When Dragons Rule

Pletch-As was walking slowly with Aaiyana in the direction of the village market. She was perfumed with vanilla-bean oil, as she did every year, on the day her hunter disappeared, Ulir was his name. Still, he liked the smell, and it was he who profited form it. The road was a little dusty as there had not been rain in the last 10 days, or so, but the day was perfect in every ways, and everyone they met had a smile. Pletch-As loved those rare moments of tranquility everyone let themselves in.

Nearing the market, Pletch-As let go of a sound, as if hit by a rock. "Are you all right, Pletch-As?", asked a worried Aaiyana. He told her he needed to sit; his left leg was hurting him, the one he broke a few years ago when Marsten almost fell down a cliff, as a young child. "Let me sit on this porch, here,", he said, "I will wait for the pain to pass. I'll join you later, go to the market, go." He smiled to her, looking deeply into her eyes, signaling that he was fine. Aaiyana left him, after giving him a kiss on the forehead.

Pletch-As looked at her go, walking proudly, but with a bit of the young uncaring teen Aaiyana showing through, even after all those years. His sight then turned to his right, where there were more than a few people, surrounding a sorcerer. A banished, stripped of his power sorcerer, but a sorcerer nonetheless. Pletch-As would need to be careful as this was unexpected. The last time he saw a sorcerer around those parts, it was the day Ulir disappeared...

The first calling of the King was to hunt for a sorcerer on that day, then he asked for every men to partake in an old ritual. The ritual to... Pletch-As thoughts stopped as a hand firmly, but softly grabbed his shoulder. The sorcerer was standing next to him. Not letting it show, Pletch-As was swearing in an almost forgotten tongue, in his thoughts, against himself.

The sorcerer was the first to speak. "I am sorry, you see, my friend, to bother you in such a brutal way." "I may be, you know, deprived of my powers, but I can still see signs upon, as you know, some of us here wear, right?" Pletch-As was getting tense, trying to remain calm, but all senses into alert. "You are most probably seeing
the sign of my banishment, from long ago, made by a very very old sorcerer from another time, you see!", was Pletch-As answer. Surprised at Pletch-As tone, the sorcerer explained to him that he only sought to find companionship with a similarly fated one, in this lost place of the souls. "I am new, is that it?, and know there are more naturally born people here than banished ones, as I saw. I was not, you understand, looking to bother you, Ancient one.", said the sorcerer, more battered than Pletch-As
would have thought.

Aaiyana came back at this moment, having seen the stranger talking with Pletch-As from afar. "My name is Roual Blemanonez, ex-sorcerer, you see, at your service.", said Roual, bending his head in Aaiyana's direction. He went on to say; -"I was merely, does it bother?, asking this sage friend of yours for directions, and if I could help in any ways, around those parts." Pletch-As said he told to the sorcerer he had his leg hurting, near his old injury. The sorcerer gave them a recipe to make a cream that would need to be applied where there is pain, than proceeded to go on his way. Pletch-As thought this sorcerer might be handy, after all, tapping his chin with his index.

"What are you planning now, husband?", said Aaiyana to Pletch-As, while watching Roual leave towards a group of people. "Nothing serious, for now, you see?", he said, absent-minded. "Nothing serious..."

The She-Dragon finished adorning her neck, arms, and wings with gems and jewelry just as she sensed Father Sun's ascent into the day. She took one last look around her lair, in the womb of the Mother, and began to make her way upward through the tunnels of her home, following her senses to caverns where she would take the Feast of Aurora.

As she climbed, she began to feel exultation and joy. She sped along the well-known tunnels, her hunger growing as she neared her quarry.

She stopped at her favorite gazing hole, a gap between some boulders in the adjacent cavern, cleverly concealed behind an ancient stalactite. She peered through the hole and sat, watching them move about in the cavern. They were preparing her feast, piling the new-deads one atop the other in neat rows.

Oh, she did enjoy these feasts.

She surveyed the two-legs most of whom were typical field morsels of no consequence. Ahh, yes, but there was one who was of The Blood. He stood aside from the others, arms folded, occasionally giving direction to the lesser morsels.

He had come.

She continued her way through the tunnels and stoked her heart-Sun. Rounding the corner, she stepped into the cavern.

The morsels did not notice for a moment, so engrossed in their work that they did not heed their senses.

She waited.

One by one, they glanced up. One by one, the satisfying gamut of emotions flowed over their faces: disbelief, horror, and - the finest one - terror.

She stepped into the cavern.

They tried to run. They always tried to run. And, she always stopped them.

With one lazy breath, she melted the other entrance to the cave into a sheet of twisted, molten rock. They panicked. They screamed, they fainted.

She smiled.

Choosing the plumpest of the morsels, she calmly herded them into a niche in the wall. They stood, cowering against the wall, tearing at their hair and eyes and faces, losing their wits. One, though, was putting on a brave front. He was the fattest of the bunch and held a knife in one hand, cursing and motioning at her with it.

She tested out one of her newly sharpened talons by cleanly eviscerating the knife-wielder. She watched him intently as he slumped to the floor, attempting to gather his entrails in his hands and moaned. She turned her attention to the other two.

One, a dingy and slump-shouldered two-leg, had watered himself. She sighed and skewered him on a nearby stalagmite, lighting the morsel gently on fire to create a slow-cooking snack. The other morsel was tall and stocky. He looked like a likely first bite. She leaned toward him, slowly, and put her nose next to his face.

He clung to the wall of the cavern, whimpering and praying. She moved in closer, closer, and when she was so close she could see his hair moving with her breath, she blew a small puff of smoke at him. His heart burst. She gingerly picked him up and popped the morsel into her mouth with a satisfying crunch.

She retrieved her other two treats and turned to the last. He of The Blood stood in quiet anger, watching.

She gazed into his eyes.

She Saw him.

He Saw her.

She blinked.

Zasiruht (pronounced zazi rhoot) rushed about collecting all she would need for the journey. Zasiruht was ordered to be on the wagon out of Bravenport at slii nigh and there was no time to waste.

She was a Masked One, a Descendant of the bloodline of the ancient Order of Sorcerers who was brought forth with the soul purpose of destroying min`yanyaul, (mala). The name Zasiruht means the 'roots of the tree'.

Zasiruht wore many faces but none had ever known her without a Mask. The Raven had called to her and delivered the message and she heeded it. Just as she had always done in the past. The Raven had sent her to Bravenport, Aarchmore to live and breath the undercurrent of the hovels.

It had not been easy task for one who despised sexual gratification. These acts were the for the lowest of incarnations but it was at the lowest levels, triumph of the Order would prevail or so it had been forseen by the Great Seer. Zasiruht barely dressed, ran out of the hoven with the Dagger of Sor (pronounced Se Or) hidden in her bag.

Zasiruht endured the slow journey to the caves with a renewed patience. The feast was amusing to participate in especially as Zasiruht did not indulge with wine and it was just as well that her charge was to remain behind the man and serve him, that it went unnoticed. She plied her designated spoil with more than his fill to ensure a pass out for him and for herself.

By the time Marsten's men arrived to remove the dead, Zasiruht was strategically hidden in the cave.

Katajola's aged face - finely carved with the blessings of good times - squinched into a worried, gullied ball as she mulled over Aaiyana's ailing body in the sickbed. Aaiyana was fevered, hot as the Summer winds over the Dragon's-Eye Volcano. Had evil magicks weakened her mortal form? At first it seemed like Creepin' Amnesia; but now, Katajola wasn't so sure. Aaiyana's burning body had been vanishing, then returning hours later as if it had never left. Aaiyana's body now bore a strange Broom-Maiden's ring on her left hand which none in the villagers had ever seen.

The women of Eastermore were still gathering and smashing, grinding and crushing, brewing potions for the plagued children of Tristan. The latest village-runner had brought back news of the King's attack on the seacoast village of Aachmore. Refugees were pouring into the Eastermore woods, as well as into Tristan. More people, more patients. Several of the refugees were put to task gathering and brewing Heal-Burn potions for the singed and blistered refugees.

Narnook-the-Lost, Katajola's nephew, came running into the village yelling for volunteer men-folk. Seems they had a Lady Dragon trapped inside a cave up in the Badlands. The Lady Dragon had sealed the back passage at the same time the young militia of the Badlands had sealed her main passage. There were small arrow slits in the fallen rocks, and a few holes large enough for the Fire-Magicks; but, they were concerned the rockslides would not contain the Lady Dragon. Several dozen young boys and men volunteered, packed and left with Narnook-the-Lost, returning the woods of Eastermore to it's quieter and simpler ways.

About Dragon's Aerie

The Western jungles and plateaus are known as the Dragon's Aerie. It is a wild, untamed area unsuitable for habitation by the common folk; but, highly favoured as a breeding area for Dragons. The Black Fist's close proximity to this verbotin area is not a coincidence.

Large felines, obnoxious primates, deadly reptiles and water buffalo are only a few of the jungle residents.

The white sound of the plentiful waterfalls can lull the unwary intruder into a trance.

On a full moon, the silouette of a large ancient male dragon perched upon the largest of the plateaus may be a fearsome sight - but not as terrifying as the Dragon's roar. For a human to hear the Alpha Dragon's roar is like consuming fear; rushing and tingling down the spine like a lightning bolt.

How many Dragonlings nestle amongst the caves in the plateaus? The answer is unknown; but, what is known is that the male Dragons of Khespian are the protectors, providers and care-takers of the young - while the females irresponsibly roam the land in search of prescious gems and metals - sparkley baubles and primping accessories.

He of The Blood was unafraid.

She-Dragon used her soul-Wind to welcome him to the Feast. She saw in his soul-Wind that he knew nothing of the Drákōn or their ways.

She showed him how their peoples had started as a symbiotic race; neither of which could survive without the other. She showed him the Epoch, when the Andros had ventured forth from the jungles and the Drákōn had risen from the crevices of the plateaus. She showed him the Drákōn protecting and the Andros providing.

She showed him the Bond of Drakeîn. One of each race, bonded to create a powerful entity.

She saw in his soul-Wind the lost and wandering Drákōn, and the usurpers atop the throne at The Black Fist.

She tilted her head to one side, still gazing into his eyes.

She could see his confusion, but knew also of his great curiosity.

She settled down onto her haunches and began to weave her soul-Wind into the images of nine centuries, nine Seasons of Quiescence, nine Feasts of Aurora, but only one Andros. She had been waiting for him, expecting him at each Feast. And, now, he had arrived.

She showed him the world as it had been, and showed him the power He of The Blood should wield.

She wove one more image - a proposal.

He of The Blood and She-Dragon - flying above the maggot-ridden corpses of the usurpers, staked upon the towers of The Black Fist. The Andros are prosperous, the Drákōn are no longer restless, and the Bond of Drakeîn is again known.

He of The Blood smiled.

Rodrig had started out life as any other son in Tristan. He spent his days playing the hunting games, learning to make weapons, learning to listen to the animals, and learning to exist in harmony with the land. He was a happy boy, with few worries.

His one worry, though, was the Lot. Each year, just after Harvest and just before Winter, the Lot was chosen. Soldiers would come from the Black Fist and take males from each hunting village to go into service for King of Fjüllwald. Each year, the soldiers took one man from each Clan House in Tristan and several boys from the village at large. The number of boys chosen for the Lot was a direct reflection of the number of children born since the last Lot.

The Elders spoke frequently of their family members who had left for service and never returned. There were whispers that the Lot was a way to control their peoples, keep them afraid and defenseless. Everybody thought this, and everybody was angered by it, but nobody ever made a sound when the soldiers arrived.

The Young Hunters, of an age with Rodrig, all boasted of how they would be picked next for the Lot because of their strength and cunning. Rodrig would participate in this boasting as well, but he was secretly afraid.

He would dream of being dragged away by soldiers, kicking and screaming. He would wake up crying and afraid. When he was small, Amah would come to comfort him with soothing words and hugs. But, now that he was a Young Hunter, Apah had forbidden such things. Amah still hugged him and comforted him when Apah was out on a hunt, though. Sometimes, after a bad dream, Rodrig would wake up and sneak over to their sleeping area, just to make sure they were still there.

One morning, during the hunting games, a Watcher came into the village, calling out the warning of soldiers.

Parents rushed to gather their children and quiet their babies. Two of the elders gathered the newest born of the babies in back baskets and carried them into the forest, to the Cache. It was a hidden hut, built deep underground, where the Elders would take the new-borns during each Lot. Nobody but the Elders knew exactly where the Cache was located, and the soldiers never knew exactly how many babies had been born since the last Lot.

Rodrig was the only child in his family. He lined up dutifully next to Apah and Amah, standing as close to Amah as he could without actually touching her. He felt ill and light-headed. He was very much afraid.

The soldiers came into view, and the villagers could hear them laughing and joking in the harshly accented dialect of Hyde. They came upon the village and split off into two groups, winding their way into a perimeter around the villagers, who had organized themselves by Clan in the village center.

The leader of the soldiers went to each clan and selected one male. From Rodrig's Clan, a cousin who had just reached the age of New Hunter was chosen. The soldier pushed each chosen male toward a set of soldiers holding binding rope. The chosen ones were bound hand to hand in a row, to prevent escape and to prevent revolt.

When it was time for the Lot, the lead soldier counted the yearlings and younger babies. He demanded all children who had seen at least seven Harvests to step forward. Rodrig was afraid, and looked to Amah. She put a hand on his shoulder and gently pushed him out of line.

Rodrig stood, trembling, as the leader of soldiers walked through the villagers, inspecting the children who had stepped forward. He chose one. He walked past Rodrig, and chose another. The soldier walked through the remaining children and started back at the beginning. Rodrig closed his eyes, silently begging the ancestors to make the soldier again walk past him.

The ancestors did not hear his pleas.

The soldier stood in front of Rodrig and ordered him to open his eyes. Rodrig opened his eyes and looked up in fear at the soldier. He began to whimper and turned to look for Amah. She had a sad look on her face and was silently crying. The soldier pulled Rodrig roughly around to face forward, boxed his ears, and pushed him toward the other soldiers to be tied up.

Rodrig remembered very little of the trip to the Black Fist. He remembered stumbling along in line, eating meals of crumbs the soldiers had left over, and crying. His cousin had once tried to quiet him, but it did no good. Rodrig was inconsolable.

At the Black Fist, Rodrig was assigned to be a whipping boy for the youngest lord, a spoiled and nasty child. He spent his days performing chores and running errands in the castle, and most days was ordered to the young lord's chambers to receive a whipping. During each whipping, the lordling would taunt Rodrig, pointing and laughing and mocking his tears. Rodrig learned never to cry and to take the whippings stoically and silently, never even changing his facial expression from the moment he stepped into the room to the moment he left.

Over the years, the spoiled lordling grew into a spoiled and entitled young man. Rodrig was no longer needed as a whipping boy, so was sent to act as a page to the Elder Lords. This job was interesting to Rodrig, for he learned much of the realm’s secrets while waiting for the Lords to give him assignments. They usually did not even remember he was standing in the chambers until they needed him for something.

One day, while carrying an order to the local magistrate which would raise taxes for the realm’s villages, Rodrig happened to glance into the castle’s vegetable gardens. There, he saw the most beautiful girl he had ever seen. She was kneeling next to a large basket, picking vegetables for that night’s Feast. He watched her for a few minutes, curious, until she realized someone was watching her. She turned suddenly and caught his eye. She smiled at him and waved. She had dirt on her face and in her hair. She was ruddy and wind-chapped, wearing wrinkled and ill-fitting clothes. Rodrig’s knees turned to jelly and his heart skipped a beat.

He went to speak to her, to find her name. She was a friendly girl by the name of Rosaaya, and cheerfully told him about how she’d just come up from Hyde to work as a cook. She complained, smiling, that they wouldn’t let her cook, but had assigned her to the gardens. She asked him what he was doing, and he then remembered his business and took his leave.

From then on, Rodrig would find any excuse to go past the gardens where Rosaaya worked. Soon, they were good friends and began to make arrangements to meet outside of the gardens. Eventually, their relationship took a romantic turn, and they began to make plans to wed. They would meet up in dark passageways during the day to take a secret embrace, and meet in one or the others’ chambers each evening after the other servants had gone to sleep. The would lie awake, late into the night, whispering and planning their future life together.

One morning, they had arranged to meet in an infrequently used section of the castle. Rodrig waited impatiently for Rosaaya. When she finally came, she was in an excited mood, talking about how she had finally been allowed into the kitchens to clean and chop the vegetables for meals. Rodrig was pleased that she was so happy, and they embraced in a passionate and giddy kiss.

Rodrig, too involved with Rosaaya, did not hear the footsteps. He did, however, hear the cruel laughter.

He and Rosaaya broke their embrace and turned quickly to find the young lord of Rodrig’s past leering at them in malice. The young lord demanded that Rosaaya come to him. She stepped forward quietly and stood, looking at the lord. He circled her, inspecting her body and degrading her at each step. He moved in close to her. She stood unmoving, looking steadily back at him. The lord sneered and slapped Rosaaya across the face.

Rodrig leapt forward and put himself between Rosaaya and the young lord. The lordling made a move to push Rodrig, but Rodrig was faster and stronger. He quickly overpowered the young lord and pitched him to the ground. The young lord looked at Rodrig with hate and disgust, vowing to see him removed from the castle and see her thrown into the harem to be used by the lords, lordlings, and soldiers alike.

Rosaaya was afraid and pleaded with Rodrig to make penance to the young lord. Rodrig refused. He took her hand and they ran. They could see guards entering at the end of the hall, and Rodrig realized they would not escape easily. The young lord rose up, screaming in rage, and threw a knife toward Rosaaya. It hit her squarely between the shoulders. She went down with a small cry of shock. Rodrig saw her fall and immediately knelt by her side to check on her. She was lying on the ground, bleeding, weeping and gasping in pain.

Seeing red, Rodrig turned on the young lord and began to pummel him, thinking only of saving Rosaaya. By the time the guards arrived, the young lord lay motionless and bloody. The guards grabbed Rodrig and dragged him away to the dungeons. He fought wildly to get back to Rosaaya, but the guards surrounded him and beat him soundly. His last view of Rosaaya before everything went black was of her eyes, looking at him in love and sorrow, weeping silent tears.

About Hyde

The sprawling metropolis of Hyde was the Capital of Drar-Knocht-Rhen (in the Dragon's Tongue). Shaped like a crescent, it wrapped around the Black Fist's Eastern side.

"As Above, So Below" was the city slogan because the obvious structures above ground were only half of the picture. A small empire thrived below the city in what originally began as mining tunnels.

Upper City residents were the well-to-do, the officials, owners of the licit businesses, and government offices.

Lower City residents were the commoners, the slaves, the Underground members, and mushroom farms fed by the city sewers.

Hyde was a very old city and some areas in stark disrepair contrasted sharply with freshly gilded golden domes and lily-white marble edifices. Prescious gems the size of a man's hand were finely cut and embedded in decorative door and window frames in the Upper City. Stained glass windows depicted Dragons in all their fury and might, complimented by statuary of Dragons sculpted in gold.

The air was businesslike and somber. There were no sounds of merriment. There were no holidays.

The only entertainment was a Theatre with the same old lousy Dragon play being acted and re-acted, night after night.

Spookiest of all, there were no sounds of children in the Upper City.

Gretchin-Do-Cackle was pushing her rubbish cart down the Black Fist corridors, sweeping and tidying, tidying and sweeping. When she came upon Rosaaya she quickly glanced ahead and behind. There was nobody else in the hall. She put her crooked old fingers to Rosaaya's lips and silently motioned to sh-h-h.

She joisted Rosaaya into the cleaning cart and covered the cart with her filthy apron, carefully layering refuse on top. She hustled Rosaaya away, always peeking around corners before making a turn. Fortunately, large castles are wastelands of open corridors and expansive rooms which are seldom if ever used.

Gretchin got clean away with the dying Rosaaya.

Elijuhm, personal servant of the King of Fjüllwald, was standing alone in the court of the castle, a robe in his hands, hearing the sound of his Master above him, circling in fuming rage.
He dared not even look at his Master, trying instead to divert his own attention with the designs made by the natural lines on the faces of the tiled ground.

In a frightening boom!, followed by a ferocious, but brief, gush of wind, the King was facing him, still showing signs of anger. Elijuhm could see the partly scaled feet of his Master. Quite rapidly, they became human again; a Gift of the Dragon Blood flowing in his Master's veins.
Without looking up, he helped his Master put on the robe over his naked body.

The King, without looking at his servant, could feel his fearing him. Normally, the King would have ripped anyone else apart, but this servant showed too much qualities that it would be a stupid loss to act upon his feelings. A town could be rebuilt, replacing a talented individual was another story entirely.

"Send for my spies to join me in my room in the hour, servant.", asked dryly the King, knowing his order would be followed. Of course he was maddened by the fact he was not presented by the desired Morsels, but there was another reason for his furor; a sorcerer had been banished... again! He couldn't stand for it, but this time, he would use a more stealthier approach to capturing that despicable new arrivant. Last time had clearly shown their was a pocket of resistance, in the Sphere...

He had to act before this annoyance turned to something more dreadful for his reign...

On Mid-Summer's day nearly a week ago, volunteers from the Badland's construction team had gone into the caverns to dispose of the riff-raff's corpses led by a new resident of the Badlands named Rodrig. Unbeknownst to them a sleeping ancient Lady Dragon had awoken. She had sealed the main entrance after taking enormous pleasure in slaughtering the innocent volunteers, and busied herself devouring the poisoned bodies of the riff-raff.

As soon as Marsten saw that the evil Lady Dragon had killed the innocent volunteers, he ordered the cave's twin entrance sealed. Marsten and several dozen others climbed above the cave and removed some old retaining timbers which created an avalanche of rocks. A good call, the rocks tumbled and sealed the second entrance. Marsten peeped though the spaces and saw the trapped Lady Dragon.

Rodrig had survived her fury and was talking with her! Marsten couldn't hear what they were saying; but, quickly asked Narnook-the-Lost to run to the Grimoirk and gather as many volunteers as he could. The Eastermore woods were several day's away and Narnook was the fastest runner in the Badlands.

While Narnook was gone, the men had gathered more rocks and continued to seal this new threat in it's own cave. Finally this morning, Narnook-the-Lost returned with a few dozen volunteers and plenty of news.

Narnook-the-Lost mentioned to Marsten about his Mother's grave condition, her hallucinations ... crazy stuff ... like she had imagined children in the Badlands (a preposterous idea) and Pletch-As and an odd new sorcerer being in the Badlands. He told him about a suspiscious new ring on his Mother's maiden-finger. He gave Marsten the news of the King's attack on Aachmore and the continued plague of the children of Tristan.

Marsten pointed out the Lady Dragon's cavern and appointed Narnook his assistant to oversee the Badlands while he traveled to the Eastermore to attend to his dying Mother.

Zasiruht watched silently and calmly as the Dragon attacked the workers' who were charged to remove the poisoned riff-raff of the Badlands; she did not blink an eye or flinch at the sights and sounds of the carnage. It was imperative that she did not emit any fear. Dragon's have poor eyesight and rely upon their hearing and sense of smell.

Zasiruht knew of the lair and had come prepared. Pulling out the special tincture of Ruesal leaves from her bag she rubbed it all over her body. The leaves of Ruesal Tree are unpleasant and the odor is strong. The leaves permeate and corrupt all other odors. Dragons destest the smell of the Ruesal Tree and they become disorientated if they smell it; the Ruesal leaves repel and disorientate all Dragons.

Very few knew of this advantage and it was a well guarded secret. If it became common knowledge it could be used in the wrong way. One Sorceror had shared this knowledge with a Morsel and he was banished because of it. The Morsel cleared the land of the Ruesal Trees until only one remained. Seeds were taken and hidden and planted throughout Eastermore and the Morsel who had destroyed the Ruesal Trees was killed and hung from the only Ruesal Tree that remained.

The story lives on in the realms of Prophecy, it is a tale of the Hanged Man. The Hanged Man in the Ruesal tongue is Death, the 13th stone of Trees' Story. This knowledge is safe once more. Over time, the truth became lost in translation. It were in part due to the strategy of the Ancient ones who wished to protect all that was valuable.

Zasiruht lost in the thought of the ancient days snapped back into her soul purpose and begain the climb to reach the highest alcove of the entrance and waited patiently. She had time, time was on her side.

She watched with irony the Dragon spare and favor, one of the Morsels who was 'of the blood' and it was only then that Zasiruht found it a task to contain her emotions. She wanted to laugh very loudly but held it within her...if only the Dragon knew 'why he was of the blood!'

The Dragon most certainly would not have spared him.

When the Dragon picked up the Morsel who was 'of the blood' and flew away, Zasiruht scaled down the cave wall to make her way to the lair. She ran as fast as she could along the caverns until she reached the nest.

Pulling out the Dagger of Sor, she carefully pierced every egg in the nest so that the egg shell remained in tact. This process required skill and precision; it was vital that the nest or the eggs did not look as if it had been disturbed.

Piercing the shell and amniotic sac during the incubation stage kills the embryo in a subtle way. The eggs do not hatch and a Dragon becoming gravid, will eventually discard the nest to prepare another, never knowing why the eggs did not hatch.

Zasiruht pierced the last egg and hastily made her way out of the cave, leaving only a faint scent of Ruesal behind her.

Marsten had been gone just under a day when the Lady Dragon burst from the cavern clutching Rodrig in her scaley talons. Narnook-the-Lost watched helplessly as the Dragon made her escape. Nobody knew much about Rodrig, only that he was new and rumour had it that Rodrig was in cahoots with the Lady Dragon.

Ham-Without Teeth yelled out to Narnook, "Look!" He was pointing at a robed figure atop the caverns.

It looked like a sorcerer. The cloaked figure went inside the cavern for a short while then emerged and disappeared over the other side of the rise.

Narnook gathered the militia and construction teams and together they decided to set up observation watches instead of beginning construction on the last cavern. All of the other caverns had been completed and most of the Badlands residents were happy with their new shelters. This last and final shelter renovation would have to wait until Marsten returned.

Ham-Without Teeth called out to Ham, "Find Teeth and tell him to prepare the horses!"
Ham was a little slow and his response was delayed..."What?"
Ham-Without Teeth stamped his feet with impatience, "Find Teeth and tell him to prepare the horses!"
Ham stood still and looked bewildered.

Narnook witnessed the exchange and found it quite amusing, even though he had urgent matters to attend to, he also paused for the moment to observe Ham. Narnook sensed that Ham needed to pause in order to process the long instruction...and finally, after that very long pause, Ham, smoking replied, "Yup" and ran off yelling out for Teeth (pronounced Tuth)

Ham-Without Teeth sighed and looked over to Narnook and they both smiled reluctantly with the understanding, in that moment, things were going to be very difficult without Teeth.

Ham-Without Teeth (pronounced Hum Wothut Tuth) placed his hand upon Narnook's shoulder, "Does Marsten know how simple the fighting men are?" Narnook's chin dropped along with his eyes only raising them to connect with Ham-Without Teeth, "No, no, Marsten does not know."

After a brief interval of silence, Ham's voice could be heard, "I got Teeth, yup, I got Teeth." Narnook and Ham-Without Teeth waited for Ham to appear and sure enough, Ham still smoking, scurried up to Ham-Without Teeth dragging Teeth by the arm..."eere yup" Ham stated proudly.

Ham-Without Teeth rolled his eyes and explained to Teeth that he had told Ham to tell him to prepare the horses. Upon hearing this, Teeth fell out with Ham-Without Teeth because he laughed so heartily...and exclaimed to Ham-Without Teeth and Narnook... "I don't know who is sillier, the person who instructs a silly person with a hard task or the silly person who undertakes the task!" Teeth could hardly contain himself but promptly ordered Ham, "Git the GiddyUps, the Ups...get the GiddyUps eer, yup!"

Narnook walked off with Teeth to organise the men. Ham-Without Teeth, feeling insulted by Teeth, went about without Teeth from that day forth.

Well, much to Pletch-As surprise, the concoction made from the new sorcerer's recipe did work. Not that his leg really hurt, but he noticed he had gotten used to the discomfort of his old injury. That alone made his heart lighter, so to speak.

He used the excuse of feeling really great to go take a walk, by himself, in the surrounding area. He had to find the sorcerer this time, before anyone else did! Only he could be of any help to Pletch-As. But none was to know this, of course.

Walking faster than he did in the last years, this body of his was getting a little worn, he covered more terrain he thought he would be able to, cursing himself for not bringing at least water with him. The sorcerer was still eluding him, but he managed to find traces of him, and the direction he was going to. But Pletch-As was a day late in his pursuit, already...

Letting go of a long, deep sigh, as he was scratching his chin, which he did every time he was in deep thoughts, or reflections, he decided to use an old trick of his, because at this point, it would take him too long to find the sorcerer, and everybody at the community would be worried, and might throw a searching party for him, and he had no intentions to see that happen.
His right hand went for a secret pocket he didn't have to use in many decades, and put out a small whistle, about one of the few things he managed to bring with him, in the Sphere.

He blew normal breath in the whistle, it needed not much to work, and almost instantly, a huge bird appeared next to him. It was a rare Aegile, literally the fastest flying birds of all creations. It was riky to call one here, but he had no choice.

He lost a chance more than 15 years before this day. Not again.

But before leaving with the Aegile in search for the sorcerer, Pletch-As wrote invisible hexes on the ground, so no one would be able to follow, even one trained to find hexes marks in the surroundings.

Then both he and the bird were gone.

About 15 years ago.

Pletch-As, hiding in a bush, was listening intently. The "King", he thought disdainfully, had called on nearly every able men, Tristan here included. A sorcerer had been banished in the Sphere, and the King wanted him found, of course.

This information made Pletch-As angry, but he would have made the same decision, if he was in the King's position. At least, he now knew what had happened to Ulir, and that was enough for him.

The Aegile's abrupt, but soft landing brought Pletch-As back to the present. A surprised sorcerer was facing him, sitting by a camp fire he had put up to rest, bathing in the odor of a roasting animal, ready to be served.

"You! But...?", said the sorcerer before Pletch-As interrupted him authoritatively with a; -"Silence!"

Pletch-As was putting his feet on the ground. The sorcerer was shaking, face down. Fearing the touch of Death at any moment, the sorcerer was understanding how blind he had become, since his introduction into the Holding Sphere.

"Listen very carefully to my words, we do not have the luxury of time.", said Pletch-As, in a tone no one in the community would recognize as Pletch-As'. "You will leave with this Aegile. It will bring you to its nest, and protect you until the time will come for you to work for me."

Erasing every traces of the camp made by the sorcerer, covering it also with hexes, Pletch-As was now ready to send his "guest" to a more secure place. But before that, he had the Aegile bring him closer to his village.

The sorcerer, comforted by the fact he was needed, thus insuring him a little more time of being alive, dared to say: -"I... I will serve you as best I can..." To which Pletch-As answered back; -"You should make it your mantra, then, because it is now your only destiny.", then breathed in the whistle, and the Aegile and the sorcerer were elsewhere.

Pletch-As was full of himself; the taste of ultimate power was so delicious... Even if it had been briefly, he felt like his true self again. But he had to bury this feeling rapidly, the afternoon was already half gone, and he had to go back to his community, to keep his role as one of the elders.

He cared not if it would take weeks or years now; His day of Glory was approaching faster, and that was enough to make him content, though he knew it was only a small contentment.

The murmur of the community was reaching his ears. He began walking like Pletch-As was known to at that moment, scratching his chin as slowly as his pace.

The Holding Spheres were, at first, natural occurrences. Overtime, people of all sorts have worked to understand its mechanics.

What is known is that inside the Spheres, time passes like time outside the Spheres. The thin layer that makes the wall of the Spheres is almost a world by itself. In there, everything is faster and much more dangerous than the inside or outside.
And whatever is in there, the thin layer, can only materialize inside, never outside.

That is where the Aegiles lived. And that was where the sorcerer now found himself.

He fully understood why the Grimoirk had told he would be protected by the legendary bird.

Lying on the floor of the nest, made of winds, it seemed, the sorcerer was covering his head with his arms, jumping at every loud sounds he heard.

If he could get out, he would be an obedient servant, there was no questioning it now. He only prayed his mind would hold until then...

Zasiruht whispered to the Trees of the forest and waited. The forest was calm; birds of all kinds whistled and sang within the serenity as the sunlight filtered through the leaves, slow dancing, flirting about the shadows.

While she waited for the rustle of the leaves, for the wind to show the direction she needed to take to reach the banished one, she closed her eyes and absorbed the forest’s energy needed for her rejuvenation.

The banished one had caused the decimation of the Ruesal Trees; and caused The Dragon to multiply and spread like a wildfire through-out the Holding Sphere. The wildfire had yet to be contained and remained out of balance with the Laws of the Bismar.

Instantly, the wind appeared through the leaves of the forest. The will of Bismar gathered momentum and the force of the strong gale opened the hidden sphere.

The Aegile startled by the abrupt gale, surged into flight away from the banished one. The will of Bismar called the Aegile to abandon the past to ensure its own future.

Zasiruht closed the sphere, threw it back to Bismar to hold and guard and turned her mind towards the banished one. From the forest, she could see a weak orb hovering beside the flower seeds of the dandelions and the will of Bismar strived towards the orb and dispersed its form so all that remained of the banished one, vanished.