Death's Grasp

There weren't always dragons in the Valley. Most of civilization thought the time of dragons had passed, and perhaps it had. As time moved forward, the world of Capcreaton had changed greatly. Once, many years ago, dragons had been as much of a common sight to the natives of the planet. The historical texts deem the last official dragon to have died several hundred years ago. No exact year was ever recorded for their extinction, although there have been scores of theories.

Dragons had as much variety between themselves as the other species. The humans, elves, dwarves, and goblins all shared the same ancestry, yet have divided themselves through centuries of war. The dragon nations of Capcreaton held themselves as higher beings, and not without reason. They were more in tune with the natural magics of the land and sea than any other creature. They carried the role of protecting the realm from threats, both interior and exterior. They loved the earth and all other living things as much as other dragons.

Suddenly there was a disturbance in Capcreaton. As far as is documented, no one knew exactly what caused the anomaly, nor even what exactly it was. Each of the six continents were affected. The dragons became perturbed by something, a parasite in the background of their thoughts perhaps. As days turned to weeks, and weeks to months, tensions began amongst the dragon clans. They initiated quarrels first with the other races, demanding loyalty and tithes.

The elves were always in awe of the dragons' majesty, and so willingly submitted. The dwarves begrudgingly paid their dues out of respect for their power. The goblins cowered in fear of every dragon, having no loyalty nor anything of value with which to appease the dragons' evolving tempers. Only the humans were foolish enough to rebel, quickly escalating tensions within the land to a boil.

The humans had earned the fiery tempers unleashed, although dragons did not solely punish the rebellion. Over the coming years, they razed entire civilizations, discriminating not between age, race, nor location. There were reports of dragons kidnapping and enslaving all manner of creatures. Once the dragons had begun warring against each other, Capcreaton suffered all the more.

Two enraged dragons battling could level a mountain, open fissures in the earth, or rend the ocean as a result of the immense power and intense magic they released. As the dragon population decimated itself, humans, elves, dwarves, and even goblins agreed to hunt the injured dragons. The few great beasts who survived retired to protective caverns, mountains, or islands.

Products made from draconic scales, horns, claws, and meat became highly sought after. A dragon harvesting guild was formed, which capitalized on the war's aftermath. They searched the lands for the gradually decomposing corpses, experimenting on and using them for a multitude of extravagances. Imbued magic gave way for new wondrous items to be crafted and sold to royalty. Weapons and armor were forged, mixing steel and scales for superior strength, protection, and durability. Nobility spared no expense to acquire personal cooks who could prepare a meal centered on the dense tantalizing meats. It was decades before the land recovered from the vast devastation wrought from the Downfall of Dragons, as it became known.

Kingdoms rose to and fell from power, generations passed, and several dragons attempted to integrate themselves back into society. They were no longer revered as they had once been. The emergence of those few gave rise to dragon hunters, who sought to rid the world of every last dragon. The frequent attacks and knowledge of how their brethren had been utilized instilled a sense of urgency and vigilance in the remaining dragons.

The last dragons had no wish to fade out of existence. They raided castles throughout Capcreaton in hopes of collecting the remnants of their kind. Humans and Dwarves raided dragon lairs for the valuable treasure, or, if skilled enough, would kill the dragon for a handsome reward from the Dragon Harvesters' Guild. Elves distanced themselves, still respecting the dragons' grace and beauty, not willing to kill nor save, but rather stay impartial. Goblins, as nocturnal creatures, withdrew from societies into the night. This became the new way of life on Capcreaton.

Over a millennium passed before the dragons were proclaimed extinct. The last known dragon had grown old and depressed. He bore the weight of everything his kin had done solely on his regal shoulders. He realized the time of dragons had passed, yet felt as though future generations would benefit from all he had learned. He used the last of his magic to form an orb containing all his memories and knowledge, raised his tail, and shattered the orb. He humbly met with several kings of each race, gifting each king a shard of his essence. Leaving Capcreaton with a heart full of sorrow, for the past and future, The Last Dragon closed his eyes, and slept in the open field one final time.

At least, that is how it was recorded.

Neyrwin Rivurn always had an intense yearning for knowledge. Her parents said she craved information as the fish crave water. They were not wrong. She especially loved the history of dragons. That is why she chose to attend Lebernia. The college was constructed in the valley where The Last Dragon was said to be slain. The founding wizards claimed to sense an everlasting magic imprint in the area, leftover from the mythic creature himself. As much as Neyrwin studied dragons, she never thought she would meet one. Nor did she think her life would change so unexpectedly.

The sun shone bright as birds flew overhead. It was the middle of autumn, and Neyrwin rode her horse, Ember, across the valley. She travelled east, away from the college toward the town she grew up in. She had visited her family there several times in the years since she left home, although those visits were joyfully awaited. A somber veil covered her face as she and Ember plodded toward the woods at the edge of the valley. Before crossing the tree line, Neyrwin gently tugged on the reigns, bringing the horse to a stop. Black hair waved along her shoulders as she turned her head, glancing toward the tall spires she spent years studying in.

The muscles in his legs rippled as Neyrwin coaxed him into the woods, hooves gently pressing fallen leaves to the ground. Sunlight filtered through the tree foliage, gleaming against Ember's brown coat, highlighting the deep red tint that was his namesake. The soft sounds of rustling leaves and scurrying critters gave way to Neyrwin's thoughts. As they traveled, she contemplated the significances of her thirty-four years. Her steely gray eyes misted over as a lone tear fell to the fair and pale skin of her neck.

Neyrwin's family lived in Orcand, a small village a week's travel from Lebernia. Orcand rested alongside a stream, which kept the land fertile and rich in farm soil. Many of its residents farmed the land, trading the products of their labors to other nearby villages and larger cities. One of the farmers was Eburain Rivurn, who married Lifitri shortly before inheriting his land and animals when his parents had grown too feeble to keep up the heavy lifestyle. They birthed Neywrin first, and thirteen years later had Avierna. The two daughters learned everything from caring for the beasts to cultivating the earth. Neither girl had ever complained, although Neyrwin's passion lay with books and knowledge of all, while Avierna had an adventurous spirit and explored the nearby areas often.

Neyrwin remembered many evenings in their modest cottage when she would be studying something or other when Avierna would come running inside, bursting with an energetic excitement. She would grab Neyrwin by the arm and pull her back outside to greet wary travelers on the dirt road leading into their town. Both girls would invite them to stay at their house, offering dinner and a bed in exchange for any regaling tales or news. Eburain and Lifetri first reprimanded their daughters for being so carelessly impulsive, although soon grew accustomed to and even welcomed the frequent and diverse company.

As the girls bombarded each journeyer with questions, Neyrwin recorded their responses in journals she kept. She wrote of individuals and locations, flora and fauna. Along with journals she penned herself, Neyrwin collected tomes and scrolls, often from far cities the travelers had visited previously. She had amassed a small library by the time she was twenty, which was when she decided she was not fully content with the limited amount she knew of the world.

When the time had come, Neyrwin left home to a teary goodbye from her family. She had heard much about Lebernia over the years, building up an intense yearning for all it had to offer. Lebernia was a college where many of the lands scholars came together to study all things, both natural and magic. Rarely had any true mages or wizards passed through her quaint home, though she craved to learn of their powers. She had witnessed basic parlor tricks from dabbling travelers, but knew there was so much more to understand.

Neyrwin arrived at the college with Ember, a horse she had been close to since childhood. Upon enrollment she chose to study the histories and languages from prominent scholars, absorbing as much as she could. Neyrwin visited home regularly, traveling with Ember a few times a year, although Lebernia gradually grew to feel more like home to her. Over the years she studied many of the various curriculums the school offered, learning as much as she could. She grew fluent in both written and spoken languages of Elvish, Dwarvish, and Goblin. She was also intrigued by Draconic. As a dead language, all that remained was the ancient human interpretations of dragon speech. Neyrwin deciphered few of the old texts herself, though it seemed to her more of a jumbled explanation of expressions and movements than literary words. She did not limit herself to the languages of the lands, and studied the rich histories of each race, continent, and nation, learning much more than she ever dreamed of in her childhood.

After she graduated with honors, Neyrwin decided to stay at ? and continue her studies, working as a librarian. She loved helping new students find any and all knowledge they sought, watching their thirst for wisdom rival her own. She became close friends with another human philosopher, Ruslan Hearthran. His family had lived further east than her own, in a village her parents had frequently traded with. He never left the college to visit them, at least not as far as Neyrwin knew. He had once posed a question to her, the answer to which he was frequently searching for. A simple question as it was, but required much personal insight.

Is free will real or just an illusion?

They have pondered that question over many a late night's candle. Is it different for each individual? is it a construct of their minds? How does fate play into it? Do even the gods have free will? How does family and upbringing affect one's free will, or alternatively their fate? And if free will is an illusion, then why? Does fate differ, or is there one and only one path? Ruslan and Neyrwin looked for absolute proof, but only found artificial evidence which could support either theory. They argued both for and against each point easily, leading them always to inconclusiveness. Ruslan did speculate that the answer lie within the dragon's extinct culture, although neither he nor Neyrwin knew how to explore that conjecture.

Tears gathered at the corner of Neyrwin's eyes, splashed from her face as she blinked, her lashes cutting through the teardrops as she bowed her head. Ember continued to trot through the woods, following the well worn path. She raised her arm, touching the soft fabric of her tunic to her cheeks. She glanced up, watching a lone leaf break free from the tree and flutter toward the ground.

Sadly, in the middle of summer, a virus swept throughout the college. It affected many of the students and scholars, making hundreds sick and killing dozens. The virus was unaffected by all attempts to cure it, whether from magic, herb, or prayer. The origin was unknown, although after a month everyone who was still alive began to recover. In the aftermath, the school heads decided to close their halls temporarily. They wished to launch an investigation into the matter, in addition to giving everyone time to grieve over the deceased. Those who wished to stay were welcome to help assist in the inspections, while those who left for their families were told they would be contacted once the school found any answers or reopened its doors. The school commissioned a letter for each family of those who perished, but kept all bodies for further examination.

Ruslan was among those who died at the hands of the malady. Neyrwin stayed by his side in his last moments. It bothered him to speak much towards the end, yet he still desired the answer to his obsessive question. "I will continue in my pursuit. Perhaps the next life will yield new information. Neyrwin, we will compare notes when next we meet." Coughing out those words seemed to take his remaining energy, and he slipped away from the world.

Neyrwin mourned her friend. Once the school wrote up the death notices, she volunteered to deliver Ruslan's to his family. She was curious to meet his parents and offer her condolences personally. She planned to ride with Ember to the Hearthran's home, then to her own town until the school recalled her.

Little did Neyrwin know this was only the start of a long and arduous journey. Even as she and Ember continued their slow trek, weaving among the trees, Neyrwin could not think of her life beyond the present week. As then sun languidly fell behind the trees, a light patter of rain interrupted the forest's tranquility. Ember snorted and tossed his head as droplets decorated his pelt, his tail flicking at his flank. Neyrwin gently rested her hand below his ear.

"We'll settle down for the night soon. Let's find a place to rest. I'm sure you're a bit hungry aren't you? Ember's ears flicked at the sound of her voice. She gently tugged the reigns, guiding them northwards where the trees were more dense and would provide a little shelter. The rain continued lightly, and Neyrwin chose a large tree with dense clusters of branches and knotted roots breaching the ground. She stepped down from her steed, taking rope from the saddlebags to securely tie around one of roots, which was thicker around than Ember's neck. The root formed an arch yielding seven inches above the foliage before diving down and burying itself deep. Once Ember was secured, Neyrwin unshouldered her backpack and wedged it in a nearby shrub.

The backpack contained the items she valued most as well as several small trinkets she had collected. She did not want to risk her journals, inkwells, pens, or parchments getting wet or muddy. She leaned her oaken staff against the tree before rummaging through the saddlebags. She removed several fruits for herself and Ember, enjoying the crisp apples and succulent berries before removing the bedding. She laid down with her back to the wide trunk and drifted slowly to sleep, serenaded by the night's sounds mixed with the familiar chewing as Ember grazed.

Neyrwin awoke with a jolt to the whinnies and clomps coming from her agitated horse. Three bandits were watching her, one standing, the other two sitting on the tree's roots. The closest man had his dagger resting on his knee, which flashed upward to point at Neyrwin as she gasped. She kicked her feet to the ground, pushing herself flat against the tree, her eyes darted frantically searching for an escape. She instantly knew she was as good as defenseless, since she left her only dagger in the saddlebag. Not that she had ever used the dagger for any sort of combat before. Her father had taught her the basics of handling it, but he was no expert in combat. The staff just out of reach, and she doubted it would offer much of a chance for her anyway. As the two stood up, she reached down to her side, pulling the coins from the pouch on her hip and tossing it towards them. Without saying a word they advanced, stooping to collect the spilled coins. Neyrwin noticed a tattoo on each of their right forearms, a skewered dragon head. The details differed, with varying weapons, colors and features.

The tattoos were the last thing Neyrwin saw before her world became a boiling cloud of agony. She screamed as the bandits attacked, stabbing and cutting her in turns. An explosion of red pain lashed down her face as steel split her skin, carving a river from her temple, around her eye and down her cheek. She could barely process the malicious laughter as her senses were overtaken by pain, just pure pain. Once they finished, they cut her throat as she whimpered, leaving her for dead.

As Neyrwin bled out and her eyes fogged over, her last vision was of the bandits grappling with Ember. Fervently she sent a prayer to any god who would listen. She could not die in peace. She thought of Ruslan, and as much as she wanted to reunite with him, she was more desperate to continue their search and keep his memory alive. She needed to let his family know. She needed to say goodbye to her own.

Neyrwin was not ready to die.

Death heard her last and final prayer.

Death approached Neyrwin and extended his ancient skeletal finger. He caressed her face, tracing the bloody gash marring her fair complexion. When his fleshless bone reached the end of the wound Death pulled his hand away, bringing Neyrwin's soul with. Neyrwin felt a sensation which could only be described as if she was peeled from her body as it entered a void apart from the physical realm. She could not process any traditional stimuli, could not see any color or hear any noise. Rather it seemed as if this spirit realm projected and merged all relevant details directly with her thoughts. It was utterly chaotic, yet Neyrwin's mind stayed sharp. She somehow deciphered a cloaked skeletal figure in front of her. His mouth moved not, yet his speech was recognizable.

"Do you wish to keep your life?" Neyrwin sensed his ghostly voice in her mind. Or was it his mind that she was in? She could not tell exactly, everything was so alien to her. She attempted to speak, but her mouth refused to move. She did not even know if she had a mouth anymore. She sensed a finger directed to her mind, or what she perceived as her mind.

"Yes." She could think. It was taxing, a whirlwind of thought just to form the one word. Images flashed in the backround becoming mountains and stones, decisions became rivers that all melded together, Neyrwin's reasons for living manifested themselves into an incoherent mess, a seemingly living response. Death nodded.

"Do you know what you must do?"

Another cacophony of confusion, a myriad of possibilities flooding from Neyrwin's soul, all forming the notion of a simple question, "what?"

A parchment appeared in front of her and unrolled itself. She was understanding easier, only because this seemed to be the figure's realm, and he had perfect control and projection of his thoughts. She knew instantly what he meant to convey, although she could barely begin to understand her own responses. "If you wish to keep your mortal life, you will become my vassal. Sign this contract with your blood, and you will be bound to me even while you breathe. If you break this contract in any way, this exchange becomes forfeit. In return you will learn of my power and grow strong. You will be attuned to the magics that connects our realms. You must carry out my task of liberate souls. I grow weary of seeing all those tormented essences after their death. You are not the first, nor will you be the last. As the worlds grow, more and more need me. I cannot help them all.

"I love and cherish each and every soul. As you can understand, upon death a soul's venture becomes very chaotic. They are confused. Hurt. Angry. Stressed. Sad. Tormented. I hate to see my subjects suffer. I bring them to their place of rest, wherever that may be.

"All I ask for in return for your life and newfound power is for your service in liberating souls to me. Find them still trapped in their decaying bodies. Kill whenever you would like and release them from their living chains. I do not care for the living. Their physique is but temporary, a brief glimpse compared to the eternity they will be privileged to. The afterlife is what is important. It matters not how you acquire them. Do you accept?"

More discordance erupted within Neyrwin's consciousness, rendering even her mind incapable of reason. She had no idea of how to respond or even comprehend the consequences of either path. Chaos swelled as she considered succumbing to her death, and a variant of the same chaos rushed her thoughts to how to be alive. Somehow Death interpreted the tumultuous waves as an acceptance. He pointed behind her, lifting a view and revealing the material plane, a small recognizable reprieve from the jumbled mess assaulting Neyrwin. She felt she could actually see, though witnessing her dead eyes made her realize she had no features whatsoever, much less functioning eyeballs. Her corpse shuddered as globules of blood rose in the air, adopting a necrotic green glow as they crossed realms toward her ethereal form. She felt as though she willed the droplets toward the floating contract. Her blood caught a blue flame upon contact, burning into the contract as it evaporated in smoke.

Neyrwin's soul felt an intense pulling to her body. As they merged, her pain amplified, and she screamed. No longer did she feel the chaos of separation, rather she felt as though her every organ was compressed and rearranged inside of her body. She convulsed and retched as Death reached out to her. He touched first her legs, healing her body as he moves from wound to wound. The pain dissipates until it is left solely in her face. As Death cradled the flesh on her skull, the gash closed. Once the pain stopped, she held out her hand.

"Leave the scar. I don't erase any of my experiences, I record them. Let this scar stand as a permanent mark to show what happened today."

Death pulled his hand away, waving it in front of him. As Neyrwin pulled herself to a sitting position, several objects manifested in front of her on the bloodied ground. A marked black pouch, two scrolls, a pile of bones, and a loaf of bread appeared one after the next.

"Your contract." Death's voice grated through the solid bones of his jaw. "Your soul is now tethered to it and as such is mine." Death touched his skeletal hand to her chest. She felt a surge of power, a tug of resistance, a sense of being trapped and released, and an immense weight as if she were suddenly anchored. "The pouch will hold any souls you free. The magic imbued in its fabric helps to calm them, so that they will be ready to meet me. You must carry out the ritual detailed on the scroll to release them from the bag to me. You now hold the ability to access great magics and hold much power within yourself. I may grant you more access as you prove your loyalty to my cause. Use your magic to give form to these bones. They will be a vessel for me to communicate with you. Eat the bread, you will need your strength."

Death moved to the staff leaning against the tree and grasped its head. It glowed a green-blue as a soft blue flame engulfed Death's hand and the staff, burning his bone imprints into the wood. "This weapon can help channel magics that will resonate with souls. It is connected with myself and your pouch. You wield its power.

"Farewell, my child. Take care." With those words Death disappeared in wisps of mist clouds. Neyrwin was left sitting in the same position as she was when she first woke hours ago. The objects each were within her reach.

Dying had drained her of all energy, so she weakly picked up the bread. As she ate, she contemplated her next steps. A new scroll to read! She was excited about this more than anything. The bones? How could she possibly form them? She still has to deliver Ruslan's death notice. Her family. Ember. She filled with rage thinking of the bandits. She did not notice, but sparks fizzed nearby and the plants shivered. Her staff. It felt new and unique in her hands, but she could grasp it firmly as she always had. The scroll. Her backpack. She looked over everything, and gave a sigh. She did not know exactly how she would advance, but she would move forward one step at a time.

And thus begins the journey of Neyrwin Rivurn.