Of Dragons and Dragonslayers Part 1
In this story you will find sadness, blood, and death. If such things offend you, read no further.
Of Dragons and Dragonslayers
Part 1
The Meaning of Death
My name is Aliksandor. I am a dragon, my father tells me that means I am the mightiest creature to walk the earth and fly in its skies. But I don't care for that, I just want to live in peace, to practice my arcane arts in solitude and quiet. I left the cave of my birth some time ago, but I stayed close to my parents' territory. All my clutchmates went further afield, to stake out territories in new places, but I was content with my mountaintop, my parents even let me hunt their land. Their new clutch recently hatched and I've helped them take care of my new brothers and sisters. I loved my family, and I was content with my life.
When I was young I thought those stories Mother told me about dragonslayers were just to scare me into eating my vegetables and going to bed early. True, those stories curdled my blood and haunted my dreams, but as I grew up I discounted them as fantasies meant to frighten a child into behaving. After all, how could a mere human kill a dragon? I especially scoffed at the tales of Drakasoz, the mightiest dragonslayer to ever live. As the stories went, he had killed hundreds of dragons, mercilessly murdering infants after killing their parents, crushing eggs and beheading his dead victims to mount their heads on his wall. They also say he would skin his victims, making suits of armor out of dragon hide, impervious to dragon fire and incredibly tough to pierce. Just stories though right?
That's what I had thought for many years, right up until I entered my parents cave and smelled that acrid, metallic tang of blood. I rushed into the main hall and beheld with horror the skinned and beheaded bodies of my parents, their blood pooled around them, partially congealed. I stood there, staring in complete shock. But the nightmare didn't end there. I rushed to the clutching chamber and found all my infant brothers and sisters dead, skinned and beheaded, just like my parents. I fell to my knees, almost unable to process the sheer horror of what I was seeing. How did I not know what was happening? I had placed wards around my parents cave, for they were not spellcasters. How had the dragonslayers not triggered them? How had they gotten bye without my knowledge? Could it be, were humans learning magic?
But it no longer mattered, my family was dead. I was alone. I screamed my rage and pain to the uncaring heavens. I clawed at the stone, tearing furrows into the rock floor of the cave. I slammed my fists into the floor until I felt my bones shatter. When I could rage no more, I lost consciousness. Nothing. Nothing around me or in me. No feeling, no awareness, only darkness.
When I awoke, I awoke with a sense of deadly purpose. I rose from the floor, climbing to my feet. I muttered a quick spell, bending the energy into my forelegs, healing the shattered bones and shredded muscles and tendons. I gathered up the bodies of my infant siblings and laid them out next to Mother and Father, who had died trying to protect them. I knew who had done this. The bodies of my family matched the stories perfectly; this was the work of Drakasoz.
I tapped my creation magic with stone element and sent the spell into the floor. Soon several objects began to take form, an anvil and forge, a worktable and mirror for magic, and a large bowl on a stand. While the objects took form, I tapped my changing magic, and began to change my form. I became much like a human, standing upon two legs, my arms moved up onto my new shoulders. I stood upon my new legs, flexed my new hands, now I had the tools I needed to work the blasphemous magic I intended to use to exact my revenge. I knew I would not have the heart to do what I intended unless I tapped an ancient and forbidden magic, different from my original intent. I didn't care about forbidden; I had nothing left to care about. I filled the bowl with blood from my parents and siblings. I laid several spells into the dark liquid to amplify the effects I desired. I added deathroot and leaves from the Shade tree on my mountaintop, ingredients I take with me everywhere to work certain spells should the need arrive, deadly poisonous if used improperly.
When the blood was ready, I took a deep breath, raised the bowl to my lips and drank deep of the blood of my family. I gasped and dropped the bowl, it shattered, splattering me with the remaining blood. I clutched my throat, it burned! My body felt like it was on fire. The pain was unreal and I nearly blacked out all over again. I know not how long I was on the floor, twitching, my mouth curled in a silent snarl.
I was in a world of nothing, complete sensory deprivation. Awareness began to come back to me slowly, but not awareness of myself, but the final memories of my family contained within their blood. First, my father. He was in the hall, where I lay now, his mind was filled with thoughts of home and family and the hunt he was embarking on to sustain them. He smelled something, his senses were suddenly on full alert. He heard the sound of metal on stone, footsteps coming down the cave tunnel. And then emerged a group of humans, led by an apparition out of any young dragon's nightmares. His armor was the hide of a red dragon, an old and mighty beast judging by the size of the scales. His helmet was a dragon's skull and dark, maniacal eyes shone through the skull's eyeholes. He lifted his sword, a monstrosity of grooves and spines, at least four feet long and forked for the last six inches, its edges gleam in the dim light, almost seeming to thrum with power. My father realized, this was indeed, Drakasoz.
My mother's memories began to become dominant in my mind. She was in the clutching chamber with my young siblings when she heard her mate roar with rage and the sounds of a mighty struggle shattered the peace of the nursery. She swiftly instructed the young ones to stay put and dashed out into the corridor, running at full speed to assist her mate in battle. But when she arrived, Drakasoz had already killed my father. She saw with horror why Drakasoz was such an effective dragon killer. He used packs of huge, savage dogs to distract the dragon and do as much harm as possible while instructing archers to attempt to put out the dragon's eyes right before leading over a score of trained soldiers in a charge against the desperate victim. Drakasoz was a monster who used numbers and savagery to bring down his victims. My mother's anger quickly became overwhelming, forcing me out of her mind.
I began to become aware of my siblings, their unformed minds unable to comprehend what they were hearing, overwhelming fear and anxiety coursed through each and every one of them. My infant siblings were gathered in the far corner of the room, trembling, wrapped around each other, waiting for Mother, who would never return to them. Then the footsteps began to fall again, my siblings squeaked in fear, knowing that this was not Mother or Father coming to them. The humans file into the room, laughing savagely at the kills they had already made and the sight of my poor brothers and sisters, terrified out of their minds. Drakasoz steps forward, grabs one of my sisters by her tiny wings, and drags her away from the group. She squeals in pain and fear and tries to crawl back to her siblings. Drakasoz kicks her savagely in the ribs, laughing madly as she collapses, whimpering. Her tiny form only reaches his knees, curled up as she is, I try to stop him, trying desperately to save my beloved sibling, but I have no body to do so. He grabs her by the back of her head, draws a smaller sword, but just as wickedly spined and sharp as the larger, from a scabbard on his back. Drakasoz places his thumb and forefinger on my sister's jaw hinges, pressing harshly, forcing her mouth open as she cries out, weakly struggling to pull away. He places the blade's tip at her mouth and begins to slowly shove the sword down her throat, working to back and forth, slicing through her tender flesh. Her squeals became gargles as blood bubbles out of her mouth, but Drakasoz did not stop, twisting his sword back and forth until the guard met her jaw. With one final whimper, my sister died.
I screamed, in my mind I roared my rage and pain all over again. My siblings had never done anything to anyone, they could not even form coherent thought, but he had slaughtered them. So now my desire was clear, I would do to him as he had done to me. I would invade his home, kill his family and children (for I knew he had a family, I was certain of it) and throw their bodies at his feet before I killed him myself. As my awareness returns to my own body the physical pain returns as well. I gasp and writhe on the floor as I feel my insides shift and my mind corrode.
But the process was soon over. I stood once more, and faced my reflection in the mirror. My hide had been silver, like Mother's, but it had turned black, flush with my new power and intent. My eyes had been Father's, blue-green, but now they too were black while my pupils had turned white. My heart had been both of theirs, but now it was also black with my hate and my lust for vengeance. All other thoughts and feeling fled my new mind. I couldn't remember what it was to be with my family, to feel their love and warmth. I couldn't remember what it was to be hunting or playing with my clutchmates or my infant siblings, who had so loved their older brother. All I knew now was my desire to kill Drakasoz.
I walked to the body of my father. I tore into his flesh, pulling out several large bones, ribs, legs, even his long spine. I felt no horror or shame. I felt nothing but hate. I started a fire in the forge and tapped my magic again to create the proper tools and equipment for the smelting of ore into useable metal. For the bones of dragons are but an ore of the strongest metal on earth, stronger even then our scales, and the fool Drakasoz had no idea. I laughed a little at that in dark humor. As the fires were building to appropriate levels, I repeated the process with my mother's body, desecrating it without care, this mass of flesh was not my mother anymore, and I was no longer me, we were both dead.
When the forge was ready I heated the bones until they were ready for smelting. As I worked I began to sing, the dark words laying powerful spells as I wove creation and changing into the metal while I added trace amounts of carbon and magnesium to strengthen the alloy. I smelted the bones into several bars of hot metal, then set them aside while placing one into the forge. When it turned an appropriate yellow color I took it out, placed it on the anvil, and began to beat it with a hammer. All the while I sang my dark song, a song of hate, vengeance, power, death, and evil intent. First I forged armor, for I knew that whatever Drakasoz's and his mens' weapons were made of (I knew it was not dragonbone, for the metal was not black), they could somehow pierce our scales and kill us, so I would need something stronger, and armor of dragonbone was the only thing that was. I wove great magic into the armor, carving glyphs and horrific images into the plates. As I forge, my intent begins to seep into the metal, and the images seem to writhe and twist in dizzying patterns in the light of the forge.
When I am finished with the armor I place it to the side, take up more bars of metal and shove them in the fire. Next I begin to forge a bastard sword, a fairly simple blade with a reach to match Drakasoz's horrifying sword. The blade is wide and long, carved with runes of ancient darkness to prevent dulling or breaking. I take out some of the final bars of metal and forge a second blade, a flamberge, a blade for hacking and sawing through thick armor. The blade's edges are symmetrically grooved to better saw through and pierce strong armor. The flamberge was just a little longer than the bastard sword when I completed it, runes and all, and place it by its mate, completing my dark song by naming my blades. The bastard sword I name Frost, the flamberge, Flame.
I collapsed into a sitting position, exhausted by the great Working of magic and the forging. As I regain my breath, I think of what I intend to do. According to the stories, Drakasoz lived in a walled city, in a castle. He must be a nobleman of some kind anyway in order to command such well armed and trained soldiers and to have so many war dogs. I snarl as I think of the dogs, too stupid to remember the instinctual fear that dragons are supposed to inspire in all creatures, their intelligence bred right out of them. Well, if Drakasoz wanted to play dirty, then so would I.
Having regained my breath, I stood and strode to my armor. I begin to put it on piece by piece. The chain and plate armor molds perfectly to my body, the helmet fits over my face flawlessly. I take up the swords and sling them over my shoulders, securing the straps of the scabbards over my chest, a hilt sticking up over each shoulder. I drew the swords experimentally. Frost felt cold and dark with a slow anger while Flame seemed to burn in my hands with a fierce hatred, both thrum with unimaginable power. I laugh once more in dark humor, two kinds of hate in either hand, but both found homes in my heart.
I walked to the entrance of the cave and the light crescent moon and the stars shining on my pitch black armor, blades, and scales. I threw my head back and roared, announcing my intent to the world. I felt nature recoil all around me in pain and fear. As I strode from the cave, I feel all the life around me either flee or die. Grass withers away, the leaves of trees wilt and fall from the branches, insects keel over and die, animals flee, and all of them feel the radiant pain that emanates from my heart. I walked the walk of death toward my goal, my heart filled to overflowing with darkness, eager to destroy everything Drakasoz loved before I granted him the solace of death. So I walked, with evil intent I walked.
A feral smile curled my lips.