Month: January 2016

The beating of the great wings created turbulence in the air. The tall mountains resembled small dunes far below. Beyond the mountains, a plain came into view and in the distance a great river appeared as a rivulet. There was a speck upon the plain. As the winged creature descended, the speck changed to a large keep strategically situated upon a minor plateau rising above the plain. The walls were filled with alarmed defenders. Panic ensued with the approach of the hulking beast. The air was filled with arrows fired from the wall. A few struck the approaching creature but were no more than a nuisance. The great wings stopped beating and were extended in a fixed position. A great whistling sound filled the air. The gargantuan began to coast downward and prepared for a landing. The defenders rushed to self-protective positions. Taekora landed anyway. The arrows continued. Frustrated, Taekora inhaled deeply and exhaled, not Dragonfire, just Dragon breath, but it was enough to knock most of the defenders to the seat of their pants. Taekora then roared.
Knarra rushed into the enceinte, the quadrangle of the Fane of the Setting Sun. The massive, angry, ancient, prismatic Dragon stood on its stocky hind legs and beat its wings. The force kept the defenders on the ground.
Knarra stood before the beast. The tresses of the Priestess flew madly in the great wind but Knarra had no difficulty standing.
“You are messing up my hair, Taekora!” Knarra said emphatically.
“I’ve not received a very warm reception my old friend,” the massive Dragon answered, stopping her wings.

The messenger rushed to the leader’s quarters.
“Halt!” the heavily armored much taller guard commanded.
Breathless, the runner answered, “I bear tidings for General Saligia.”
“The General is not to be disturbed. He is…busy,” the guard answered evasively.
“I must be heard!” the messenger replied, and bent down and grasped his tattered leggings for support.
“You can tell me,” the guard haughtily answered.
“You don’t want to be the bearer of these tidings,” the messenger sighed.
“Why not?” the guard queried.
“I’d best tell only the general,” the runner insisted.
“Then you can wait here until he wakes up. Lord Saligia was involved in negotiations of the highest order with the Drollen chiefs. Something’s afoot. I don’t want to wake him. He awaits the return of the High Shaman Melphat. I think the brothers plan something major, messenger. I really don’t want to awaken the General,” the guard insisted.
“My friend, the general must hear my communication. I’m not going away,” the tired sprinter continued.
“It’s your funeral! Go on in, but I warn you, the General had a lot of the Drolls’ mead. I suspect he is quite hung over. Come with me,” the guard answered.
The guard led the messenger down a dimly lit corridor to a heavy wooden door. Tentatively the guard raised his hand and pecked on the door.
“He’ll never hear that,” the envoy fumed.
“OK! OK! I fear for my hide! You are getting us both tarred and feathered!” the guard argued. He hammered on the door.
A disgruntled voice answered from within, “This had better be good.”
“I’m sorry, my lord. There is a courier from the Gap Keep. He insists on hailing you,” the guard submissively replied.
“Enter,” the gruff voice commanded.
The messenger sighed and stepped forward as the guard opened the door to the General’s chamber.
“My lord, may I speak?” the exhausted courier asked.
“I certainly hope you have something to say. I was dreaming of the Belles of Thabell, the most beautiful ladies of our ilk. Say your peace and let me return to my rest. In fact, I want you to sing your message,” the hulking Kiennite demanded.
“It’s difficult, Lord Saligia…” the courier stammered.
“Get on with it!” Saligia demanded.
“I can’t sing, Lord Saligia. And the matter…” the envoy pleaded.
“Sing! **** you! Sing!” the commanded demanded.
“I…I should like…” the beleaguered messenger pleaded.
“I’m not going to say it again! Sing!” Saligia commanded.
“Yes, Lord Saligia. Please remember you insisted,” the cowering courier added.
Saligia clenched his fist and muttered, “Sing!”
“La, la, la, la, la, la, your brother’s dead!” the messenger crooned.
“What? What the…” Saligia gawked.
“La, la, la, la, la, la, he fell in the woods near Alm’s Glen,” the messenger continued, plaintively trying to carry a tune.
“Shut up!” the guard demanded.
“Do you speak the truth?” Saligia asked.
“Unfortunately, Lord Melphat was found dead near the Lone Oak. He and four Drollen companions were slaughtered. Lieutenant Moochie of the Drolls found only the veteran Gruth alive. Moochie’s brother Phastin was among the dead. The Drolls found Drelvish arrows among the carcasses. Here is the scepter Lord Melphat carried. I was dispatched to inform you,” the courier added.
He extended the scepter of Aulgmoor and gave the old ornamental device to Lord Saligia.
“The Scepter of Aulgmoor. My brother would never part from this in life,” Saligia muttered.
“I’m sorry, Lord Saligia,” the wyvern hide clad courier muttered.
The guard looked to the courier and said, “You should be sorry. You are the worst vocalist I’ve ever heard.”

Garnetberries were also among the favorite foods of displacer bears, rare beasts also called mountain airy bears. Displacer bears inhabited mountainous regions and oft vanished right before an observer’s eyes. Actually they were very good chameleons…and displacers. The deceptively intelligent beasts had a natural ability of Magick that always made them appear to be three feet to the right, left, front, or rear of their actual position. Displacer bears were akin to infamous six-legged panthers with horny-ridged tentacles growing out of their shoulders that lived in deep swamps. A hungry mountain airy bear neared the hidden garnetberry patch. About the only thing the beasts enjoyed more on their menu than garnetberries was Blue Pegasus and young sorcerer. The wily beast used its camouflage ability and took advantage of the ill-advised inattentiveness of the sorcerer and Pegasus to get near its intended prey. Then with a roar, the creature lunged at Boton. The young sorcerer narrowly avoided the airy bear’s slashing talons.
Dean stopped munching on berries and lamented, “Alas. If the airy bear doesn’t kill me, I’ve got to face Maranna and admit to getting you in trouble. But I’ve got a sorcerer with me! Attack him, Boton! He’s not where he appears to be!”
The young sorcerer scurried behind a rock outcropping with the airy bear hot on his heels. the angry bear crashed into the rock about three feet to the left of where Boton saw him and gave the young sorcerer time to roll aside and get some separation from the beast. the bear’s talons missed his flesh but ripped Boton’s riding cloak.
“What do you mean, he’s not where he appears to be? Attack with what?” the youth finally managed. He ran, reached a cluster of thick underbrush that would at least slow down the airy bear, rolled under the brush, and scooted behind a tree.
“Use a spell!” Dean urged.
The Pegasus reared on his back legs, belted the areas to the left of the large hazy furry shape, and missed. The mountain airy bear concentrated on making Boton his meal and ignored Dean’s coming up behind him. The airy bear roared, swiped its massive paw backward, and delivered a raking blow to Dean’s left foreleg. Dean withdrew and Boton used the opportunity to mosey up the hill a bit and sneak behind another clump of bushes.
“Do something!” Dean shouted again as he limped across the meadow with the large bear close behind him.
Boton yelled to the bear, “Go away, bear! Is he like Urra the Cloudmare? Your hooves passed right through him!”
The airy bear swiped at Dean again. the winged equine jumped aside and screamed, “No, he’s got the ability to appear where he is not. I suppose he resents our taking what he thinks are his garnetberries! Use a spell!”
Boton hesitated.
Dean struck to the right of the bear’s apparent position and actually hit the beast! The Pegasus then flew away from the bear’s grasp. The frustrated predator turned its attention back to Boton.
“Cast something! Do something! Run, then!” Dean clamored. The bear neared the youth.
Boton chose the latter and ran as fast as he could toward another clump of trees, but the growling animal closed the gap. Anger changed the animal’s hue to red orange. Sensing Boton was in deep trouble, Dean flew as fast as his wings would carry him, kicked furiously three feet behind the bear’s image, delivered hoof blows to the animal’s back, and knocked the beast off balance. The bear fell to the ground and gave Boton enough time to reach the trees. The bear soon again gave chase, ripped the underbrush asunder, and exposed Boton to attack.
Dean again slipped between the predator and its intended prey. The Pegasus reared and flailed his forelegs wildly. He scored a lucky blow to the beast’s sensitive nose. The bear howled, moved backward, and fell into the Rainbow Luck Tree. The force of impact knocked one of the red fruits from the branch. The unripe cherry bomb exploded and ripped large wounds into the beast. The animal’s ichors fell to the ground three feet to the left of where the beast appeared to stand, all in all creating a macabre scene. Blood flowed from invisible wounds and splattered onto the ground at the base of the Rainbow Luck Tree. The wounded mountain airy bear yelped and scampered away.
Dean licked his wounded leg, and Boton wiped his forehead in relief.
Dean avowed, “You can’t fight worth a hoot, Boton!”
Boton protested, “I didn’t want to hurt him, Dean.”
Dean answered in bewilderment, “Hurt him! He was trying to eat us!”

Boton wandered to the fringe of the clearing. The young Dark Sorcerer was drawn to an unusual tree, which was thirteen feet tall and covered by small cherry sized fruits; the little fruits were red, green, blue, black, white, and polychromatic (multiple colors). In addition to the brightly colored fruits, the bush bore translucent fruits. He could see through the fruit. There were thirteen fruits of each variety. He extended his hand to pluck one of the fruits from the tree when he heard Dean scream, “No! Stop!”
“Why?” Boton asked incredulously.
“That’s a rainbow bush. Some call it a Luck Tree. The fruits are of different colors. It always has thirteen fruits of each color. If one of the colored berries is picked, another takes it place. But the fruit is originally translucent. The clear ones change only after a colored one is picked. Lore holds there are only two of these trees in existence, this one and another in the Hanging Gardens,” Dean answered.
“Have you been to the Hanging Gardens? Are they not in ruin?” Boton energetically interrupted.
“No, my inquisitive friend, I’ve never been to the wondrous oasis in the Veldt Deseert. And, yes, Maranna, who has been to the Gardens, says they do fall into ruin, but for the Old Plants. The Old Plants may be all that yet exists of the wondrous gardens. I know of only this Rainbow Luck Tree. My father before me visited this location. As you can see by looking at the clear fruits, there are no seeds. How it began, no one knows. The Old Plants are as the Old Ones, long-living, poorly understood, and presumed only legend by many. This tree never grows taller, and legend holds that only the Magick of a Wish Spell can transplant, destroy, or graft the tree,” Dean replied.
“I can see the fruits. Are they poisonous? Why else would you have stopped me?” Boton asked.
“You were about to pick one of the red berries. It’s not ripe yet. If you pick it too soon, it’ll blow up in your hand. The red berries are called cherry bombs. If they are allowed to ripen, you can eat them, but one and only one. That’s only one per person per lifetime. It’s the Magick of the Tree. If you eat one of the red berries after it ripens, you will feel hot; eating the white berry will make you feel cold; you will taste mint if you eat a green one; eating the black berry will create a slight burning sensation beneath your skin; devouring the blue berry will give you a little shock; finally, eating the chromatic fruit will give brilliant hues to your skin. All the effects will be brief. Nothing happens if you eat a second of the same color. A lingering and valuable benefit of eating the berries of the Rainbow Luck Bush is resistance to the effects of the breath of the dragon of the same color as the berry that you eat. You should know one other thing, Boton. If picked when they ripen and dried, the red ones explode when thrown. You must know exactly when to pick them, else they explode in your hand, as I said before. The rainbow bush produces cherry bombs only once each season. These should not be picked for another fortnight,” Dean replied.

The Cloudmare telepathically relayed to Boton, “Phoenixes. I’ll go low by the nest. Show them respect and they may grant you a feather or some down.”
The Cloudmare Urra descended and paused near the nest, which contained a single chick. Fluffy down surrounded the little Phoenix. The mated pair cooed gently. The Cloudmare eased toward the nest slowly. The larger Phoenix nodded.
Unspoken words appeared in Boton’s mind and warned, “You may touch the chick. Be gentle. It’s a great honor.”
Boton slowly extended his left hand and touched the little bird. He had never felt such softness…or pleasantness. For a brief moment all his grief left him and, instead of a warm little bird, he felt the softness of his mother’s skin, smelled her sweet breath, and for a moment felt fully comforted. Scratches on his arms and legs healed. The incantation for the Fifth Level Light Sorcery Spell Cure Critical Wounds appeared in his consciousness. What Boton Klarje Jhundi didn’t know was that no other person who professed to be a Dark Sorcerer had ever known this incantation.
The female Phoenix extended her beak and presented Boton with a bit of the precious down.
“It’s the material component for the spell. The gift is given by the Phoenixes at the request of their friend Innycines who is bereaved beyond saying. You are honored, young one. If you are ready, we will return,” Urra silently suggested.

“Uh…can I help you with your wings…and tail? I’m not exactly sure where it would be appropriate for me to touch you,” the male stammered.
“Touch me as you would any lady, Innycines,” she said demurely.
He turned and gently held her fragile wings as she sat. Maranna deftly flipped her thick brushy tail aside and joined the stalwart male on the precipice.
“Thank you. You’re lucky you don’t have wings and a tail. Oh, I forget, you do. I would like to share your ability to transform to a wingless bipedal shape. Your body in this form is pleasing to look upon, you know. Are you not tired?” she asked. “Can’t you sleep?”
“Nature’s gentle nurse, sleep, escapes me,” he said somberly.
For a moment they stared silently at the sheer drop before them.
She sang.
The strong male felt his eyelids getting heavy. Her lyrical phrases penetrated his psychic barriers and caused deep blue ripples in the tissues of his mind.
He slept.
Maranna glanced at his peaceful expression. She did not regret her first song in a millennium. She reentered the cavern where the vigil continued and sat with the healer through the night and well into the next morning.

Boton tentatively opened his eyes. He lay on soft bedding, was surrounded by pleasant light, and heard voices.
Strands of his flaming red hair were matted over his face. He felt enough pain to make him aware that he still lived, but nothing like he had felt when the dragon’s fiery breath surrounded him.
“He awakens. I doubted he would survive,” a raspy female voice said.
“Yes. Thank you for your help, Maranna,” a male answered.
“You know that we- my ilk- prefer not to get involved in your wars, Alisskirin,” the woman answered.
Boton fully opened his eyes and saw a tall man standing over him. The man wore an elaborate green robe and held an ornate staff in his left hand. At eye level the young sorcerer saw seven sets of distinctive symbols circumferentially etched into the artifact at its midpoint.

Ǿ ∞ Ǿ

Although he had never seen such a Staff, he had read of them and his mother had sung about the Thirteen and Two Staves many times. Staring at the symbols gave Boton some feeling of reassurance, strength, and peacefulness.

Innycines wailed inconsolably and sat forlorn upon the rocky ledge outside the ancient cavern.
His anguished cries echoed off the canyon walls and traversed the wide expanse over the tumultuous waters that raged through the thousand-foot gorge far below him. There was no need to fear an enemy in this place. His greatest foe at the moment was not from Koorlost but his anguished mind. In his torment, he was unaware of her approaching footsteps. The svelte female brushed her long orange-red hair aside and silently touched his shoulder.
He sobbed and asked, “What is the word of the boy?”
Maranna answered, “He has not left the lad’s side since the Cloudmares ferried them here. He will not rest though it’s been three days. I know you arrived shortly thereafter and you have not also sought the peace of sleep. Your wounds are deep. You should take rest.”
“I have taken innocent blood. There is a stain upon me that no amount of rest, waters, or atonement shall ever remove,” the muscular male answered.
Tears fell from his injured eyes. Having removed the arrows from his eyes, his remarkable healing abilities had them well on the way to recovery. He did not look at Maranna but instead glanced to the area where the three smoky gray almost translucent steeds grazed on the thick foliage that surrounded the cave’s entrance and covered the small plateau to the left of where they sat. Similar to elves’ tears, small iridescent droplets fell from his eyes, and struck the stone at his feet, and burst into an array of colors.

The multi-colored dragon turned toward the sorceress. Although the beast feigned its injuries and incapacitation, the woman’s Fumble Spell had affected the creature. Typical of its kind, the prismatic dragon was resistant to most Magick and indeed upon attaining very old or ancient age gained the ability to reflect Magick back toward the spell caster. The Fumble Spell failed to exert its full effect but still slowed its target’s movement. The great wyrm had exhausted its spells in destroying the citadel and its garrison. Its breath weapons were ebbing. It was slowed considerably and really didn’t know how many sword-bearing Centurions there might yet be to face. It did not know that the bereaved sorceress barely had the strength to stand and feared that she might have other spell abilities that might strike it down. Archers had managed some successful shots to its eyes and weakened its vision. The wyrm did not see the little girl and boy running toward their mother. Sensing urgency and mustering its last strength, the wyrm opened its maw, exhaled forcefully, and sent a blast of flame toward the cottage. The dragon fire consumed the cottage and the sorceress where she stood. The flames also reached the children. Being further away, the boy was not slain, but the woman and younger child were killed instantly.
Boton Jhundi saw flames engulf the cottage, his mother, and sister just before the dragon fire reached him. Searing pain mercifully closed his young eyes to the carnage, and he lost consciousness.
For the moment, finding no foes to battle, the great wyrm of the Laurels slumped helplessly to the ground.

Mirian wiped her brow, found a small phial in her belt pouch, produced a drop of treacle, and began another incantation. She finished the Slow Spell, and a shimmering colorless ray left her left hand and surrounded the falling dragon. The beast’s wings stopped moving and it dropped to the ground about a hundred paces from the cottage. Suffering from many wounds and the effects of Confusion, Fumble, Suggestion, and Slow Spells, the multi-colored wyrm started to spin slowly where it stood.
Burun shouted to the four Centurions who remained, “Take aim for the neck and eyes. Fire as quickly as you can!”
He then fired another Magick Missile, which required no material component, toward the beast, and struck near its left eye.
The remaining Centurions had no javelins but obediently fired their bows in rapid succession. Thrice Burun and Mirian cast Magick Missiles.
Mirian then dropped to her knees and cried, “I have nothing more, my love!”
Burun fought exhaustion but managed to fire another Magick Missile. The archers fired again. Several arrows had struck the dragon near the eyes. The beast floundered, dropped onto its forelegs, and howled. It then lowered its head to the ground, sighed deeply, and ineffectively released a weak spew of poison gas.
“To sword!” Burun commanded.
The four Centurions obeyed, and Burun drew his short sword from the sheath at his side and ran toward the dragon. With a shout he raised the sword and prepared to deliver a blow.
Then the great beast suddenly stood upright and said, “Have you never fought a prismatic dragon?”
Burun stood dumbfounded. “He’s feigned injury! Be…”
The gallant sorcerer never finished his words. A powerful swipe of the talons of the dragon’s great left forepaw ended Burun’s life. The four Centurions also fell quickly.
“No!” Mirian screamed.
The sorceress raised her left hand and attempted to conjure, but her strength faded.
The children witnessed the battle from their vantage point at the edge of the forest. Without warning little Brie bolted from Boton’s grasp and ran toward her mother.
“Mother! Father!” she cried.
Boton stood and started after her but a gnarly root tripped him and his fall allowed her to gain ground.

Scarcely a half dozen Centurions remained. One threw his last javelin toward the dragon and struck the creature. This altered the beast’s flight and gave Burun enough time to reach the western end of the dwelling while Mirian scrambled to the eastern side.
The dragon dropped down and attacked two fleeing Centurions with its great talons. Both fell lifelessly from their steeds. The great wyrm turned and glared directly into the terror-filled eyes of Mirian Klarje Jhundi. The dragon growled an incantation and a ray of green flame fired toward the woman, striking her and knocking her to the ground. Burun screamed and extended both his hands. He shouted an incantation and broke a small glass rod. The Lightning Bolt Spell flew into the wyrm and created great sparks but did little harm. The dragon flew downward and barely missed the sorcerer when Burun dove to the ground. Mirian managed to right herself and sent a Magick Missile toward the dragon. A mauve ray left her outstretched left hand and burned into the dragon’s left wing. The creature lurched and then went into a backward three hundred and sixty-degree loop. It swiped at the sorceress with its talons, but Mirian managed to evade the attack. Burun knelt upon his right knee and fired a Magick Missile into the dragon as it ascended for another attack. The deceptive innocuously appearing pink ray buried into the beast’s already wounded shoulder. The dragon howled and withdrew toward Serenity Lake. Burun started to move toward Mirian, but halted when he heard her casting another spell. She crushed three nutshells and sent an undulating wave of gray light toward the dragon. The Confusion Spell surrounded the dragon. It shook its great head vigorously and flew irregularly. Burun felt his spirits lift and sent another Magick Missile into the beast’s thorax. Again, he saw impact, but no scales fell from the beast.
Mirian immediately began another incantation. She rubbed a dab of solidified milk fat between her fingers and sent an undulating silver ray toward the dragon. The Fumble Spell ray bathed the dragon. After furiously beating its great wings for a moment, the wyrm struggled to maintain flight and slowed its wings. The great hulking form began to drop downward. Burun pulled a dried snake’s tongue and bit of honeycomb from his belt pouch, uttered a brief incantation, performed the gestures needed to complete the Suggestion Spell, and created a pale blue ray, which surrounded the dragon.
Hoping to capitalize on the Suggestion Spell, Burun shouted, “Fall to the ground, vile wyrm. Turn your fire upon yourself!”