Tales of Ulrica

"There weren't always dragons in the Valley."

Absalom lifted his eyes from the glass of ale he had been nursing. It was the word dragon that caught his attention. There was a since of strangeness in how it was said. The tone was colloquial, as if talking about dragons was a part of an everyday conversation, like how people talk about the weather or the latest gossip. Is this what the world has come to, he thought. Are dragons just fun topics to gab about while you work your crossword puzzles?

“Fools.” He muttered.

Absalom groaned in his spirit. He felt the heat rising deep within his gut. The pain was just for a moment, but it was there none the less. He took a deep breath and exhaled slowly. He took another drink of ale, and immediately felt the numbing effects ease his discomfort. Good, he thought. That was close.

He watched from the shadows as an innkeeper served five men sitting at one of the inn’s nicest tables, of which wasn’t saying much. The only reason Absalom was there was due to necessity, not luxury. Walls covered in flecking faded paint, carpet dirty and frayed in so many places it was hard to tell what color it originally was, and the only thing the clung to this place, was the smell of pipe smoke. This tavern had probably seen its better days forty years ago, if that.

Absalom studied the old innkeeper. He believed his name was Herald. It was he who had mentioned dragons. Despite the man’s overweight physique, there was an air of grace about his movements as he balanced a large serving tray in one hand and slid plates of hot food to his patrons in the other. He had a rhythm; the type of rhythm that comes from years of repetition. What a strange way to live; to excel at mediocracy. Mediocre inn, mediocre town, mediocre existence. Yet in all of Absalom’s disdain, a small piece of him was jealous. Jealous for the simplicity of it all; the freedom of a simple life. He listened in, as Herald continued his conversation.

"In the old days, you'd never see them any further than Aeyeth Shamal, and even then, that was rare. You see, dragons like the desert. That is at least what I've heard. But we are living in strange times." Herald explained.

“Did you see the dragon?” a boyish patron asked. “Some say it’s the one that burned Surrey to the ground. Eyes green as emeralds. Scales black and red, as if made of molten rock itself.”

A bearded patron slammed his mug down on the table nearly spilling its contents. “Nonsense I say! Nonsense! Surrey burned alright, but it was no dragon. That’s all Sar’Peshian propaganda. Don’t be fooled by it.”

The boyish patron took a bite of meat and leaned forward. “Still though, we do have a dragon on our hands.” He dabbed another piece of meat in the gravy on his plate. “I worked with the Sar’Pesh before coming north to Grand Lucia. There’s a lot of excited talk about this dragon; the dragon I just described. They call it the Arkeron, the one who will cleanse Ulrica with fire.”

“We call it by a different name.”

Everyone was so engaged in conversation, that they didn’t even notice that the door to the inn was opened wide and a tall slender figure now stood there, his body shrouded in a long black cloak. It could be forgiven if one mistook the individual at the door as a man. At first glance, amidst the backdrop of the night sky, he certainly appeared normal, however as he strode into the inn, there was something unnerving about his gate. It was too precise, too silent… a predator walking among its prey. This wasn’t lost on the men at the table, nor Absalom.

“Where I am from,” the figure continued, “the beast is called Abaddon.”

“So, so… you’ve seen this dragon?” asked the boyish patron as the figure passed.

The figure stopped. A smile slid across his lips. “Why yes. I rather know it intimately. You could say that Abaddon and I are brothers.”

The figure removed his cloak in one fluid motion, revealing his milky white skin and braided bronze hair that draped down over his shoulders. Upon seeing this, Absalom pushed himself further into the shadows. He thought he had recognized the voice as soon as the figure walked into the tavern. Now that he could plainly see the individual, there was no mistaken it, this creature was a Mageon, an elf of the old world, a place called Aijzakan. Just thinking the word made the heat in Absalom’s gut burn hot. Painful place… Painful memories. If these fools understood just how much danger they were in, they’d just keep to themselves, and leave the elf to his own business…

But…

“Brothers?” scoffed the bearded patron at the head of the table. “How can you be brothers to a dragon?”

The gesture drew laughs from the other patrons, but the elf only smiled. From a pouch tied to his belt, he produced a small golden ball etched in hundreds of tiny runes. He shook it three times in in hand and then released it. It flew into the air as jets a steam propelled it around and around his head.

A mousy-looking patron nearly dropped his fork. “What’s that?”

The elf tilted his head in the patron’s direction. “This, my friend, is a Whistler. It helps me know what is true or what is false.” “You see”, he continued. “When she is quiet that means honesty prevails, but if there is an inkling of deception, she will hum louder and louder.”

“What happens if you find that someone is trying to deceive you?” asked the mousy patron.

“I end their life.” exclaimed the elf.

Herald rushed over and stood between the elf and the men at the table.

“Mageon or no Mageon, you threaten my patrons, I’ll have you tossed out!”

“My apologies, innkeeper. The man asked a question, and I gave an answer. It wasn’t meant as a threat, but a reality.” The elf gave a formal bow and moved past Herald. “I know my methods seem harsh, but it is of the most vital necessity that I know everyone is being honest with me.”

The Mageon elf came to a stop at the bearded patron.

“When I said that Abaddon and I were brothers, I wasn’t meaning that we were literal family.”

The elf was now circling the table, as the Whistler circled his head, its hum still only a low hiss. His eyes met the eyes of the young patron.

“Let me tell you a story. Many years ago, my father procured a dragon’s egg from the deserts of Al Saad Adakuum. He brought it home to Aijzakan where he raised it, nurtured it, and helped it grow big and strong. Then one day, he did, what many believed impossible, he performed the Soul Weave and awakened the beast’s mind.”

“Incredible! Your father turned a dragon into a familiar!” The young patron was trembling with excitement. “Most mages struggle with soul weaving a small bird, let alone anything larger than a wolf, but a dragon. The application could be…”

The elf raised his hand, silencing the young man.

“There is no application dear boy.” The elf sighed. “My father’s pride blinded him to the reality. The reality that a dragon is not a bird or a dog. Dragons were born of the Living Magic, and only by the Laws of the Living Magic do they adhere to.”

The elf moved closer in Absalom’s direction, and as he passed the Whistler’s hum changed ever so slightly. He paused, but then moved forward, continuing his story. “Abaddon murdered my father, destroyed my estate, and is now loose in Grand Lucia. That is why I’m here. I am Meighdo bin Beltizaar, son of Beltizaar the Great, and by the Living Magic I will slay this abomination, this dragon!”

“Foolish elven hokum!” spat the bearded patron. “You need not any of this living magic to slay a dragon, just a sword or a spear would suffice.”

“You could slay such a dragon with simple tools?” asked Meighdo, not even attempting to hide the disgust in his voice.

The bearded man, his mouth still full of meat, balled his fist and shouted. “You betcha!” The other men cheered along with him. They began to chant and sing, hitting their cups on the table, a victory song, yet no victory had been won.

Despite the merriment overflowing at the table, Absalom could sense the danger. He could feel it in every fiber of his existence. The heat in his gut was overpowering… a warning. He slid out of his seat, staying just out of sight. He quickly scanned the inn, looking for any place to hide. Then he saw it… A door to the left… a closet. He crawled across the floor and pulled himself inside.

Magic funneled into the inn. The air was thick with it, …suffocating, yet the patrons continued to sing, completely oblivious to its presence. Those stupid men… why don’t they run… He was just about to close the closet door behind him, when…

The world stopped. Herald stood motionless… the joyous faces of the patrons frozen, yet Meighdo walked freely. He crossed over to the bearded patron and stared down at the hairy man as one would stare at a fly; indifferent and cold.

“Simple tools are for simple beasts.” Meighdo smiled. “Azhri!”

BANG!

A shriek of wind howled through the inn. Candles flickered and went out. Glass shattered and the front door flew off its hinges. Through the dancing shadows, Absalom could see a macabre of twisting bones and shredding clothes, as hands became hooves, tusks ripped through open mouths. Then at last, where once was the sound of cheers of joy, now only beastly squeals, as several wild boars crashed to the carpeted ground.

Meighdo stood amidst the wreckage and sighed. “I guess it is true, you are what you eat.”

Absalom drifted to the floor; all strength lost. Just as the Mageon had the power to give intelligence to simple beasts, they also had the power to rob men of humanity. He knew, in his heart of hearts, more than anyone, that once a spell was spoken, it was now law, unbreakable, unbendable. These men suffered the Beast’s Fate, and they would now spend the rest of their short lives as pigs, all memory of their human existence erased forever. He watched on, as one by one the boars sauntered off out of the inn’s ruined entrance and disappeared into the darkness, leaving Absalom alone with the elf.

“Abaddon… Abaddon… Abaddon.” Meighdo sang in a sing-song voice. “I know you are here. I know you are hiding.”

Absalom held his breath. He could hear the Whistler humming on the other side of the door. The heat in his gut was now unbearable. Sweat streamed down his neck and unto his chest. Stay calm… Stay calm.

“You are full of surprises. You created a Vind… a vessel… a human vessel to hide your true self.” Meighdo beamed, as he stalked through the broken inn. “Hiding among the very people you were created to destroy.”

Absalom clinched his eyes shut. He trembled uncontrollably. The heat was spreading to every inch of his body. The Whistler pulsed louder and Meighdo moved closer. Each of his foot falls exploded in Absalom’s ears.

“You may have had the strength to kill your master but changing your form will not change your fate. I can sense it in you now; a burning desire to raise this civilization to the ground. Yet some of these savages call you Arkeron… their savior! How the irony. But I know what you truly are… a monster, an aberration, a proud fool’s mistake… Bringer of Ruin… That is your name, Abaddon!”

It was his name… a long time ago, but not now. Absalom had changed it. Yes, the desire to bring chaos burned deep in his gut, but it wasn’t his desire at all. It was the desire of the creature that gave him this dangerous intellect. No, he wasn’t the monster, the Mageon that created him was. Absalom’s anger boiled over. The sweat that once soaked his body evaporated into steam. He could sense Meighdo’s presence just on the other side of the closet. Its now or never…

“You only have two choices that will free you, Abaddon. You either fulfill your master’s last desire, or you die.”

Absalom rose to his feet. A powerful surge pulsed within him. Wells upon wells of pure rage spilled over engulfing him in its fire.

“Wrong!” Absalom shouted!

The air around him ignited and he allowed it to swallow him whole. Within a fraction of a second, he was soaring through fire and ash, spiraling upward higher and higher and then with a sonic BOOM, he shot clear above the clouds.

Absalom, now a great dragon, unfurled his massive bat-like wings. He felt the icy air flowing underneath them, and cold rain streamed across his horned snout. He glanced downward at the fiery mushroom cloud rising below him. It’s a pity, he thought. He rather liked that inn. Sadly, he doubted that his exit killed Meighdo, but at least for the moment, he was safe… but for how long?

Whether he was Abaddon or Arkeron, it had to be his choice, on his terms. This choice was the very reason he had come to Grand Lucia, and he hoped that somewhere in all the magical world, he could find a way to be free… free as the stars that shined so brightly above his head.

He turned his attention to the horizon. The Ivory City, the capital of Grand Lucia was just beyond in that direction. If his human form was able to fool those at the inn, maybe it was time to test it in a more proper setting. His wings found a prevailing wind and he soared even higher, leaving the smoldering wreckage of the inn far behind him.

Yes, there weren't always dragons in the valley, but at least for now, there was one.