DK: The Lake of Draz-Olgraith (Chyril 22nd, ET)

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DK: The Lake of Draz-Olgraith (Chyril 22nd, ET)

Post by Amica »

The Lake of Draz-Olgraith

She wore no sarri or cloak to identify her tribe. In truth, she wore nothing that might identify her as one of the People...save perhaps for the humble truth that precious few people walked into Dragon's Keep all alone from the open desert if they were not gens harinae. Still, she would need to be recognized as one of them soon...and so she removed her make-shift shoufa, revealing her features. No doubt she would be questioned...she wore a corset, if it could be believed...but her face could not lie. Besides her corset, she wore the tattered rags of what had once been a noble, scarlet dress...though the skirt of the dress had been torn away to an almost indecent degree, the fabric of which had been used to fashion her make-shift shoufa and simple wraps for her feet. A black pearl ring decorated her right hand, a decorated medicine pouch hung down to swing against one of her thighs, and a long glaive...Annuire...stood upright in her hand, it's length perhaps glowing a dull, insidious green if one were to study it carefully.

Alongside the castle lay a vast, murky lake. The fabled resting place of the legendary dragon Draz-Olgraith, its waters stood cold and still in the morning light. According to legend, Draz-Olgraith fell to his death on the plains beyond the Keep and the lake is the crater from that impact. Several even claim that the bones of the legendary beast still rest at the bottom of the massive crater, and, on a clear and calm night, the silvery light reflecting from the surface is not the moon but rather, the beast's skull. Though historians have never found proof that the lake was caused by the dragon's death, the superstitious avoid the lake when they can. Those that are more rational use the lake to their advantage, fishing and sailing it's dark waters.

Green fields surround the lake as well as the black tents of the nomads that flocked to Dragonskeep twice a year. The dark tents made for an unlikely black patch in the middle of the green of the fields and the yellow of the sand. Amica could scarcely believe that all of the people migrated away from Dragon's Keep...some must surely stay all the yahren round...for why would they not? The grounds were fertile, the air was cool and fresh, and while the winters would be harsh, she could not believe they were worse than the open desert.

It was too late for the children to be out or any work to be done. The herds of sheep were no doubt huddled together and fast asleep for the eveningtide, and most of the locals were certainly doing close to the same...huddled for their eveningtide meals, wetlander and nomad alike. But where have they gone? pondered Amica, listening around her for the sounds of stirring and movement. It was possible the People joined with the guarrdi for meals here...and if they did this, her search might lead her to the fortress. Otherwise, she would find where they were collected...and move to join them.
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Post by Morg »

Indeed, the settlement by the lake was more than just a temporary affair. A sizable area of ground had been worn down to packed dirt in the rough centre of the encampment, a permanent market square and social gathering point for those who lived nearby. Traditionally the only location inhabited by the People all year round was the Hidden City of Tents. However, the tent village outside Dragonskeep was tending more and more in that direction, as more and more of the People discovered the benefits of the clement climate and of the affluent Westerners who were keen to trade incredible luxuries for commodities that the desert-dwellers possessed in abundance.

Although the tents very definitely bore the hallmarks of the People of the Sands, several aspects of their construction became visible upon closer inspection that were unusual in structures built by the desert nomads. Several of the tents had complex wooden frames driven into the ground, and some were of curious shapes and layouts because of this. They would be difficult and time-consuming to disassemble and reassemble, which for most of the People was a very undesirable trait, as tribes had to be highly mobile in order to compensate for the gradual shifts of the desert and the scarcity of resources. The little settlement's central structure was a large domelike tent, at the heart of which was an upright tree trunk almost as broad in diameter as Amica's shoulders. It was from this pavilion that the most light and sound emanated, as well as the smell of fried fish. A plume of smoke rose from the smokehole at its apex.

Within the tent, perhaps twenty people were gathered around, in small clusters. Near the centre was a good-sized fire, over which a man and a woman were busily frying vegetables and cuts of fish in wide pans. All but one of the people present had the look of the gens harinae, although not all were dressed in traditional robes. The one exception was a tall man with a fine black goatee beard at the end of his angular chin, who sat conversing with one of the groups at the back.
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Post by Amica »

It was the frames that struck Amica first, frames to make their tents strong and comfortable yahren-round...and no doubt livable even during the cold seasons. Wood was a scarce commodity in the desert...especially wood of such size and strength...and while there were plenty of wagons, carts, and weapons that utilized foreign wood...and could easily be broken up and used for such a purpose...construction with wood was a very rare thing in the places Amica had visited in the past. Even Sabata was more rock, clay, and brick than wood.

It was to the tree Amica first went, leaning Annuire against it carefully and moving on to crouch before the central tent. Peering within, she surveyed the interior and it's occupants carefully before she allowed her eyes to linger upon the flying fish with something not unlike open lust. She had eaten precious little during her journey, living upon what meat or berry she could find...and such a diet had not done her any great favors, giving her curious wetlander corset to grow loose and almost bearable. When faced with fried fish...a treat she seldom enjoyed anywhere save Sabata...she was captivated, her stomach aching painfully and her mouth watering.

Kneeling down at the entrance to the tent, Amica quietly moved aside the tent's protective cover such that she could clearly be seen by those within. She would do no more, of course...not until she had been noticed and hopefully welcomed.
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Post by Morg »

It did not take too many flickers before Amica was noticed. Those sitting nearest the entrance were the first to become aware of her presence by the sudden inrush of cold air from the opening of the tent. In no time at all she had gained the attention of more than a few of the tent's inhabitants. Those that held their gaze the longest were the young and male among them... because despite her deprivation, the shaman's body still betrayed her as distinctly female. The tattered dress she wore did very little to disguise this fact, and the corset did more to enhance it.

It was perhaps half a burn before one spoke to welcome her into the tent, though. Each of the People was evidently unwilling to be the first to welcome Amica, who was strangely clad despite seeming to be one of their own. Eventually a sturdy man, of Amica's height with a few days' worth of stubble on his broad chin, stood and greeted her. "Kal'essen... anddi-sus," he said hesitantly. "Come, join us. Fetch yourself a fish and some water, or ale from the West. Then maybe you can tell us your story." For there was no doubt that the anddi-sus had one to tell. He gestured to the space he had recently vacated on a broad log covered by a thick sheet of material, in the clusters nearest the entrance.
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Post by Amica »

Nodding gratefully, Amica quietly entered the tent and collected the offered meal before she settled herself at the offered place. She had no great difficulty ignoring the eyes upon her, for she found herself already deep in thought regarding which lie...and how much truth...to tell them. Have I become my father? she realized with a start, her broad, green eyes rising to survey those that watched her.

It could not be said that Amica was a particularly virtuous person, but it could be claimed that she had been an honest person. As a little girl, she had grown accustomed to the more traditional approach that one who hides the truth hides shame, an axiom among a people that knew very little of intrigue, politics, or delicacies. But Amica was born to the Black tribe...and as such, deception had quickly grown upon her the moment she first dawned the black sarri. In recent days, deception had become as much a part of her as truth...and she never for a moment considered telling these people the truth. At least, not the entire truth.

This was not to say that Amica could not trust. While her confidence in her Elders might have been shaken, she still held an infinite regard for other gens harinae, and she did not question that any truth she told them would be safely shared. Still, some truths were a burden to those who knew them...and most truths (at least those Amica had learned) were very dangerous to know...dangerous both from the Shaman Elders as well as Dragon Kind and possibly even the guarrdi, too. Wouldn't the Dragon Slayers of this very fortress value the secrets Amica held within her?

Dragon Slayers.

The thought was strangely potent to her. Here, at the furthest reach of guarrdi lands, there lived a group of wet-landers who hunted dragons. These Dragon Knights routinely hunted Dragon Kind, mounted upon horses and carrying great spears with which to impale the beast. It left Amica with more questions than answers...how can they fight that which might fly above them?...what magics do they have to help them defeat Dragon Kind?...questions that might help her in her war upon Aeis, Dragon of Wind. Still, she would have to ask a few very obvious questions to learn of these things...and so she would have to reveal at least some of her past and why she had come to Dragon's Keep.

"I am called Amica of Tribus Negri. I have come to slay one of Dragon Kind," she replied evenly. It is the truth, she almost smiled. Perhaps only a fraction of the truth, but it is truth.
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Post by Morg »

A few more conversations stopped as the speakers picked up on what Amica had said, and the general reaction was one of unease. Normally, when faced with a semi-naked girl who was alone and claiming to be on a mission to slay a dragon, these mellow, cheerful borderland folk would have burst into uproarious laughter. But in this case they didn't. Maybe it was something in Amica's countenance, or something in her tone. Either way, something of the truthfulness of what she had said had emerged and permeated the atmosphere of the tent. They couldn't ignore her, and yet they were unsure how to respond. Some looked away, and a few whispered to each other. The man who had greeted Amica now gave her a broad, uncertain smile with a touch of condescension. He was opening his mouth to reply when another voice cut across him.

"Might I enquire as to how exactly you were planning to go about doing that?"

It was the tall, black-bearded guarrdi, his voice light and airy but sharp as he spoke to her from across the tent. "Hunting down and killing a dragon is no mean feat," he continued, "and at first glance you seem to be... rather less well equipped than many who attempt the task. So I'd be intrigued to hear what your intentions were." He made a gesture inviting Amica to join him at his seat across the gathering tent. "My name is Achlos, of the Seven Isles."

Some of the attention of the People had shifted away from her now, the borderlanders happy to let the two outsiders deal with each other and to return to their conversations and food.
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Post by Amica »

Glancing up from her fish for a brief moment, Amica's fierce, green eyes lanced at the guarrdi for a moment...only a half flicker...as she ate. It was not a surprising response, but it seemed somehow appropriate that the wet-lander was far more interested in how Amica would slay one of Dragon Kind than why. When she replied, the young shaman was amazed to find that her humor had returned to her.

"I will strike her with something very large," replied Amica evenly. "Perhaps I will strike her twice."

Such a jest might go far to dispell the sudden anxiety in the tent...and would give her time to think. Achlos...from Seven Isles (a far better home to have than but a single isle)...knew not how she would slay the Beast. He would have no doubt assumed methods familiar to the local guarrdi, methods that might employ the use of great spears, horses, and many wasted lives...all things she clearly did not have. This could only mean that Achlos knew of no other way to do so...and so he saved Amica the effort to inquire among the local guarrdi. They had no magics to defeat Dragon Kind: they had only courage, and Amica knew as well as anyone that courage...coupled with good fortune...was often enough.

"You have the right of it, Achlos of Seven Isles...I am ill-prepared to chase Dragon of Wind," continued Amica, glancing down to emphasize her rather poor state of preparation. She would offer perhaps a second jest, indicating her sparse needs to fulfil her quest. "I have no coat of hides. I must gather warm clothing if I am to chase Dragon of Wind into her Mountains. If you would provide for me warm hides for such a journey...and dried meat...then I will tell you how Aeis, Dragon of Wind, will die by my hand."

It was a silly, minor ploy...but often enough, minor ploys worked best. The wet-lander was no doubt a curious man...few weren't...and for her story he would no doubt pay a price in yak's hair, bush wool, or wolf skins. He had come from across the Endless Waters, after all...and so he would have the few coins he would need to outfit Amica for the final duel in her battle with Aeis.
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Post by Morg »

The fish she ate was warm, flavoursome and a little salty. Although it was not obvious from looking at the fried cut, the trout found in the Lake of Draz-Olgraith and in its feeder streams trickling down from the mountains had a particularity setting them aside from all other varieties of their species: a narrow, low serrated ridge running along the top of their heads between their eyes for perhaps a finger's length. They were often known as "dragontrout" because of this.

Amica's quip did much to allay the unease that had settled over the tent's inhabitants. Some of those who had not yet returned to their conversations did so now with a chuckle. Others continued to observe the newcomer, but with simple curiosity now written into their expressions rather than distrust.

Achlos was, of course, one of the latter group. He laughed, a sharp, barking sound that was not altogether unpleasant, and stepped closer, lowering his slim, bony form down onto the covered log on Amica's right. "The bargain is struck!" he responded jovially, his left hand drifting to his short beard, which was struck through with threads of grey. "I shall find you a good, solid fur coat - which, by the way, even if I did not feel it my duty as a seeker of knowledge, would certainly be my duty as a gentleman." For a flicker his eyes roved her form, inadequately covered by the tattered dress she still wore. "And some other items of clothing, I think, too, as well as food supplies. If I cannot dissuade you from your purpose." Achlos didn't seem too convinced that this was possible. Single-mindedness was a widespread and deep-rooted trait among the People of the Sands.

"But do tell me your story, and I can assure you I will listen most intently," the man continued, unable to keep the eagerness from his voice entirely. "I make it my mission in life to study those great creatures, and to chronicle what I know of them, so you will find me an avid audience."

The man who called himself Achlos was not all of her audience. The others in their little cluster had stopped to listen, too, among them the youngish man who had greeted her.
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Post by Amica »

Pausing in her meal, Amica picked at what few, tiny bones she could find in the fish, though her mind was on her upcoming answer. There was no great reason she could not tell them...unless Aeis had spies among them, which she considered to be rather improbable. Still, Achlos gave her some reservation...the kind of reservation she always felt around the guarrdi.

All wet-landers managed to, by virtue of their very presence, complicate things. Nothing was simple with them...no decisions were certain...and even the ordinarily simple ideas of right and wrong became a haze of legality, morality, and obligation among their kind. Still, such a thought was unfair and judgemental...and while Amica knew in her mind that she was not being reasonable, her heart would not ignore that he is guarrdi, and he will betray you. Even the guarrdi that walked among the People...presumably to learn of them...were not to be readily trusted, for they truly were spies...though of a different sort entirely.

It was therefore something of a challenge to speak openly of her plans...but she would grit her teeth and begin to speak. Perhaps not all guarrdi are this way, she thought, having cleared the last of the tiny bones from the fish...her first real meal of protein in months.

"See in my hand, guarrdi, what I hold?" began Amica, indicating the now boneless filet. "He was once crafty and strong. Once, he lived within his place. Fish has upon him fins and scales, and he does breath the water as we the air...and this makes him strong in the waters. Great Fish of ponderous size may live in the Endless Waters to the East...and such a power they must surely be, for do they not also have such sleek fins and hard scales? Are they not also crafty and strong as well? If you would enter the Endless Waters to challenge them, you would fail...for you do not have scales and fins, and so you would be to them as the worm would be to this that I hold in my hand."

"But power is a fleeting thing, and it is much given to Order. All things must live in Order, Achlos of Seven Isles...and just as all things have power over others, so too do others have power over them...and this power may come and go with time. Imagine now that Great Fish came to challenge you in your home? Who them would be strong and crafty? Would Great Fish's fins and scales help him while he slowly dies, trapped upon land?"

"Dragon Kind are strong. They fly as birds, they are strong as any ten horse, they can strike using the very Forces of Nature, and their magics..." here Amica paused and reflected upon the Dragon Runes "...their magics are more ancient than all the Races of Man, stronger than all. Their magics might smite a mountain or flood all the desert. But for all this, they are vulnerable, for all Dragon Kind serve but one of the Forces of Nature...only one, hard as it might be to see which. There are Dragon Kind...Great Kind, far greater than the young and tempestuous youths often seen near here...who must live according to the Order of Nature. Dragon of Fire could burn all who trespass upon him, but Dragon of Water may quench him should he poach too far. This is the Order of Nature...and so is the Order of Dragon Kind."

"Perhaps it is for this reason they have come to fear us?" continued Amica, tossing her now bare fish bones into the cooking fire. "They would fear us because it is in the heart of Man to welcome all the forces of nature? This I cannot say...but to understand how to defeat the Beast is to understand Beast's Power...and to go where the Beast has no power...and to fight her with forces that must defeat her according to the Order of Nature. It will be as the rock moves the river...or the cloud hides the sun."

"To defeat Aeis, Dragon of Wind, I must bring myself near to her lair unseen, for she has it in mind that she has slain me a season ago. I will hide myself beneath the mountain, in the deepest of fissures I might find...I will sent the whispering winds to seek them out, and I will select the best of them. Then I will lure her to me by visiting myself upon her captive...by visiting my ghost upon her. She will come...she must come...to challenge me beneath the mountain."

Amica glanced over at Achlos, her green eyes dark in the orange firelight. "Aeis, Dragon of Winds, commands the wind and storm. Beneath Great Mountain, there are neither wind nor storm. Once I have her there, I will trap her with my magics...trap her beneath the mountain, beneath the waters of my own creation. Her winds cannot escape through the water...and her body cannot survive the crushing weight of Great Mountain. She will die...because the Natural order will demand it."
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Post by Morg »

As Amica spoke, the sun was sinking behind the mountains to the west, so that the tent darkened, its central fire providing the only source of illumination. Around the other clusters, candles were gradually being produced, lit and placed on tables at the focal points of the little gatherings. At Amica's table, though, none had yet taken this step, so entranced were they all by the story they were being told.

The People of the Sands had a long history of storytelling, and it was perhaps for this reason that they were not as attached to the notions of absolute truth and falsehood, reality and illusion, as the more "advanced" folk of the West and of the Empire Seven Isles. The measure of a story, and indeed of most forms of information, was usually taken as the sum of style and substance, rather than as substance alone. After all, in the desert what was truth one day would often be swept into falsehood the next by the shifting of the sands. Besides, what was the use of a myth or a creation story if it did not inspire?

However, what they were being told here was no legend, although it had the potential to become one. The story they were being told contained an uncomfortable number of references to the present, and even to the future, and these could not be ignored. It was a plan, that much was certain. The majority of the small group listening in were torn between the urge to applaud a good story told and to remain respectfully silent in honour of an intention that appeared to have been put forward in all seriousness. Since it required less effort, they defaulted to the latter.

Achlos merely sat listening, largely unblinking, concentrating with a cool intensity characteristic of those who had spent most of their lives in academia as well as of reptiles. He left a good few flickers before speaking, as the story he had been told deserved. "Well, that was easily worth a few outer garments and provisions," he spoke lightly. "I must admit that I'm having trouble controlling the urge to run back to my tower and write all this down before it slips my mind. But that would hardly be fair, so... I hope you'll allow me to make a few points in response."

"First," he began, "I am impressed by your knowledge of dragons and their powers, and, in essence, the core of your strategy is absolutely sound - although I do not know whether your magics are sufficient to achieve your purpose." Although largely convinced otherwise, Achlos was still allowing for the possibility that he was dealing with a visionary lunatic. "But I must warn you that a dragon's magic is not restricted to command of their element. They have been known to use magic of the mind... magic those of my profession would refer to as Mindcraft. While you are correct in assuming that facing the air dragon in such a setting would rob her of access to the source of much of her power, she will still have power that she can draw upon from within herself. She can use this to induce great passions. Hate, love, fear... perhaps even apathy. Fortunately, it is possible to defend against these passions, provided you have a strong mind, and," he smiled, "you have already convinced me that you do. Your strategy is still perfectly appropriate, in that respect. Willpower can defend you against attacks of the mind, but is a... less effective barrier against a raging storm." Despite his cool bearing, similar in many ways to the creatures the man studied, there was more than a small flame of enthusiasm in his voice and a glimmer of it in his eyes. This wasn't advice he had the opportunity to dole out every day.

"A more important potential problem," he continued, "is the question of why this Aeis would choose to seek you out in such a place. An affront to her pride is one motive, true... but what makes you so significant to a dragon? Why should you be any different, to her, than any one of the thousands of humans she has undoubtedly ground between her great jaws? What is in your past that would make her come to you?"

Now Achlos was asking the other question, the question of why... perhaps inevitably, given what Amica had just told him. The woman definitely did have a story to tell, as well as a plan, and he was keen to hear it.
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Post by Amica »

"That is the right question, Achlos of Seven Isles," replied Amica evenly. He quickly came to this point of her plan, a clear sign of a sharp mind...for this was the one point she could not tell him. Aeis must hunt Amica down, for while Amica lived, she might influence the Peshawgo...and the fate of the Curse could be brought into question. Amica knew she had some measure of power over the Peshawgo...more power than any spell or geas could offer...for they had shared very intimate moments together, and the Peshawgo truly believed that he would love Amica forever...that she would be his mate.

Amica had gone far to dissuade such thinking in the Peshawgo, for she knew in her heart that to promote such a thing would be selfish and destructive. The Peshawgo deserved a proper mate...a dragon, of course...and he deserved his freedom, even if it might come at the cost of her People. He was very upset with her when she first challenged him on these points, but he would understand in time...and he would not forget her so long as he remind himself. When she approached him again...even as a ghost...she would remind him of their very special relationship...and the promise she had made to him almost half a yahren ago.

Aeis, Dragon of Wind, would understand by now that so long as Amica lived, she could never control him completely. Amica could steal away with her most prized treasure...and she could do so without stepping a single foot into her lair. The Dragon of Wind would be enraged over such a thing...and she would come. She sought the destruction of all Races of Man in the desert...and if Amica were to perish, there would be nothing left to stop her from such a scheme.

"That is the right question, for it is the one I cannot answer," added Amica with an apologetic frown. "Perhaps I will tell you that she has stolen a thing...and until she has slain me, she will know fear that what she has stolen can be stolen back from her. I am sorry for it, but I can say no more on the matter." Traditionally, guarrdi would goad and needle endlessly to lure such secrets out...but Amica did not predict this from Achlos of Seven Isles. It was not his nature that gave her to think this...he was inquisitive, and so his curiosity would be overwhelming...but he seemed familiar with their customs, and so he would know such tactics would be hopeless.
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Post by Morg »

Indeed, Achlos did not seek to press her on the matter, his slim mouth curling into a disappointed frown that mirrored Amica's own. Evidently, after the grand plan she had outlined, he had been expecting something more showmanlike in answer to his second question. Nevertheless, he indulged in a little musing to himself on the matter as his hands drifted downwards to fiddle with the half-eaten fish lying cold on his plate.

"Ho!" he spoke. "This item must be of great value, for a dragon to occupy itself with stealing it from you. Normally it is the opposite story that we hear: a human invites the wrath of a dragon by stealing from its lair. Indeed, this keep has been attacked from above more than once because of the actions of a single overconfident thief. Dragons, for the most part, bear no ill will against humans in principle..." He sighed, and his eyes momentarily drifted for the first time in their conversation, his scale-hard expression of concentration faltering as other thoughts and memories surfaced. "With several major exceptions, of course. But they are known to be extremely possessive, and recovery of that which is theirs tends to be the leading motive in their conflicts with our race. Alongside hunger, of course. Many lives have been lost here in defence of some bauble or trinket of no more than aesthetic value."

The tall man waved the point away, and continued on a different tack. "Well, in any case, if you cannot tell me of the issue this Aeis has with you, maybe you can tell me something of the... magics... you employ. I should perhaps confess that I am myself no novice in the discipline of sorcery." There was a flicker of concern in his tone here. The People of the Sands usually viewed guarrdi magic-users as at best misguided and at worst a direct threat to their way of life. "So you need not fear that I might fail to understand you when you speak of such things. Perhaps you have shamanic training, from the Tribus Negri of your people?"
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Post by Amica »

At first, Amica did not know how to answer.

If Achlos sought to understand the differences between the shamanic rites of the tribe compared to base sorcery, she could perhaps teach him...in four or five yahren. For Amica, even sorcery required runes and writings, even if they were drawn in the very air itself...for this was how she was given to understand magic. But this eluded to a deeper approach common among shaman that couldn't be found in the wet-lander sorcerer or the witch. This difference was less a matter of how magic was prepared to reach a goal, and more a decision in which goals were worth meeting.

For the Witch of Sabata and the sorcerers she had known, magic was a casual means to any end at all...a routine method that they embraced with little to no regard for consequence to themselves or the world around them. For Amica and the shaman she admired...T'Kil among them...magic was a very careful application of the Order of Nature to impact the world in a more subtle fashion. Shaman were never seen to utilize magics for mundane practices...and no spell, great or small, was crafted without careful consideration of how...or what...it would impact.

"This is a difficult question to answer, Achlos of Seven Isles, as I have known no other way to visit my will upon the world," replied Amica evenly. "That a shaman commands great power is no secret...you are wise enough to know this. But a shaman respects the Way of Life, and he will not allow his magics to violate this foundation of Heaven and Earth. Every shaman must learn the Way of Life...I knew this as a little girl, long before I knew of magics...and it is this that guides my hand when I must unleash the power of the...written word. If a shaman attends to the Way of Life uses this power properly, then he will leave most to question whether he has done anything at all."
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Post by Morg »

The old sorceror frowned as the shaman spoke. In essence, he'd heard it all before. From that old stickler Asa'kriel. And the words sounded as alien to his own perception of magic and its uses as they had the first time.

"So the magics give you great power at your command," he reiterated, "and the Way of Life proclaims that they should be employed as subtly as possible." He raised his eyebrows mockingly. "A curious tradition of magic; one that if followed to its logical conclusion would never be employed at all. Tell me, every time you save a dying child from the desert's embrace, or use your powers to bring light where there would otherwise be none, are you not flying in the face of the Way of Life? Oh, you may say it is a matter of degree, but I do not believe that you shamans can map the implications of every little action. A human, after all, is nothing in the grand scheme of things... but enough, nonetheless, to draw down the wrath of a dragon." The corner of his bloodless lips curled upwards in a half-smile. "No, the magic I have been so fortunate to learn to wield... I prefer to see it as part of the Way of Life itself. Just another tool, no different from the human hand, or from a sharpened stone, or... a very large blunt instrument suitable for beating a sizable reptile repeatedly about the head."

Achlos smiled broadly, but did not give Amica a chance to interrupt his flow, becoming more serious as he spoke. "And there is the crux of the matter. I fear that subtlety alone will not avail you if you seek to bring down a dragon. Unless you apply brute force, the Way of Life would surely see you fall." To all appearances, the mage's concern was genuine, before he shook his head and continued. "But that is your affair. In any case, you mentioned writing... would I be right in assuming that your magic involves some sort of script? A language of sorts?"
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Post by Amica »

The wetlander lived up to Amica's estimation. He was curious and inquisitive...almost to the point of insulting, though it would be strange for Amica to actually be insulted by it. curiosity was hardly a fault in one hungry for knowledge, but it had to be managed carefully unless one wasted words with opinionated argument. All thought for the dieing child...and no thought for the desert. With wetlanders, All Good Things come from them...from Man...and the rest of the world is to be servant to them. Perhaps this is a good thing...for have they not conquered the skies?

"Achlos of Seven Isles, all we have discussed are my affairs," shot Amica. "I have been kind to speak of them beyond my obligation. And you have been kind enough to explain yourself to me, though I have questioned you not at all. Be still, Achlos. I will speak no more of my affairs for now. Instead, I would hear of this place."

Turning, Amica focused her attention upon the eldest of the People in the tent. This would have been a habit to her, even if the eldest were not the wisest or the leader...or even awake. "Tell me of the waters I see near here...this lake. How is it that these waters have come to be here so high in the Great Mountains? Did Man dig this lake with his hands or with magics? Or does this...Heavenly lake turn to ice for much of the yahren?"
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Post by Morg »

A brief flash of annoyance passed across Achlos's otherwise impassive face as Amica more or less slammed the conversation shut in front of him, denying him the further answers he sought - but there was no malice there, only the disappointment of a petulant child.

Finding the eldest of those present was no easy task. The large tent around the great tree contained far fewer elderly than most tribes of the People, likely a result of their unorthodox way of life, and Amica was hard pressed to find any older than Achlos himself. In the next circle, though, was a woman of the Ochre Tribe, nearing her sixtieth yahren. She handled her fish with the consummate grace and dexterity of a master, her long fingernails finding and removing the bones almost effortlessly.

"This lake has been here for all of my lifetime, anddi-sus, and for as far back as our stories tell," she replied. "It is said that it is not as old as the wetlanders' great Tower, but, truth be told, little here is. It is said that great Draz-Olgraith fell to earth here, and that his fall gave the earth to sink and the waters to pour in, at the time of the first Joris Dragon Slayer."

She paused to brush something out of one of her liquid eyes. "And the Lake of Draz-Olgraith has never been known to turn to ice, despite the cold." She smiled conspiratorially. "On the other side of the lake, in the mountains, the water in the streams is warm to the touch. They flow from a higher place, where the water trickles from the rock with steam and gives off an odour of rot. Some say that Dragons of Fire sleep beneath the mountain there and bring warmth to the waters with their breath. These streams in turn warm the lake."
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Post by Amica »

Draz-Olgraith.

The very name came from the most ancient of tongues. Draz-Olgraith the Dragon. But...a dragon of what? pondered Amica as she stared into the fire, her mind lost in thought. This dragon was slain long, long ago. Could he have known of the Curse? Or of the Pact that would follow? He might know the source of the curse...and perhaps how it might be undone. But can I speak to a Great Dragon that has been dead for a thousand thousand yahren? The shaman frowned slightly. There were all kinds of spirits...and many ways to die. If Draz-Olgraith were sinister or powerful enough to leave such a lake in his passing, perhaps she could awaken his spirit and bring him to speak.

This is madness, she chided herself. He will strike at your mind and your heart, even from the grave.

"Thank you, kurdi-ged. I know little of Draz-Olgraith. Perhaps I will learn of his legend," murmured Amica, though her mind was already racing. If his spirit could be given to rise up and speak, then perhaps he will speak to me of things that may help me in my battle against Aeis. Achlos has the right of it...it is foolish to think I am properly prepared to slay Aeis...but I must try, and if I might bring Draz-Olgraith to speak, perhaps I will learn what will be needed to defeat her....and the curse.

All at once, Amica was struck with a memory. There was a lake...and I was waiting...

The calm, smooth surface of the broad, deep lake nestled high up in the heavens was broken by oncoming weather. Looking up, Amica could see that dark clouds were gathering above, and all at once there was an ominous crack of thunder punctuated by lightning that lit the sky on fire. The leaves were blowing from the trees...trees that could not have been in the open desert...and far, far off, up in the air, Amica can see something moving...

It is so high above, that at first it seemed a mere speck, another leaf moving and fluttering through the blackened clouds with lightning crackling all around it. As it moved closer, Amica could see that it was a reddish gold color...or perhaps that was the sun striking off of it's gleaming body?...and that the flashes of lightning seem to be coming from it...not the stormy sky all around. The air was filled with a roaring rush of wind and Amica finds herself blown closer to the shore of the lake. Half bent and shivering, she watched as the terrifying creature descended.

It was a Dragon...but far greater than any she had ever seen before.

The swiftly approaching creature loomed larger and larger until it was hovering over Amica, its wings stirring the lake water into stinging froth. An earsplitting roar caused Amica to involuntarily cover her ears as she tried to take in the details of it's yellow-eyed, carrion breath, toothed and clawed appearance. Suddenly, within her mind, Amica heard a voice somehow alien and unlike any she has ever heard before- with an odd rich timbre that seems to boom within her skull and echo painfully there.

WHAT DO YOU HERE? WERE YOU SENT?!

The dragon reared upon its hindquarters and roared once more for good measure. A smell of charring and ozone filled Amica's nose as she watched the lightning crackle and form into a ball hanging in the air before the dragon's fore-claws. It peered down at her and she realized then that it meant to slay her...


Blinking out of the horrible memory, Amica turned and stared at Achlos with wide, frantic eyes. I have been here before! I have been here in a vision, she realized, her mouth open and her heart hammering in her chest. "Achlos...come with me?" she asked quickly, rising and moving to the entrance and out to the lake.

I will speak to Draz-Olgaith. I have foreseen it.


* Vision reference
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Post by Morg »

Achlos hadn't taken his eyes off Amica as the old woman related her version of the origins of the lake, perhaps pondering how to penetrate her defences and negotiate a few more answers to his questions - and so he bore witness to the transformation that came over the shaman as she sat there. His sharp eyebrows narrowed in concern, and his expression showed his lack of comprehension, but at her request he nevertheless stood, draping his brown cloak haphazardly over one shoulder as he followed her out of the tent.

Outside, darkness had begun to fall, hastened by the menacingly dark clouds that were moving in from all sides. The sun still shone, though, casting its red-gold rays over the lake from where it was sinking behind the wetlanders' Keep and the pass it protected. Achlos regarded the sky pensively as he brushed the tent flap aside and stepped out into the open. The winds had lifted, and caught his wispy beard as he moved.

"We shouldn't linger here too long," he stated urgently. "Your folk have predicted a great storm for this eveningtide, and the weather around here can be fierce indeed." Without further words he lifted the woollen cloak from his shoulders and offered it to the girl, then simply waited and followed, anxious to understand.
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Post by Amica »

"There will be a storm," confirmed Amica, turning her head skyward as if she were observing the incoming clouds...a sight uncommon in the vast stretches of wasteland she normally knew. But it was not the clouds she examined, but the mountains themselves...looking for signs that might kindle some recognition in her. It was at the banks of the lake. The mountain was behind. Perhaps just there...

Grabbing Annuire, she strode down to the banks of the lake and picked her place carefully. As she did, her mind turned over the best methods she could bring Draz-Olgaith to speak. Will I go to him, or will I summon him to me? she pondered, weighing the options of both. If she were to enter the Aether, it would make her vulnerable...and the Ancient Beast could slay her easily. If she were to summon the spirit of Draz-Olgaith here, to the Tether, she could protect herself...but the spirit could bring some terror and hardship to the local wetlanders. I cannot know if this is possible, but I must accept this risk.

In the end, Amica knew she should bring the spirit to her. Such a thing would be perilous and difficult...her magics were unreliable in the grips of Mother Desert...but she had to try, and with any luck, it would work well enough such that she could compel the anguished spirit to speak. "If Draz-Olgaith truly is trapped 'neath the waters, then his body will remain, and his ghost will be nearby..." She did not mean this physically, but it was her belief that spirits would always remain aware of the place where they crossed over to the Spirit World. "If you are interested in the Written Word, then you will attend to me, Achlos of Seven Isles. But you must not speak when the Ancient Beast arrives, and you must not fear it. Do not disturb the mandala, or we will both perish."

That would offer Achlos no protection, but Amica would try all the same. Nothing could match the horrifying sense of dragonfear that overtook any mortal when they were in the presence of the mightiest of Mother Earth's creations, and if her vision held any value for judgement, the Spirit of Draz-Olgaith would hold as much awesome terror as it ever did in life.

Planting Annuire into the soft earth along the banks of the lake, Amica requested it to provide her light by which she might see. "Annuire ignacio," she murmured, summoning the green hue by which she could begin her preparations for the summoning.

A summoning was no simple feat. Whether one summoned djinni, demon, ghost, or totem, one must be prepared for disappointment. Luring the spirit was seldom a problem...spirits often sought to invade the Tether by whatever means presented...but learning what one wanted from them could often be impossible. Amica's only hope was the Draz-Olgaith would reveal enough, either intentionally or otherwise, to help her in her quest. "Watch as I draw, Achlos..."

Scribing was how Amica found her focus in magic. It was as much the constant, concentrated action of writing as much as the rhythmic movements of her hands or the careful placement of the colored sands...things that were familiar to her and practiced into her since a child. The humble runes of her People hid the power of her craft beneath them, hidden within form, meaning, and the power of her hand to give them life. She had performed summonings before...summonings for djinni...and while the Spirit of Draz-Olgaith would be far larger and more intimidating than any djinn, it would be far, far easier. After all, Draz-Olgaith had once lived in the Tether...and if Amica understood the elder's legend properly, he was here...in the waters, around them, his body become the fertile lands around her, the health of their flock...even the glow of the water. Summoning the spirit would be easy...but learning what she could from him would be much, much harder.

She would begin with her protection circle, to ground and guard her. Just outside of this, she would build her summoning circle, her voice quietly chanting the passages of her runes as she carefully and deftly dropped the white sands of her medicine pouch into the soft earth. The circle of protection would keep the mandala undisturbed in the growing winds...and within this, her spell would begin to take shape.

A'har will lure him back to me...and Fles will seek out his spirit through time. I will add Dren to give the Spirit voice in the Waking World...and I will ward against His magics. This will bring him to my council for as long as he can be contained. May Fate give it to be long enough, nodded Amica, crouching low and sinking into a deep, practiced trance as she began her lengthy ritual.
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Post by Morg »

As Amica began her ritual, Achlos's eyes widened. "Amica... of Tribus Negri... No! This is folly!" He spoke earnestly, desperately. "By all accounts, Draz-Olgraith was one of the greatest and darkest of his kind to have ever lived. And he..." The mage trailed off, with a few words spoken into his beard. "You'll see. When you get that far... you'll see." Shaking his head, he knelt in the dirt and watched her work.

The young shaman was no stranger to the magical arts, and the energies she sought to control sprung readily into the Tether, the runes flaring into existence with a brightness that temporarily eclipsed the green aura emanating from Annuire. However, mere flickers after she finished scribing them it was evident that something was wrong. The rune Dren hummed with life, waiting patiently for its target, but A'har seemed hollow, aimless, utterly unable or unwilling to respond to her command.

Fles, on the other hand, was busy indeed. The rune, normally used to scry from afar and return with tidbits of information for its writer, was not extending its influence into the Spirit World at all. No, its whispering tendrils, usually subtle and diffuse, were racing uniformly away from the rune - racing away towards the water's edge, and plunging into the depths of the lake. And as the rune began to flare, an image formed in Amica's mind of what was down there.

Deep below the surface, perhaps below the earth itself - for the rune's magics did not distinguish between liquid and solid matter - was a sphere of energy of enormous proportions. To the Aetheric sight it appeared almost blindingly bright. A white fire lined its surface, an energy Amica had never seen before but which was present in such abundance as to make the magics at her command seem hopelessly insignificant. Even a dragon would likely be unable to conjure such a gigantic quantity of power. This was the work of one of the greatest of spirits, or of many working together.

As the image coalesced, it became evident that the "sphere" was in fact no sphere at all, but a polyhedron with an immense number of faces. At each vertex glowed a rune: T'huh, D'reb, J'hiss, and 'Ushki, distributed in a regular pattern, with the energies of the first two channelled into the last. Along the sides, linking the runes, were flaring lines of the white fire - or bars, they could be called, for the construction was in essence a simple cage, albeit one secured by power almost unimaginable.

The Fles rune was repulsed again and again as it tried to infiltrate the structure, but some of its tendrils found entry... and fewer returned to report on their findings. Concentrating on what lay beyond the coruscating whiteness was painful to the inner eye, but vague glimpses of the darkness beyond could be caught. Enough to determine its nature, in any case... and the revelation was truly unsettling. Suddenly it became all too clear why A'har had failed. It had failed because the Great Draz-Olgraith was nowhere to be found in the Spirit World. Instead he was here, in the Tether; and furthermore, even if he could not be said to be truly alive, he was equally definitely not dead. He was merely bound within a vast magical prison of ancient construction that lay below the lake bearing his name.

This prison was not unassailable, though. First and foremost, the protective 'Ushki runes were clearly directed to keep its victim in, not to keep intruders out... and a determined effort from outside could see the device penetrated. In addition, the myriad faces of the cage, the voids between the protective bars of white fire, were too small to allow the passage of the spirit of a Great Dragon, either from within or from without... but with enough care, and proper timing to avoid the flashes of furious energy that arced across the gap, a human-sized soul could slip through and gain access to what lay within.

Achlos was ashen-faced as he watched the ritual progress. Fles, faced with a power it could not hope to overcome, finally gave in and burned itself out... but not before carrying a single word from the depths of the prison back to its scribe, spoken in a voice that held the weight of twelve thousand yahren.

...Human...
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Post by Amica »

Imprisoned!

Amica snapped out of her trance, releasing the power of her runes all at once. Only the soft glow of Annuire remained alive, illuminating her awe-struck face and her wide, staring eyes as she peered down at her construct with open, stark amazement. Alive. Alive and Imprisoned, deep beneath us...perhaps in the lake, perhaps far below, into the heart of the mountain itself.

And he has seen me.

The singular word...the only message her magics had returned so far...was a simple acknowledgement of what she was. He knew...he had seen her, or at least seen her magics, and his power had taken her breath away. This was the nature of Tazlure's most ancient race...the Masters of the Tether...and she had been a foolish, impudent creature to believe she might overcome it. Aeis does not command this kind of power, she rationalized, a new thought occurring to her. Nothing commands this power.

"You knew. You knew what lies beneath, and I did not care to listen to you," murmured Amica evenly. Now they would speak as equals...at least for a time...though Ami's mind turned over this strange, new knowledge quickly and frantically. Can this power be used? she thought, her tiny mouth screwing into a frown. Indeed, this prison could be removed...but to release Draz-Olgaith upon the Tether could spell the end of all the Races of Man. But his knowledge, she thought. His knowledge...he will know so much. Can I not bargain with him?

Once again, Amica was returned to her vision. I have come to help, she recalled, a tentative plea to the unstoppable force that bore down upon her. Now it made sense to her, but would she truly help Draz-Olgaith? If I bargain for his help against the Curse, he will require my help against his cage. And his cage can be broken, she rationalized. It can be broken just as it can be entered. From the outside, it is vulnerable. But her tactics would have to change. She could not lure the Ancient Dragon to her. Instead, she would have to go to it.

Settling down to make herself more comfortable, she quickly brushed away the old runes outside her protective circle and pondered a new set of runes. She could not go to Draz-Olgaith physically...she could not tell the distance of his cage, and she could not imagine through what she might have to travel...but she could send her Ghost, the same tactic she had planned to use against Aeis as a lure. Just as her rune had done before, her ghost could enter the prison of Draz-Olgaith...and she could meet with the Master. Her magicks would have a different purpose, now...for she would need to use her runes to create a tendril and a beacon that will guide her back to her body.

"I cannot bring him here to speak. I must go upon the Ghost Walk. Will you protect me until I return?" asked Amica evenly. Of course, this would be a far safer route to take for the peoples of Dragon's Keep. If Draz-Olgaith chose to kill her...to eradicate her Ghost...then she would die, and he would remain imprisoned for another thousand thousand yahren.
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Post by Morg »

To Achlos's credit, he showed no signs of pleasure at being vindicated. He merely nodded once, slowly, confirming that he had known. "I have been here a little over a yahren," he responded. "Living with the locals here in the Keep. I could not remain unaware of magicks of that magnitude for long, although I did not know their nature until recently. The setup of Draz-Olgraith's prison is almost as fascinating as the creature within... although infinitely less terrible." He sighed.

At Amica's request, he remained perfectly still for a few flickers and then nodded once again. The reluctance he felt was only evident in his voice. "I will," he said uneasily. "Although if you go to him... however you go to him... I fear that your spirit will be in far more danger than your body. It desires only to destroy us. I..." He hesitated. "I felt it. The prison was renewed, recently, by one of your tribe and by a... holy man of the Westerners. I was with them when they did it. I have never felt such corrupt hatred and desire to destroy. If you do this, the only outcome I can envisage is your death." His serpentine lips, pressed tightly together, shifted uncomfortably.

"But I cannot change your mind," he added, matter-of-factly, "so I promise to protect you with all the powers at my disposal." He produced a tiny knife from a pouch at his belt. "I... will even seal the pledge with blood, if that is what you require."
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Post by Amica »

A holy man from the West? And a Shaman? The greatest question Amica faced was whether these two knew of the curse...though it seemed unlikely they should. Draz-Olgaith would know if it...but he will not speak of such things anymore than he might reveal how to remove it. But I must try, decided the Shaman, pondering how best she might trick the Ancient Dragon.

There was only one thing He would want...and that was freedom. And there was only one way He could gain his freedom...and that would be through someone outside his cage. It seemed simple enough. Amica could offer to free him if he gave her knowledge of the Curse. But that is a lie, she knew. If he is the kind of creature Achlos claims, he cannot be freed.

Another idea came to her. If this Great One lives...perhaps other Great Ones live? she considered. Draz-Olgaith would be an ancient Dragon of Storms...perhaps similar to Aeis, Dragon of Wind. But there were other Dragonkind in Ancient times...such as those that formed the Pact to halt the ravaging effects of the Curse. Draz-Olgaith would know of them...and Amica could perhaps find one of them and perhaps learn from it. So many places to die, she frowned. Such a hopeless task. But what choice have I?

"I do not require as much, Achlos of Seven Isles, though you credit yourself for it. I ask only that you watch after me, and guide me back should I grow weary. If the Ancient Beast chooses to slay me, he will do so...and nothing can stop him. But I believe he will not do this. In me, he may see hope for his exoneration. I will deal with him, and through this, learn what I can of his kin."

Leaning forward, Amica completed the runes once more for her runes to find Draz-Olgaith...she would follow this in the Spirit World to reach the Ancient Dragon...and when this was ready, she relaxed her body noticeably to enter her trance. She was not a well-practiced hand at such a thing as the Ghost Walk...but she had done it before, usually with the Peshawgo, and had even gone so far as to lose battles in the Spirit World. This time, there should be no battle...but perhaps secrets of the most amazing kind.

Once ready, she would slip away from her physical body and chase after her spell, sent to find Draz-Olgaith once again but this time as a guide.
Last edited by Amica on Tue May 29, 2007 3:54 pm, edited 1 time in total.
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Post by Morg »

(OOC: This thread is now impassable due to an irritable twelve-thousand-year-old half-dead dragon.)

Achlos said not a word, but what colour was in his cheeks drained out of them as if he really had been bled, and his knuckles whitened as he gripped the hilt of his tiny blade. As a weapon it was useless - far better suited to trimming fingernails and preparing ingredients for potions - but it represented the powers at his disposal, which he liked to think of as not inconsiderable. Still, this situation unnerved him greatly. The real conflict, if a conflict were to take place, would be settled within the prison of Draz-Olgraith, and if that cage were opened then all his power would not avail him. Achlos had sensed the malign intelligence behind the walls of runic protection, had felt the awesome power of the ancient dragon's will. The word exoneration grated with him, but he let it slide. Be it destiny or a perverse single-mindedness, something had shielded the woman before him in her chosen course, and Achlos Depesci knew that his role in this, as it had been when he had faced Draz-Olgraith's power beneath the lake those months ago, was that of an observer. He could no more deter the protagonist from assuming her role than he could face down Draz-Olgraith himself.

Once more the Fles runes shot across the gap between the young shaman and Draz-Olgraith's prison, but this time with a different intent: to find an appropriate entry point. The white fire flared where Amica's magicks touched it, blasting aside the lesser energy, but, as before, some of the rune's whispers gained ingress - and indicated a place where the shaman's spirit could follow, a many-sided face of the polyhedron larger than those around it. Along its edges the scorching white fire raced.

Passing through the gap was a terrifying experience. At the vertices, flares leapt and danced, so that an opportune time had to be sought to avoid being consumed by the fire. Close up it was blindingly bright and searingly hot, even for an incorporeal form, and the network of light throbbed and hummed audibly. Then she was through, and plunging into an altogether different magick.

[hr][/hr]
It was a small lake, high in the mountains. The water was clear and blue, and reflected in it were the towering, gleaming peaks that reigned all around. Amica found herself naked, with the wind and spray whipping against her and marvellously lush grass tickling her feet. Fruit-bearing trees were nearby: stocky plants with broad, bladelike dark green leaves.

The sky was darkening, the blood orange sun setting in the west and black clouds gathering above. At the same time the waters became choppy and turbulent. Thunder cracked, and lightning briefly split the scene... and something arrived.

It was so high above that at first it seemed a mere speck, another leaf moving and fluttering through the blackened clouds with lightning crackling all around it. The sun's red-gold light glinted brightly from its metallic scales. Ominously, the flashes of lightning seemed to be coming from the creature, and not from the stormy sky all around. The air was filled with a roaring rush of wind and Amica was blown closer to the shore of the lake. For several flickers she could only watch as the terrifying creature descended.

It was a Dragon, and one of immense proportions.

The swiftly approaching creature loomed larger and larger until it was hovering over the young shaman, its wings stirring the lake water into stinging froth. Every surface on its sinuous form seemed to angle and sharpen into a vicious spike. Suddenly, within her mind, Amica heard a voice possessed of an odd rich timbre that seemed to boom within her skull and echo painfully there. The voice was somehow alien, yet it was one that she had heard before. Once previously in dream, and then again, only a few burns earlier, on the shore. Now its volume was almost deafening.

WHAT DO YOU HERE? WERE YOU SENT?!

The dragon reared upon its hindquarters and roared once more for good measure. A smell of charring and ozone permeated the air, and the lightning crackled and formed into a ball hanging in the air before the beast's foreclaws. Its haunting yellow eyes peered down at her.
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Post by Amica »

A thousand new thoughts entered Amica's mind as she slipped through the Aether to what could be her death. The prison...the prison that could as easily live in the Tether as well as the Aether...was like nothing she had ever seen, a breath-taking structure of rune craft and power that spoke of amazing magics used in millennia past. But it spoke of other things...things long forgotten that made little sense to Achlos, but spoke volumes to Amica.

That Draz Olgaith would have lent his power to curse the land of Man was clear. So much power to contain him could mean only this. But the People formed their Pact, unifying Dragon and Man to continue for the future...a Pact that would stand as a check against the Races of Man. So long as a sire of the Water Dragons remained within the wells under Mother Desert, then she would live...and so too would the People. And so too would Dragon Kind, for the People had agreed not to use the dangerous magics they had learned from Dragon Kind. It is for this that my tribe will not allow such power to be used, realized Amica. Both had to sacrifice to form the Pact...a Pact that no doubt saved both Dragon and Man from destruction.

But not all Dragon Kind would have accepted such a Pact. Amica knew this because the Curse was still here, still written and cast upon the sands of time. What was made could not be undone...or Dragon Kind chose not to undo their magics...and so, the unsteady peace would last for a thousand thousand yahren. Draz-Olgaith was one who did not wish for this Pact. It is he who would have the People perish forever, guessed Amica, the best guess she could have. Achlos was frightened...terrified...of the entity within such an amazing prison, and Amica knew terror as well. This prison must be Dragon Magic, which gave her to believe that perhaps the Ancient Dragon within could not be stopped even by those Dragons sympathetic to the plight of Amica's People.

If Draz-Olgaith should be free, he would bring a new Dragon War...and many of Dragon Kind would rally behind him to eradicate the Races of Man from the earth forever. And with such power as this, they could do so, grimaced Amica's bodiless soul as she slipped around the shining, faceted cage, chasing after her Aetheric guide. So long as this Dragon King remains caged, we are safe...and as time passes, he will fall from memory and even legend itself. But ONE will recall him...and one will seek to return him to power...

Aeis.

Aeis, Dragon of Wind, commanded the airs. If the Pact remained broken and the Curse should grow in strength, it would only be a matter of time before the cage around Draz-Olgaith would erode and fail. Strong Dragon Magic made the cage...but Strong Dragon Magic made the curse as well, and such a thing could bring about the end of Man forever. Is this Aeis' design? thought Amica, the sense of it clear to her. This is why she chose to take the Peshawgo. She does seek a new Dragon War...but she must free her grand sire, Draz-Olgaith, to lead them.

Slipping through the cage itself, Amica found herself in a very familiar place. Once again, her mind filled with realization...realization that she had failed to see for months. When she had last been here, she had assumed it to be a place the Peshawgo had taken her...but she had been wrong. The Peshawgo could no more reach this place safely than she could...and she had seen this Ancient Dragon attack her. She could not have survived such a thing. No, the Peshawgo had not brought her here, but she had seen it, all the same.

A true vision, smiled Amica, as she watched the massive form of the Ancient Dragon descending towards her. This time, she was not as naked as she was before. Her spirit form was criss-crossed and covered with the tattoos and runes of her people, runes drawn upon her very body as if she were prepared to go to war. They would do nothing to protect her, of course...but they served to give her confidence in her coming confrontation with the Beast that descended to her even now. Not even the creeping sense of terror that permeated her body and drained the color from her face could break her, for she believed she would survive the encounter.

WHAT DO YOU HERE? WERE YOU SENT?!

The same words, thundering all around her...even through her. And if she were to succumb to the terror, she would plead that she had come to help. She would grovel and cringe from his power, and she would claim that indeed, she had been brought by another. In her vision, she believed this to be the Peshawgo and had claimed herself to be his kholen, a word that had enraged him before...and for reasons that became suddenly very obvious to Amica now. If she spoke in this way, she would die.

"I am Amica Tempestatis, Lover of Storms. I have alone come to offer you a bargain, Ancient One. Slay me if it is your wish, but know that if you do, you will remain for ANOTHER thousand, thousand yahren."
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