Here's a short story I wrote based on the FRPG I interned for. It was published in one of their monthly news articles. I hope you all enjoy it...
Its dark form streaked through the twilight like a swift arrow cast from a bow. The breadth of its wings seemed to span the horizon as they enveloped the sky with each thunderous flap. The creature's long neck swooned like a crane as it surveyed the shadowy landscape rolling by like some great earthen wheel. Ancient reptilian eyes pierced the veil of darkness with ease as they searched the indiscernible terrain below. The beast's serpentine body soared through the endless expanse of clouds effortlessly as it ascended into the remnants of sunlight. Its name was Tempest, and it was older than the mountain it laired in.
As it glided along the currents of air, Tempest reflected upon the task it must perform this night. It was slightly annoyed to be on a child's errand such as this. What a trivial duty for something as grand and powerful as a storm dragon, to destroy one insignificant mortal. An army of mortals, or even a city might be more worth the time and effort. What cared it of mortal affairs, or of a few less mortals in the world for that matter. Yet, there was the prize to consider - as was written in the bibles of those who worshipped its kind, and it would demand a heavy price indeed for this head.
Tempest had become instantly aware of its prey the moment the mortal strayed into its domain, and the emanations were becoming stronger with each passing mile. It understood that the mortal would simultaneously realize his peril at the same moment it had become aware of him when the otherwise invisible mark on the mortal's forehead began to blaze visibly like a fiery brand. The mark was a religious symbol of the Dragonfay and served as a beacon to Dragonkind that this particular mortal had been deemed an enemy of their race. He would had to have done something quite disreputable to receive such a curse. Tempest wondered in idle curiosity if this mortal had anything to do with the unfortunate incident at the nearby moon temple which was destroyed. All of the dark priests there were brutally murdered along with one of its lesser brethren, who were often appointed to protect such places - a shadow dragon named Nightshade. No matter, the mortal would soon be dead, and it would have a boon to collect. Tempest was close enough now to see the tiny plumes of smoke rising from the numerous chimneys in a small human village, but its quarry was leaving in great haste on horseback. Tempest thought of how amusing it was that the mortal actually believed he could escape, and summarily decided that the hapless village would have to suffer the same fate for harboring him. It seemed that this trip might turn out to be entertaining after all.
The enormous dragon dipped its head as if bowing in some solemn acknowledgement before tucking in its impossibly huge wings in preparation for its descent. Like a comet streaming down from the stars, it shot through the clouds towards the sleepy little village. As Tempest neared the human village, the stench of mortals filled its nostrils. There was a brief flash of light and a dome of crackling blue energy surrounded the village. Apparently there was a shepherd among the sheep who was no doubt trying to protect his flock, or at least himself. The wizard was probably the village elder, Tempest deduced, but it was an impressive display of power for a paltry mortal nonetheless. Yet the mortal's power was infinitesimal and his petty magic would be of no consequence - the result of this hunt would be the same, Tempest concluded smugly. His futile attempt to defend himself and the village was made evident as the dome of energy was dissipated with but a mere thought. With only slightly more effort, Tempest concentrated and quickly detected the source of the spell, and subsequently caused the defiant wizard to experience a brief surge of magical energies which resulted in his spontaneous combustion.
An eerie silence befell the land in the few moments that preceded a deafening roar that shook the very earth, as the dragon bellowed forth an immense gout of fiery plasma while passing over the village - like a sudden gust of wind. Every cottage was instantly reduced to ash and the fertile soil was turned to stone by the intensity of the blast’s heat. Ash and flames swirled together in a myriad of devastation from the torrent of air created by the speed of its passing flight. Only a smoldering stain was left as testimony that there was once something there, like embers in a campfire. The obliteration of the village left a sweet taste in the Dragon's mouth, and Tempest began to mentally salivate as it resumed the chase of its mortal prey.
Having entered the forest, the mortal had managed to travel far in the time that it took Tempest to reach the village. Sadly, the dragon sighed to itself in disappointment that the hunt would soon be over, but it knew even before setting out from its lair that the mortal's end was an inevitability. As Tempest loomed overhead like the very shadow of death, it sensed another presence, though it could see no one else. Impatient, the dragon swooped by and greedily snatched at him with its great hind talons. It banked sharply and climbed high over the trees in order to inspect its catch. To its surprise, Tempest had only succeeded in grabbing his steed, and in its anger it severed the horse into several pieces as it clenched its clawed foot and dropped the mangled remains onto the forest below. The dragon circled around at a heart-stopping angle to ensure that it ended the miserable existence of this wretched mortal once and for all. However, he made no further attempts to flee, but rather, just stood there in the center of the road with an ominous looking sword. It was only then that Tempest finally reasoned that the presence it felt was the sword, and the sword was an ancient and powerful presence at that. It appeared that this hunt would prove interesting still.
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The name he was currently using was Roland Thornwood and he was a shape-shifter, better known as a Chamelihn. He was an assassin by trade, and ideal for the profession considering his abilities. Regardless of his racial advantage he was regarded as one of the best. Roland knew his reputation well; he was feared by his marks and respected by his employers, and he took both solace and pride in that. He had considered on more than one occasion that his expertise was more than likely the reason for his selection - after all, he had never missed a mark and he didn't plan on starting now, dragon or not. Yet what comforted him most was that he was not alone in his task; there were others like him performing similar hunts, nine others to be exact, each wielding a weapon like his.
Roland could hear the familiar voice in his head comforting him with its sinisterly soothing words, "Everything is transpiring just as it has been planned." But everything had not transpired as it was planned, he thought to himself, for the beast had just killed his friend and travel companion, Greymist, along with an entire village - not that he cared much about the village. At least the plan to lure the beasts to their own doom was working thus far, which did little to ease his trepidation in bearing such an insidious curse - though he did regard the whole idea as a delightful irony. The voice assured him, "The beast will die." With that, he metamorphosed from the unassuming human to a wolf-like beast with sparse black hair and glowing red eyes that cast an eerie light about him in the twilight. He noted that the sun was setting, which somehow seemed appropriate for the job ahead of him.
The great dragon landed on the road in front of him as its wings billowed in the breeze like a great cape, and in an instant before its great clawed feet touched the ground, it had assumed the guise of an elf. Its long black and silver robes waved like banners in the wind in place of its wings, and its hands were tucked into the folds of its robes, completing its regal manifestation. Tempest stood there for a moment, examining Roland as an alchemist might examine a lead ingot before melting it down. Then it spoke, its voice deep and booming as it sneered, "Before I kill you, Chamelihn, tell me how you came across that abomination of a sword?"
Roland recognized it as a type of moon dragon, probably a storm dragon to be precise, but he wasn't certain about that - not that it really mattered, he'd kill it just the same as he killed the shadow dragon protecting that Dragonfay temple he destroyed. He replied through clenched teeth, making no attempts to hide the seething hate in his voice, "You'll have an eternity of pain to contemplate such things, you pompous lizard! Suffice it to say that it is a birthday present commemorating the freedom of my race, and the enslavement of yours." Tempest grinned perceptively, and Roland was slightly disappointed that he failed to intimidate it, however, he was more amused by its arrogance. Yet such behavior was typical for them, and it would ultimately be the death of it, he mused.
He recalled one of his lessons about Dragonkind and how they could see the true nature of things as easily as an owl can see at night. Obviously, this one was no exception because it wasn't fooled by his disguise as a member of the Hourani race, but he had to maintain the charade as he was instructed if they were to deceive the actual Hourani - despite the futility of it here. Roland reaffirmed to himself that it was imperative that the Hourani blame each other for these religious affronts and immerse themselves in a distracting holy war if his scattered brethren were to unite and take their rightful place in the world. He looked to his ebony sword, K'Pawn, the red runes inscribed along its length seemed to be on fire. He looked back up at the dragon with a renewed sense of purpose and began stalking it, slowly.
He hadn't taken more than a few steps when he realized that the hair on his head was starting to stand up like some frightening wig. No sooner had he noticed this unnerving effect that an immense bolt of lightning struck him. His ears rang from the thunderous crack and the ground around him was charred black, even some of the surrounding trees had caught fire - but Roland continued walking, unscathed. The runed weapon was one of a family of such weapons that rendered him impervious to harm from Dragonkind as part of their singular purpose to slay the species. The grin on the elf's face quickly disappeared, and for the first time, Roland could see fear in its timeless eyes.
Roland had approached within striking distance and prepared to deliver the blow when the elf removed one of its hands from the folds of its robes and raised it in some feeble gesture to stop him. The sword's arch left a crimson afterglow in its wake as it cut through the elf's invisible shield with ease and continued through one side of its midsection and out the other. Before Roland had completed the swing, the Dragon screamed a deafening shriek as its body was eviscerated, and the white husk of its elven form fell to the ground. K'Pawn had consumed its soul. A breeze picked up suddenly as if something had taken flight, and the remnants of its body were blown apart like a pile of dry leaves. Satisfied with his victory, Roland sheathed his sword and continued his long journey onward, for the hunt had begun anew . . .
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Duke Sabrar Mournblood
Dread Lord of Neriak and Scourge of Frogloks
<Walkers>
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