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Chapter 4

With it being three months later, very few still looked for the tainted dragon. Those who did couldn't resist the high bounty, or, in Aaron's case, were obsessed. Though even the highly skilled bounty hunters on Maroc's trail, never looked in the city he escaped from. Not after three months, three months of bloodletting, of pain and torture. Drakeson's assistants were either as cold and empty as him, or, dead. One was particularly nice to the blue dragon, until one day, Drakeson served roast rabbit. Maroc didn't care, if he didn't eat he'd pass out during the blood draining, and the demon had very creative ways to get his heart pounding. It went on like this every week or so, give or take a few days. Maroc had resigned himself to never leaving this terrible, silk covered hell, that is, until one day he was saved.

It was a day like any other, and honestly Maroc couldn't tell if it was a month or a year after he was let out of the Elders prison. When suddenly the next thing he knew quite a few mercenaries were inside the room, ripping the silks down as if looking for something. When he started to push himself up however, one of them quickly placed a dagger to his throat. The dragon collapsed back down, not bothering to argue with the vixen or her dagger. Before long, the groups seemed to calm down, having tossed the place and left nothing undisturbed save for Maroc himself. Out of the corner of his dry eye, he saw three important looking wolves that the rest of the group looked to, though what they started to say escaped him as he soon passed out.

When Maroc awoke, he was on a small pile of hay, a few blankets on him and a foul smelling bandage on his head. Looking around it seemed he was in a stall of some sorts, and looking at himself shown he was still quite weak and discolored. He tried to sit up, which he quickly regretted as his head screamed in pain as he fell back onto the straw. After a few moments of lying there a young sheep went by, looking into stalls as he went, before reaching the dragons. Upon seeing that the blue one was awake, he knelt by him, checking his bandages. Maroc tried to talk to him, but only a few words came out, and the stable boy seemed to ignore his attempt anyway. For a day or two it went on like so, some meager food was brought to him as he recuperated. On the third day someone new came to him, one of those important looking wolves from the raid on his gilded cage.

"My name is Tom. My gang and I found you in a drug dealer's pen; do you know where he is?" The wolf was in light but form fitting armor and a small sash over his right shoulder. His fur was a soft brown with a strip of black on the crown of his head, going down his back, or at least one could assume it did.

"Hey!" Tom shouted at the week dragon, drawing him out of his contemplation. "You hear me? Bah," the wolf held a paw to his head and leaned back, frustrated. "Guess you're too drugged to be of help, mind might be completely gone too. Ugh, completely useless, no wonder he just left you there." As he walked off, Maroc wondered if he should tell him, of whom he is and who they were after; but through his foggy mind he realized that this would be better, to be able to slip away unnoticed and get out of this town. No doubt Aaron would still be after the murderer of his mother and town. And also to save them from chasing after that trice cursed demon.

So, Maroc pretended to be the drugged and empty soul for almost a week. The mercenaries nursed him back to health, and thankfully didn't take to mind that'd it be odd a proud dragon would become a slave to poison. Maybe it is this terrible place, it seems to corrupt everything, seeping into ones very soul, devouring it till nothing is left but raw instincts. He was able to learn a few interesting things though in his time there. The mercenary groups were hired by an unknown third party to put an end to the illegal activities there. Technically the acts were unsanctioned, but if they could keep it quite they're wouldn't be a problem. This ended up working in Maroc's favor, as the wolf group planned on taking him to the next town and letting him go there as to not raise suspicion as to what actions they took inside the village.

The group consisted up of a total of seven, five wolves, a ram and a hare. All seemed very experienced and seemed to know each other well enough to rely on each other without having to be so strict. The dragon wondered what'd be like to work with such a good team, to be able to relax at some point and not have to worry about being killed, or...killing those close to him. At night, when all but a guard was asleep, Maroc would clutch the crystal, the memento of that terrible night, and prayed, for himself, for Aaron, and for the souls that he helped that demon harvest.

One morning, Tom woke Maroc, and he almost slipped, about to greet him with a good morning, he caught his tongue and let out a long groan. With an internal sigh, he soon realized how awkward the day would get. With his strength returned they had decided to move out, and seeing as the blue dragon was empty headed, they had to dress him. The embarrassment was almost enough for him to drop the act right there and go do it himself, but it was too late to change his story, even if he had never said a word. Once the dragon was out of his shall and in simple garb, they covered him in a cloak and guided him to a wagon. Settling into the back of the horse drawn wagon, the ram from the group kept an eye on Maroc as they guided him to a seat. The cloak, it seemed, was meant to keep attention off of his being a dragon, seeing as it would raise more questions than the company probably cared to answer.

They spent their days on the road, not venturing too far into the wilderness. This had lead to the trip being longer than if they went straight south, but overall safer, save for one occasion. Maroc was lucky enough that the group caught up with the fact if they left him be, he'd take care of himself. Such as when food was prepared all they had to do was place it in his claws and the dragon would go through the motions of eating. Doing his best to keep his face blank at times was hard, the company took turns on chores, such as cooking. The lieutenant of the group, whom was Tom's right hand man, was an amazing cook, they could take anything and make it gourmet compared to what Maroc was used to on the roads. The ram, on the other hand, is prominently vegetarian, so he usually served roasted greens. Maroc could digest them, but he didn't care for an entire meal devoid of meat, he did have fangs after all.

It was about three days into the trek; Maroc had wandered away, just far enough to relieve himself without sacrificing privacy. Just as he got situated though, he heard a rustle behind him. Tilting a wing and looking over his shoulder, he saw just in time a wild boar charging him, crying out and turning on his heel, he managed to grab its tusks a moment before they impaled him in his abdomen. The boar squealed and tried to dig it's hooves into Maroc, but before it could find purchase, Maroc twisted its head and slammed it into the ground. Quickly, he shoved his knee into its neck, and, growling, twisted as hard as he could on its tusks until he heard and felt a loud snap; the boar went limp, and Maroc saying a small silent prayer.

As the blue dragon stood, Tom and the lieutenant rushed over, drawn by the commotion. Maroc just stood there, staring off into the distance, the dead animal by his feet. Needless to say they had meat for a few days, and they told stories of what happened, even if no one really saw what happened. One benefit of this was that once they realized Maroc knew how to fight, they decided to see how well he could. It started with simple forms with a wooden pole, and Maroc matched these with ease. The forms weren't too different from his regular routine, and he needed it to get back in shape. After a few days of this, the company all started a sparring session with their dragon. They'd take turns, and it seemed more to practice for them as opposed to teaching the daft one.

Each fought in unique styles, the ram was in favor of gauntlets to pound against his foe; it fit well with his tendency to charge and to try and kick with his sharp shoed hooves. The first time Maroc fought with him he underestimated how strong his small body was and when the ram charged it knocked him to the ground, ended up cracking a rib. The lieutenant fought similarly, with leather armor and hand to hand combat tactics, he preferred to redirect his attackers force to keep from getting hit. The drawback of this though was it didn't leave much room for actual attacking of his opponent. The rest of the group used various knives and sleight of hand fighting, but Tom, he preferred using a small double edged scythe. Throughout the week the group trained on him, and Maroc slowly got back into fighting shape, gained a few bruises and cuts, and gained a few new skills as well.

On the final day of their journey, Maroc had awoken early. He watched the sun rise, and looked over the group he had spent half a month with. Inside, he felt a small spark of hope, realizing that the world had not come to an end, that even though with his own hands he had killed so many, he could still be a good person, and right the wrong he had done.

"You alright?" said a voice from behind, almost causing Maroc to jump, but instead he turned his head and stared blankly at Tom. He was leaning up against the wagon, eyeing the dragon with a smirk. "I know, you can't, or won't talk, but maybe you'll listen?" Tom stood and looked toward the horizon, letting out a small sigh before he gestured to Maroc to follow him. Turning around to the rear of the wagon, Maroc followed him, seeing Tom pull a rather big case out from the wagon that the dragon honestly didn't remember seeing, but it was dark in there.

"This was some of the things we found in that den you were in. We plan on selling most of this stuff, but, I wonder, is any of this yours?" Tom asked as he placed the case on the ground and opened it. What was inside caused Maroc to show life on his face, as Tom noticed. There were a few valuables, goblets, coins, some fine silk and scented oils inside, as well as Maroc's sword and armor. Getting down on his knees, the dragon picked up his beloved sword, relived at least one of his companions was still with him.

"I thought as much," Tom said with a chuckle, "I'll let you have these once we get you to town, but not before. After all, don't know what you might do with this, you might be dangerous after all." The wolf reached out and grabbed Maroc's sword, the dragon resisted some when he tried to take, but relented at Tom's now steeled gaze. After all, what he said was true, if something happened to him again like it did that night, it'd be best for him to be unarmed.

Thankfully, nothing happened, and the hours went by uneventful. Later that day, they had little trouble entering town, and seeing as it was close to full nightfall not many were out. And with it being this dark, perfect cover for them to unload some at an inn and say their farewells to Maroc. As he donned his armor and sword, missing how they felt, Tom and the lieutenant approached him.

"Yo, just going through the motions eh?" Tom said with a chuckle, the lieutenant rolling his eyes. Maroc turned to them, tightening the straps on a shoulder plate. As he looked over the two, he noticed Tom's shoulder sash was missing, or at least on him. "Hope you know what you're going to do, like I said, you look dangerous."

The lieutenant then pulled out from behind his back a small bag and offered it to the dragon, as he took it, the wolf spoke, "Here're some supplies, the boss here said you seem to be getting your mind back, as evident as you dressing yourself and taking these." Maroc, at this, felt like such a fool for forgetting to keep up the act. But seeing as they haven't put him in shackles, Tom at least seemed to understand he had his reasons. Tom then thanked his lieutenant, who turned to him with objections in his eyes at being excused. The alpha wolf just laughed as he got punched in the gut, still laughing even hunched over as his second in command stormed off grumbling. Maroc, feeling a little awkward, placed these supplies in his pack in an attempt to keep himself occupied. When he finished, Tom straitened himself with a grunt, stretched and placed his paws on his hips.

"You know, you made a great training partner. You have great moves, and have certainly been trained. I do hope you've learned from our lessons something new." Then his face grew serious as he crossed his arms over his chest. "Now, this is just a rumor, and I don't know if it concerns you. There have some stories of demons appearing in the north, one or two, but once they raided a small out of the way village."

Upon hearing this, Maroc looked straight at Tom, who merely tilted his head in the dragon's direction. With that solid, unmoving expression, Maroc knew he wasn't jesting. Countless questions ran through his mind, but before a moment had gone by Tome spoke up.

"You talk when you sleep, and you pray every night for the ones you killed. I may not be bright but even I have heard of the Tainted Dragon, though I also know most news spread is very biased by the ones that spread it. Be careful with what you know, and who you meet. But never forget the good ones you find in this world, alright?" Waving a paw as Maroc made to say something, the wolf gestured for him to follow, and round the corner of the inn the rest of the gang was there. They all smiled and laughed, telling him swift wind and good luck. And the ram and hare even gave him some sweet fruits. After all was said and done, Maroc finally spoke, telling them thanks, before he set off out of town. None of them were surprised that he spoke, and they just wished him farewell as a good friend.

And with this happy group behind him, Maroc headed into the dark. Out of town, he looked toward the sky at the last little ray of light vanished, and started the journey north.

Aaron meditated daily; it helped keep his mind sharp while also relaxing his body. He hated it greatly when someone disturbed him, as many people were fond of doing. And as luck would have it, an acolyte announced his presence and requested to enter, which Aaron granted.

"Sir!" the young dragon stated, trying to find the raccoon in the pitch black room. "You asked me to inform you as to the moment we received any information as to a blue dragon matching the description, and I..."

"What have I told you about interrupting me?" Aaron interrupted calmly but quietly.

"Well...uh, you said as soon as we found out...to inform-" the acolyte stuttered, trying to explain himself.

"Don't make me repeat myself," Aaron said, standing and turning towards the young one, not that he could see into the room.

"F-forgive me!" shouted the dragon, worry written on his scaled face. "You said to never interrupt you, ever!"

"Good, now that you remember, what is so important?" Aaron moved into the light so he could be seen. The raccoon wore nothing save for a sash across his waist for some modesty.

"The...the target you've been looking for, the dragon, he was sighted by a guard leaving town in a wagon."

"Was he alone?' Aaron asked.

"No," the dragon said, trying to regain composure. "He was seen with an unknown gang wearing guard sashes. The target was attempting to hide his appearance but they didn't do a very good job of it."

"Very well, what direction was he headed in?'

"North east, our sources suggest-"

"You're dismissed," said the raccoon, cutting off his statement with a waving paw. The dragon almost protested, but caught himself, nodded, and shut the door, returning the room to darkness. This didn't faze Aaron one bit, all he perceived was darkness. He returned to where his bed was, slowly pulling on a pair of trouser and tunic. It wasn't just habit that he was able to dress himself; the Elders had granted him sight, of a sort. On his forehead was a gold medallion carved with runes, and in the center was a green jeweled eye. It was partially inserted into his head, but could be pulled out if one tried, so Aaron had it strapped to his head as an added precaution. The Elders told him it was an old relic, from the time of the King of the Lands, and if the wielder was strong willed enough to survive the ritual, it'd grant them any sight they'd ever need.

As he finished dressing himself, strapping his father's sword to his back, he remembered the promise he made to the Elders. That he is to eradicate any and all demons and enemies to the welfare of the people. In the process of fighting these enemies, Aaron has become quite skilled at fighting demons, of both the darkness, and of one's hearts. Taking life now no longer bothers him, as deep down, everyone is evil, even him. One day, Aaron thought, one day, I too will meet a reckoning, for all that I've done. And, it will be just. But until then, he will fight, and kill all those that harm, hurt others with no reason or justification.

Fully dressed, the young raccoon opened his door, and left. As he walked down the halls, the dragons gave him a wide breadth. They respected his power, and would never question the Elders decision to teach one outside of their kind; but that doesn't change how bloodthirsty he was, nor how cruel a simple young child could be with as much power as was given to him. None of the dragons were sure as to what was done to him aside from the relic in his head, but no one dared ask. Those who where more attuned to magic could feel something in him, deep, but strong, like a strong beast sleeping in winter. And those who where extremely connected to the ebb and flow of the magic in the world, couldn't even get near him; some would faint while others would get violently sick.

The whispers from the dragons where ever present in Aarons' ears as he walked by any of them, and at first, for a fleeting moment, they bothered him. But that soon passed when he realized they'd never understand the pain, the burden he carried. It was of no matter, though, it did not matter what they thought of him. He did not care about them, and they did not care about him, this was as it should be. He picked but some supplies from the Halls kitchen, and set out after that dragon.

"So this is what a civilized town is like?" he said aloud to himself as strolled about. He eyed the shops, the people, everything, and this being a new experience for him. Even the women were at least something to look at compared to back home. At an open bar, there was an exceptional looking vixen serving drinks with a nice smile, but sadly right before he decided to make his move towards her, someone called to him.

"Alex? Alex! Is that you?" with a long sigh, he turned to face the voice, a tall hare coming towards him. In the messenger's hand, he held a paper that he checked as he approached. The character he was looking for was a tall dark blue black feline with yellow dyed markings. He was wearing leather armor, and heavy metal gauntlets and pauldrons. He had a small pack strapped to his back, but other than that not much was noticeable about him, so the messenger had a paper with his description to help find him.

"You're the one yes?" the hare asked, checking the paper again.

"Yes," Alex replied, clasping his hands behind his head. "At least, probably, I don't you or anyone you know money do I?"

"What? No, you're the tracker right? You're the one that wanted the job from the Elders?"

"Yup, that's me!" Alex patted the hare on the back a little rough, and then pulled him close. "Now, tell me, how much does this pay?"

"I-It pays well, for each target you bring in alive..." the messenger stuttered, startled to be this close to a carnivore and his bared fangs.

"Good!" Alex replied with a smile, patting the hare on the back again, causing him to almost lose balance. "Now, take me to the Elders and show me exactly who it is I'm being sent after eh?"

"Well, um, you see..." the ruffled hare stuttered, trying to regain his composer.

Alex's light demeanor suddenly went dark. "What?" he asked flatly.

"U-um, the Elders assumed that you'd want to start as soon as possible, and sent these documents with descriptions of your targets." He held out the papers which he carried to Alex, who took them without a smile and looked over them.

"Do I return here after I have apprehended them? For payment of course," the feline asked, eyeing the messenger.

"Yes, you'll contact the one of the Elders and the head guard and hand the captive off to them, and accept your payment." The messenger said, dusting himself off.

"Hmm..." Alex pondered, thumbing to the last page. "This, eh....I can't pronounce his name, this blue demon dragon. How dangerous is he?"

"You mean Maroc? Oh, he's quite deadly and-"

"And how much do I get to bring him back alive?" Alex asked, cutting him off.

"Ten times the standard amount, but alive is not necessary, and in fact, as long as his body is intact, deceased is preferred."