The Wolf and the Dragon

There weren't always dragons in the valley. Never in many thousands of years had a single mortal witnessed the shadow in the sky whose wings could cover the sun. The roar of thunder followed by the flash of flames and death. Only one lives, bound by The Flame to the Dragon King of Azzokar, Vazzoko Kritar. He is tall and proud. Tan skin melds with a thick dragon-like hide. His brass armor is nicked and tarnished from years of combat. Sharp edges fold over each other, scalloping like dragon scales over his body. Deep, aged, and amber eyes glare under his brass spangen helm. Large, intricate horns protrude from his head over his long silvery hair and armored neck.

The battlefield is covered in ash as if it were snow. An eternity of smoke and flame leave the land scarred black. The ancient corpses of long-dead trees lay scattered and frail. Each gust of wind erodes more and more of the ashen stumps like a grinding wheel pressed against a soft blade. The stygian hills roll under a murky sky. Horns bellow from the east accompanied by thumping drums and thunderous marching. Atop a cliff, perched above the fields, Vazzoko sits atop Althuzzard. The beast grunts and growls. Sparks skip like rocks on a pound from his maw and onto the dark ground. His scales resemble volcanic stone spewing magma from its scars. Razor-sharp talons grip tightly into the earth. The army below stops before a great forest. Its trees are bastions, sturdy and colossal watching over the charred fields before them.

"The forest stands ripe for invasion my king." Calls a voice from behind Vazzoko. Salizzan Kritar, the cousin to the Dragon King and commander, stands under Althuzzard and Vazzoko. He stands pompously and confidently with his arms crossed over his burnt-grey chest plate. His skin is darker than Vazzoko's but his skin is fairer and younger. A simple goatee hugs his chin under his smirking complexion. Smaller, simple horns come from his short black hair.

"Ah Salizzan 'The Dragon'. Come, cousin." Vazzoko commands. "Where are the Vallen?"

"Scouts reported them defending this treeline."

"Yet they are nowhere to be seen."

There is a pause. Vazzoko's voice groans with annoyance. "Send them in commander."

"Sire." Salizzan pleads. "The woodland is their territory. We would be at a terrible disadvantage. Those demons move like shadows in the trees."

"Then burn it. Lure the vermin out from their nests." Vazzoko kicks Althuzzard. "For The Flame."

Althuzzard roars as it brings Vazzoko into the air and down towards the fortress of trees. Salizzan is approached by two captains.

"What are the orders commander?" One asks.

"Set them alight." Salizzan walks off down towards the army.

A wave of fire washes over the forest as arrows, stones, and tar are hurled into the woods. The smoke billows high into the clouds covering the light of the sun. Salizzan stands in front of the army leading them forward into the fire. Althuzzard screeches above.

From deep within the forest the Vallen quietly wait. Their bows are readied while they hide in the tall foliage of the woods. In front of them stands a man dressed in snowy wolf skin. Two blades are brandished, their purple hue whispers under the silver as the evening sun peeks in through the gaps of the trees. His eyes gleam mauve under the wolf's hide. He stares at the destruction before him. At the monsters at his doorstep. The winged death that looms above the trees roaring louder than any creature. To him, they are no different than the beast upon his back and head. He takes a deep breath and closes his eyes for a moment.

Snow falls ever so gently on the forest floor. Nothing but the howling wind echoes amidst the dancing flakes. The moon peeks over the veil of the clouds revealing a hooded figure in the shadow of a great tree. His mauve eyes are luminous as they pierce through the shadows. His breath mists through the air like a ghost before vanishing in the moonlight. From the other side of the forest grounds lay another pair of amber eyes glowing from the shadows. Snarls and growls emerge from the shadows with a great white wolf. Its fur is mangy and scarred from countless bouts with the unfortunate few who crossed its path. Scarlet patches stain its fur and mouth from its most recent prey. Drool drips between its cavernous jaws. Its teeth are stalagmites, craggy and rigged and stained red. The wolf notices the young man stand from the shadows daring to challenge him. The young man holds his bow upright with an arrow already knocked into place. His breaths are long and heavy. His arm pulls the string back tightly. The wolf growls while slowly approaching the man. Their eyes lock into a timeless gaze. Who will take their final breath this night? Both are confident in their skill, and prowess. Both living on instinct. Only the gods could decide who will stand worthy to slay the other. The wolf's teeth clench and the man draws a long breath. The gods have decided.

The beast lay there in the moonlight. Arrows dug deep into its hide. New stains color its fur. Its whines and pants as the young man crawls to it. Blood pours from his arms and chest. Broken fangs stay lodged into his flesh. Yet he stands over the slain animal with nothing but gratitude. The wolf looks into the eyes of the man as a small dagger is drawn and places upon the creature's neck.

"Ekua gahnoti unlewa, ayi danedi gaquoda awiina tey ghanoa Theren." The man prays before twisting the knife into the wolf's neck. "Ni ase akaliso uyedivi na ayohu igetse lenido." He removes the blade and cleans it with the snow before sheathing it away.

The young man carries the beast upon his back down a worn path through the forest where the moonlight cannot reach.

The morning sun sparkles off the crisp white snow on the thatched roofs of a large village. A massive brazier breathes smoke into the sky like a pillar of dark clouds. Torches line the path leading from the forest to the village where a host of men and women stand. Spears, swords, shields and axes lay in their hands as they look at the forest outside the gates. Murmuring begins as the sun rises. Some begin to worry.

"They should have returned by now." calls one man from the crowd.

"The weather must have taken them." comments another.

A woman elbows him. "Do not speak of such things. Your son may be one of them."

"Perhaps yours." Mocks another woman.

"Quiet!" Calls chief Elan. A strong and rigged old man. He wears a thick hide of the Shadowmane creature upon his back and a hood covers his long braided hair. Purple eyes glow from beneath the hood. His face is scarred from countless fights from man and beast. His beard is full with streaks of grey running throughout. He holds a long and elaborate spear by his side. Etched into the tip is the Shadowmane symbol.

Moments later a group of young men leave the shadow of the forest and into the sunlight. some carrying a great beast, and other's carrying a slain body. Each returns to their respective families. Some are met with ecstatic jubilee while others weep in despair at their slain child. Some have antlers lodged within their chests, others have deep cuts while some are missing limbs. Only Elan remains waiting. From beyond the ridge of the forest white fur can be seen atop a young man's back.

"Eli." Elan whispers to himself.

Eli walks to the gate before collapsing to the ground. Elan rushes to his son and holds him up to him chest.

"Father?" Eli struggles to say.

"Eli."

"Am I dying?"

"No my son. You just need to rest. The healers will take care of you."

Eli points to the massive white wolf looking into its amber eyes once more."I killed it father. The beast that took mother."

Elan looks at the creature baffled. "How in all this world did you kill it?"

"Ealin guided my hands." Eli stutters. "And Theren gave me strength"

"Truly they must have taken pity on you and I."

All the other members of the village stare at the wolf's carcass and look at Eli confused and in awe.

Elan stands his son up and raises his hand. "From henceforth, my son shall be known as Eli the 'White Wolf'. Surely he stands in Ealin's favor having claimed one of her most dangerous creatures." Elan looks at Eli. "Surely you will do great things my son. And slay many beasts."

They smile at each other.

Eli's eyes widen. He stands tall from the brush roaring loud. Horns blare as the Vallen army rises like the dead from beneath the ferns and bushes. A wall of arrows pelt into the Azzokai army. Though their armor is thick the Vallens aim is true. Many in the front line fall.

Eli charges forward. "Let their blood give life to this tainted land!"

Salizzan responds in kind. His roar is deep and guttural. Sparks of flame spill from his throat as he raises his axe in the air. "For The Flame!"

"For the Flame!" The army blusters as they brandish their heavy weaponry.

Blood spills onto the ashen ground slowly turning it to paste and covering all in a hoary, sopping film. The enemy is indistinguishable from an ally as all are covered in the insipid blanket of blood and soot. High above the battle Vazzoko dives into the fight killing friend and foe alike. Althuzzard spews dragon fire as though it were water from a river. Screams echo, metal grinds against metal, and bones crackle like embers in a fire. The sight is hell on Theras.

Eli rips through Azzokai efficiently and masterfully spinning in a dance of blood and entrails. Salizzan brutishly tosses and eviscerates Vallen warriors like a child with toy soldiers. Across the field, they both make eye contact. The world around them pauses as they analyze their foe. They see every cut, every bruise. Their weak arm, and dominant foot. The edges of their steel, where the deepest nicks lie. Eli sees Salizzan's eyes. Their orange, dragon-like appearance. How they stare at him like the wolf of his childhood. This warrior was no different than the beast of the woods. Though it was going to take more than just well-placed arrows. No, He needed to become the wolf himself. Become the beast, become the predator.

Salizzan smiles and roars. Sparks fly from his maw as he charges forward. His axes swing from side to side spilling blood onto the muddy ground. Eli holds his swords crossed at his chest. He stands calmly while chanting prayers.

"...nasgi Ealin," Eli chants loudly as Salizzan continues his wild advance. "...nasgi Graka Adan!" Eli continues. "...nasgi Vallen!"

"Fear The Flame insect!" Salizzan roars as his ax strikes the stone Eli stood upon causing it to ring like thunder.

Eli steps back from the swing and retaliates quickly, pointing his blade at Salizzan's throat. They both pause. Salizzan grits his teeth angrily while Eli's blood-stained wolf pelt calmly stares into Salizzan's dragon eyes.