Dragonborn

[Buio Banned]

Prologue

She remembered wondering on that night, much as she did now, how it was that she could feel cold?

She had known then as she knew now, that this land was blessed by sacred flame. Mighty and untamed, the endless volcanic fields that stretched before her vision  that night had never known the touch of frost since her people had settled them countless generations ago.

Those to the south knew her home as barren and lifeless, but she knew better. These fields commanded respect, and destroyed any too weak or foolish to survive, but for those who knew this place as home there was another facet to the wild lands. The Everember trees who weaponized the inferno of their environment to ward off threats all the same bore fruit of unimagined succulence and sweetness for those who could brave their flame-wreathed branches. The rich volcanic soil could nourish any crop at any time of year, if one simply knew how to tend to it. The seemingly arid surface of these lands hid vast underwater springs rich in life-sustaining minerals and kept perpetually hot and plague-free by the power of earth and fire that coursed through these lands.

No, her home was not dead, not lifeless. It was only harsh, demanding, and fierce like the very fires she worshiped. And just like those flames, it rewarded those who could master it and harness it with bounty unfound anywhere else, with warmth and protection and light. It was a land for the strong, a land for warriors, and even in the depth of night the land itself never slept, and never let the cover of darkness hide its incandescent beauty. As with any other night she could smell the sweet sulfur and ash brought to her nostrils by the warm breeze that caressed these fields and enchanted its flames to dance higher and brighter.

And yet, she felt cold.

Aurimolik Aussiroth Vala, for the first time in all of her life, across all her scales and moults, felt a deep, spiritual frigidity that even the sight of her beautiful home could not thaw. And she did not understand it.

What she should have felt was fury. Burning and righteous, powerful and all consuming. 

Was that not what any proud widow of a warrior family should feel? Should she not be crying out for the blood of their enemies, of the lowly red scales that had so dared to strike down a man who was ten times the dragonborn any of their pathetic champions were?

She should, and she had been. At least before the clan, she had been showing this face of a proper noblewoman who sought to rectify the tarnishing of her golden scales. 

Within herself, however, she knew, she had no such fire animating her. Her front was a way to hide the shame and fear she held.

Her husband was dead, fallen on the field of battle as any great warrior's tale should end. Yet she, however, had failed in her role. Her husband was dead, and he had died before she could give him even a single egg. In her weakness and incapability, she squandered the great honor that she had been blessed with when she was married into the Aussiroth clan. The honor that had flowed through her veins since she was born, herself the daughter of a warrior and his noble bride.

But there was no nobility for a woman who had left her family to marry into another, and saw their new family lain low. There was no going back to her birth name, lest she remarried to one of her cousins, and with all of them being either too old or too young to give her a child, all would know that she was taken in through pity, not desire.

This was not a land for pity. Fire knew no pity to those who carelessly allowed themselves to get burned. An honourless existence as a pitiful vagabond within her own clan... in what way did that suit her life? in what way did that suit her name?

But then, what alternative was she left with? Her husband had no brothers, no male cousins. he had been the last of the great Aussiroth warriors, and it had been her task to grant him sons who matched his glory, and would preserve his honor within the Aurimolik clan of gold scale dragonborn. Yet she'd failed.

Was the life of a destitute widow, last of her name, forced to watch her noble prestige fade into irrelevance as she grew old and became a burden to the clan, any better an alternative? Would she find any honor in such decay?

She did not cry out. She did not make a single sound, as she stood out overlooking the flows of lava that formed a natural barrier between the mount which held her clan, and the rest of the world.

In truth, she did not know what she'd come here to do, or even think. She had hoped, in some distant corner of her mind, that separation from everyone and looking to her homeland would provide her insight as to what she would do to survive, to thrive.

But the sight provided no comfort, no inspiration, no warmth.

For the first time in her life, her home seemed cold, distant, and uncaring to her. It neither rewarded her strength nor punished her weakness, and offered no passion with which to reinvigorate her noble heart.

The flames could not touch her, so Vala stayed statuesque, observing the lava flows below with disinterest, frozen before this impossible choice.

Perhaps that was why. Why she would come to commit the greatest mistake of her life that night.

Perhaps she had been so desperate for warmth and comfort, that she had allowed herself to forget that her land was not one of pity or mercy, and that it was not through such weak emotions that her ancestors ha claimed it as their own.

Perhaps... but regardless of the reason, she knew still that she had been an inexcusable fool.

She should have known he was an illusion, when his arms came from behind her, and embraced her softly.

She should have cried for help, when she saw his face, brilliant and wrought of the very golden flame they so worshiped.

She should have known that no matter the warrior, no matter the honor, ash does not return to wood and death does not become undone. Not even for a night.

She should have known, should have seen the hellish and damnable specter for the illusion, the trickery that it was.

But she had been weak, she had been pathetic, and as was the law of her lands, she had been burned for her carelessness.

Damnable fool. She had really allowed herself to believe, to hope, that the golden dragons had returned to her the spirit of her husband? Had thought that they would grant her an escape to her dishonor, a forgiveness for her failing, and that in laying with him in his resplendent glory that she could preserve the Aussiroth name?

Damnable, damnable fool.

She deserved what she saw, now. She deserved the frigid arrow that had pierced her heart when her greatest fears were proven true.

If only it had never hatched. If only she had been wise enough to smash that disgusting egg, blemished and robbed of its golden perfection with the red speckles that warned of what her foolishness had brought.

If only she had not told anyone, kept it a secret, and accepted her shame with the strength she was raised to have.

But such wishes were beyond her, now. All she was left with was the ugly, sinful child that cried in her arms. As she looked down at it, its disgusting red scales mocked her with their metallic gleam, assuring her that in spite of its bloody colouration, this thing, this... mistake, was all hers.

She had so sought an escape to her torment, that she had let a spirit of the desert make a mockery of her. And now... this disgusting abomination was to be left to inherit her husband's name?

She deserved the frost that spread through her every fiber now. She had brought upon herself a greater dishonor than she ever could have imagined on that night.. and it was now time to stop running away from the consequences of her failures.

Placing the bastard down into its intended nursing nest, crying now among the shards of its broken egg, Vala stood tall and turned away from it. Exiting her chamber, she soon found one of the few servants of her den remaining, and ordered them to fetch the clan elders. 

There was trash that needed to be disposed of, and they would know best how to do so in a way that would most serve the clan.

Indeed, the clan was all that mattered anymore. Vala may have been the last of the Aussiroth, but she would no less die Aurimolik, and they were the only things to which she owed any allegiance anymore.

She only hoped that when the great golden inferno claimed her, she would be given the chance to prostrate herself before the true spirit of her husband and apologize for all of the ways in which she had failed him and his name.

[Buio Banned]

Alone by Lamplight

"So this is where you've been hiding." she called out with a smile in her eyes, looking at the dark silhouette that she'd just torn from the pages of an old, tattered book.

The warrior smiled down at the younger scholar as she placed her broadsword down by a tree trunk and came to sit next to him in the lamplight. "The others were thinking you might have decided the pay wasn't worth the trouble, Mr. Bookworm."

He looked at her calmly, coolly, studying her with those distant eyes like a cat sizing up whether you were safe to approach or not. Focused as she was on analyzing him in turn, she'd hardly noticed him closing the book and slipping it back in his satchel by the time he replied.

"I'm not the sort to abandon a job over a few wolves and some goblins," he stated calmly, "so you all have no need to worry about me disappearing."

She laughed lightly at this, thinking it rather obvious that she wasn't one of the concerned parties. "Oh, don't you worry about me. I saw how you swung that staff today. The dwarves and their sorcerer fried might not know much about combat, but I can tell you at least know the basics on how to handle yourself. And that bolt of fire you threw from your fingertips? Honestly I think the elf is just annoyed she wasn't the most useful magic user on the field today."

Again, he didn't answer her immediately. In fact, his previous reply was probably the most she'd heard him say in one go so far. That, in and of itself, wasn't all that strange for mercenaries like them. More than a few hired hands preferred to keep to themselves when they were on a job and leave without any attachments once they'd been paid. 

That said, she's somewhat expected more of a reaction when she saw that the other mercenary hired for this little expedition was a young blackscale dragonborn like herself. Instead, it seemed almost like he'd been ducking her gaze whenever she turned and noticed him glance her way. He seemed too composed to just be shy, but whatever was going on with him she couldn't quite figure out, and it made her intrigued. 

"Her magic and mine are different," he finally answered. "If they weren't, then they'd hardly have any reason to hire me. I'm sure they're just concerned over their investment in me."

"Oooh? So you're dutiful and gracious? You must be planning quite the career as a hired adventurer then." she said in a teasing tone.

"Not so much, just looking to get to the next city without any troubles is all." he responded, almost immediately this time. That made her smile internally. The cat was finally coming by to take a whiff of her.

"Oh yeah? and what are you planning on doing there, if you don't mind my asking?" 

He paused again, though this time it seemed like he was considering the question more than he was studying her intent. Before he even opened his mouth, she could tell that this kid had no real plans. A strangely quiet blackscale dragonborn who smelled of char, wore monk's robes, fought with fire, and spent his time reading dusty old books. Just where in the world had such a young traveler come from?

Of course, it's not like she was the picture of standard dragonborn upbringing either. she figured she couldn't be more than a few scales his elder, but unlike this flame using staff twirler, she had spent her whole life on the road. Fighting had been her father, trading had been her mother, and up until she had been an adult she'd never gotten to know another person but the older brother who taught her all the things that the road couldn't have.

Maybe that was why she was so interested in this enigmatic greenhorn. At a glance they seemed like stark opposites, she the seasoned traveler and swordswoman, he the inexperienced monk and hobbyist scholar. But something told her that there was something more, a sort of familiarity with this young male that she wanted to understand.

When his answer to her question  came, it was phrased in a very intelligent way that used so many words to say 'I don't know'. 

"Mainly, finding another job. I want to get money money how I can. Once that's done, I suppose I can use the funds to find a place where I can continue my studies quietly." 

For a moment, she was worried she had led the conversation to a dead end. With him finishing his summary by talking about his studies, she initially got the impression he was trying to give her a hint to leave him to his book. But then, he asked about her own plans. 

Perhaps the greenhorn was just being polite, but she took the opportunity anyways. She didn't want the conversation to end just as she'd gotten him to speak up.

"Oh, I've a few contacts in Hulpeak who are waiting for me. Truth be told this job's mostly a means for me to get where I was going anyways while making some money while I'm at it. If you're looking for some more action once we get there, I can put in a good word for you with the group I typically run with. The jobs we take on are a bit riskier, but I can assure you they certainly pay better than escorting a couple prospectors to an abandoned temple that's already been picked clean a thousand times over."

The young monk considered her proposal momentarily, but she could already tell he had no real alternative set up. "I think I'll take you up on that offer then. Thank you." he responded cordially. 

She smiled and stretched out her hand at this. "Kear," she said plainly, finally introducing herself.

He took her offered hand shake, but with an almost expected look of surprise and recognition in his face as he did so. 

"A blackscale dragonborn with the name 'Day'." he said in response, highlighting the obvious irony an prompting a laugh from her.

"Ahh, so you do know draconian. And here I was beginning to wonder if your accent was just for show, Mr. Bookworm." she said teasingly.
 

He was clever though, and picked up on her insinuation when she call him bookworm. Still, what followed her caught her by surprise.

"Rick. My name is Rick." he said in an unaccusatory tone. Still, the word might as well have been a sledgehammer manifest for the surprise it drew over her face.

"'Rick'!? What kind of dragonborn name is-"

"A human name." he said, cutting her off and wiping the smile from her face with his stony stare.

She sighed and just nodded. "Sorry, sorry, it caught me by surprise but... I understand. I wasn't clanborn either. I'm sorry if I offended you, I know how some of our kind can be to anyone not brought up in the 'traditional' way."

"It's fine."

Those might have been his words, but she knew she'd almost tripped a wire just now from how he wasn't making eye contact anymore. She had no idea what led this young male to be given or to adopt a human name, but whatever history he had with being clanless clearly had left some scars on him. Folk like he and she didn't have anywhere to call home, and no one to call family.

Most days it was liberating. Or at least that's what she'd convinced herself of. But she knew how that loneliness could find you in the darkest places and... keep you there, if allowed.

"Well, for what it's worth, Rick the dragonborn scholar monk, I think a unique name helps you stand out. Do you have any idea how many Vutharoths or Charicexes I've met in my time? you, though, no one's ever going to forget about you."

That did, at least, earn her a smile at the corner of his mouth and a half chuckle. "Then I suppose I should say the same to you, Kear of blackscale. I doubt I will forget such a name any time soon."

She smiled at this and scooched closer to him. "My my Rick, are you trying to flatter me?"

"O-oh! No!" he said, suddenly looking flustered. "I didn't mean- I-I mean, you said that I-"

He was cut off when she leaned in and playfully nipped at the horns of his jawline and then crooned to him "Learn to take a win when it's offered to you, Richard."

He opened his mouth to ostensibly speak, but no words came out. It was cute, he really was just a greenhorn, wasn't he?

She didn't entirely hate that, though. Everyone had to learn sometime, and it was comforting to be getting along with one of her own kind in... as long as she could remember, really.

Still, she figured that she'd gotten him flustered up enough, at least for now. Pushing herself up off the soft grassy ground they were sitting in, she looked down at the still speechless young monk with a playful smile. "Well, I suppose I should go tell our employers that you aren't planning on going anywhere and lay their worries to rest. I'll let you get back to your reading now, Rick."

He broke eye contact with her when she mentioned his reading, and nodded somewhat nervously. adorably. "Ah, U-uh yes. Thank you Kear. Uhm, goodnight."

She smiled and chuckled. "Goodnight Rick, make sure to show me more of what you can do tomorrow." and with that she picked up her sword and walked back towards where the elf and dwarves had set up their main encampment. She heard him reach into his satchel again, doubtlessly fetching his precious book, but she did find herself somewhat hoping that she'd made it a bit harder for him to concentrate tonight. 

It had been a long time since Kear had gotten used to being alone. But, who was to say that her and this enigmatic new scholar couldn't find a way  to enjoy being alone together? It was, at least, always something worth looking into, if fate would permit.

[Buio Banned]

The Monk and the Redscale

The light of the brazier and its amber-gold flame reflected off of the polished rock in such a way as to give their entire surroundings an almost wet or glassy appearance. The display could have been considered strangely beautiful, if it wasn't for the specific situation the human male now found himself in. 

Besides, he could not think to appreciate the illustrious beauty of his surroundings when those golden, slitted eyes watched him so intently.

Hi had to suppose that he was only lucky that they weren't watching him hungrily. He of course knew that dragonborn were not know for eating sentients like their superficially similar looking cousins the lizardfolk. But all the same the few phrases of draconic he had learned in preparation for this trip had by no means saved him from being captured and enslaved by the very first band of roaming warriors he came across. 

Truthfully, not his proudest moment. 

Still, it was his personal philosophy that no situation was entirely unsalvageable and inapplicable to one's goals. He simply needed to learn how to harness the powers that his current station offered him. 

The redscale child looked at him almost unflinchingly, and seeing in that stare more apprehension and curiosity than the mistrust and scorn held by the warriors who captured him, Hi decided to see what this strangely robed child could offer him.

"Can you cut?" he asked in heavily accented draconic as he presented to the boy(?) with his rope-bound wrists, taking the young dragonborn in front of him by surprise with his ability to speak the tongue.

"I would me own, but..." he continued in slightly broken dialect before napping his fingers and casting produce flame. Though the little jet of fire that extended from his thumb licked hungrily away at the coarse rope that dug into his wrists, the waxy material completely refused to catch alight. It made sense, really, considering who it was that had captured him, but ultimately the magical display was more for the dragonborn child's benefit than any others.

Suddenly interested in the human captive, the redscaled child moved forward and started speaking. Too quickly for Hi to follow along with. He caught the first words as 'you can speak our tongue!?' and then something about fire, but the whole of the sentence was lost on him because of the child's excitement. 

Holding his hands out with a smile, the human captive calmly repeated the word 'Slow, slow' for his young host, and the child immediately understood the presence of the language barrier. 

"I know some speak like dragon, but not many." continued the captive in an attempt to explain. 

While Hi was not overly familiar with dragonborn expressions (he had heard that eventually one could read the shifting of their scales as easily as one could read a human smile), the confused tilt of the boy's head made it clear that his broken grammar took a moment to piece together.

Still, the child quickly figured out the meaning and nodded to the human. "Then I go slow." he repeated, a bit more drawn-out than was needed, but all the same displaying an appreciated effort.

"You're welcome" spoke the human, getting his words mixed up when he meant to thank his captor(?). this made the child immediately laugh at the silliness, followed by a kind correction on his part. 

"Ah, sorry. 'Thank you'." replied Hi, showing that he understood. "Uhm, cut?" he then repeated, showing his binding again.

The child hesitated, and looked around. Hi got the impression that he was either asking something of the child that he was not supposed to do, or at least something the child didn't know if he had permission to do.

The moment passed, though and the young redscale looked back at him with a confident nod. The boy had no knife on him, but he wasted no time gripping at the ropes with his sharp claws and starting to pull. 

Hi had to tell him to stop a few times, as the child wasn't properly considering how the knots had been tied and was often making the bindings more tight in one place as he tried to loosen them in another, but after about fifteen minutes of studying and fighting with the ropes, they both finally managed to get the bindings loose enough that the human man was finally able to slip a wrist free and properly stretch his arms out.

"Ahhh, thank you so much, that feel much be-" started the captive, before realizing he'd been going on in his own tongue and thus couldn't be understood by the child in front of him. He just smiled and repeated the word that his new young friend had just taught him. "thank you"

He could only assume that the short reply he received in return was essentially "You're welcome".

Afterwards, though, the boy looked towards the exit to his brazier-lit alcove with a similar tension in his form as when he'd been looking out for others before freeing the prisoner's hands. 

Interpreting this as worry over being blamed for Hi's escape, the fire wielder chuckled and tried to assuage the boy's worries.

"Thank you, I stay. No go." 

When the redscale looked back at him he once more cocked his head, and asked why (or at least, that is what his thought his word meant. It sounded similar to 'what' anyways, and he knew that word).

"You help, I thank you, I stay." continued Hi with a friendly smile. He meant it too.

Not only would trying to escape now be fruitless, as his captors would much more easily be able to track and recapture him than he would be able to find his way out of these lands, it was also the fact that he had come here to learn and understand the ways of fire, to more closely attune himself to the element that directly fed his powers and animated his soul. He did not need physical freedom to accomplish that task, and either way he did not want to make the child regret helping him.

 He then placed a palm on his chest and introduced himself. "I Hi, what you?"

Of course, the human realized his blunder when the child replied 'strixiki' or 'dragonborn' in their own language.  shaking his head with a slight chuckle, he tried again.

"No, no. I human, I Hi. You strixiki, you...?" he said again, trying to communicate that he'd like to know his new friend's name.

This time, the message came through, but there was still some hesitation on the child's part. When he finally answered, he did so while looking down and to the side. "Thriknoach"

Hi wasn't exactly sure why the boy seemed reticent to share his name. The little he knew of draconic let him know that 'noach' meant treasure (a useful word to know when attempting to buy safe passage), so perhaps it was unallowed for him to speak his name to an outsider?

All the same, Hi was thankful to the boy, and wanted to express it if possible. 

"'Sukriya', Thriknoach. Thank you. You may not understand me, but I hope you know I now consider you a friend. Uhm, 'thurirl'."

While only the first and last words were spoken in draconic, Thriknoach's eyes shot back up to meet Hi's own when they were spoken, and the human man simply smiled a warm, friendly smile. 

He was starting to figure that this strange little robed redscale was likely alone up here by no accident, accompanied only by the glimmer of the golden brazier's flames that crackled beside them. The boy (he was pretty sure, by this time, that the child was male, anyways) looked like he could well use a friend. 

Thanking the fires that lit the path of destiny within his mind, Hi began building a rapport with the young dragonborn in the one way he knew how. Pointing at different objects around and on themselves, he began to speak their name in common, followed by draconic for those he knew, and very soon Thriknoach understood and joined in on the vocabulary training, seeming to enjoy himself for what the elemental monk could see.

Hi had come to the land of fire and dragons to reach a deeper understanding of his guiding element. Over twenty years of study and a year of travel since leaving his monastery, and it had all led him to this point. In truth, he could not imagine a better instructor than a life lived among the dragonborn who so embodied the connection that he sought. already, he could feel that through this young Thriknoach, he would learn more than he ever could in hermitage.

[Buio Banned]

Justice and Retribution

It was doubtlessly a strange and unsettling sight, to see a man smiling at his own execution.

It was certainly not a mirthful smile, given the circumstances. Nor was it the kind of calm, studious smile that the elven scholar had become known for in his circles. Indeed, when comparing the image of the cool headed, inscrutably congenial noble mage that had become known as one of his kinds most invaluable wartime advisors, to the madman who now stood in enchanted bindings—grinning in the face of his demise—one would hardly believe that the two faces belonged indeed to the one and only Arakerym Sul (or 'the dread nettlesong' as humans had rather humorously taken to calling him, through a frankly hilarious translation of his name). 

Some, doubtlessly, would remember this day as some theatrical fall from grace. a conveniently narratable story to warn future generations against some vague definition of hubris and to reinforce the rule by tradition that had so nearly doomed elven kind before his intervention.

Arakerym knew full well how the elven history holders made a plaything of the lives of their so-called cherished ancestors, all for the benefit of whatever social order they found preferable at the time. Yet still, he could not contain his smile.

His usually finely coiffed hair was matted with sweat and unkempt from days of imprisonment, his noble robes had been torn from him and he had been left only in the simplest of stained attire typically reserved for the most disgraced of servants. Even his glasses, though undamaged, gave the impression of hanging crooked and tarnished upon the bridge of his nose—failing to convey any of the serene wit  that the mage had become known for.

And yet his smile never faltered, and while the ire of the prefect who read to him his charges was not the goal of his smile, he would be a liar twice damned if he said that the twitch of her brow and the steel in her eyes did not assist in pulling at the corners of his lips.

"..does the condemned understand the sins for which he has been found guilty?" she concluded with barely retrained contempt. Poor girl, had she really thought he would grant her any satisfaction in this duty?

All the same, Arakerym chuckled and looked up to the court that presided over this mockery of a trial, ignoring the prefect who so wished to make an enemy of a man with but hours to live, and instead focusing his gaze upon the young king sat within the throne of crimson oak.

Here, for but the briefest moment, the prisoner's smile waned. For all of the iron handed cruelty that would be visited upon Arakerym for 'betraying' his people's honor, King Solgael did not look down upon the man he once called friend. Arakerym knew, the king held some remorse in his heart for the situation that had arisen. On his part, the mage looked onto the king with some pity. 

One of them would die today, but another would live out the rest of his life as a puppet and slave, manipulated first by the courtiers who eclipsed him in age, and then for the rest of his days beholden to the ideals that had been forged into steel chains upon his soul. 

Arakerym may have been the one in bindings, but the secret to his smile was the freedom he would soon earn. The power he would seize when those too foolish and too greedy to abide by his arts would attempt to do away with him like some stain they could think to wash out of the tapestry of their history.

"Oh, I do understand them quite well," replied the prisoner while keeping his eyes focused upon the high lord of the court. "How could one fail to grasp the magnitude of such a list of crimes? Thanaturgy, Psychoalgia, High Heresy, alleged mur-"

"The condemned is under no obligation to repeat the charges." cut in Prefect Arani harshly, having no patience for the mage's smugness.

After a quick chuckle, Arakerym continued his speech. "Quite. But one must wonder, with such an impressive list of transgressions to my name, how is this day the first upon which such charges are levied against my person? For all that the war may have been taxing, the court must be in truly dire straits to not have ever noticed how I provided the means by which we fended off the humans from our precious anchors."

"Do not confuse sympathy for foolishness!" 

It was Solgael himself who spoke this time, immediately quieting the murmurs that Arakerym's brazen claims had set off through the chamber. staring steely daggers towards the once respected mage, the elven sovereign continued.

"And do not conflate the means by which you served our military forces with the bold-faced blasphemy for which you find yourself condemned today. The darkness of the arts utilized to reinforce the defense of sacred nexes without which our entire civilization would have come undone, was of an entirely paler sort than the soul-twisting sickness which as been discovered to have transpired within your laboratories in the years since."

Once more, the prisoner simply chuckled at this. so their great argument was that he had been utilizing a 'darkness of a paler sort' when he had been serving their interests? Such weak-kneed resolve from the alleged rulers of the elven kingdoms.

"So, you will permit me a dance at twilight but condemn a song by moonlight?" questioned the mage with his mocking smile.

"What song would demand the blood and tears of our goddess for its harmony!?" cried out another present noble. The high priest this time. Arakerym had always known him to be an overly sentimental old fool, but an undeniably charismatic one. Thus, fittingly, his own outburst was quickly followed by chants of treason, blasphemy, and calls for capital punishment by gathered public. However, these were quickly silenced by a raising of the king's hand.

"Your punishment has been decided upon, your execution is set, and your abominable research will be sentenced with you," spoke Solgael authoritatively. "These facts are now immutable. However, for the sake of posterity, this court offers you one final chance to show remorse, to find the sin in your actions and to have your final recorded words be more than the ravings of a madman."

After a slight pause, the king concluded. "To have your last moments as a recognized elf moments reflect in some capacity the legacy that your crimes have now so tragically lain to waste and dishonor, and show that you understand exactly what it is you have foolishly pursued in your madness."

Poor boy. He really did hope to see some glimmer of his old friend resurface before the mage saw his demise at the hands of his executioners.

"Remorse? Sin?" replied Arakerym with a low, humored tone. "I must apologize my liege, but the understanding i hold in my heart contains none of those things. in truth I know my 'crimes' far better than any other here, and I know that in all things my only crime was to be born within the wrong era."

Protests erupted dreafully predictably, but the mage continued with no pause. "For you see, the truth of the matter is that your goddess is weak, blind, and stupid. Your nexes are fragile, transient, and their power illusiory. Your court, dear king Solgael, stands atop pillars of glass that await only the right moment to crumble and lay al that you have built to waste. I will not be the one forgotten, my king. History will show, that your line and your kingdom were naught but a short lived fantasy, nestled against the bosom of a feeble mirage. I will not die today a prisoner. I will die an elf, and be reborn as a god worthy of the title."

At this point the protest had erupted into an outright uproar, and many were calling for this 'madman' to be executed already, but all of it was like the lapping of waves against his ankles. Arakerym looked hard into Solgael's eyes and finished what history would record as his final statement.

"And when those who survive your folly rebuild, recover, and find prosperity through my teachings, I will ensure that they all understand, how it is that a king with a kind heart, could never free himself from the chains of folly that would keep him a boy for all his centuries. They will be wary to avoid the idealism and naivete that led to your downfall, kind king Solgael."

The avalanche of enraged cries had done nothing to prevent the young king from hearing, from understanding, the final words and deathly madness that gripped this shambling corpse of a man once called friend. As Arakerym had said, Solgael was a kind ruler, soft in heart no matter what responsibility he took upon himself. It was thus no surprise, that he closed his eyes in pain as he waked his hand over the luminescent diamond which rested within the hand rest of the crimson oak throne, signaling the official end of the trial, and automatically setting the magical bindings wrapped around Arakerym's wrists to spread out and rapidly mummify him. 

Still, even as light was blotted from his eyes for the very last time, Arakerym could not help but smile.

They had said that his research would die with him, but he knew better. The fools who thought they could kill him had no idea of what he was capable of, of what his research had accomplished long before they discovered him. 

He would die today, but he would not perish, and long after this day had faded away into the distant memories of his people's historians, Arakerym knew that his methods would be the deliverance of not only elven kind, but all mortal races from those foolish fantasies they called gods. And as the darkness left him only to think of the day when he would tear their precious goddess from her seat on the moon and see the life drain from her eyes just as she had allowed to happen to his daughter, Arakerym could only smile—wide and giddy with anticipation.

[Buio Banned]

Entertainment

"Sooo, where did he come from?" she asked with a baffled look.

The dragonborn male side-eyed her before returning his attention to their shared focus and answering plainly ".. the graveyard." 

"Oh fuck off!" exclaimed the halfling and turning toward her partner in the dimly lit stonework room. "You know exactly what I mean! He's... it's.. Why is it even smaller than me!?"

She jutted out her hand dramatically towards the diminutive form of a pale, animate skeleton standing in front of them. 

Of course, it wasn't like the sight of an animate skeleton was all that strange for a pair of apprentice necromancer-thanaturges like them. The entire reason they had taken refuge in this abandoned cistern was to carry out their experiments in peace as they poured over the grimoire that imparted upon them the secrets of this lost, forbidden art. No, what made the halfling woman wonder as to what insanity had gripped her dark scaled partner was the fact that the skeleton was not only almost offensively small—barely reaching up to her chest in spite of having the proportions of a full grown adult—it was also dancing.

Indeed, in perpetuity and to the tune of an inaudible melody, the miniature skeleton was cutting an absolute rug in front of them. It transitioned seamlessly and tirelessly between different motions in an intricate choreography, even at times taking advantage of its unique form to do things like roll its head right off its shoulders and along its arms before flicking it up in the air off its knuckles and catching it onto its neck as it came back down.

It was, honestly, impressive, but also so, so, so very weird.

The dragonborn who had risen and animated the little skeleton man kept a cool face, but she could tell from the twitching of his scales around the corner of his mouth that this reaction was exactly what he was looking for. 

"fairy graveyard." he responded coolly, earning a predictable punch to the shin for his smugness.

"Whyyyyy do you have a dancing fairy skeleton here!?" she pressed further. still thinking some sort of madness had to have gripped her usually dour and focused research partner. "I swear, I go out to get some food with Beck and when I come back you've gone bonkers from isolation?"

"Speaking of which, you might want to tend to him before he ruins the project." replied the taller death mage while lifting a clawed finger towards the dancing skeleton again. It was currently dancing its way out of the jaws and paws of a great, fluffy mountain mastiff that seemed to view the new entity as a toy of sorts that needed to be caught. Somehow the dancing little project of animate magic was managing to dodge perfectly away from every paw swipe, pounce, and snap of the jaws without missing a beat on its choreography, seemingly incorporating the motions it needed to perform to dodge into its eternal choreography.

"Ah! Beck, No! Stop!" exclaimed the halfling woman before rushing over to her furry companion's side, gripping him by his collar and tugging at him to get him to stay away from the perpetually festive bone golem.

The dog, nearly three times her mass and size, could easily have shaken her, but due to having been trained by her since its days as a pup, was well behaved enough to relent while its master ordered it to do so, even if its gaze never left the skeleton and he was clearly waiting for another opportunity to chase after it.

"You know Talia, I really expected a bard to be more appreciative of this kind of thing." spoke up her partner with a clearly amused tone, turning back towards his research station and beginning to prepare some of the collected parts they neeeded in order to continue with their scheduled experiments of the day.

"Oh, a bard, is that what I am?" shot back the halfling with an annoyed edge in her sarcasm. "Terribly sorry, I guess the last year of skulking about, avoiding reputable company, and digging up corpses in search of the key to immortality kind of made me forget about that whole music and levity business. Can't imagine why."

Wrestling her mount away from his anticipated return to the chase, Talia eventually managed to banish the dumb dog over to his sleeping corner before returning to the task at hand. 

"Really though Thrik, why do you keep dodging the question? You couldn't really have done something like this just to play tricks on me when I came back, could you?" she said as she stepped up to the side of the tall draconic male and used the makeshift step stool they had arranged to help give her the necessary overview of the blood-stained table that served as their primary workspace.

Some of the Dagonborn's typical stoicism came back as he looked over at her studiously for a few moments. "Do you really not remember?" he asked her calmly before returning to drawing the sigils they would need in order to channel arcana into the preserved elf arm lain out on the table.

"Remember what?" she asked quizzically, simultaneously falling into the habits of producing those crystals and powders they would need as part of the ensuing ritual.

"Like you said, it's been about a year since we started this research. Mind, the date is a bit off, but you must recall what was important about this time last year, and the year before, and the year before..."

Her brow furrowed for a moment, but suddenly the obvious truth staring her in the face became evident and she looked somehow more surprised than when she'd first seen the skeleton itself.

"W-wait. Thrik, you don't mean..."

Now finally, he smiled openly and once again glanced over at her. "Happy birthday, Talia."

She quickly turned her attention back towards the little skeleton, now busy doing the jitterbug  right next to their station, and marveled. "Wait, you mean he's for me?"

"Hmm, not exactly. His dance is for you, but putting in so much effort into creating him and making sure the dancing enchantment took proper hold, I have to admit having grown somewhat attached to the little thing. Still, I figured that this was a good way to thank you for choosing to join me in my research. Something to liven up these dreary living arrangements."

She looked up at him for a moment and chuckled, arranging the prepared crystals into the empty spaces left in the designs he was drawing around the arm. "You utter dork. Who thinks to liven up a place with skeletons?"

"Dancing skeletons." he corrected with a smirk. 

she just laughed and helped him finish preparations. As he pulled out the old grimoire that formed their primary source of learning, however, she saw fit to pose one last question before they'd begin their experiments in earnest. "So then, if you've gotten so attached to the little thing, have you given it a name yet?"

For a moment he considered her words silently, but she knew him well enough at this point that he wasn't so much thinking of a name as deciding whether or not to tell her about the one his mind had already concocted.

"Skelebones." he finally admitted, prompting a bark-like laugh from his partner.

"Hah! I knew it. This isolation has finally made you go looney."

"Whatever you say Talia." he replied with yet another smirk. "Now, are we going to finally get this blasted paladin's arm to move?"

"Sure thing, start the incantation whenever you're ready." she said, standing ready with the necrotic powders, tying to not let herself be distracted by Skelebones, forever cutting a jovial rug as the newest fixture of their laboratory.