Home of the Dracons

DATE: IMMORTAL REIGN 1023 MONTH 4 DAY 3

“I want to see Vera.”

Naya shot Dramien a dirty look. “Then what? Take her with you? In case you didn’t know, we Dracons don’t exactly welcome hornless folks.”

You’re wanted. Ruxian now spoke telepathically as naturally as he did verbally. Didn’t you see the posters?

“I’ll deliver a message for you,” said Naya. “I can slip in and out without being spotted. You guys should head south. I’ll catch up.”

Dramien, who looked ready to argue, pursed his lips. He spun around, cut down a bushel of wheat, and crushed it beneath his boots. Compressed into a wisp, Ruxian trailed the knight. When he last travelled the Sothrend roads, he missed most of the scenery, either puking over the side or staring listlessly skywards from Susie’s lap. Now, he was fleeing the nun who lured him to Immortrium with a sweet smile. The snipping of her great scissors yet echoed in the folds of his flowing mist.

Retracing the Sothrend path gave Ruxian a new look at the town. While the smell of cow dung remained unchanged, the alluring golden acres were now vast expanses that offered them little cover. The ringing church bell made clear that Lucius, the smarmy pig that engineered his downfall, was a stone’s throw away.

I’m sorry, Ruxian glowed yellow. It’s easy to forget that other people have friends and families when you’re all alone.

Dramien smiled but kept quiet. With nothing but the intermittent mooing from field yonder, even his footsteps sounded like firecrackers in the countryside night. In the distance, volunteers patrolled the dark streets with torches. Having grown accustomed to the glittering glyphs of the larger cities, Ruxian found something pure in their simplicity.

Soon enough, the two had exited the town, where unkempt weeds and moss smothered the dirt roads. The unmanned watchtowers and gate reminded Ruxian of Palemoor. With only a rusty bronze Goddess watching over the passage, it was obvious Targonia was not at war. With moonlight gathered between her clasped hands, Ruxian found an added shade of pathos in the blindfolded woman. Perhaps he just imagined that this foreign deity pitied him.

A sensation akin to electric shock coursed through Ruxian, alerting him to the presence of magic. Though oblivious to the metaphysical, Dramien’s hand shot to his pommel.

Narrowing his eyes, Dramien threatened an inch of his blade. “Who’s there?”

“You guys are as much as fun as pack mulls,” complained Naya, stepping through a dark veil that vanished like burning paper. “I can understand Ruxian, but you, twice? Do I smell or something?”

“I knew I sensed something in Halfington,” said Dramien, allowing himself a haughty chuckle. “So that was you.”

“Yeah,” Naya conceded with a rueful sigh. “Oh, I met your wife. She said to give you this.”

Naya presented Dramien an ivory pouch embroidered with tulips. The man seized upon the item with frenzied speed that made the Dracon girl flinch. Unknotting the scarlet thread, he dug up a piece of paper. As Dramien mouthed each word, a smile banished the winter that clung to his countenance. Ruxian quickly averted his gaze. Not knowing how to dampen his hearing, however, he overheard the letter’s content.

“Here.”

The pinging of metal had Naya scrambling to catch two silver coins flicked her way.

“What’s this?” she asked.

“A boon for your honesty,” answered Dramien all while avoiding eye contact.

Ruxian glowed a warm amber that invited Naya’s suspicious stare. If there was one inconvenience with his current form, it was the inability to hide his mental state. Nonetheless, he drifted after Dramien. Not having a mouth made being tight-lipped rather easy.

“What did you do to deserve a woman like that?” prodded Naya. “I’d say the Goddess made a mistake.”

“I’ll tell you on the way,” Dramien snickered. “Goddess willing, you might learn a thing or two. Surely there’s a dashing young man in your village that has taken your fancy.”

I have a little trouble imagining that. This time, Ruxian radiated a devilish amethyst. I’d wager half of them she pummelled and the rest flees on sight.

Naya went bright red. “Ruxian!”

Dramien cast Ruxian a sideway glance, laughing. “Looks like you were right, Lord Ruxian.”

DATE: IMMORTAL REIGN 1023 MONTH 4 DAY 7

Their swift journey beyond the political bounds of Targonia soon took them to the natural barrier that barred the empire’s southern expansion. Aptly named the Green Divide, this impenetrable expanse of trees, according to Dramien, concealed Dracon raid squads that occasionally harassed Sothrend.

Travelling through the forest was painfully slow. With his heightened metaphysical sensitivity, Ruxian could now see the enchantments slowing his progress. Something in the earth was draining his magic, constantly pulling him into the ground. His movements slowed, thoughts dulled, and his vision narrowed.

Why…this...necessary? In his reduced state, even forming a sentence, let alone its projection, was a mammoth task. Broadcasting merely three words left him oozing along the ground like liquid metal.

“To ensure our kin alone enjoys the use of magic,” said Naya, pointing to her horns. “Which is rather unfortunate for someone of your – unique – constitution.”

“Can’t we do something about it?” asked Dramien. “My mother had a three-legged donkey that walked faster.”

“If there was a way, I’d have done it already,” replied Naya. “Like it or not, they’ll catch us and I’d rather not lead them back to our hidden temples.”

Sighing, Dramien drew his sword and slashed a line in the mud. “Then we fight here.”

“Ruxian,” Naya whispered with urgency. “Keep going south. I’ll come for you once we’re done.”

Groggy, Ruxian flowed over the moss. With his leaden state, even visualising movement was tiring. Instead, he began slowly rolling his body up like a towel and tucked himself away behind a bush. The ample practice he had compressing his presence made the effort much less taxing. From his relative safety, Ruxian narrowed his sight until it became a needle, allowing him a view of the impending battle.

Susie lunged from a tree like an arrow, stabbing at Dramien with her scissors. Even without the enlargement, her blade drew a deadly line towards his jugular. Sighing, Dramien seized her attacking arm, squeezing until the nun cried out in pain and dropped her weapon. Collapsing onto her knees, Susie looked up at her captor with teary, plaintive eyes.

“I have…no choice,” she whispered between sobs. “Captain Gilverman, please forgive me. I know…what I do is…wrong. I can be…useful –”

Dramien peered into the woods. “Is that why you brought friends?”

Undoing her invisibility, Naya hurled her garash, entangling Susie with her chains and dragging her through the mud. No matter how Susie struggled, she could do no more than rattle the chains.

Immediately, three templars stormed in. Dramien danced around the men, opting for evasive footwork over standing firm against the giant hammers missing their iconic blue lustre. Darting in and out, Dramien directed the booming blows into the trees and the earth as he retreated. Within moments, he left his foes gasping for breath.

“You will not have him,” swore Dramien, leaning forward and levelling his sword. “Turn back now.”

“You’ll regret this, Gilverman,” a templar threatened. “Surrender the hero before it’s too late.”

With a roaring charge, Dramien sent the warrior priests stumbling into the woods. He watched until the forest swallowed them, shook his head and sheathed his sword. Behind him, Naya busied herself with tying Susie to a tree, her shackles clinking from the nun’s kicking and twisting.

“Untie me,” Susie roared, tugging at the garash. “Heathen wench –”

Naya silenced Susie with a slap that snapped her head sideways. “How many horns have you mutilated?” Naya yanked a handful of her blonde hair. “Answer me.”

Susie spat a mouthful of blood at the Dracon girl. “Not enough.”

Fuming, Naya freed her hunting knife but Dramien caught her hand. While the Dracon bickered with the stoic knight, Ruxian felt Susie looking in his direction, her eyes wide like a crazed drug addict. Even bounded and disarmed, the woman still had Ruxian glowing a fearful blue.

“Dramien,” Susie shouted. “Have you forgotten your oath to Targonia? To the Goddess?”

Dramien, who’d just managed to persuade Naya to sheath her knife, turned his shoulder on her and rolled up his sleeve, revealing a number tattoo, 42.

“Go home, Susie.”

“No!” the two women retorted in unison with equal ferocity.

Stop. Ruxian managed at last. Susie. Question. The broken telepathic message brokered a temporary truce to the salvo of insults Naya and Susie traded. Why?

The chortling nun cast Ruxian a disgusted look. “Knowing won’t restore you to your body.”

Answer.

“As Lord Ruxian wishes,” said Susie with a wry smile. “You know what happens to people who don’t pay the hero tax?”