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Race: Draconian

Bloodline Powers: Improved Strength+, Rending, Firebreath+

Greater Mysteries: Fire (Noble) 6, Wind (Noble) 4, Sound (Advanced) 2

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

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“Hold the beaker steady Tarxis or I swear I will weld bars of metal to your arms and force them into permanent immobility.”

The kobold flinched at Samazzar’s words, jerking the ceramic jug he was holding to the side and letting a couple drops of the precious liquid flowing from the container in Samazzar’s hands splash off the rock floor.

Samazzar caught himself, stopping the flow of the potion before more than the barest fraction of its contents could waste themselves on the ground. Without thinking, an angry growl tore itself from his throat. His wings spread wide, filling most of the small laboratory and blocking the torchlight.

Tarxis dropped to his knees, eyes wide and his mouth opening and closing soundlessly.

For a frozen moment, the two of them stood perfectly still, Samazzar towering over his petrified assistant as the wind howled outside the lab’s doorway.

Then, Dussok walked around the corner and entered their, his scales covered in mud and dirt.

“We’ve got the third bedroom cleared out Samazzar,” the draconian said, picking up a pitcher of water and drinking directly from it. “Once the porters are done dragging all the bits and pieces outside, you should be ready to move all of the practitioners and apprentices up-

“-Oh,” Dussok stopped, finally realizing the tense scene he had walked in on. Tarxis looked up at him with pleading eyes, begging the man to intervene.

“Anyway,” Dussok continued, not missing a beat as he turned, abandoning the kobold to his fate. “I should make sure that the excavation finishes up without a hitch.”

He turned and walked out of the cavern, ignoring Tarxis’ pitiful whimper.

Samazzar sighed, taking a step backward and letting his wings drop to his sides. Only a thimbleful of the concoction had spilled onto the floor, but that was enough to completely disrupt the precise mixture of ingredient and reagents. He would have to re-do his measurements, but at least the half-finished potion wouldn’t be an entire waste.

HIs eyes flicked to the beaker trembling like a leaf in Tarxis’ claws. Already the reagents were interacting with each other, ice spring water overwhelming and drowning potency of the carefully portioned mixture that had taken him the better part of day to slowly brew and combine.

Samazzar felt his expression harden. He closed his eyes, taking a deep breath in through his nose and blowing out out through his mouth as he tried to calm himself.

“I’m not actually going to weld metal to your arms Tarxis,” he said, voice calm despite his tense neck and clenched fists. “I’m sorry for the burst of emotion, my dragon got the better of me for a moment there. As painful as it is to lose all of the work that went into the potion, everyone makes mistakes at first.”

The kobold sagged, all but collapsing to the cavern floor.

“Thank you chief,” Tarxis gushed, setting the beaker down as he flopped to the stone. “I’m sorry. You just told me how important the winter’s breath potion was and I froze. All I could think about was how I was going to screw something up, and in a way I was right.”

“It’s all right,” Samazzar replied, setting the half completed potion on a nearby table before sinking into one of the crude chairs carved from stone. In the corner, a fire crackled, its soot and smoke disappearing into a narrow channel that curved through the rock, following seems in the stone that only Dussok could see before the chimney opened up on a nearby cliff face.

“Well,” Tarxis continued, a glint of animal cunning shining in his eye. “Now that the potion is ruined, there’s no point in going out in the snow to train. Do you think I can have the afternoon off?”

“To do what?” Samazzar asked, snorting as he shook his head. “We’re in a cave on a snow choked mountain pass. Other than Dussok and the rest of the construction team, there isn’t even anyone here, and all four of them will be busy for at least another day.”

“Nap?” Tarxis said hopefully. “Maybe have some supper first? I’ve got the straw piled just right in the student dormitory. I could doze for a bit while you finish your measurements so we can recreate the potion and try again tomorrow.”

Samazzar sighed. The kobold was looking up at him with so much hope, tail quivering beneath him. He was barely older than a pup, hatched in one of the clutches that was laid after Samazzar had left for Vereton. Looking down at him, Samazzar couldn’t help but empathize with Tazzaera’s struggles when the crone first took him on as an apprentice.

“Tarxis, sometimes I think I regret that you can hear the call of the mysteries. You have a gift so you must be trained, but I don’t think I’ve met another kobold that is as afraid and lazy as you.”

The kobold beamed back at him, somehow taking Samazzar’s comments as a compliment.

“So long as I don’t have to train today,” he replied. “I can hear the wind howling through the rock right now, and it was colder than a… well it was really cold when I went out to gather snow for the water basin earlier.”

Samazzar reached down, grabbing the kobold by the scruff of the neck. The smaller reptile kicked and squirmed as he picked him up, but Samazzar ignored Tarxis’ struggles as he carried his companion toward the room’s exit.

“No,” Samazzar said, his decision made. “We will train today. That potion was to protect you from frostbite, but ultimately I cannot protect you from the ice and snow forever. Despite yourself you are the most talented of the apprentices that the shamans have found. Frostbite is painful, but I already have a stockpile of healing balms to cure it. You’ll be fine Tarxis, but the process will be far from pleasant.

“I still don’t understand why you are so focused on resisting your gifts,” he continued, grabbing a satchel from a nearby table. “Already you have some insight into the mysteries of current and cold. So long as you study hard, you should be able to gain some mastery over the noble mystery of wind before too long. As for the cold? I don’t know what greater mystery that will turn into, but I am excited to see the results of your hard work.”

“But I don’t WANT to work hard,” Tarxis whined as Samazzar dragged him through the entry chamber to the cave complex. “Learning about the mysteries is painful. Learning alchemy is hard and exhausting. I just want to play hide and seek with the other kobolds. I didn’t ask to be a practitioner-”

Whatever else the complaining kobold meant to say, it was swallowed by the howling wind as Samazzar pushed open the heavy wooden door that protected the ‘academy’ from the frigid winds of Lonely Peak. It wasn’t much of an academy yet, little more than a laboratory, a storeroom, a dormitory and a kitchen, but before too long it would house most of Union City’s practitioners and most promising students. Lonely Peak served as too important a conflux of the mysteries for Samazzar to ignore it, no matter how remote and bleak a location it might be.

He dragged Tarxis through the driving snow, providing just enough warmth through his mysteries to not let the kobold freeze. Tarxis didn’t struggle. He knew better than to fight back against Samazzar, instead going limp and sulking as the draconian trudged the five hundred paces through the perpetual storm to the summit of Lonely Peak.

Samazzar exhaled a burst of fire, guiding it with his mind to clear a circular area of the snow, exposing gray rock. He pulled Tarxis along with him, setting the shivering kobold down on the stone. As soon as his companion was seated, Samazzar shoved his hand into his satchel, fumbling around for a second until his scaled fingers came across something hard, smooth and spherical.

He pulled the pill out, putting it in Tarxis’ hands before he sat down and crossed his legs a half pace or so away from the kobold. The wind was too unsettled for him to detect anything, but he was near enough to his apprentice to see his apprentice cocking his head in confusion.

“It’s a pill of lesser rejuvenation,” he shouted, not turning around as he returned his attention to rummaging around in his satchel. “It won’t deaden the pain from the cold, but it should keep you from losing your claws or the tip of your tail.”

Tarxis didn’t hesitate, immediately popping the pill into his mouth before grabbing a clawful of snow to help ease the thumb-sized ball of medicinal herbs down his gullet. The kobold’s throat bobbed once as he swallowed the pill.

Despite all of his earlier complaints, the kobold crossed his legs and went still. Samazzar could feel the wind rippling slightly in response to his apprentice stretching his senses, and he couldn’t help himself from nodding in satisfaction.

As reluctant and lazy as Tarxis was, there was no denying that he was the most talented of the kobold apprentices. Surprisingly, he did not have any skill with the minor mysteries that would lead to him learning the secrets of fire, unlike most of his siblings, but his insight into air currents gave Samazzar some hope that time on Lonely Peak might help the lethargic scamp unlock the mystery of wind.

Samazzar pulled a small, clear crystal from his bag. He tossed the satchel into a nearby snowbank and closed his eyes, cradling the glittering gently in both of his hands.

The wind howled around him, and Samazzar closed his eyes. His senses expanded out past him, stretching to their limits in the flash of an eye. He couldn’t see nearly as far as he could in the forest or the plains. The wind screaming around the peak was almost like a practitioner itself, untamed and acting under the influence of another’s will.

It battered Samazzar’s scales, high speed grit polishing them in seconds. He knew that Tarxis was suffering more than him. Compared to the thick armor of a draconian, a kobold’s scales were thin and supple, almost weaker than the fragile skin of a human.

He didn’t turn around. It was impossible to study the mysteries without suffering from pain. While he was in Vereton Academy, Samazzar had heard of some humans that tried to limit their contemplation of the mysteries to the safe and orderly. Most barely managed to learn a single greater mystery. It was a path for the wealthy and idle to amuse themselves, not one taken by a single serious practitioner.

Samazzar stretched his senses further, the scales of his brow furrowing as he pushed against the tumultuous winds. They resisted, pushing back against his willpower. It felt as if he were in a deep river, barely able to find his footing as he tried to forge his path upstream.

Still, he persisted. From his time on the pains, Samazzar knew that his understanding of the mystery of wind had reached its zenith. As much as he contemplated the ebb and flow of the air, he couldn’t make any more progress. It was like his mind was a cup, full to the point of spilling over.

The only way to move forward was another baptism.

Wind fought back against him, wrestling against Samazzar’s will even as it sought to slither through his talons and escape back into the stormy sky. He couldn’t quite put his finger on it, but there was something there, some magic or mystical quality that was just outside of his reach or understanding. He could hear it, whispering to him, cajoling and demanding that he grab a firm hold of the mystery and truly make himself its master.

Then, the resistance broke. Samazzar gasped for air as he could feel the winds on the peak, swirling and blowing in inscrutable patterns that had nothing to do with the rocks and snow around him.

He lept into the air, wings beating against the dangerous air currents. Snow whipped against Samazzar, stinging his scales as it sought to breach his defenses. Above, lighting flashed through the sky, sending a spike of heat that almost blinded Samazzar’s heat senses amidst the constant cold of Lonely Peak.

Samazzar spread his wings and let go, no longer fighting the air current as it blew him back and forth, content to let the wind carry him through the dark sky.

The resistance disappeared along with the pain from the driving ice and snow. It was almost like the sky itself reached down to embrace him, wind currents drawing him like arms into the storm’s dark bosom.

For a brief period, maybe a second, maybe half a minute, Samazzar let himself go. His consciousness all but left his body, spreading out into the tempest around him. Distantly, he could feel Tarxis shivering on the peak below him, but that seemed like a problem for another person. He was inside the maelstrom and it was inside him, whipping him through the air heedlessly while also caressing his scales with the tenderness of a lover.

He crushed the crystal in his hands, and the world that exploded around him.

Gale crystals were far from common, formed from the power of the wind as it eroded away rock over time. Ordinarily, a practitioner could wander the mountains for years without seeing one, but in their expedition to explore and colonize Lonely Peak, Samazzar had found at least five glimmering in the cliff faces leading up to the summit. Collecting them was treacherous, but between his wings and wind magic, he had managed to add all five of them to Union City’s stores of magical reagents.

A thousand years of wind, enough to wear rock smooth and devour the mountains themselves, detonated at once. Samazzar’s hands were blown to either side, and it felt as if an ox had kicked him in the chest as he was sent flying.

Above, for a brief second, the airburst cleared a hole in the storm, exposing the glittering stars of the night sky.

Information rushed into Samazzar’s mind. His understanding of wind overflowed its boundaries, spilling everywhere as connections sparked between distant pieces of knowledge, filling the gaps with intuition.

The air itself seemed to sing, a symphony that echoed with the majesty and power of the tempest itself.

Samazzar felt himself falling, but even that action felt natural. Just as wind blew side to side, it would rise if hot and sink if cold. Just before he hit the snow, Samazzar’s wings extended themselves on his own, spinning him so that the scales of his stomach barely grazed the ice-crusted banks below.

He flew, unaware of who he was or what was happening as his blood sang in response to the chorus of the wind. Samazzar felt his mind expand, and the tumultuous currents that had resisted his grasp sprang into focus, calm and placid as they rested in his palms, waiting for his command.

Then the flash of epiphany ended and Samazzar felt himself regain control of his body just in time to tumble downward into the vast snowfields that made up the ascent to Lonely Peak. Samazzar slammed into the snow, sending a spray of white up into the air as was sent rolling end over end for almost fifty paces before finally coming to a stop when his back crashed into a rock.

Samazzar’s eyes cracked open, shattering the film of ice that had grown over his scales while he was in the air. The storm howled around him, rushing to fill in the space that was opened by the airburst from the gale crystal.

He pushed himself back to his feet, brushing the snow off of his scales. The wind rushed and raged across the rest of the peak, but in a circle one pace around Samazzar, it was still and silent, kept placid by the slightest touch of his will.

A wave of his hand sent a gust of warm air in front of him, throwing snow up into the air and clearing the way for Samazzar to walk back toward Tarxis. The poor kobold was shivering uncontrollably, but to his credit he hadn’t moved. Even as Samazzar approached, Tarxis still had his eyes screwed shut, desperately trying to focus on the elemental extremes that rocked the peak.

Samazzar reached down, grabbing his satchel with his left arm and shoving Tarxis into the crook of his right as he turned and began trudging through the snow back toward the caves that would become Union City’s academy. As he walked, he extended a trickle of heat down his arm and enveloped the shivering kobold. It was a struggle given the absurdly low temperatures of the peak, but despite his flaws in the laboratory, the timid kobold had done the best he could.

Plus, a smile blossomed on Samazzar’s face. It wasn’t every day that he successfully ascended a tier in the mystery of wind. If there were any proper food in the cave complex’s store room he would have set out a feast to celebrate, but for now he’d have to settle for tending to Tarxis and an evening of quiet contemplation.

Barely ten minutes later, Samazzar was pushing the cave’s door back into place while Tarxis shivered next to a fire. He’d already given the kobold another lesser rejuvenation pill ensuring that there wouldn’t be any permanent damage from his exposure to the cold and wind, but it was clear that he was still sore from exposure.

Samazzar grunted happily, stretching his arms as he walked past Tarxis, deeper into the cave complex. The hallway narrowed, barely wide enough for two people to pass, and Samazzar had to pull his wings tight around his body to stop them from dragging on the stone.

Further ahead he could hear the scraping sound of the kobold workers mining under Dussok’s supervision as he passed one room after another. First it was the laboratory, a crude and mostly empty room with a couple ceramic beakers, shelves for ingredients and a fire pit for the brewing of potions. Next it was the dormitory and store rooms, mostly glorified empty space that would be filled in by craftsmen later.

By the time Samazzar reached the kitchen, the quality of the hallway had degraded. The floor was uneven and rocks jutted out from the walls, forcing Samazzar to shift past them. Just as he was reaching the ramp that led downward toward where the workers were constructing a second floor to the academy, an excited shout echoed up from below.

Almost immediately, Samazzar felt the cause of their excitement. One of the kobolds had just finished levering aside a boulder. Rather than more rock, it clattered aside to reveal a gap.

Samazzar broke into a jog. He could sense Dussok pushing aside the clamoring workers and unslinging his enchanted ax. By the time Samazzar had finished running down the ramp to the lower level, his sibling had already swung his weapon once, cracking the heavy rock to the right of the opening.

Already, Samazzar could feel stale air flowing out from the narrow opening. Dussok’s ax smashed against the rocks a second time, breaking off enough stone to reveal another cave. Dussok dropped his weapon shimmying through the opening even as Samazzar pushed his way past the excited kobolds.

A hiss of indrawn breath from Dussok silenced their murmurs.

When he came back out of the gap in the stone, a tense expression covered his face. There weren’t any words exchanged, but they weren’t needed. A single glance revealed Dussok’s clenched fists and bulging neck muscles as the big draconian tried to calm himself. He nodded tightly at Samazzar before stepping aside and making way.

Samazzar had to slide himself sideways through the narrow opening. As soon as he made it inside, he suddenly understood Dussok’s reaction as his breath was robbed from him as well.

The cavern was bigger than any of the rooms that had been reserved for the academy, but none of that mattered. Instead, his eyes were locked on the west wall, a vertical expanse made of uniform glittering obsidian, out of place in the gloom and granite of the mountainside.

His eyes watered as Samazzar focused himself on the glimmering expanse. The wall positively glowed as he observed it through the mysteries. The rest of the room was chilly, a relic of the icy winds that scoured the mountainside, but the wall itself was hot enough to blister and burn any unprotected flesh from a half dozen paces away.

There wasn’t any volcanic activity nearby, Samazzar had looked. The glass itself was impossible, an anomaly that required the heat and pressure of an active magma vein that simply didn’t exist. Even if there had been lava running through the cave in the past, the walls should have been cold to the touch. More than the obsidian itself, the shimmering heat that was trapped under its surface sent Samazzar’s mind spinning as he tried to unravel the enigma behind its existence.

As many unanswered questions as the inexplicable surface raised, none were as pressing as the only set of markings marring its smooth surface.

In the center were a trio of cuts, each almost two paces deep and more than a dozen long. Claw slashes from a creature older than the mountains themselves.