Slayer

by Havenchaser
The town of Selphin had been a quiet farming village for quite some time. The village sat at the base of Mt. Kulikill it was peaceful and beautiful. A safe haven untouched by the shadows if dark beings so common in Heathgraf. But darkness spreads and the slumber of peace never lasts. That fateful spring morn the quiet was shattered by massive wing beats, and a great roar that chilled all who heard to their very core. A dragon had come.

In the following months the dragon carved it’s lair out of the rock of the mountain and became a terrible fact of life for the little town below. It ate their livestock and more than a few people, “disappeared” during the night. The real trouble didn’t start until a group of would-be dragon slayers scaled the mountain to kill the dragon. That night the mountain shook furiously with the dragon’s rage.

The Next night was far worse for the people of the village, the dragon descended upon them, not killing for food, but for vengeance. The village was left, scorched and wrecked, but the inhabitants rebuilt, hoping for a miracle. What they got is debatable.

The man had come in the afternoon. He was a slayer, attested to by the symbol on his cuirass and the nine-foot slayer blade strapped across his back. For a brief moment he simply stared at the village, a casual observer wouldn’t notice the look of pain in his eyes. He walked with a determined trudge, heading directly to the village chieftain’s hovel. As he went past many pairs of eyes regarded him suspiciously some of their owners even leaving their hovels to watch.

The slayer stood in the square before the chieftain’s hovel. “I am Sarkan, I have come to slay the dragon.”

The villagers all came out now, screaming out there disapproval.

“Quiet!” The Chieftain roared from the door of his hovel. “I will deal with this vagabond.”

“Vagabond?! Watch your tong-“

“I’ll do no such thing in my village, knave.”

Sarkan chuckled. “Have the rumors of me faded so quickly? I was the one who slew the dragon Uthgar.”

All assembled were quiet for a long moment. They had all heard the rumors of the great beast that had terrorized the heartland of the kingdom. “Prove it,” they all seemed to hiss at once.

The hiss slowly became a chant increasing into a frenzied roar. Sarkan pulled from the sheath at his hip a massive fang. The tooth was two feet long and jet-black, just as the rumors had said. All was silent again. Sarkan merely resheathed the fang and headed for the mountain.

Sarkan readjusted his helm so it fit better on his head. He rechecked his slayer blade, armor and provisions. Satisfied, he began to trudge his way up the mountain. After two miles he slumped against a tree, pulled of his helm and began to pour some water from his wineskin onto his face. Even his relatively light armor was ungodly hot in the midsummer sun. At least I’m not still tromping around in full plate mail, he thought bitterly, remembering many days spent packed tightly into that blisteringly hot prison.

A sound brought Sarkan out of his reverie. It was a dull beating noise, the sound of leathery wings churning the air. Sarkan cursed himself and made for cover as his airborne adversary flew overhead.

Seraphine smelled humans, two of them, below, approaching her home. This will be most interesting she thought to herself. She circled the mountain twice before alighting on the soft lichens growing outside her lair.

Sarkan had seen the other man scurrying for cover as the dragoness approached. Don’t they trust me? He thought sarcastically. He looked back to the reptilian form overhead and noted where it landed. He began to make his way to the lair. Using every skill he possessed to hide his trail.

Seraphine quickly set about her task. This human is just the one I’m looking for she thought, suppressing a giggle. She was nearly giddy as she closed her eyes and concentrated on the two men struggling up the mountain. She focused in on the slayer, and met a steel wall. This one has faced mind reading foes before, all the better she thought as she continued to wear away his defenses without alerting him.

Sarkan felt as if some one had poked his brain, to describe it best. Her knew full well what had happened, it was probing his mind, and he would have to work quickly before it could gain access to his mind. He quickened his pace, unconcerned with the spy on his tail.

Roughly half an hour latter Sarkan stood panting before the entrance to the dragon’s lair. H began to breathe heavily, but quickly he had to fight back bile as the full smell of the beast washed over him, a ripe combination of rotten meat and refuse. As soon as he had his wind back Sarkan began to descend the long gentle slope of the entrance tunnel. The sides of the corridor were lined with glowing fungus that filled it with a soft blue half-light.

Seraphine grinned broadly as she broke her meditative state. She could already feel the magical wards of her lair coming to life.

Sarkan felt the ripple of unseen energy as the first of the dragon’s traps activated. He hears a sound like some one knocking old bones together, and sure enough several reanimated skeletons began to march slowly forward from the darkness. Each bore the crest of a slayer somewhere on it’s rusted or rotted equipment.

Sarkan lunged forward, putting all his weight into his armored gauntlet. He plowed into the lead skeleton, breaking bones and tearing free the mummified heart that animated it. Sarkan quickly crushed the second one with a powerful kick to the ribs. A skeletal hand reached forth to grab Sarkan’s ankle, holding him fast.

The three remaining skeletons advanced, drawing rusted weapons from decayed sheaths. Sarkan Kept his massive slayer sword strapped across his back, its edge would merely go between the bones so he opted to stick with armored limbs. The nearest skeleton leapt forward, Sarkan ducked and shot a blow upwards silencing the undead beast. Before the next skeleton could attack Sarkan destroyed the fingers that held him with a savage kick, the momentum of his armored boot carrying it into the third skeleton’s skull.

Sarkan smirked, too easy he thought but deeper he was filled with the feeling this was all one elaborate trap.

He continued deeper into the eerie half-light of the cave. The tunnel he was in was large enough to allow the dragon passage, its walls were made of many dark crystals, which grew larger the deeper one went. Several smaller tunnels branched off at several points, surprisingly few of them dragon-size.

It quickly became apparently the lair was extremely small for a dragon’s abode. It was only a few minutes before Sarkan stood before a pair of massive stone doors. The doors began to open even as Sarkan approached, the massive stones swinging ajar on their own. Beyond lay his target.

The Dragon simply stared at Sarkan as he entered. She, Sarkan thought as he approached, is a magnificent specimen. Her black scales gleamed in the semidarkness. Her claws and horns were brightly polished gold, and her eyes shown like twin pools of molten silver. Broad membranes of her wings were a translucent purple, similar to the crystals that formed the walls. Her sheer size was also impressive; she was at least as large as a small hill as she lay curled up.

This slayer will soon learn his place, she smiled mischievously at him as she rose onto her haunches.     “Welcome to my home, little one.”

“Little one?!” the slayer spat viciously. “You’ll soon learn your place wench.”

So much like myself, Seraphine mused to herself. “Wench? I am hurt little one, what makes you say such hurtful things to me?”

“Because, wench,” Sarkan spat as he unhooked his slayer blade “your kind is not worthy of pity or mercy.”

Seraphine recoiled at his words. His insults against her she could tolerate, I deserved them, a part of her thought dejectedly. But an insult to the dragons as a whole… Unspeakable!

“Prepare yourself wench! It’s time to pay the piper,” Sarkan then charged straight for her, blade ready.

Seraphine unleashed a torrent of flame from her maw, attempting to incinerate the upstart. But even as the flames subsided, there was no sign the slayer had died, because, he was standing atop her snout. His sword ready to cleave her skull in half, but with a jerk of her head he fell. Sarkan twisted in the air, blade met flesh and thick red blood oozed from a gash on the dragonesse’s breast. Seraphine swatted the human from the air, he clattered heavily against a wall.

Even as Sarkan stood it was hard to focus. The dragoness seemed to go in and out of focus before him, he could barely stand, and he already began to list sideways. He steeled himself for the next attack. Seraphine rose up onto her feet and began to pace before him she moved closer, and closer, looking for an opening in the slayer’s defense.

Sarkan was ready as the tail spade cut in from the right. He parried with the blunt side of his blade, barely, his muscles bulged with the effort. He wasn’t however ready for the paw that grabbed him from behind, jerking him roughly from his feet.

“I guess it is you who is finished,” she hissed in his ear, the rumble of her voice jarring his teeth in his head.

I’m not finished yet, he screamed in his mind. Even as he reached for the fang sheathed on his hip the dragoness shook him violently and using her free paw removed the weapon. All the while she chuckled at him.

“What’s so funny wench?” he asked weakly.

“What did you think that was earlier? I read your mind,” She stated matter-of-factly.

“You wi-” he was cut off as she squeezed a bit harder, as she released she was rewarded with a pained scream. I think he has suffered enough, she thought, now slightly concerned for the rather limp form in her paw. She looked him over, and convinced he was unconscious laid him on the ground. She quickly set about to removing his clothes and armor.

“I don’t want him damaged by his armor in the process,” she muttered to herself.

When she was finished she once again sat in meditative pose and began to hum. The vibrations from her humming sent small rocks tumbling from their resting places.

Sarkan faded in and out of consciousness. Bits of conversation and disjointed images played before him, all accompanied by a dull ache. Finally he began to fully regain consciousness. He forced his heavy eyelids open. And before him was a room, built of the purple crystal of the dragonesse’s lair. However the expanse of purple was broken by something green and rectangular that followed his eyes, keeping just far enough down so as not to be fully in his field of vision.

Sarkan grabbed it so he could get a better look at it. But what he noticed first was that his hand had connected with his nose, second that thing was his nose, and that was his hand. His hand now roughly resembled a dragon’s fore paw, only the digits were longer and slimmer. His nose similarly, at least as he could feel, had become a short, dragon snout. He looked down and sure enough his chest was covered in the broad chute scales of a dragon’s underbelly.

He stood up from the bed. Even as his feet hit the floor he knew there was something different about them as well. Only the balls of his feet touched the floor and his heels jutted backwards, his ankle looking like some backwards, second knee. He felt his tail before he saw it, as it brushed against the cold stone that supported the bed behind him.

Sarkan stood there for what seemed like forever, transfixed by what had happened to him. In the polished surfaces of the larger gems he only caught glimpses of his transfigured form but it was enough to put together just what he looked like. He was covered in triangular scales of a dark hued forest green. Two Ivory horns swept back from his reptilian head and curved back and up to face straight forward. Ivory claws adorned every digit, each was serrated and sharp. His tail was plain, long and supple, and seemed to move with a mind of it’s own.

His ears suddenly moved of there own accord, catching the light padding of feet on stone, coming from the other side of a wall. Or a t least what seemed to be a wall until it slowly parted. On the other side was a creature much like himself, its Ivory white scales glistening in the half-light.

As Sarkan stared for a moment It became obvious she was very female. Sarkan automatically looked at the floor. She wore a barest minimum of cloth, just enough for modesty.

“Sarkan?” she asked her voice was angelic but with a baritone accent of draconic origin.

“I am he,” Sarkan mumbled, his eyes never leaving the floor, the lady giggled at his embarrassment.     “Lady Seraphine request your presence in the throne room,” she managed some modicum of seriousness as the slayer continued to stare intently at the floor.

“Lead the way,” Sarkan mumbled.

Without further prompting the lady turned and began to make her way down a winding corridor beyond the door. Sarkan followed dazedly behind, occasionally stumbling on his transformed feet. He couldn’t help but be drawn to stare at the lady’s gently swaying tail. The movement enthralled him, the sway or her hips and tail slowly pierced the fog that seemed to have blanketed his mind.

The lady looked over her shoulder and giggled again. “You like what you see?”

“Uhm-err…..whoa-” Sarkan fell face first with an unceremonious smack.

Still giggling the lady helped Sarkan to his feet. “There is no need to be ashamed lord slayer.”

“If you say so,” came Sarkan’s mumbled reply. The lady turned about and continued to lead him to a meeting with Seraphine.

“Wait a moment who is Seraphine?” Sarkan saked tentatively.

“Seraphine is the greatest mistress I have ever served. She is kind and generous, she always makes sure us servants are well dressed, well fed and clean. Though I have no Idea of how she rules beyond her house, for this cave is all I have seen her command, come to think of it,” she shrugged her shoulders slightly and made of a dismissive gesture, several gold bracelets jangling with the motion.

They reached a pair of massive stone doors a moment later. For the first time Sarkan really looked at the banner that adorned its front. A massive white serpent lay coiled with a strange ebony crown upon its head.

The doors parted as the two approached, revealing a massive dinning hall beyond. At the other end of the long table sat two dragons. One was the dragoness from who had beaten Sarkan, and the other was much smaller, but his proportionately thicker build gave him away as a male. He as slumped back in his chair with a look of contentment, but in his eyes Sarkan saw something, mischief maybe? But the Dragoness gazed upon Sarkan not with the contempt a dragon usually shows a slayer, but instead with an almost motherly affection.

“It was good of you to join us lord slayer, come eat,” Seraphine rumbled genially. The dragonesses voice snapped Sarkan out of the haze which had settled over his mind causing him to shake involuntarily.

“Why should I trust you, wench?” Sarkan asked bluntly, but Seraphine didn’t even blink.

“You really don’t have a choice do you now little one?” Sarkan instinctually reached for his slayer blade, but quickly realized that its reassure weight upon his back was no longer present. “You see little one, I have had a plan for a while now, and you will play a grand part in it.”

“I will never serve a dragon, filthy beast…” He managed to spit on the ground before a blade was at his throat. A blade held by the servant that had led him in.

“Hold your tongue lord slayer,” the servant nearly spat the last two words the first mocking, and the second as a curse. “And for a moment I thought you were different from the others.”

“I am different, I’m more ruthless,” Sarkan stated coldly.

The smaller dragon began to laugh heartily. In fact the dragon began to clutch his sides in his mirth.

“What? Am I funny to you?!” Sarkan yelled indignantly at the dragon.

The dragon managed to regain his composure and came forward. He was still snickering slightly as he came within feet of the slayer.

“I am Havenchaser, or Haven, if you prefer,” the dragon said with a low bow. “And I personally like your style lord slayer.”

“Hmph, and you think I care?” Sarkan tried to keep his tone level and cool, but the dragon’s good natured demeanor seemed contagious, even the servant’s blade at his throat slackened.

“Maybe you do, maybe you don’t,” said Havenchaser enigmatically. The dragon shrugged and walked back to sit by Seraphine, who nuzzled him once affectionately, concealing their brief exchange.

“Thank you for softening him up for me my son,” Seraphine whispered.

“I do what I can, mother,” Havenchaser then returned to his earlier position.

“My dear Sarkan, I was hoping you wouldn’t make me force you but I promise I will reward you adequately for your services,” The mercenary slayer fixed her with an appraising gaze, but said nothing. Seraphine continued on, her voice filled with tiredness.

“I have done many things I am not proud of, and I have made many enemies along my way, far too many. And now my time draws close, and I must leave my legacy to my eldest heir, my loving daughter Denaria. But I cannot leave her with my enemies as well,” Seraphine’s tone became determined. “that is were you come in, I need you to help me settle this once and for all.”

“And what kind of a reward would I get for working with you?” Sarkan remained unmoved.

“Vengeance,” Seraphine grinned toothily as she saw the slayer’s eyes open wide. ”You see, we share some of the same enemies, and maybe you may finally find peace with your past.”

“You have yourself a deal,” the servant woman lowered her knife and Sarkan moved forward and shook the white dragoness’s enormous paw. “When do we get started?”
“All in good time lord slayer, all in good time. Until then, Marissa, show him our hospitality.”

“Yes mistress,” the servant girl, Marissa, curtsied and motioned for Sarkan to follow her again.

In a few minutes the two stood in strange steam filled room. It was warm, but not unpleasantly so, there was water on the floor. As they continued farther into the room, the water became deeper, quickly even the walls were lost in the thick steam. Sarkan felt the water on his new scales, he shivered at this new sensation.

Marissa shot him a look of concern. He just shook his head and followed deeper. Sarkan watched as she stepped off a ledge into deeper water, she sped off into the thick fog of the room. Sarkan followed her off the ledge, he found his feet would not touch the bottom. Using his new tail and his altered feet he was ablle to quickly catch up to Marissa. She had stopped beneath a waterfall, Sarkan tested it with a claw and yelped at the heat of the torrent.

Marissa pushed him under it and began to scrub him with a brush she had collected somewhere along the way. “Finally we can get rid of that horrid human stench!” She crowed with some amount of glee.

“Hey I rather licked smelling human,” Sarkan muttered indignantly.

“Humans always smell like… sweat” the servant drake shivered.

“Sweat? Like you don’t sweat,” Sarkan snapped.

“As a matter of fact we don’t,” Marissa said with a bit of satisfaction.

Sarkan groaned and turned away both to give her access to his back and to end the conversation. Marissa finished bathing Sarkan and wordlessly led him back to his room.

The next morning Sarkan awoke to the same darkness as when he had gone to sleep. He realized that, in fact, he had no clue if it was even morning. But still he was restless. As soon as he approached the walls parted jut as they had done for Marissa the ‘day’ before. As he looked around Sarkan realized, he had no knowledge of this place beyond where Marissa had taken him.

Grudgingly Sarkan began the same trek he had the day before, he went to meet again with Seraphine, After several wrong turns he once again stood before the doors to “the meeting room” as he had dubbed it.

Within he found no one but the dragon from last night, Havenchaser. Haven lay curled up on the same cushion he had been sitting on the night before as well. Sarkan cleared his throat to get Haven’s attention.

“Speak my friend,” Haven’s voice was muffled through a mouthful of cushion.

“Where is lady Seraphine?” Sarkan couldn’t seem to keep his usual bitterness around this dragon.

“I’ll show you, this way,” as Haven passed him Sarkan couldn’t help but notice the dragon walking upright was only slightly taller than he was. In fact the only thing that separated them in appearance were the wings folded neatly across the dragon’s back and two tattoos on his right arm both of them alien to the slayer. “Are you coming?” The dragon never even turned to ask the question.

Sarkan finally realizing he had been sizing the dragon up finally broke from his cold glare and fell in step behind him. For a moment the duo seemed to be heading to a dead end in the tunnel and then for a moment the slayer felt dizzy, unsteady on his feet and a bit nauseous, staggering he fell to one knee, closed his eyes and steeled himself. When he opened his eyes they were in another hall, Haven smirked at the still sick looking slayer.

“I’m impressed,” Haven began with a laugh, “most people vomit and pass out after their first teleportation.” Sarkan merely leered up at his host and shunned the paw that Haven offered him. The dragon shrugged and motioned for Sarkan to follow as he turned and started off down the tunnel.