Mogravale

DATE: IMMORTAL REIGN 1023 MONTH 4 DAY 9

While Susie and Dramien suffered the blindfold, Thogar had to shroud Ruxian’s lamp with the nun’s cap, the linen cover enshrouding him in fragrant darkness. Ruxian didn’t mind. Everything a few inches beyond the glass was a blur anyway. Besides, the cover spared him the suspicious stares of the Dracon gatekeeper. No amount of explanation from Naya could convince her uncle that this Otherworlder was not a malevolent wraith.

After a loud rumbling and shaking that allowed him to infer movement, Ruxian felt the weight drained out of his nebulous body, almost like water wrung out of a towel. He tried expanding his vision beyond the lamp and got a better glimpse of the tunnel. The cavernous labyrinth, with many serpentine pathways wider than most Targonian streets, had glowing glyphs lining its wall. There were no shortage of staircases, handrails, and pulleys to ease navigating the trickier terrains.

“Stop that,” growled Thogar, shaking the lamp. “You think I wouldn’t notice.”

Naya made a failed grab for the lamp. “Uncle, I’m telling you he survived the harvesting.”

“Did you see it with your own eyes?” asked Thogar with a tone of someone who needed no answer. “For all we know, he could be another Targonian spy.”

“I’m telling you his magic signature matched the man summoned in Sothrend,” Naya insisted. “Why don’t you believe me? I have two horns and am an initiate of the Blackmoon. My magic sensitivity –”

“Your mother would listen to me.”

“You only bring up mum when reason fails you.”

“No, I bring up my sister when you fail to see sense!”

Do you want me back in the lamp? Ruxian prodded the Dracons. Your domestic disputes are making me uncomfortable.

This drew the united ire of the uncle and niece. “Shut up!”

The tunnels got noisier as they delved deeper. Ruxian heard the echoes of timber sawing and banging hammers well before he saw the craftsmen. Their garash clinking with every step, soldiers on patrol would pause to salute Thogar. Those with longer horns occasionally stared at the lamp but none dared question the veteran.

“You’re the commander?” remarked Dramien. “That explains it.”

“What exactly?” scowled Thogar.

Dramien laughed. “I didn’t realise I was contesting my strength against a – senior – officer.”

“Hornless welp,” the Dracon swore. “Then how do you explain Balethorn?”

“I don’t compare myself to someone who wrestles giant bears for fun,” said Dramien. “The Goddess crafted that man differently.”

Ruxian shimmered at the mere mention of the loud general. Was Kerroth also an accomplice in the harvesting? Somehow, Ruxian had more trouble believing the man’s betrayal than his legendary bout against giant, sentient bears. The deep rumbling of parting stones invited a swirling gust into the tunnels, disrupting his musing.

Snatching the lamp away from her uncle, Naya sprinted towards the light spilling into the tunnel, slipped through the parting granite slabs, and released Ruxian. Even without aching joints and numb limbs, Ruxian still stretched like someone who had just got off a flight, casting a long shadow onto the cliff face. Thogar, prodding the blindfolded Targonians through, glared at the ghostly being with a taut jaw.

“This is my home,” sang Naya, spreading her arms with the air of an enthusiastic real estate agent. “Welcome to Mogravale!”

Liberated from the enchanted soil constantly dragging him towards the earth, Ruxian shrank his body and floated up. Hugging the snowy peaks, he broadened his vision to the settlements surrounding a large lake. From his height, the expanse of water resembled a blue, unblinking eye gazing at the sky.

An elephantine monument of the Goddess loomed over the staircases leading down into the villages. It took Ruxian a moment to realise this was not the same statue he saw inside Paerawyn’s throne room. While everything below the neck was a perfect imitation, this fiery lady bore a piercing gaze and a crown of jutting horns casting several long shadows onto the land. Susie, with her blindfold removed, let out a horrified gasp. Dramien flinched and planted his gaze onto the ground.

What’s this? Ruxian enquired after drifting several laps around the statue. Do the Dracons worship a different Goddess?

Thogar’s garash clinked menacingly as he uncoiled the weapon. “You defile our Goddess and dare to compare her to the Targonian abomination?”

Our wise teacher believes it good manners to ask when one is unfamiliar with foreign customs. Ruxian’s reply surprised even himself. Confronting the thuggish Destora was one thing, but pushing back against Thogar, a fighter who had literally cornered Dramien, was a different matter. And one more thing. I can’t really control my magic so you don’t want to touch me.

For a brief instant, Thogar’s cheeks flushed red. Marching down a few flights of stairs, he wound the chain, ring by ring, back around his arm, evidently deep in thought. “Colour me surprised, I wasn’t expecting a lecture from an eldritch spectre about social etiquette.” He shook his head. “Kind stranger, please forgive this uncultured warrior. Almerynd Blackmoon will have the answers you seek.”

Recovering from her shock, Naya giggled. “When was the last time we heard an apology from the gatekeeper with a spine harder than Mount Dragonspine?” She continued with a mischievous grin. “Can you please treat your adorable niece to some creamed ale when we get down there?”

“Don’t push your luck,” Thogar snapped, flicking her forehead. “You want to show up at the sorority drunk?”

“I'll never be more than twelve in his eyes,” said Naya, waving Ruxian over. “Come on. I’ll show you around.”

You mean show me to your friends. Despite projecting his misgiving, Ruxian trailed after the Dracon girl. Well, I was a performer in my world. To combat Naya’s dubious stare, Ruxian sculpted his spectral form into a yellow smiley face and winked at her. The emote left Naya doubling over with laughter. I’m constantly expanding my repertoire. This episode took Ruxian back to his live-streaming days, when he last put on a show in the city streets. After all he had lost, it warmed his spectral mass to know that he still had an audience.

“Eyes on the stairs, captain,” said Thogar, shoving Dramien with his blade hilt before inclining his head towards Susie, coming within inches of poking her with his great horn. “Same to you, witch.”

Sighing, Dramien wedged his broad shoulders between the Dracon and Susie. The blonde girl, trembling, ducked behind the knight and clung to his sleeve.

“Lady Blackmoon shelters all victims of the empire,” said Dramien coolly. “Or would you make your niece a liar?”

“Not if I do my proper duties,” threatened Thogar, twirling his blade. “You think I’d let you walk free after you scouted out our defences?”

Dramien waved at an unmanned watchtower clinging to the side of a jutting rock. “You have good men.” The smiling knight pointed a finger towards the distant lakeside. “Our children can frolic in the waves or dye it red killing each other. Which would you prefer?”

“You should tell that to your emperor,” snarled Thogar. “His obsession with immortality is the root of all evil.”

“Please forgive this uncultured warrior,” Dramien parroted Thogar. “I barely found out about it a few weeks back. Susie will have the answers you seek.”

A group of stone-faced men greeted Thogar at the end of their descent. As soon as the commander nodded in acknowledgement, they returned to hurling their garash at wooden stakes, each successful strike sounding a muffled thud. Ruxian counted, with some mirth, the pairs of eyes trailing Naya the moment Thogar turned his back.

Ruxian drifted down the central path, a dirt road that bisected the forest. He spotted several cabins tucked behind the ancient pines but found no residents. Shielding a nervous Susie with his burly frame, Dramien studied the treetops with narrowed eyes. He rubbed his nose and scratched his beard.

“Was this a killing ground?” asked Dramien.

Thogar nodded. “An old one.”

“The imperial army has not scaled Mount Dragonspine in centuries,” said Dramien. “And yet you still expect an attack?”

“We call it Dragonhart for a reason,” said Naya. “Had the Targonian cavalry overrun this point, history would’ve been very different.”

Having only ever watched movies and documentaries of war, Ruxian looked for Naya to elaborate on the importance of Dragonhart. Instead, the thinning forest did all the explaining. Before Ruxian was a collection of settlements on a vast meadow hugging the lake. He could almost hear the shrill cries of riders and hooves pelting the earth upon sight of the flatland. While there were concentrations of trenches and spiked fences, the terrain offered little to impede cavalry. No amount of footage or narration could reflect the scent of stale blood and fresh tension. This was reality, not history.

Circling around an archery range, Thogar saluted more men, though these Dracons had more grey hair and wrinkles than the soldiers they met earlier. Ruxian watched with fascination as the women and girls, their dresses and horns adorned in flowers, gutted fishes over long tables, their hands but a blur. While the arrival of the Targonians and their spectral horror brought a brief pause, the harsh stares from the hoary matrons silenced the uneasy murmurs.

“Has little Naya been out and about again?” rasped an old woman, sliding her knife through a fish belly. “She’s a cat in her previous life, that girl, always bringing back surprises.”

“And a man at that,” cackled another crone. “If only her father could see this!”

The tables nodded in collective affirmation. Ruxian glowed an amused red, Naya blushed, Dramien laughed while Susie shrank behind the knight. The ecstatic cries and loud splashes pulled Ruxian’s attention to the lakeside, where boys in loincloths waded waist deep into the lake. Their garash, ending in wooden stakes rather than steel blades, rippled the sapphire water as they hurled them at every shadow beneath the surface.

Erecting a stone slab by the jetty, Thogar traced lines with his fingers. Within a few loops, his horn birthed a light that crept onto the tip and bled onto the glyph. Turning around, the veteran made an eye at the Targonians and stabbed a thumb at the lake.

“The boat comes at midnight,” said Thogar. “Until then, we wait here.” He pointed to Ruxian. “Especially you, demon.”

What’s stopping me from going straight up there? Ruxian sent Thogar his cheeky question. Did you forget that I don’t need boats?

“Trifle with Mother Blackmoon at your peril,” warned Naya with a swaggering finger. “Now, more importantly, those who don't work, don’t eat.” She picked up a pair of the training garash and tossed them to Susie and Dramien. “Now, let’s see what you’re made of.”