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Trials of Acceptance
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The thick, slow moving clouds parted knowingly before the dragon Noath’s approach, like hands sweeping back irritating mist. The wind’s icy grip tugged at the dragon’s unexpected rider, but Marice’s legs – caught in the cranny of Noath’s shoulders and powerfully beating wings – held him painfully fast against the diamond-hard hide. Pressing back any rising protests, the Clevance elf let the thrill of the exhilarating, swift ride push away any fears or doubts he may have had. The world looked crisp and small to Marice’s sharp eyes – laid out like miniatures below him. The sense of superiority and control made his breath catch, and he couldn’t help but wonder, Is this how the dragons feel when they look at us from their tower-top peek holes?
The strange occurrence about the tower however, was that there appeared to be no entrances or windows. The dragons that zipped in and out of view moved too swiftly for Marice to catch any glimpses of magik use, and a worry rose to clog his throat.
Sensing his rider’s growing uneasiness now as the elf shifted with a hard swallow, Noath’s pupils flickered to the back of his eyes to peer at Marice knowingly for a moment. Disrupting his companion’s deep thoughts, Noath’s words shone clearly in Marice’s mind: We draw near. My kind senses your approach and grows weary of your presence. Clamp your tongue and advert your eyes before them.
Before Marice could do more then give an unsure and wobbly nod – nostrils filling with the distant vibrations of magik use – Noath was already veering in an arc to round the looming tower. The sheer contrast of the deep purple-black against the light blue sky and white clouds was enough to send a shudder through the elf. Before yesterday, Marice had never even laid eyes on a dragon. The Wardens were nothing more but impressive forms of art and literature until Halos’ burning. Now the vast fire-breathing magik users cut through the clouds sharply with their wings like a knife through a Rabios’ fur, turning in long, sharp and accurate curves to disappear into the sides of their domain.
Marice stared in fascination, as the Wardens seemed to meld with Baravade’s sides. The elf looked expectantly to his mount, and a growing fear and anxiety welled up in his mind. Head spinning as he pictured the pair of them slamming into the tower’s impenetrable stone surface, Marice couldn’t draw solace from the mixed words Noath offered him. Even magik users were halted by Colbrite stone. Though the stone itself was flaky and thin, the magik enforcing it was thick and vibrant. Some of the worlds’ ruins still shown with clarity of the sprites’ life force, and had become marked-off, forbidden areas.
Baravade Tower was a holy sanctuary – untouchable, vast, and feared for its chosen protectors. Now as it loomed closer – shutting off the knowledge of the rest of the world, all Marice could do was wait for the inevitable impact. Breath catching sharply in his throat as Noath broke into a diagonal dive with wings pressed against his sides, Marice’s expression grew hard as his limbs pulsed with expectancy. The dragon was aiming towards a lower section of the structure resting just twenty feet above the hungry Jagged Peaks reaching up to consume it.
Just feet away from the thick, square stones curved together to form the cylinder tower, twisting, pale light spilled from the indents and invisibles spaces of the structure. Reaching out like groping hands, the beams clasped in threads around Noath’s arms and legs to draw him closer. Suddenly, the dragon was no long in control of his flight and a sudden jerk almost thrust Marice from his mount’s back. Sharp pains ran up his legs to his hips as the dragon’s shoulders held him fast.
The change was sudden and the movement swift. Once the threads clasped and held, they were pulling and drawing the two swiftly to the tower’s side. Breathing became difficult, and the trembling elf sucked greedily with no effect. Even the dragon beneath him seemed to be struggling as the pair was swallowed by sudden, fading light.
Then – just as suddenly as it had started, it was over and the two unlikely companions were consumed by darkness. Feeling as if all his organs had shifted into his throat, Marice opened one eye wearily. A vague glimpse of light shone to one side, illumining a turning hallway, and the curves of the inside of the tower and small room slowly came into focus. The elf suddenly became aware of the shifting, heavy and wide mass beneath him. A scathing sound preceded by a grunt alerted Marice to the closure of space.
Voice muffled and seemingly tired by the effort of moving, Noath prompted Marice a bit strictly, Do mind dismounting now, Jaded-One.
A flickering, red-orange light grew before Marice’s eyes – casting memories of flames against the tower’s walls and floor. Suppressing a shudder, the elf carefully pulled his aching, stiff legs from behind Noath’s bent wings, and slid forward and halfway down the dragon’s neck until his feet made firm contact with hard cobblestone. Standing on wobbly legs and heart-pulsing feet, the elf redirected his attention to the weary dragon.
Noath now slumped heavily to the floor – causing the walls to shake with a soft, echoing rumble. The dragon breathed out heavily and his eyes were glazed from the steam streaming from his nostrils where the source of the fiery light emanated. Though it wasn’t fire itself forming beneath the creature’s clasped jaws, Marice withdrew in fear. Halos’ destruction still rose as a vivid vision in his mind, and sometimes the elf could even smell charred flesh.
If Noath noticed his companion’s flinching with each extension of his haggard breathing, the dragon paid it no mind. Instead, he directed Marice in a low tone, Head through towards the Sitting Hall.
Standing uneasily as the dragon’s sideway lids closed over his oval, black eyes, Marice gazed back towards the hallway. The faint, steady light emanating from it called to him, like how the tower had called to Noath. The shortening shadows made the elf aware of the dimming fire residing in his carrier’s mouth. The dragon’s breath had become shallow and deep, his body rising and falling with long pauses.
Realizing that Noath wasn’t about to elaborate – drifting off into a deep slumber – Marice headed for the hall. The passage was cramped, and its winding held no pause. The elf had to stop several times, his feet and arms smacking against the plain cobblestone sides with every couple of steps.
How do the dragons make it through this place?
Marice couldn’t imagine dragons smaller than himself, and then a thought struck him. The passages weren’t made for the dragons – they could pass into any wall they wished to. This hallway was made to crudely fit the races walking the lands beneath the dragons. This gave the elf cause to wonder about the Wardens’ intentions with him. Noath told him that they had sensed his approach, and it had unnerved the other dragons. Hadn’t they had visitors before? The halls were obviously designed for smaller creatures then dragons that couldn’t fly directly into the tower.
Dragons were always dictated as colossal, heartless beings whose sole purpose was to maintain the order and ritual of the Dragonbaring on Terra. Ryusotoshai’s curse was reinforced by the gods and their Wardens to keep the balance between races and power – to prevent genocide.
One Clevance elf won’t matter to them, Marice realized with a grim expression as the hall began to widen. The walking became easier, and the youth was relieved as his quivering limbs began to relax. A sudden awareness rose in the back of his mind as he reached the high archway, and paused at the entrance. Marice twisted his nose at the strong, steaming smell of magik use and his breath caught at the sight of the room.
High above, the ceiling stretched out of view. Large beams crossed diagonally back and forth. Atop them rested the large, massive forms of quiescent dragons – the enchanted light from the Colbrite Stone flickering rainbow patterns across their scale hides. The large circular room was dim with an almost foreboding feeling. The crumbling statues pressed close together to line the room stood as Watchmen to witness the Clevance elf’s arrival.
Stepping a bit unsurely into the unadorned room, Marice raised an awestruck gaze to the beams above, and the numerous forms perched there. The Dragonbaring ritual demanded a human sacrifice each passing hundred years. How many centuries – how many millenniums – had passed since the Demigods’ deaths? Had any visitor to the Baravade Tower taken time to count the world’s age?
As the mesmerized elf stepped down into the circular indent of the room, the roof beams above shook as the numerous dragons shifted their weight. Their growing awareness of the intruding mortal alarmed their senses. One Warden lifted its long neck and small head to part narrow jaws and release a deep growling that was echoed in variations of level and aggressiveness by its neighbors. Soon the tower shook with the combined voices and Marice scratched at his long, droopy ears at the high-pitch, grueling sound.
The rush of wind and distinct flapping of leathery wings was followed by the rumble of a dragon’s drop to the floor below. Marice flinched as the massive bulk thudded against the cobblestone and the statues lining the walls trembled on their rostrums. A flicker rose as a ring ascended from one side in a half circle to the other, and Marice stumbled back against the invisible barrier lining the round indentation of the floor.
The distinct gleam off the fiery-orange scales glazed the elf’s eyes until Marice was forced to squint to keep his gaze fixated on the colossal creature before him. The dragon raised its wide and triangle-shaped head to pin the intruder with a large, gleaming jewel. The massive creatures above lowered their heads to gaze in expectancy of the elf’s sentencing.
Rumbling voice penetrating Marice’s senses with a dizzying effect, the dragon before him demanded flatly, Jack-foot! What brings thee here?
Pushing aside the spout of anger flaring inside him at the ancient elf’s title, Marice swallowed over the clump blocking his throat. He imagined a frog rolled into a ball around his voice box at the odd saying that compared a craggily tone to a toad’s croak. Taking in a rattling, uneasy breath, the elf began in a low, unsteady pitch, “My village was destroyed by the Watchers.”
A distinctive mutter cut the intruder off sharply as mingled foreign words were driven like daggers into Marice’s temples. The elf fell to his knees at the sharp pains, head swimming as his mind attempted to decipher the Ancient words. The dragons remained oblivious to the youth’s distress, caught up in their arguments and unsettled scores with the faction.
Thin head fins flaring as he parted his jaws, the dragon on ground level spread his feet with a pounding sensation that vibrated through Marice’s bones. The shriek emanating from his opened jaws to reveal black gums and a flickering serpent, forked tongue drove the other dragons to silence. A few even bowed their heads in submission as if the screeching shook them as well.
When the daggers were removed from his skull slowly, a dull ache pulsed behind Marice’s eyes. His vision swayed alarmingly before him, and the elf remained crouched on trembling knees. The influential dragon before him rested its head fins with a rumbling noise that stirred the barrier shining vaguely in the dancing, magikal light overhead. Marice noticed how it had slowly dimmed into a pulsing red-pink. The walls now shone crimson like spilt blood, where it had been mauve before. The change was afflicting to the eyes, and Marice flinched lightly at the express of the dragons’ rage as he rose on stiff legs to his feet.
Lowering his perpetrating gaze, the dragon lord stated firmly, Thou’s news disturbs us, Elf. Fixated by the assessing eyes, Marice’s nerves settled some as the dragon noted him directly. With the release of a deep breath, a stream of thinning fire heated the air around Marice’s face. The elf stood his ground, resisting the urge to flinch as images passed before his mind’s eye. If the dragon lord noticed his intruder’s stiffness, he paid it no mind. Instead, the Warden continued, We felt your presence and saw your decent with one of our kind.
Nodding slowly and hoping the dragons above wouldn’t cry out once more, Marice offered in a slow, low voice, “The town was decimated – my…parents, along with them.” Pausing here to draw in a shuddering breath, Marice released it after a moment. The memory burned freshly in his mind as brightly the flames that had licked at Halos’ crumpling bodies. Regaining his voice, Marice asked hesitantly, “Th-The Watchers…what are they?”
A slight disturbance of wings and retracting claws made the elf gaze up anxiously. However, the dragons seemed sense his fear and remained quiet – a few letting out a light groan as if the cries were burning in their throats. The dragon lord resting with head bowed tiredly before the intruder kept his attention on Marice as he picked his thoughts carefully, Watchers…they are mortals driven with the fear of the unexpected. Their views are tangled with their beliefs. The Warden relieved another deep breath as if to sigh, closing his eyes for a long moment. Marice had heard rumors of the Watchers’ path, and their winding march from the Southlands to the Northlands hinted their purpose.
“The Nexus,” Marice breathed sharply, remembering the looming view of the cliffs bordering and enclosing the banished elves.
At this, the dragon lord opened his eyes sharply and focused them on Marice as if to judge what race the elf came from. Then he relaxed, and the dragon’s weight lowered until his large stomach brushed the ground with a soft scraping sound. In a firm voice, the Warden spoke more determinedly this time: The shadows of mortals’ greed and brutality. Watchers seek for light in the depths of darkness covering these lands.
Nodding slowly, Marice licked his lips and his gaze flickered to the barrier that still entrapped him. They’re after the Nexus elves, the youth thought with a grimace. The Watchers were asking for a subversive war they wouldn’t win. The Nexus would enlist the orcs’ alliance to strike back and force their troops above ground – even if it brought them death, they would never allow themselves to be crushed into the dirt of their prison.
Raising his eyes to meet the dragon’s without fear, Marice prompted uneasily, “Who-Who comprises them?”
With a shake of his head that bumped the barriers forcefully – a dull clang rising at the compact of two magik – the Warden replied, Their numbers are mismatched. Improbable races have gathered under an unknown authority.
Considering this statement, Marice wondered if it was the Church’s doing. Though the elf himself remained impassive towards the beliefs of the gods and the holy and daunting ritual of Dragonbaring, the clerics’ influence was widely spreading. With the path laid carefully out before them, the world’s people would easily follow the holy men’s whims.
Swallowing as the dragon lord watched him expectantly with a knowing look, Marice stated more boldly then he felt, “I’ve come to gain the power of the Warden.”
Infuriated cries rumbled from above as dragons lowered their heads in low hisses and claws were retracted where the colossal creatures were posted irritably now. A few even used their wings to lift them into the air as if to sweep down and punish Marice for such a statement, but the barrier held them back forcefully.
The dragon lord resting on bent hunches before Marice remained impassive and quiet. The Warden’s thoughts remained discreet and closed off as he eyed the elf before him judgmentally. The irritated protesting cries from above made Marice flinch and shrink where he stood as he stared into the cold and fiery, jeweled eyes of his jury.
With a firm and yet inquiring voice, the dragon lord prompted, And what makes thee worthy of such a request, Elf?
The same thought struck a nerve inside Marice as he realized he had never given it direct thought. The memories of screams and burning flesh had driven the Clevance elf to near insanity as he had laid dying on the charred remains of his old cotton bed. Noath had showed him pity and upon the sorrowed lad’s request, had taken him half across the world to stand before the Wardens.
What did standing here with a heartfelt story justify? How did it make him proud and worthy in the eyes of these colossal creatures from legend? The same ones he had laughed and jousted about as a child.
In a mumbled tone, Marice admitted humbly, “I am not sure…” Hesitating at the overhead dragons’ distinctive sounds of protest, the elf swallowed his fears as he forced his attention solely on the creature before him. This dragon lord was his persecutor – his judge, and would therefore alone, determine the response and consequences of his statements. With a growingly bold voice, the elf continued with a hesitant shift of his shoulders, “But I know my intentions true.” Clearing his throat over the lump, he continued as determination strung every word: “The Watchers group—” – this earned several scowls of disgust from above but the dragon lord remained quiet and intent – “—have taken inevitable action. I don’t know what they’re after really, but they took my parents’ life in the process.” In a quieter voice, Marice muttered almost embarrassingly, “I don’t want their actions to go unpunished just because the strength of their numbers.”
A calm, serene feel had passed over the listeners, and the Colbrite stone no longer glowed red but a soft yellow-white – the color of compassion, or perhaps understanding. Long minutes passed in silence until Marice thought invisible leads had been tied to his ankles. The youth held his ground nonetheless, and at the dragon lord’s soft but firm voice, he raised his gaze expectantly.
Your intentions hold true – even if they do not resemble our own.
“Then…”
Before the elf could dare to muster the words in his dry throat, the dragon lord closed his great pupils, saying with an almost soft and contempt sigh, The lands lie in danger of falling to misdirected rule. Our ranks grow thin with gaps.
Giving a slow, understanding nod as Marice let this statement consume his own thoughts, the realization of the Warden’s words caused anxiety to overthrow his worry. What lay before him now, in the trials of becoming a Pyrhi? What would he face as a new species – a forsaken, and yet chosen individual? His parents – who had meant everything to him – would no longer be a part of who he was.
Sensing the disturbance in Marice’s choice, the dragon lord opened his eyes sharply as if to peer into the intruder’s soul, demanding; Will thou hold true to the duties, and step through each trial with courage and strength?
These are dragons, Marice thought with a soft grimace as he forced down a nervous answer he knew the dragons would be displeased to hear. Despite the Wardens’ protests of an inferior being obtaining their power, the dragons greatly disfavored being toyed with. Casting his gaze to his hands as if the answers lay just within his palms, the elf thought more determinedly, But their power will become my own, and those traitors will pay for the pain they have caused me and this land.
Raising his gaze levelly with brow narrowed in a certain, solemn expression, Marice announced boldly as he straightened his lean shoulders, “I shall step through any trial you place before me.”
Cries of disgruntlement and disapproval resounded from the numerous voices above – their unfamiliar words jarring the room with sharp, harsh cracks like breaking ice. This time however, Marice let the terrible sounds drill into his mind as he struggled to maintain a straight face with his legs trembling like distilled water beneath him.
At last, the dragon lord raised his thick, scaly tail to hover in the orange-red glow of the Colbrite stone. A fleeting thought of dejection and certain death passed before Marice’s mind, and his faith and courage wavered. However, he held his ground nonetheless, and a moment later, the dragon lord let his tail fall powerfully to the stone floor. A great shudder shook the tower, making Marice stumble and the dragons above regain their perches in quiet dismount.
Long moments passed as Marice met the sharp, jewel eyes of his judge, and at last the dragon lord’s words shone clearly in every linked Warden’s mind through the tower and across the lands: Let the Gods know now that thee are a servant to both them and I. Your first trial has passed. Let your boldness hold thee through those ahead, Elf.
