Drunkard

There weren't always dragons in the valley. The Voice of Death had swamped the moon mountains and killed thousands of livestock. It crossed the Co'bak rivers and spread like a disease until all that was left were dead animals, yoleans (insect dragons with many legs that fed on dead b0dies), and hungry dragons.

As the sun switched places with the moon, hunger eventually became the weather of the day, and every flying creature (including dragons) begun migrating to avoid death.

The Voice of Death, sometimes called Phoelluyus' wrath, is a spectral being that kills faster than any soul has seen. Soldiers and great warriors have attempted to exchange swords with this beast, but, like dead branches, they fell to the ground, with only the forest to tell the tale of their gruesome deaths.

This spectral being travels with the wind and leaves a white flaky substance on the leaves that lie on its path. Like dust, it swirls in the air and is only seen when touched by the sun. Yet, like a dim moon, its presence is felt only when it surrounds its victim.

"There are different names for this beast, but the one that has stayed with distance and time is "the Voice of Death" because, once you hear the windy cries it makes as it travels, death will follow!"

No human, elf, fairy, or boondong has dwelled in its presence for more than one hour. Humans, being the only species with no special ability, but their unquenchable desire to invent and plant crops, typically last five minutes before they meet their deaths.

Meanwhile, the large cavern carnivores, also known as boondongs, last fifteen to twenty minutes, thanks of their ability to slow their heartbeats in their bloodiest rage.

Magical fairies and elves, on the other hand, last fifty to sixty minutes with the help of a full moon. It is believed that most elves are able to battle gods under a full moon.

The storyteller tightly squeezes his beer keg and stared ghostly at the burning wood.

He continues,

Stories have been told amongst villages about the origin of this killer. Some people believe it is the ghost of a wind elf that is avenging the genocide of his people.

Many ten-moons ago, General Mkukui, the greatest boondong warrior from the Ir'cha tribe, ordered the genocide of the Xxava village. The way the boondong soldiers massacred the Xxava villagers made everyone's blood crawl with both rage and fear. So much so that many people avoid talking about the genocide, and simply refer to it as "the night blood became clay."

On that day, the male Xxava elves watched as their wives became feasts for dogs. The infants and babies were buried alive in ground holes, and the warriors... oh the poor Xxava warrior felt pain, and pain, and pain until their tears and blood mixed with the clay on the ground.

The storyteller stops and looks away from the fire with a pang of sadness. He looks back at his only audience and remarks,

"I could give you more details my dear friend, but I am worried it will only cause this sour beer to taste even more bitter. So, I'll skip all of that."

"So, where was I?"

"Oh yeah, there weren't always dragons in the valley, you know. The Voice of Death..."

"Wait, I already said all that. Did I mention dragons? I can't really remember. The sound of swords and armor clashing against each other is deafening."

"Oh yeah, I remember now.

“There were always dragons in the valley..."

The storyteller stops and shakes his head aggressively,

"No no no no, what am I saying?"

"You know what? I am going to cut off my left toe... because my father once told me that if you are lost in your words, cut your left toe."

"Aye, you see! I remember now."

"As I was saying..."

He continues,

There are many folklores about the origin of the Voice of Death. Most people believe it is the wrath of Phoelluyus that has fallen upon the dwellers on earth. For instance, Ir'cha villagers believe Phoelluyus, the god of chaos and order, is angry with the human knowledgers that discovered the second moon of Tabhita.

You see, some knowledgers secretly traveled to the Ir'cha cold mountains to explore the secrets beyond the universe. As a result of their exploration, they discovered a second moon near Tabhita, with a long-distant seeing stick they called a telescope. Now, the villagers in the Ir'cha tribe believe that the ground they used to disrupt the order of knowledge birthed the ghost killer.

Since the Ir'cha village was the first place the Voice of Death visited, many people believed their story until they suggested all knowledgers should be sacrificed to stop the ghost killer. The cult of knowledge has members from all over the world. Some of these members are of royal blood and killing them will prompt a world war that could last hundreds of ten-moons, killing more people every second, than the Voice of the Death would have done in a day.

There are other beliefs about the origin of the Voice of Death. Some elves, from the North, believe that the savage cavern dwellers from the Ir'cha tribe fed and fornicated with forbidden animals and evil spirits. So Phoelluyus sent this purifier to cleanse all tribes until all that is left is pure blood.

The northern elves believe that they are a superior race forged by Kroig, the goddess of everything, with the under-skin of her breast. While the other "impure bloods" are merely mutants from animal evolution and inter-racial marriages.

They call themselves the Pure.

The storyteller chuckles and remarks,

"I call them, the cowards, with a capital C"

"We all exist, we feel, we cry, we think, and we die. No one should be treated wrongfully because they are different."

The only folklore whose origin seems to bare a form of truth is that the Voice of Death originated from a broken dragon's egg.

It is believed that a blacksmith in the Ir'cha tribe broke a dragon's egg in a foundry furnace to prove that a dragon's egg is unbreakable. No one knows how he got the egg but everyone agrees that if he did, he was stupid.

Even if there was no ghost killer from his actions, the dragon's parent would have vaporized the entire tribe and all neighboring tribes when they find out.

So now, there are two logical explanations for the outcome of this mistake. The nature elves believe that the Voice of Death is a lonely dragon spirit that has lost its way.

It is commonly believed that an egg is just a shell until the spirit of the offspring possesses it. For some animals, this process occurs quickly but for magical creatures, this process takes ten-moons if not tens of ten-moons.

The nature elves believe that the egg was hatched prematurely, and now the spirit of the baby dragon is stuck between the physical realm and the spirit realm. Its intentions are purely survival instinct. So every time it visits the physical realm, it wanders the earth looking for something to possess to remain here.

The storyteller looks back at his only audience. He puts his hands on its head and remarks,

"They say it doesn't even know it is a dragon"

He continues,

It possesses every living creature and being it sees with hopes that it will find its settling body. Since no living being can absorb the power of a dragon, they are killed right away. The cure offered by the nature elf is to place a dead baby dragon in its midst to possess it. Although the solution sounds plausible, it is impossible to find a dead infant dragon. It is like looking for a flower in a garden of lava.

The second explanation is offered by the knowledgers. They believe that the Voice of Death is an air-borne virus that originated from the dragon's egg. They suspect the virus was living on the corpse of the dead offspring in the dragon's egg.

They also claimed that the offspring died in the egg long before it was forcefully hatched becuase if it wasn't dead, the offspring's parent would still be looking for it, and the gods help any soul that crosses their path.

The knowledgers believe that the virus is very deadly because it has little to zero symptoms. For this reason, people don't know they have it until it is too late, and they begin hallucinating.

Unfortunately, their first suggested cure to bath with salt water and moon flowers was not effective. So, no one believes them. Infact, they were almost stoned to death when they recommended villagers quarantine themselves to curtail the virus's spread.

Who will nurture the crops and feed my family while we hide in a shell like a forest elf? they yelled.

The truth is, no one knows the true origin of the Voice of Death. All that is known is that dragons are immune to them, especially KaTungs ( predator dragons).

The storyteller stops and spits into the fire

He remarks loudly,

"Yes! the bloody dragons are somehow able to survive the attacks from the voice of death. Not a soul was surprised when they found out.

"Hmm, the only burden a dragon has to face is that it must eat. You know, we are all food, my dear friend."

He laughs and, immediately, frowns at the fire.

Meanwhile, kings and queens from different tribes are offering a bountiful amount of leather or silver to any individual that is capable of capturing and taming the Voice of Death.

They believe that the spirit or virus (or whatever it may be) is the key to controlling all tribes and winning all wars.

He drank his last gulp of beer and says with a pensive face,

"Imagine holding death in your hands... You get to decide who lives and who dies. Only gods should hold such power."

"You know, my good friend, we can both be gods if you will stop eating from the ground and help me capture this killer."

He hiccups and yells,

"I am beginning to think that you don't care about the moment that we are sharing, before we both meet our gruesome death."

While yelling profusely at his only audience. A soldier runs towards the fire and yells,

"What are you doing you drunk fool?

"We are being attacked by KaTungs and you are here talking to a goat."

"Go get your sword and join the battle," the soldier continued.

The storyteller throws his beer keg into the fire and shouts,

"Farewell my friend, either I eat you tomorrow or I am eaten by dragons tonight. Whatever the outcome may be, remember that I love you from the bottom of my heart."

The tied baby goat continued bleating and attempted to escape its own bondage. The storyteller attempted to hug the goat but got kicked in his mouth. With shame, he staggered as he picked up his sword and put on his silver helmet.

"you are a feisty one," the storyteller continued as he walked away from the fire.

He yells as he points his sword to the moon.

"I will not let the dragons take the little food we have left. I will fight until I can't no more and if it be the wishes of the gods, let my blood cover this valley."

Meanwhile, thousands of human soldiers and star fairy hunters gathered at the base of the valley in an attempt to chase the KaTungs away. They looked like matching frightened ants in silver armors, as they yelled,

"Until blood"

"Until death"

"Until freedom"

"And until victory"

The soldiers chanted as they marched to the top of the hill. The KaTungs spotted them from afar and flew over them like they were playing with their food. The storyteller clumsily joins the formation, and the general yells,

"HOLD YOUR FORMATION!"

"SHIELDS!"

"ARROWS"

"FIREEEE!"

"SHIELDS!"

"ARROWS"

"FIRE!"

"HOLD YOUR FORMATION!"

The KaTungs opened their mouths and gushed out fire to rain on the soldiers. The soldiers, on the other hand, stood their grounds and fought desperately hard.

But fire always beats arrow.

Many lives were lost that night. Even the drunk storyteller experienced the anger of a dragon. The moon turned red, and the dead bodies of the soldiers and fairies laid as carpets on the hill.

All but one survived this ambush. The baby goat managed to remove the leash on its neck and ran into the forest. The difference, however, between the goat and the storyteller is one chose to fight the dragons to save the little food he had left, while the other chose to run into the forest to save the little life he had left until he fell into the cold embrace of the Voice of Death.