthryn would find answers as well as freedom in the South.

Osthryn tears herself from her thoughts, struggling to “keep in step" with her guide. Oswald’s pace is remarkable. His wizened hands grip a crooked staff, and his robes hang loosely off his bent back. It hardly feels fair that she had to walk at a near-trot to keep up with the shorter and frailer human. While Oswald’s brusque character and, frankly, curmudgeonly nature, could be off-putting, Osthryn still has a fondness for him. His gruff impulsivity is what drove him to rescue her, and beyond her rescue, Osthryn finds his shortness and honesty refreshing. At the time, accepting an apprenticeship under this little old man was an escape route. Now, it is not a terrible prospect in the least.

The city gates stand fully retracted, and litte attention is paid to those who enter. Typical of peacetime. Oswald hardly slows his step, giving Osthryn far less time than she would like to take in the sights around her. The cobbled streets are wide, comfortably accommodating diverse traffic of foot, horseback, and cart. The buildings are tall and squarely built. The lime-washed stone of the house facades create a brilliant shine of white that frames upward-winding roads. Brightly tiled roofs of red dot the cityscape, with matching door and window frames further brightening the view.

If the bright and open buildings are a new sight for Osthryn, the styles and accessories she sees when they near the Keep-district comes as a shock. Dragon-scale imitations are worked into breastplates, jewellery, bodices, goblets, and any sundry article one could name. Eyeshadow applied in silver, bronze, and gold fish-scale patterns adorn the under-eyes of the noble ladies, some even covering their hands in the pattern too. This imitation of what to Osthryn would be an intimate display of trust for Northern Dragonkind is simultaneously fascinating and an utter affront to her sensibilities.

Oswald gives her little time to drink even these sights in. Swiftly he continues deeper into the city, the streets becoming narrower and more twisting as they near the denser populated areas surrounding the Keep-district. Soon they come to their destination: an unassuming street-side house with overflowing flower-boxes and herbs hanging to dry above the front door.

Oswald’s pace breaks into a near-run, and the old man practically bursts through the front door. “Greetings, Martina! I have returned from my quest. I have garnered a grand many valuable notes, and here, you see the grand apprentice I have gained too!" Oswald’s severe and rushed demeanour dissolves into pure home-coming joy at the sight of his “Good lady wife". Osthryn is glad to finally see the woman that comprised one of the two subjects Oswald keenly spoke about throughout their journey: Dragons, and Martina.

Martina is richly dressed, and in contrast to her husband, very well put together. Dragonscale themes appear in her clothing, as it does with much of the fashion in Mountainkeep so far. Osthryn notices the absence of hand-painted dragonscale motifs on her skin with relief. 

“Oswald, dear, your journey was swift, but not nearly swift enough. Come in, for goodness’ sake. And Osthryn, darling, Oswald has written so much about his wonderful new apprentice. Do come in, you are so welcome here!" “Thank you kindly, Oumee," Osthryn greets Martina with a bow of her head, glad that she could recall the honorific typically used for an older married woman in the South.

Martina laughs, “Well, Osthryn, I hope you find what you seek here. It is unusual for an apprentice to be centuries older than their supposed master. I truly hope that you do not see me as old."

Osthryn freezes instinctively. She had assumed human form successfully without detection for much of her life. The few times she was discovered were often met with unpleasant resolutions. She looks to Oswald for an explanation, who had already moved on from enthusiastically embracing his wife to investigating the steaming teakettle, completely missing her gaze.

Her slight panic must have been detected by Martina, who quickly speaks up to correct her mistake. “Don’t worry Osthryn,  your disguise is well hidden from me, and it will certainly be sufficient to escape detection here. It would have been quite strange if Oswald had managed to keep such important details about our new house-guest from me. If I am honest, he was positively bursting to share that information with at least someone." 

Osthryn sighs with relief. “Thank you, I appreciate the discretion. Your kindness that I may shelter here is beyond what my thanks can do for you." “No thanks are required, Osthryn. Even if you were here for just an afternoon, it is an absolute privilege to have a Dragon of the North in our home," Martina assures her with a small bow of her own.

Oswald contentedly busies himself in the corner with his tea and biscuit, signalling that his capacity for conversation was now exclusively in the realm of comments on the quality of his wife’s baking. Martina takes this cue to offer Osthryn a cup of tea, and to take her belongings to where she would sleep. Soon, Osthryn finds travel-weariness taking up the space in her bones that her anxiety had left behind.