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Race: Saurian

Bloodline Powers: Strength, Rending, Emberbreath

Greater Mysteries: Fire (Noble) 3, Wind (Noble) 1

Lesser Mysteries: Heat 4, Oxygen 4, Embers 4, Pressure 4, Current/Flow 4

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“Why couldn’t we have used the elder salamander’s blood to evolve again?” Dussok asked sullenly. He was covered in bandages with only hints of his scales exposed to the afternoon sun. As best Sam could tell, the combination of salves and alchemically treated cloth had already healed Dussok.

Still, Takkla wouldn’t hear any talk of removing the wrappings. Every time Dussok or Samazzar hinted at disposing of the pungent strips of linen, she would glare at them before fussing over the big saurian’s injuries like a mother hen. After his third failed attempt, Sam just gave up. Takkla would back off at some point and let Dussok live his life normally.

He glanced at the shorter saurian. Her attention was almost entirely on Dussok, watching for any sign of injury or fatigue.

Probably.

“Even if we couldn’t sue the salamander’s blood,” Dussok continued irritably, “I don’t see why we needed to carve out all of its innards. Between the chemicals in my bandages and the charnel house in my pack, I swear that I smell like a half-rotten tannery.”

“The elder salamander blood won’t work because we’ve all gone through a transformation using its essence,” Sam replied, doing his best to ignore the glare Takkla shot at Dussok the second he began to complain. “Plus, after our evolution the salamanders only have a bit more potency than our current forms. We need something new, something stronger.”

Sam’s eyes glinted, a smile tugging at the corners of his muzzle. He glanced eagerly at Dussok out of the corner of his vision, but the big saurian simply kept walking. After almost a minute and a half, Samazzar broke the silence.

“You were supposed to ask if I had any ideas as to what the new, stronger creature was.”

“Of course you have an idea,” Dussok replied with a snort. “It was as plain as the muzzle on your face from the tone of your voice and the way you’ve been posturing that you have some sort of grandiose plan to fix this problem.”

They walked in silence for another twenty or so seconds before Samazzar spoke up again, his expression vaguely hopeful.

“Aren’t you going to ask me what the plan is?”

“No,” Dussok said, shifting slightly under the burden of his heavily laden backpack. “You are going to tell us your plan anyway, and I refuse to give you the satisfaction.”

Samazzar deflated slightly. Then he shook his head, like a dog trying to dry itself after a dip in a pond, as he dismissed his worries.

“Well Dussok,” Sam began, “since you asked so nicely, I’d be happy to tell you what I have in mind. Do you remember how I spent about a half hour extracting ingredients from the body of the elder salamander after I retrieved the flame garnets?”

“Yes,” Dussok replied, wrinkling his nose. “I’m carrying the rather foul results of your escapades, and despite your promises, the preservatives you added to the monster’s organs have done nothing to dampen the smell.”

“Regardless,” Samazzar said breezily, hoping that Dussok wouldn’t notice that he’d positioned himself upwind. “When I was elbow deep in the creature’s guts I found something important.”

He reached into the satchel at his side, straps to his backpack creaking as Samazzar rooted around for a couple of seconds. Finally, he pulled out his quarry and brandished it proudly. The thin curved length of reddish brown bone shone dully in the afternoon sunlight. Sam rotated it to display glimmering threads of ruby that worked their way through the sheet.

Dussok only grunted in reply, but that was all the incentive Sam needed to continue.

“It’s a bit of an eggshell,” he said excitedly. “Specifically the egg of a flame wyrm. More than that, it’s fresh. That means that there are at least a pair of flame wyrms that live near that area of the magma vents. GIven their size and the potency of their blood, a young flame wyrm is exactly what we will need to push our bodies to the next level.”

“I seem to recall flame wyrms being fairly big,” Takkla replied. “As in, they were traditionally hunted by expeditions of twenty or more people, all of whom had taken at least one elixir big.”

“That’s mostly because humans don’t know how to process extreme heat,” Samazzar responded, waving a hand dismissively. “None of their warriors can remain in close combat with the beast for too long, so they need to rotate them out in teams. They also usually take unnecessary safety precautions. I’ve read the depictions of some battles where the humans would bring a dozen heavy shieldbearers and pikemen in order to keep the creature at range while their spellcasters and elite warriors finished it off.”

“How big are adult flame wyrms?” Takkla asked, fixing a stern gaze on him.

Samazzar shifted uncomfortably under her attention as he slipped the eggshell back into his satchel. A brief glance at Dussok revealed that his other sibling had also stopped and was now staring at Sam as well.

He plastered a wide smile on his face before responding.

“Not nearly as big as dragons. Flame wyrms are mighty foes, but in the grand scheme of things, they are far beneath us.”

“That didn’t answer my question, little dragon,” Takkla said sourly. “What sort of wild scheme are you signing us up for?”

Sam bit his lower lip. For a second he tried to think of a way to sugarcoat or downplay the situation, but ultimately he gave up. Takkla would be able to see through any attempt at stretching the truth. She was too perceptive and knew him too well not too.

“They eat elder salamanders,” he responded, unable to meet Takkla’s eyes. “They aren’t terribly common, but of the last four expeditions that hunted one, the Vereton Knights brought back specimens that were twenty five paces, thirty paces, thirty two paces, and thirty six paces long.”

“That’s only four wyrms,” Dussok noted dryly. “Never mind that all four of those monsters are so large that I wouldn’t even know how to begin. We would be like children armed with sticks challenging knights in full armor atop war horses. The results would be as one-sided as they were predictable.”

“Errr,” Sam replied, reaching up to scratch the back of his neck. “The second expedition never came back. That’s why we only have four records from the hunts rather than five.”

“This is insane,” Takkla said flatly. “I hope you can understand that everything you’re saying right now is absolutely insane.”

“Don’t worry,” Samazzar interjected, shaking his head hurriedly. “We won’t be fighting an adult. We just need to find her nest. Then we can draw the bloodline we need from an egg or a juvenile.”

“Maybe,” Takkla replied grudgingly. “I’ll want more of a plan than that, but it might work.”

“Remember,” Sam said. “There isn’t any need for a plan, the three of us are dragons, and the world-”

“You’re not about to say that the world bows to the will of dragons,” Dussok interjected. “I’m covered in bandages from snout to foot. It might be better to save your philosophical discussions for another time.”

Takkla broke into a quick musical laugh as Samazzar pouted, but Dussok’s joke broke the mood. The three of them chatted amiably until nightfall when they set up a simple camp and ate a ration of dried meat and fruit. The next day, they woke with the dawn and set out again. It didn’t take long before Vereton loomed on the horizon, a smear of granite walls and smoke coming from any number of forges, kilns, and cooking fires.

After a couple hours of travel, the general din of the busy city began to overpower the swish of the wind and the chirps of birds. They were still at least two hours out, but by now the city dominated most of the horizon, and even from their great distance Samazzar was able to make out some of the city’s larger buildings and soaring towers.

An hour of trudging brought them to one of the main roads that fed into Vereton. Their travel speed increased almost immediately as they continued their journey down the smooth, magically forged stone that led directly to the city’s northern gate.

As they drew closer, the three saurians began to run into other humans. Usually two or three wagons laden with food or lumber. Samazzar never got a chance to talk to the other travelers. Every time he tried to approach, he was met with fearful looks, and on more than one occasion drawn weapons.

The humans weren’t terribly well armed. Most of their equipment appeared to be designed for hunting such as shortbows and skinning knives, but at least a couple of the humans had old but lovingly maintained swords and maces. Sam wasn’t sure if the weapons were family heirlooms or if the travelers were retired members of the town guard, but he didn’t see any purpose in confronting their fear and animosity. Obviously something had them on edge, and soothing their worries seemed to be much more trouble than it was worth.

Instead, the saurians lapsed into silence. With each untrusting glare and hand on a weapon, the mood soured further. By the time they reached Vereton’s north gate, Samazzar’s face was marred by a deeply pensive expression, and Dussok’s body language was tight and on edge. Only Takkla maintained a neutral affe, but Sam suspected that was more a matter of her being able to conceal her emotions rather than their treatment not impacting her.

At the gate, they filed into a line behind a cart heavily laden with cabbages. The two farmers escorting it shared a glance, and one of them walked around the back of the wooden vehicle. The man was burly and tanned from a life in the fields. In his right hand he carried a large, poorly balanced wooden club with a nail driven through it.

He leaned against the back of the wagon with forced nonchalance, eyes locked on Dussok’s hulking, bandage-covered form. Sam practically groaned internally. Of course the man was on edge, the three of them smelled like death and looked like bogeymen out of a bard’s campfire tale.

Fifteen minutes later, they were about ten carriage lengths closer to the gate as the guards on duty went about their work assessing taxes and searching the goods brought into the city. Behind the saurians another three wagons arrived. They creaked as they shuddered to a stop, struggling under the weight of the iron ore filling them.

One of the oxen pulling the lead wagon huffed out a tired breath before leaning its head toward Takkla and sniffing her shoulder. Then it nuzzled her, letting out a questioning ‘moo.’ That broke her poker face. She giggled as the cow pressed its nose into her back a second time.

“Ai, none o’ that Bess,” A woman called out, walking around the side of the wagon. She was almost as tall as Samazzar, her blonde hair shot through with gray tied up in a shoulder length braid. Unlike most of the people they’d met on the road, she wore a boiled leather breastplate and had a wooden shield rimmed in iron strapped to her left arm. On her hip was a short sword, its grip slightly bleached from frequent use.

“Sorry about that lad,” she continued, pausing to squint at Takkla. “Or lass I guess. It’s hard to tell with some of the rarer races. Bess is trying to bother you for an apple. I usually give the oxen a treat once we get into Vereton, but Bess is just trying to get her reward a little early.”

“I could feed her?” Takkla offered, digging into her satchel. “I have some dried fruit left from our trail rations. It’s not anything special, but if Bess is hungry-”

“Not in the cards miss,” the woman cut her off. “Now I aint got anything against whatever you are. I did two decades in the town guard before I took this job with the Lonarri mining group, so I’ve seen a little bit of pretty much everything, but with how things are right now, I can’t let anyone tamper with the livestock.”

“Oh,” Takkla replied, deflating.

“Nothin’ personal lass,” the guard continued. “A couple of the merchant factors have lost supply convoys, and it’s looking more and more like anything out of sight of the city isn’t safe. They’ve been beefing up guards for the critical caravans, but even then you hear whispers about a couple of them being a little late in returning.”

“The city needs this iron, and I wouldn’t be doing my job if I let someone feed Bess something that might hurt her.”

Dussok shifted, his bandages rustling as he turned around to address the warrior.

“You dare accuse Takkla of trying to poison your cow?” He growled. “Why would she do something like that? How would she do something like that? We didn’t even know that your group would be arriving until you pulled up to the queue after us.”

“Easy now big fella,” the woman said in a soothing tone, “I said it was nothing personal. I think it’s bandits that are nabbing caravans, I just don’t know how. That said, when I was in the guard, more than one bandit group had sources in town that would feed them information departing caravans. Until we have a better idea what’s going on, no one but my team and the town guard are touching my wagons and my oxen.”

“Course,” she mused. “We never really had issues with bandits to the North, there are really only a couple of farms, lumber mills, and mines up there. Nowhere for them to resupply, and nothing lucrative enough for them to hit.”

Dussok opened his mouth to reply, but his retort was cut off by a male voice from up near the gate.

“Next up, that means the big guy in the rags.”

Samazzar looked from the commotion behind them toward the gatehouse. Four guards stood with spears at ready, two on either side of the city’s open portcullis. Ranging out in front of them were another four guards, shields on their back and longswords at their sides. It was one of these guards that motioned impatiently at Dussok.

An elbow to Dussok’s ribs drew his sibling’s attention, and Sam trotted toward the guards, waiving cheerily at them with his left hand even as he fumbled around in his satchel looking for the assignment sheet from the Academy with his right.

“Whoa,” the man called out, a sneer on his face, “and just what are you supposed to be?”

“Me?” Sam asked, pulling out the carefully folded slip of paper that gave the three of them permission to enter and leave Vereton freely in pursuit of their mission. “My name is Samazzar, and I’m returning from a job for the Academy.”

The man paused to spit on the ground, a malignant glob of phlegm that splattered against the fused stone of the road.

“No,” the guard said. “I asked what you are. I don’t know what that paper of yours says, and for all I know, it’s forged. What do you say Manny?”

A skinny man, just a bit shorter than the first guard shook his head theatrically as he answered.

“I’m pretty sure that the Patrician said that we were supposed to watch out for threats, and these three look pretty unsavory to me. Who knows what they’re up to.”

Sam extended his hand with the pass in it toward the first guard. The man just looked down at the slip of paper and sniffed derisively.

“I am Master Pothas’s apprentice,” Samazzar said. “If you look at the communique, you will see that all of my papers are in order and that all of this is unnecessary.”

“Unnecessary?” The first guard questioned, taking a threatening step toward Samazzar. “Your ‘paperwork’ smells like blood. I don’t know if you’re a bandit, a barbarian, or both, but your kind isn’t welcome in Vereton. Why don’t you turn around and leave before I have to fill out some paperwork myself for using force against an unruly and disallowed party.”

“Sam!” A booming voice interrupted the tense scene. Samazzar turned to see Knight-Lieutenant Adam Joosen clad in gleaming silver armor and riding a horse toward the north gate. Behind him were another nine knights. While their metal armor was impressive it didn’t gleam the same way Adam’s did.

“It’s good to see you here,” he continued, flicking his reins to redirect the horse over to where Samazzar was conversing with the guard. “I was just coming back from a patrol. We didn’t find much beside a couple cold campfires, but if you traveled deeper than that, you might have seen something. I’d like to pick your brian so long as that doesn’t inconvenience you.”

“Of course,” Sam replied, shooting a dark glance at the guard that had been blocking his way. Almost as if on cue Adam turned his attention to the guard.

“Perfect,” Adam said, nodding crisply. “I’m assuming that William here was just letting you in. Why don’t we meet up at the Settler Tavern tomorrow at about nine so that I can buy you a pint.”

Samazzar could only nod, and then the knight was gone, his subordinate following after him as they bypassed security altogether and entered Vereton.

“Err,” the first guard, William, muttered before coughing to clear his throat. It looks like everything is in order here. Why don’t you and your friends hurry into the City and clear the gate? A line’s building up after you.”