The Dragon of Misery
Far away in the distant land of Skaudl, the land was cold and miserable. As were many of the people of Skaudl; for decades they had suffered under the oppression of the black wyrm named Leidn Dros'lyr. Such was terrible wickedness of this dragon that it had harried the people that lived there for generations, and was the catalyst for traditions of dragon-hunting. Leidn Dros'lyr was not the only dragon in the area, but he was the most sinister of them all.
In all the lands of Skaudl, the only mortal to have managed to rebuke the dragon was the reclusive magus, Chie'bhaan, who had no interest in slaying the creature. While she was a force of destruction in her own right, and often called 'Titan' for it, she rarely had interest in anything beside her studies and amassing an ever-growing collection of artifacts and antiquities. Clearly, dragon-slaying would accomplish neither. Those who pleaded for her aid were usually simply told no. Or exploded. Or both, in either order.
Slaeg was one such elf whom had petitioned the woman, and survived. Yet, he became embittered by it. He was singularly obsessed with the destruction of dragons, and Leidn Dros'lyr in particular. It was Slaeg's life-goal to slay this dragon, and he would accomplish the task at any cost. He scoured the realm for the strongest men and elves, the most cunning magic, and the most clever of architects. Years of scheming, plotting and planning allowed him to craft the perfect trap for the black wyrm.
First he would lure he to a small village with rumours of a wealthy merchant with great treasure passing through. Slaeg would lie in wait with ballistae and chain-cannons, along with magic with powerful warding magics and the boldest of fools he could find. When Leidn Dros'lyr eventually descended, he sensed something was wrong, but it was far, far too late. Before it could flee, he was caught in the trap. Wings bruised and chained lashed around he's neck, back and ankles, he was dragged to the ground where a violent struggle began. Steel sang, magic flew, and the dragon bellowed with terrible and terrifying animosity.
The village was entirely destroyed in the battle.
The wyrm was caught at last, brought to the ground and too exhausted to keep fighting. Slaeg was to be the hero that finally slew the black wyrm. But no, elves live long and Slaeg had obsessed over this creature for far too long to let their conflict end with a single battle. He had other plans that required a still living black dragon. Instead of slaying the end dragon and ending it there, he had the wyrm bound tightly and hauled off to a prison built specifically to contain him. A massive stone structure with doors that took thirty men each to open and close, with mighty warding that even the most powerful magi of the realm could not hope to penetrate. Leidn Dros'lyr's bindings were made so tough that even the wyrm's terrible acidic breath was easily resisted.
There was no escape.
Slaeg tormented the creature. He hired bards to tease the dragon with tales of his defeat. He put the dragon on public display to allow the families that had been harmed by the dragon to spit upon and throw rotten fruits at him. He plucked the dragon's fangs, claws, and scales to have jewelery and trinkets made from. And worst of all, he had the dragon's wings clipped so that he would never fly again.
Months passed, and the foul beast languished in his prison, tormented by the folk of the land. Yet, amongst the crowd drawn to witness him was one small creature known as Fence. Fence was a meddlesome fey of indeterminate origin about as tall as a hin. Fence's attention was singularly drawn to the dragon, a morbid fascination. Late at night after all the folk had left and only the guards remained, the fey would, by means quite unknown, but quite mundane, break into the dragon's prison with a frustrating ease to pester him. Fey can be so furiously curious, and Fence would ask the black wyrm so many questions:
"What's your favourite colour?" "Go away." would come the reply.
"How do you go to the bathroom?" "Leave me alone, before I remind you why I am the most feared dragon of the realm, creature!" the dragon would roar, although clearly Leidn Dros'lyr could not make good on the threat.
But seeing as the dragon had nothing better to do than entertain the fey, the dragon eventually, after some weeks, began to speak to Fence properly. Leidn Dros'lyr was a simply creature, being a black dragon, and wanted wealth. Leidn Dros'lyr considered himself the pinnacle of Skaudl, and would one day slay his captors and consume them.
What fascinated Fence most of all was how Leidn Dros'lyr described the sensation of flying with a passion that was unseen in any of his other words, a passion that surprised Fence. He lamented and described how he felt to graze the tops of trees with his magnificent wings and feel the eddies of wind rolling against his cheekbones. There was true grief in the evil wyrm's heart and words that with his wings clipped, he would never feel that sensation again.
"What is it that you wish for most of all?" Fence inquired of the dragon, knowing already what the answer was. "The destruction of this whole accursed realm!" roared Leidn Dros'lyr in reply, though the fey knew this was a lie.
The fey had gathered what he came for, and told the dragon he would return some day soon, before disappearing into the night. Fence had a scheme brewing and before he put the plan into motion he had to learn what Slaeg was up to. Under the magical disguise of a human squire, he attempted to curry favour with the elf. A dead end. The fey wasn't sure he could find a creature more dour and humourless than Slaeg if he had searched all the far edges of the realm. So instead he spied on Slaeg, which was much more his forte anyways.
What Fence learned deeply disturbed him. Slaeg was working on the creation of an artifact, a weapon of great power which would be perfect for slaying dragons. He worked on this sword by harnessing the negative emotions generated from the torturing of the dragon; and ancient and hardly known magic. Slaeg did not care if the artifact was benevolent or malevolent, as long as it slew every dragon he could find. He had no reservations about making Leidn Dros'lyr's life as miserable as possible to harness the energy; after all the dragon had done the same to his people for generations.
Upon learning this, Fence knew what he had to do. He would search for the great magus Chie'bhaan. Searching for a magus that does not wish to be found was a challenge that would take Fence quite some time. Fence was relentless, leaving no stone unturned. Sometimes more literally than practical or necessary. He would find the magus, he had the time and patience.
One grey afternoon, while overturning stones in a quarry and screeching Chie'bhaan's name at the top of his lungs to try to get her attention, she did indeed appear. Chie'bhaan was pale, wreathed in black with a crown of iron nails that dimpled her skull. Clearly someone good hearted and pure like Fence! She crouched down to meet him eye to eye and said "You are a terrible tracker, I don't think you could ever find me."
The amused fey replied "If flipping rocks in a gully and screaming your name until you show works, it works."
Not much she could reply to that; not to a capricious fey. Instead, she changed the subject, demanding to know what Fence wanted, and reminded him of her reputation for exploding people. Fence described the terrible condition that Leidn Dros'lyr was in, and his fascination with the dragon as well as his desire to see the dragon laid to rest. The magus listened, nodded and then began to incant, sending the poor fey into a frenzy of pleading gestures, begging her to listen to his whole pitch. He described Slaeg and his artifact, insisting that he would get the weapon for Chie'bhaan's collection if she desired it. Then, he asked if she even had a collection, to which the magus sighed and nodded. She considered his words carefully and recalled Slaeg from his visit years before.
"I am irritated by this summons. I am irritated by you. I am irritated by men and elves who scramble for power. I will help you with your dragon on the condition that whatever the dragon wishes most, I will grant. Surely this will suffice."
Fence paled, after all - the dragon had said that he wanted to destroy the realm. With an amused smirk the magus turned away to take her leave, assured that the fey would stop pestering her.
"When do we start?" came the fey's voice from behind her.
Fence and Chie'bhaan returned to Leidn Dros'lyr's prison, only to be greeted by Slaeg, a small army and harsh sheets of falling snow. The elf folded his arms across his chest and had a sour look on his face. He cast a hand toward the fey and informed him that his life was forfeit for his spying. He told Chie'bhaan to go home, for the best magi in the realm could not hope to penetrate that prison. He would defend it with his life.
Chie'bhaan leaned on her staff and there was a long period of silence before she glanced to the fey at her side. Fence gave her a grin and a thumbs-up. So, Chie'bhaan incanted a spell. Three simple words under her breath. The world shattered, ripped asunder. The ground cracked, the sky tore and the heavens shuddered. The walls of the prison were ripped clean off.
Slaeg and his army were unharmed, but mortified at this simply display of power. All around them were the smoldering ruins and hissing, melting snow. Even Fence briefly considered whether or not this was a good idea, or if he was a really, really stupid fey.
Grimly, Chie'bhaan explained that she would tell Slaeg and his army why some called her 'Titan', if they did not stand aside. Slaeg's army fled. Slaeg himself, stood fast, drawing from his hip a blackened blade that seeped with an unsettling miasma. He would put his stubbornness on display.
The two clashed; Chie'bhaan with her mighty power and Slaeg with his martial prowess and the malevolent power of the blade. The two dueled with frightening prowess.
Fence scampered past the two, ducking and flinching and crying out in fear at the violent sounds around him and then behind him. When he arrived at Leidn Dros'lyr's cell, however, the dragon's eyes were closed and his body lay limp. At some point the great black wyrm had expired, too tired to keep up with Slaeg's torture and torment. Never did Fence think that he would find himself weeping for a black dragon, and a particularly miserable one at that... But he did. Despite himself, he began to break the dragon's bindings.
When the sounds of the duel finally quieted, Slaeg limped into the hall cell behind Fence, reaching for the fey before collapsing. Behind him, stepped through the magus, as calm and collected as ever. She nudged the blackened blade from Slaeg's hand with her foot before gazing upon the grey wyrm.
Fence, distraught, frowned and apologized for taking Chie'bhaan this far for nothing. The magus, with irritation, glanced back toward the open chaos and falling snow, then toward Leidn Dros'lyr once more. She incanted another spell in a language neither Fence nor Slaeg could understand. She asked the deceased dragon what he wished, and from his dead lips was forced an answer.
"I W a n t T o F l y."
The magus took the blackened blade in hand and cast it into the corpse of Leidn Dros'lyr. In a flash of light, the dragon's corpse disintegrated along with the blade, rising from it a great spirit, wings spread aloft. Wordlessly the dragon took flight and sped far, far away.
The magus asked Fence if he had learned anything today, to which the fey made a hasty excuse before running very, very far away.
Chie'bhaan let the fey go and returned home. She took some time that day to try to reconcile what she did, and why. At the end, the dragon only wished to be free and to fly. She thought, when her end comes, will her desire be so simple?
She would be so lucky.
Originally told by Aesyvaari Brightburst during the third Day of Stories. Recorded, written and embellished by Minto T Fuzzypaw.