Your support makes Blue Moon possible (Patreon)- Joined
- Mar 14, 2019
We were never wrong.
Immortal, nigh-invulnerable, imbued with the wisdom of centuries and the unchanging appearance Va'lthuer'ane has seen yet another century pass by as his brethren imposed order and law to the lesser races. As he and the others of the Orokin line have "dragged" the masses kicking and screaming from superstition and given them something real to fear - His Judgment. Their streets no longer stink of blood and offal. Roads of stone connect even the most unworthy hamlet with towering temples and industries. By wisdom, by sorcery. By power. With agriculture, science, and order, The dragons have brought this land to heel.
And their little sheep repaid them with rebellion.
I was never wrong.
And yet. And yet...there, one of Va'lthuer'ane's greatest, broken before his old student champion with his flaming sword. Shaped by Va'lthuer'ane own mind. On the right flank, the remaining loyal guardians sound the retreat because it is the only way to prevent a total rout. On the left, the warlocks who ought to be drowning the traitorous troops in torrential downpours and washes of lightning are instead locked in conflict with their own brothers and sisters that too chose to throw away the promise of peaceful future under the rule of Orokin. At every turn, his old students countered his strategy. Every stroke he made was matched, even anticipated. They were every bit the genius old dragon tout they were, weren't they?
If he were to let them. They would actually win. Unaware of the consequences their rule could bring.
The great eye crowning the face of his lair, a soaring creation that would dwarf some cities, explodes. It draws every eye, as does his own. In the silence, men and women cease their struggles. As the gray dragon stalks the open air, speaking words of power. His grand wings remain still. His blood turns to fire. He feels his wards flaring. The veins. They scream. His students, both the experienced and new magic-weavers, at least, are wise enough to know what comes. They're terrified, but ultimately insignificant. He has striven greatly. First, to treat with them. To act as the diplomat. To give their uprising a chance to be heard. They chose this path. He silences all of the magi with a word. A single word. Their hearts burst within them, and both flanks surge in the grayscaled sage favor. He flings his clawed limb to the heavens. The sky darkens, and thunderheads flock to his beckoning claw.
The traitorous servant's uphill battle becomes impossible. As he pours rain and hail, battering unarmoured men and leaving the rest to struggle through thick mud. The winds howl, and lightning splits the sky in two, striking the magical constructs that have reinforced their advance and leaving smoking kindling and the unfortunate dead when their retina-searing flash dissipates. He dives, carried by the gale. He takes his students clear out of their mounts. Leaving their bodies drained of all life force...
"Yield."
His voice has driven men and women alike to give him everything they possess, before swearing their lives in fealty. He need not even imbue it with sorcery, though that he has in abundance. White-Gold armored troops rush out from the ruins of his tower. Races created by his fathers and grandfathers when he was still a little whelp. They remained loyal until the end. The mighty dwarves that have lived underground for generations, tending to the constructs and artifacts shaped from the flesh of the dragons. The elves. Still present during the creation of the Orokin, taught how to make use of everything they were given. But when humanity has been born, as the vein has given birth to their kind. As his brethren merged those two races of their grandparents...
They have begun their destruction.
His loyal servants remain stalwart, whlist the traitors howl like animals. This fight was lost from the beginning, as for the first time in centuries Valkon has sensed something else than disgust for the human race.
He experienced fear.
As tens of thousands. No. Millions of the human blight has come for him, with corpses of his kin, strapped to the pillars, carried on platforms. Their children. Their creations. All turned against them.
Something changed inside of him, at this mere moment, as his amber eyes widened in rage. For the first time, the dragon has allowed the emotionto control him. A new purpose. A new goal. A desire to end them once and for all.
With his mighty wings spread open the massive gray beast has flew up into the air. One final roar, one final order...As his skin shone red, the ancient writings and runes burning through the scaled skin, burning through the flesh. Nothing has mattered apart from the vein. He would reach it, even if it meant to destroy the one he was responsible for. It would recover after all.
He couldn't see it, but they ran. All of them. As the grassy land turned gray, as corpses have been flung into the air, drawn towards him, piling up on one another, debris, rubble. All of it was drawn towards him- No. Not him. A sphere of light that burned through all of it.
It wasn't a rebellion at this point. It was the last warning for humanity. Towards the world itself.
But even that wasn't enough. As it all was released in a singular moment. Turning his vision white...
***
For centuries to come. No. Longer. The concept of time became an illusion at this point. He was defenseless. Unable to see. Feel. Hear. It was just. Presence. Feeling of something. As kindlings of his power drew towards one another. An old trick he has mastered over the millennia. One could call it immortality. Other a second chance. Whatever it was, it took time. As ash, clung to ash, multiplying, merging. But it took too long. And when first signs of sentience, awareness, and sense have returned the dragon wasn't met with the gray sky nor the stench of burned flesh and ground. No. He was met with rocky surface, howling northern wind and a crater enveloped by mountains.
There was no magical intervention. No "divine" being interfering into the world of the living. It was him, an old forgotten and terrifying being. Perhaps last of his kind.
Finally coming to life.
***
It took years. Too. Allowing him to watch as the boiling rage within his soul died off, replaced by his old calculated and calm self. Wherever he was before he could begin his quest a body was required. A vessel one that could let him journey to the vein. Even now he could feel it's presence. Beating. Guiding energy into the world. But getting little in return. Horrified he knew what it meant. Humanity prevailed as they always did. Pests. Once again feasting upon the defenseless creature. Slowly killing it off with their filth.
He needed to stop it. It wasn't about the revenge at this point. It was about giving the terra itself more time. But how could he achieve anything in...
What was he? He could feel, listen and see, but the ability to control what he was has never appeared. Unable to tell he began this game of guessing. Using any faint hint to discover what he truly was. Humble attempts turned into observations and planned out actions. Soon enough he had enough power to cast spells. Only to witness the horrifying truth of the reflection in the water...Scaleless. The skinless frame of draconic flesh hung on the rocks like a rag. It's eye sockets emptied with gaping mouth, toothless and still in the process of properly forming. The organs too, were slowly coming together, visible from this angle.
A vessel in the making. A vessel he couldn't wait for.
***
Days. He has spent days, watching the horrifying reflection of himself. All that has remained of his form. Of his heritage. A ruined corpse that would never come back on time. Valkon was always quick to make a choice. Take action.
But not today. Still left on considering his options. Deciding. Planning. Only to come up with a single alternative. Just as his ashes merged with the stone here. So did the ones of millions of humans he has buried with himself. He could feel their faint essence embodied with the stone. The barely hearable whispers. Of madness over how long they were locked in their spiritual forms. Such frail minds easily guided against their masters now suffered the punishment that wouldn't end.
Unless he would take them. Absorb them and free them of this madness.
Was it surprising he didn't want that? Was it surprising the wise grayscale desired to have them suffer for eternity?
They have taken everything. Slaughtered his kin. Treated those that have taught them everything...
He will not grant them peace.
***
Unless madness won't grip him as well. As it did yet another night. But alas, did he even know when it was day or night? Buried underground. He could only guess. It was only thanks to his senses that he knew when the celestial bodies traveled. As sun rays penetrating the thick gray stone that eventually found it's way through the cracks to meet him.
He couldn't go on. He couldn't.
***
And on the third day, the stone finally shattered. Not some boulders, but the majority of the ruins he has left in his wake. All molten, transmutated and repurposed. Gathered, grain after grain. Clumped up together. It felt ironic as the sigils were drawn with his own blood that was still in the making. As the scaleless corpse performed an art he never believed he would. Giving the bundle an actual shape. Reconstructing the ash into flesh. Whlist his own faded in the process. The body of a man. Lithe, fit. Not strong and muscular like that one of the warriors he has fought. But not frail or ill like the ones he has seen after his curses has been cast.
With a sharp nose, ghastly pale skin and short black hair, he created himself a vessel. Naked. With limited ability in storing his power.
But at last for once. He could fix some of the mistakes done by humanity. As his essence was poured into the vessel. The rest returned to the Vein. Giving it more time to go on, while Valkon finally opened his new eyes. Gray just as his scales. Calm and full of wisdom. Now tinted with disgust and hatred. One that mixed with the mind of a man- Dragon that would do anything to achieve his goal.
***
The journey was hard, trudging through the snow as his body was reinforced with the coat shaped out of the flame. Shielding him from the elements that would normally end his journey even in that cave.
Human flesh was weak. Delicate. Irritating. Just like in the past he needed to eat, and drink. But now it felt much more apparent. Forcing him to use his gifts to hunt. Another task just as, tiresome and humiliating for someone like him. As bolts of pure white light pierced the hearts of thick-skinned beasts that were thrice (or more) his size. With it's meat cooked in his hand, he traveled forth. Out of moutains, into the woods.
Which brought more problems than he ever imagined. Humans were the first thing. First a group of lumberjacks. innocent and unaware of the sins of humanity. Slaughtered within mere moments. Their bodies ripped apart violently. Valkon couldn't say the new clothes that hidden the grotesque human body weren't a good addition. Nor was it wrong to see what he could do with his regained powers. Spending days..."Experimenting" both on the wildlife and unsuspecting human visitors. No matter of what age or gender they really were.
The shapeshifting abilities, while exhausting they too proved useful. Clearly scoring quite a few rumors of the mysterious beast stalking the thick forests of Velin fields. Well. For him at least, the forest must; 've been named differently given how much time has passed. Alas, it was another mystery he didn't feel that would help him accomplish anything. As for now, he simply trained. And prepared himself for the new world. Causing more and more ruckus. To the point where men and women were sent after him. Unaware of who he really was.
The niche for violence was far past him at this point. From ripping men apart and leaving their bodies scattered he began with immediate removal. Incinerating flesh, or closing it off behind the veil of arcane reality only (as he assumed) he knew about.
Then came the first captives. All weak. All begging for mercy. Begging. At first, he didn't understand them. So much time has passed that even a different language. Different writing style have been invented. Forcing him to get into the mind of one of his "Prisoners" only to take such (As it would seem in these times.) valuable information.
Another thing which proved that humanity was truly a mistake. Back in his times no man or woman was illiterate. And here? He has learned a lot. It was time to move on. No longer did he wear rags of a lumberjack. Replaced by a leather coat, with additional steel plates sewn into it. With a spear in his hand, it's spearhead removed and replaced with a simple crystal that served as a catalyst for him. Not as powerful as his old catalysts but it could get the job done.
He looked like them. From head to toe, just like a different mercenary. Worm seeking to survive on killing. He would teach them. All of them.
But first it was time to head out. Out of the woods.
***
Val' - Valkon stands just as he did few minutes ago. The trees that enveloped them. The men and women that flanked him and circled him like preying wolves. All lie down dead. Incinerated. Burned alive. Violently turned into a pool of flesh and red blood.
And yet. He stands. Without a scratch. With those same gray eyes, now facing her. The "Alpha Wolf" One that was strong enough to evade his incoming attacks. One that has withstood the wall of flames he has sent towards her and the main force that planned to gut him alive.
It happened just before the morning. As he journeyed down the dirt road, to arrive to the city known as "Ironwood" a simple name but it had to do. With a human name and a fake profession he has quickly sensed that he wasn't alone. With four or five pairs of eyes watching his every move. They were different from normal humans. Walking on two legs yet following a pattern similar to wolves. Whlist their blood felt...embodied, tied to the vein and to a normal animal. A wolf.
He could play into diplomacy. Just as he did in the past. But it was only met with violence. Without hesitation he has extended his hand towards one of the "Scouts" sending a bolt-shaped out of moonlight itself, piercing through her throat. Allowing her to choke on her own blood as the light burned through the flesh.
It was enough to get the whole pack emerge from the darkness. Managing to surprise him by the fact he haven't felt others. Hearing them. The steady breathing. Panting. Too similar to that one of a wolf. Muscled bodies, trained in the art of warfare and violence.
Pathetic.
The right flank is met with the same barrage of bolts. While left one manages to close the distance. Only to be met by a wall of blinding light which passess through them. Scorching the earth. Scorching the trees. Leaving not a single trace of those warriors.
But alas. Whoever lead them. Wasn't that stupid. Keeping the true numbers in check. Sending only around 10 at first. No. The rest. All of them. Circled him as he got rid of the first ten. Cruel. But effective strategy.
Sadly for them. This battle was already over.
Still in the same spot. He stood still. Allowing his enemies to follow their instincts. Their. Confidence.
Unaware that overconfidence is a slow and insidious killer. Their distance closing off, steps becoming louder, howling of the wolves echoing.
And a ring of flames emerging...
***
Here she stands. With the equipment burned but not entirely. Whatever she has done, it was surprising to see her still stand. Was it her strength? Was it the inner wolf that seemed to be far stronger than in the rest of those "things"? As they clearly weren't purely human.
Still on two legs, still keeping a suitable distance between them. She was the first one that didn't just recklessly charge at him. She was the first one that chose to wait for his move. Wise. And finally worthy of his attention.
Able to end it here, he knows even a slight movement would send her going for his throat. He didn't need that. Not when he was in need of more information. It was time to talk.
"Forty-nine."
His tone wasn't as deep as in his dragon form. In fact it was quite plausible to listen to. Almost that one of a bard and an actor. While still having enough "bass" to keep it manly and fitting for his facial features."
"Forty-nine and you're the first one to stop and actually reconsider your actions."
The sun finally appeared in the horizon. It's golden sun rays coating the two and the scorched field around them. Showing his handiwork in a different light. Showing the actual distance from how far away some of her people died. How much destruction he could actually release.
And yet. He didn't sound mad. The hatred, he had reserved for humanity. It just faded. He was more impressed that a creature similar to human had enough reason to not attack him immediately. And enough courage to not beg for mercy. Two traits he has found only a small number of humans had. Which were often his students in the past? Or perhaps it was this human nature of the body changing him from inside? That he didn't get rid of her on the spot?
The memories he has absorbed. Which weren't really as much given he "Borrowed" only those most important to teach him how to speak, read and write. Couldn't tell him what she was. Where she hailed from nor where the two were exactly. And given such pack could scare off any other potential travelers she was his only last ticked out of this place. To the town of Ironwood, he caught a slight glimpse from the memories of his victim.
"Wolves tend to hunt in packs. But if the hunt appears to be impossible to achieve they simply run off to lick their wounds. It didn't happen here. Why?"
It was a question directed towards her. His dialect and accent were still a little off given he was using long sentences. Or any sentences for the first time. But he hoped she understood him. If not.
He actually was ready to repeat his questions. Almost surprised at his own merciful and kind decision.
Immortal, nigh-invulnerable, imbued with the wisdom of centuries and the unchanging appearance Va'lthuer'ane has seen yet another century pass by as his brethren imposed order and law to the lesser races. As he and the others of the Orokin line have "dragged" the masses kicking and screaming from superstition and given them something real to fear - His Judgment. Their streets no longer stink of blood and offal. Roads of stone connect even the most unworthy hamlet with towering temples and industries. By wisdom, by sorcery. By power. With agriculture, science, and order, The dragons have brought this land to heel.
And their little sheep repaid them with rebellion.
I was never wrong.
And yet. And yet...there, one of Va'lthuer'ane's greatest, broken before his old student champion with his flaming sword. Shaped by Va'lthuer'ane own mind. On the right flank, the remaining loyal guardians sound the retreat because it is the only way to prevent a total rout. On the left, the warlocks who ought to be drowning the traitorous troops in torrential downpours and washes of lightning are instead locked in conflict with their own brothers and sisters that too chose to throw away the promise of peaceful future under the rule of Orokin. At every turn, his old students countered his strategy. Every stroke he made was matched, even anticipated. They were every bit the genius old dragon tout they were, weren't they?
If he were to let them. They would actually win. Unaware of the consequences their rule could bring.
The great eye crowning the face of his lair, a soaring creation that would dwarf some cities, explodes. It draws every eye, as does his own. In the silence, men and women cease their struggles. As the gray dragon stalks the open air, speaking words of power. His grand wings remain still. His blood turns to fire. He feels his wards flaring. The veins. They scream. His students, both the experienced and new magic-weavers, at least, are wise enough to know what comes. They're terrified, but ultimately insignificant. He has striven greatly. First, to treat with them. To act as the diplomat. To give their uprising a chance to be heard. They chose this path. He silences all of the magi with a word. A single word. Their hearts burst within them, and both flanks surge in the grayscaled sage favor. He flings his clawed limb to the heavens. The sky darkens, and thunderheads flock to his beckoning claw.
The traitorous servant's uphill battle becomes impossible. As he pours rain and hail, battering unarmoured men and leaving the rest to struggle through thick mud. The winds howl, and lightning splits the sky in two, striking the magical constructs that have reinforced their advance and leaving smoking kindling and the unfortunate dead when their retina-searing flash dissipates. He dives, carried by the gale. He takes his students clear out of their mounts. Leaving their bodies drained of all life force...
"Yield."
His voice has driven men and women alike to give him everything they possess, before swearing their lives in fealty. He need not even imbue it with sorcery, though that he has in abundance. White-Gold armored troops rush out from the ruins of his tower. Races created by his fathers and grandfathers when he was still a little whelp. They remained loyal until the end. The mighty dwarves that have lived underground for generations, tending to the constructs and artifacts shaped from the flesh of the dragons. The elves. Still present during the creation of the Orokin, taught how to make use of everything they were given. But when humanity has been born, as the vein has given birth to their kind. As his brethren merged those two races of their grandparents...
They have begun their destruction.
His loyal servants remain stalwart, whlist the traitors howl like animals. This fight was lost from the beginning, as for the first time in centuries Valkon has sensed something else than disgust for the human race.
He experienced fear.
As tens of thousands. No. Millions of the human blight has come for him, with corpses of his kin, strapped to the pillars, carried on platforms. Their children. Their creations. All turned against them.
Something changed inside of him, at this mere moment, as his amber eyes widened in rage. For the first time, the dragon has allowed the emotionto control him. A new purpose. A new goal. A desire to end them once and for all.
With his mighty wings spread open the massive gray beast has flew up into the air. One final roar, one final order...As his skin shone red, the ancient writings and runes burning through the scaled skin, burning through the flesh. Nothing has mattered apart from the vein. He would reach it, even if it meant to destroy the one he was responsible for. It would recover after all.
He couldn't see it, but they ran. All of them. As the grassy land turned gray, as corpses have been flung into the air, drawn towards him, piling up on one another, debris, rubble. All of it was drawn towards him- No. Not him. A sphere of light that burned through all of it.
It wasn't a rebellion at this point. It was the last warning for humanity. Towards the world itself.
But even that wasn't enough. As it all was released in a singular moment. Turning his vision white...
***
For centuries to come. No. Longer. The concept of time became an illusion at this point. He was defenseless. Unable to see. Feel. Hear. It was just. Presence. Feeling of something. As kindlings of his power drew towards one another. An old trick he has mastered over the millennia. One could call it immortality. Other a second chance. Whatever it was, it took time. As ash, clung to ash, multiplying, merging. But it took too long. And when first signs of sentience, awareness, and sense have returned the dragon wasn't met with the gray sky nor the stench of burned flesh and ground. No. He was met with rocky surface, howling northern wind and a crater enveloped by mountains.
There was no magical intervention. No "divine" being interfering into the world of the living. It was him, an old forgotten and terrifying being. Perhaps last of his kind.
Finally coming to life.
***
It took years. Too. Allowing him to watch as the boiling rage within his soul died off, replaced by his old calculated and calm self. Wherever he was before he could begin his quest a body was required. A vessel one that could let him journey to the vein. Even now he could feel it's presence. Beating. Guiding energy into the world. But getting little in return. Horrified he knew what it meant. Humanity prevailed as they always did. Pests. Once again feasting upon the defenseless creature. Slowly killing it off with their filth.
He needed to stop it. It wasn't about the revenge at this point. It was about giving the terra itself more time. But how could he achieve anything in...
What was he? He could feel, listen and see, but the ability to control what he was has never appeared. Unable to tell he began this game of guessing. Using any faint hint to discover what he truly was. Humble attempts turned into observations and planned out actions. Soon enough he had enough power to cast spells. Only to witness the horrifying truth of the reflection in the water...Scaleless. The skinless frame of draconic flesh hung on the rocks like a rag. It's eye sockets emptied with gaping mouth, toothless and still in the process of properly forming. The organs too, were slowly coming together, visible from this angle.
A vessel in the making. A vessel he couldn't wait for.
***
Days. He has spent days, watching the horrifying reflection of himself. All that has remained of his form. Of his heritage. A ruined corpse that would never come back on time. Valkon was always quick to make a choice. Take action.
But not today. Still left on considering his options. Deciding. Planning. Only to come up with a single alternative. Just as his ashes merged with the stone here. So did the ones of millions of humans he has buried with himself. He could feel their faint essence embodied with the stone. The barely hearable whispers. Of madness over how long they were locked in their spiritual forms. Such frail minds easily guided against their masters now suffered the punishment that wouldn't end.
Unless he would take them. Absorb them and free them of this madness.
Was it surprising he didn't want that? Was it surprising the wise grayscale desired to have them suffer for eternity?
They have taken everything. Slaughtered his kin. Treated those that have taught them everything...
He will not grant them peace.
***
Unless madness won't grip him as well. As it did yet another night. But alas, did he even know when it was day or night? Buried underground. He could only guess. It was only thanks to his senses that he knew when the celestial bodies traveled. As sun rays penetrating the thick gray stone that eventually found it's way through the cracks to meet him.
He couldn't go on. He couldn't.
***
And on the third day, the stone finally shattered. Not some boulders, but the majority of the ruins he has left in his wake. All molten, transmutated and repurposed. Gathered, grain after grain. Clumped up together. It felt ironic as the sigils were drawn with his own blood that was still in the making. As the scaleless corpse performed an art he never believed he would. Giving the bundle an actual shape. Reconstructing the ash into flesh. Whlist his own faded in the process. The body of a man. Lithe, fit. Not strong and muscular like that one of the warriors he has fought. But not frail or ill like the ones he has seen after his curses has been cast.
With a sharp nose, ghastly pale skin and short black hair, he created himself a vessel. Naked. With limited ability in storing his power.
But at last for once. He could fix some of the mistakes done by humanity. As his essence was poured into the vessel. The rest returned to the Vein. Giving it more time to go on, while Valkon finally opened his new eyes. Gray just as his scales. Calm and full of wisdom. Now tinted with disgust and hatred. One that mixed with the mind of a man- Dragon that would do anything to achieve his goal.
***
The journey was hard, trudging through the snow as his body was reinforced with the coat shaped out of the flame. Shielding him from the elements that would normally end his journey even in that cave.
Human flesh was weak. Delicate. Irritating. Just like in the past he needed to eat, and drink. But now it felt much more apparent. Forcing him to use his gifts to hunt. Another task just as, tiresome and humiliating for someone like him. As bolts of pure white light pierced the hearts of thick-skinned beasts that were thrice (or more) his size. With it's meat cooked in his hand, he traveled forth. Out of moutains, into the woods.
Which brought more problems than he ever imagined. Humans were the first thing. First a group of lumberjacks. innocent and unaware of the sins of humanity. Slaughtered within mere moments. Their bodies ripped apart violently. Valkon couldn't say the new clothes that hidden the grotesque human body weren't a good addition. Nor was it wrong to see what he could do with his regained powers. Spending days..."Experimenting" both on the wildlife and unsuspecting human visitors. No matter of what age or gender they really were.
The shapeshifting abilities, while exhausting they too proved useful. Clearly scoring quite a few rumors of the mysterious beast stalking the thick forests of Velin fields. Well. For him at least, the forest must; 've been named differently given how much time has passed. Alas, it was another mystery he didn't feel that would help him accomplish anything. As for now, he simply trained. And prepared himself for the new world. Causing more and more ruckus. To the point where men and women were sent after him. Unaware of who he really was.
The niche for violence was far past him at this point. From ripping men apart and leaving their bodies scattered he began with immediate removal. Incinerating flesh, or closing it off behind the veil of arcane reality only (as he assumed) he knew about.
Then came the first captives. All weak. All begging for mercy. Begging. At first, he didn't understand them. So much time has passed that even a different language. Different writing style have been invented. Forcing him to get into the mind of one of his "Prisoners" only to take such (As it would seem in these times.) valuable information.
Another thing which proved that humanity was truly a mistake. Back in his times no man or woman was illiterate. And here? He has learned a lot. It was time to move on. No longer did he wear rags of a lumberjack. Replaced by a leather coat, with additional steel plates sewn into it. With a spear in his hand, it's spearhead removed and replaced with a simple crystal that served as a catalyst for him. Not as powerful as his old catalysts but it could get the job done.
He looked like them. From head to toe, just like a different mercenary. Worm seeking to survive on killing. He would teach them. All of them.
But first it was time to head out. Out of the woods.
***
Val' - Valkon stands just as he did few minutes ago. The trees that enveloped them. The men and women that flanked him and circled him like preying wolves. All lie down dead. Incinerated. Burned alive. Violently turned into a pool of flesh and red blood.
And yet. He stands. Without a scratch. With those same gray eyes, now facing her. The "Alpha Wolf" One that was strong enough to evade his incoming attacks. One that has withstood the wall of flames he has sent towards her and the main force that planned to gut him alive.
It happened just before the morning. As he journeyed down the dirt road, to arrive to the city known as "Ironwood" a simple name but it had to do. With a human name and a fake profession he has quickly sensed that he wasn't alone. With four or five pairs of eyes watching his every move. They were different from normal humans. Walking on two legs yet following a pattern similar to wolves. Whlist their blood felt...embodied, tied to the vein and to a normal animal. A wolf.
He could play into diplomacy. Just as he did in the past. But it was only met with violence. Without hesitation he has extended his hand towards one of the "Scouts" sending a bolt-shaped out of moonlight itself, piercing through her throat. Allowing her to choke on her own blood as the light burned through the flesh.
It was enough to get the whole pack emerge from the darkness. Managing to surprise him by the fact he haven't felt others. Hearing them. The steady breathing. Panting. Too similar to that one of a wolf. Muscled bodies, trained in the art of warfare and violence.
Pathetic.
The right flank is met with the same barrage of bolts. While left one manages to close the distance. Only to be met by a wall of blinding light which passess through them. Scorching the earth. Scorching the trees. Leaving not a single trace of those warriors.
But alas. Whoever lead them. Wasn't that stupid. Keeping the true numbers in check. Sending only around 10 at first. No. The rest. All of them. Circled him as he got rid of the first ten. Cruel. But effective strategy.
Sadly for them. This battle was already over.
Still in the same spot. He stood still. Allowing his enemies to follow their instincts. Their. Confidence.
Unaware that overconfidence is a slow and insidious killer. Their distance closing off, steps becoming louder, howling of the wolves echoing.
And a ring of flames emerging...
***
Here she stands. With the equipment burned but not entirely. Whatever she has done, it was surprising to see her still stand. Was it her strength? Was it the inner wolf that seemed to be far stronger than in the rest of those "things"? As they clearly weren't purely human.
Still on two legs, still keeping a suitable distance between them. She was the first one that didn't just recklessly charge at him. She was the first one that chose to wait for his move. Wise. And finally worthy of his attention.
Able to end it here, he knows even a slight movement would send her going for his throat. He didn't need that. Not when he was in need of more information. It was time to talk.
"Forty-nine."
His tone wasn't as deep as in his dragon form. In fact it was quite plausible to listen to. Almost that one of a bard and an actor. While still having enough "bass" to keep it manly and fitting for his facial features."
"Forty-nine and you're the first one to stop and actually reconsider your actions."
The sun finally appeared in the horizon. It's golden sun rays coating the two and the scorched field around them. Showing his handiwork in a different light. Showing the actual distance from how far away some of her people died. How much destruction he could actually release.
And yet. He didn't sound mad. The hatred, he had reserved for humanity. It just faded. He was more impressed that a creature similar to human had enough reason to not attack him immediately. And enough courage to not beg for mercy. Two traits he has found only a small number of humans had. Which were often his students in the past? Or perhaps it was this human nature of the body changing him from inside? That he didn't get rid of her on the spot?
The memories he has absorbed. Which weren't really as much given he "Borrowed" only those most important to teach him how to speak, read and write. Couldn't tell him what she was. Where she hailed from nor where the two were exactly. And given such pack could scare off any other potential travelers she was his only last ticked out of this place. To the town of Ironwood, he caught a slight glimpse from the memories of his victim.
"Wolves tend to hunt in packs. But if the hunt appears to be impossible to achieve they simply run off to lick their wounds. It didn't happen here. Why?"
It was a question directed towards her. His dialect and accent were still a little off given he was using long sentences. Or any sentences for the first time. But he hoped she understood him. If not.
He actually was ready to repeat his questions. Almost surprised at his own merciful and kind decision.
