Rebuilding and Rebirth
(As the cities begin to clean up after the war, and life begins to move forward, a dark and desperate ritual begins on the fringe of society, threatening to see the past repeated...)
Osearir stared at Maekrux. It unnerved the Blue Phoenix; the silver eyes and black hide were so much sharper than his father’s, and the ancient wondered what thoughts ran through the little one’s mind. No, he saw in this hatchling more of his grandfather than his father, but that made things no better.
“Osearir, why not get some sun and spread your wings? You have been wandering my lair for days now,” Maekrux said. The Blue Phoenix grimly thought of his failed student, Amalteah. When Maurger made his move against the world, she had no one else to who she could turn. She had asked the ancient to shelter her hatchlings. It left him nervous of prying eyes, as he faced in days of old, but he would not make the same mistake twice.
“You should,” Osearir replied in his elegant two-word manner. He sat on his haunches, his silver eyes tracing over every scale, as if looking for a weakness.
“You know I can’t.” The weakness was fairly obvious, however; Maekrux’s left arm had been terribly injured during the defense of Dralk. He felt it undignified to go hopping around on three legs, and so had locked himself in his lair to heal.
Osearir snorted, as if displeased with this answer.
“Fine. If I go out, will you go out?” Maekrux asked.
“I follow,” Osearir said. It made Maekrux frown a bit, but the hatchling was still fairly young and, given his parentage, it might be better to be with someone a tad more respectable for a change.
“Very well. I will be flying low. We go to see my friend Semeneth in Chiconis,” Maekrux said. Osearir huffed, but gave no other indication of his feeling or thought. After hopping out of the lair, Maekrux glided down to the travel gate of Harton Valley, trailed by the little black hatchling.
Chiconis was awake for the first time since the dawn of the offensive, Maekrux thought. Dragons scurried here and there, repairing the damages done to the caves and mountainside. Slate was in abundance; it had fallen from the destroyed Titan and was in the process of being cleaned away. Edari corpses – well, rocks – were being swept up as well. Maekrux hovered as slow as he could so that hatchling could follow, arriving at the bridge to the floating city. Several dragons were in the process of rotating the flying disc, directed by Semeneth.
“Ah, Maekrux,” the elder of Chiconis said, “It is good to see you about. I was worried that your injury was too severe.”
“Ah, just too severe to let me help with the clean-up,” Maekrux said with a grin.
“Mm, how your wisdom shows,” Semeneth said with a similar grin. It faded when he caught sight of the black hatchling shadowing him. “What is he doing here?”
“I’m trying to prevent history from repeating itself. That, above all, is my job as a historian,” Maekrux said.
“I suppose you are right. But there are other ways.”
“Other ways besides education? Semeneth, are you sure you still lead the Helian?” Maekrux asked.
“Bah,” Semeneth said, waving a claw about. “I’m in a bad mood. Look at my poor city!” He returned his attention to his floating building, the heart of Chiconis. “After Azu absconded with it, it suffer elemental damage, and then wasn’t put back right! That reminds me – I have a policy to overturn about her little faction.”
“Near as I can tell, the city still floats, and there are many good dragons that have come to see this place defended.” Maekrux looked to them, hiding his limp. Most that cleaned the mess up were dragon, but some were also bipeds who had volunteered for the relief effort. “The sun has not yet set upon Chiconis, old friend. If anything, it shines brighter. There were far fewer of us Gifted at Dralk. We are perhaps fortunate that Maurger feared the lava.”
“By Drulkar, Maekrux, I am thankful. The Fallen Son could have caused far more damage than this. Very nearly, we dragons saw a tyrant – something we have never seen before.” Semeneth frowned, his eyes catching the black hatchling again. Osearir scratched a scale behind his horns with a hind paw. “Tell me Maekrux, have we as a people truly fallen so far? Has the stuff that makes up what we are – makes us dragon – become thinner and more tenuous? Even now – and I mean no offense – I look to your grandson and I do not see the Champion of Drulkar. He has a long way to go before he can begin to compare to the dragons of old, even after revealing the Fallen Son for what he was and averting this terrible crisis.”
“Semeneth-”
“No Maekrux, I don’t know what’s come over me. Perhaps they are merely ill effects from what one fallen dragon did to me. And yet, if I let my mind wander for mere moments, it always comes back to that question. Are we losing what makes us Dragon? And can we ever reclaim it?” Semeneth didn’t wait for an answer. He looked back to the bridge, which two dragons were repairing through lairshaping.
“We failed as a people in allowing Maurger to exist. Not his birth, for that decision was Drulkar’s, but his life. We failed him. And I worry that we fail others even now. We must find a way to reach them, Semeneth,” Maekrux said.
Osearir snorted.
“I have heard such words before, old friend. I heard it from the Fallen Son’s lips, actually. I wonder if, even in his darkest moments, he was still asking for help, still asking to be defeated.” The elder shook his head. “No, I wish to discuss this no more. When my city is repaired, so shall my heart, and I shall be waiting to meet still more new hatchlings wishing to become Helian.”
Maekrux nodded and said his farewells. Semeneth’s feelings reflected Maekrux’s own, but to commiserate so publically would be shameful, especially in this time of rebuilding. Maekrux had his flame – and now, ash. Such was his cycle.
“Bored,” Osearir declared.
“Why not go home, then? I think I need the fresh air awhile longer,” the Blue Phoenix said.
“Fine,” Osearir said. He climbed up over the Granitefall Mountains as Maekrux watched, shaking his head. Sak’tal was not the home he had meant, but he wasn’t going to stop the hatchling. He should see for himself.
Waerg Maurg had been crossed out above the entrance way. Osearir stared at it for a long time, wondering at its powerful symbolism and poignant message. His father was dead. His legacy, that he so proclaimed, was dead, except for himself and his sisters. But he was no one’s legacy, especially not his father’s.
He hopped down into the shaft and found that the entrance had collapsed. He placed his talon upon it, his mind opening to the possibilities.
He saw it. The Purple Phoenix had come here shortly after defeating Maurger. Brick by brick, flowstone by flowstone, Ausixen tore the place apart with his own four claws, taking away the bits of Maurger’s lair as novians for his own. He took satisfaction in destroying the hateful place – his sneer was one of revelry, sadness, and joy. And when he was finished, when the last chamber had collapsed, when Ausixen had taken everything of Osearir’s early life, of his mother and father’s happiest memories, he crossed out the name, but did not remove it. It was as if that was Maurger’s only testament, his only legacy.
Osearir removed his paw from the rubble. His sisters would be displeased. He had hoped to hold on to the objects his father had given him before passing, but they needed something to hold them up in tough times. Not like Osearir.
Osearir turned and kicked up the dirt onto the rubble, and then walked away with his tail held high. His only displeasure was that he wouldn’t have the lair all to himself.
“I thank you for your assistance, Champion. And you as well, Captain,” Valkoth said, though the last part was harder for him to say without sneering.
“It is my duty, sir. I only regret that I did not act sooner,” Captain Aaron said. He and his men traveled to Dralk shortly after the Titan had fallen, as the remaining Gifted more than had the Edari under control. Things had remained more dire at Dralk for some time, but the Tazoon guard had turned the tide. Be that as it may, he wasn’t about to make a deal out of it; the old human proverb said, if you stick your neck out to a dragon, be ready to lose your neck.
Ultimately, it was Ausixen’s defeat of Maurger that shut down the majority of the Edari. Most had maintained a distant connection to their maker and, once severed, so were they. He had come after the fact, helping his grandfather back to Harton Valley, and then aiding the cleanup in his stead. “It was Drulkar’s will, Valkoth. I took pleasure only in that it was his will.”
“To be honest, Purple Phoenix, I somehow doubt that. Having been victimized by the Fallen Son, surely there must have been hate and revenge in your mind,” Valkoth said.
“Whatever I had then is gone now. As it should be. If one’s eyes are filled with hate and revenge, there isn’t much room left for what’s in front of you,” Ausixen said.
“Well stated, grandson of Maekrux,” Valkoth said.
“Is there anything else we can do to help?” Aaron asked. His men and other dragons were still dumping the Edari into the lava of Dralk. The cauldrons bubbled wildly as the black goo, turning grey with decay. It burned away in purifying flame.
“No captain, the rest will require the secrets of lairshaping and no small number of crimson azulyte crystals. Please let the council know we Lunus are self-sufficient once more,” Valkoth said.
“By your leave then,” the captain said, bowing his respect before leaving.
“Has Drulkar told you anything, Champion? I fear we are in sore need of his guidance,” Valkoth asked, once the captain was away to round up his men.
“He has been silent since that time. I am concerned…” Ausixen said, trailing off.
“Of?” Valkoth prompted.
Ausixen frowned, not wanting to say it. “Drulkar refused to step in to aid us with Maurger, for he was our responsibility. As Grandfather put it, he was our test. That he has not said anything at all concerns me, even as I send up my supplications. I fear – I fear the test isn’t over yet, somehow.”
“Could he have somehow survived?” Valkoth asked, barely containing his horror at the thought.
“The Soulflame Nail should have eliminated body and soul completely. I am certain that Maurger is dead. And yet, I worry that he might somehow come back. That somehow an immortality device succeeded, and even now, he might yet revive. It troubles me, but there was no evidence of that in his lair. All of the devices I discovered in dismantling the place were inactivate, the bulbs that held his body burned black from the inside. If he might somehow return, it goes beyond what I know. And yet, Drulkar must think I should know it. It is so vexing.”
Valkoth nodded slowly, his claws digging into the charred earth of Dralk at the possibility. “Evil has a way of staying alive. But if Drulkar believes you should know it, then you must. Have faith in him, clear your mind, and step back,” Valkoth said. Ausixen nodded; that trust he gave readily to Drulkar, though his grandfather could never do such a thing. “Now, think. If Maurger himself is no more, and the devices are inoperative, what else could bring him back?”
Ausixen thought long and hard on this, and then gasped when its obviousness wrapped around his neck. “There are only two forces that would see Maurger alive again – his children, which can do nothing, and Amalteah. She was training to be a healer! I must away!” Ausixen exclaimed, rushing for the gate.
“Even winds, Ausixen! May Drulkar guide you!” Valkoth exclaimed behind him.
Returning to Maekrux’s lair by foot was always a challenge, but Osearir preferred it. As he came over the last hill, he saw his mother leave, secretly and suspiciously. She had been sneaking out for the last couple of days, ever since Maekrux returned and told her the news. Normally, he cared little of what /that dragon/ was up to. But there was something urgent in her today, dire even – the same smell of a rabbit chased by a predator that is just a little faster than it.
Following her through the portal to an old and decrepit community, he caught sight of her entering into a forgotten lair, unused for its smallness and distance from all civilization. A part of him hoped the dragonelle was digging out a new home that would be his, but he never let hope override his judgment. Cautiously, he stalked up the hill and down into the lair.
A small chamber had been shaped at the bottom. Amalteah was engrossed in her work and did not see her son sneak into the room. At the center of the chamber were several concentric circles, crossed by curving, misshapen lines. In the middle of the seal was a box of energy, containing a simple imperial urn. He recalled that his father had told him a story once, that, having lost his body in attempting to kill his father, he had been stored in an imperial urn, encased in a cube of magic. Could he have kept it all this time? Could he have somehow saved a part of himself within?
“By Primal magic and Primal heart, bridge the gap that keeps worlds apart,” Amalteah chanted.
The seal on the ground lit up; it was runic, stolen from Maekrux’s lair and only half-understood by its user. Osearir didn’t know much about magic, but he knew that this was no singular magic – it seemed she was combining Primal, runic, and spiritual magic to make this work, plus whatever energy sealed the box in the center of the circle.
“Jikmada vhira wer dosi, break down the walls so all can see!” Amalteah exclaimed, lifting her paws in a flamboyant gesture.
The lines of the seal lit up in blue and green hues. The sight and smell of it made Osearir sneer, but he was ever silent as he watched. The box broke apart and the urn opened, ooze bubbling out and onto the seal, which it began to fill.
“I call back this Rose from stem to petal, and now by my power consume precious metal!” Amalteah exclaimed.
The primal energy of the urn itself filtered into the ooze and the urn turned to dust. The ooze lifted from the seal and began to circle, forming into a ball of oil, floating as though it were suspended in space. Drop by drop, the ball grew larger as though gravity pushed the pieces together.
Amalteah took out a dark sphere of glass. Osearir recognized it as the shadow part from one of his father’s Immortality Devices.
“This power from demons of darkness I hold, absorb it all now and come back from the cold!” Amalteah exclaimed.
The orb in her hand shattered and the shadowy darkness drifted like cosmic dust into the swirling black globe. When all had left her, she cast aside the shards of glass callously and placed a paw to her chest.
“Now from myself from our bond to I give, the spark of my life so that now you might live!” Amalteah exclaimed.
From her chest came a light, a part of her own soul. Contained within were fragments of her memories with Maurger, of their life together, and of their love. Even now, Amalteah held onto those memories, remembering the good that she uncovered in him, the love he had for her and her children, and his commitment to a better world. This light too shined into the globe of oil and it began to form into a face, a familiar face – Maurger.
“It’s working!” Amalteah exclaimed. She placed her hands on the ground beside the seal, guiding its recreation of the Fallen Son.
Osearir stalked up to the side of the seal.
“Osearir? What are you doing here?” She asked, somewhat happy, somewhat afraid.
Osearir did not answer her. He looked at her for a moment longer with his piercing silver eyes, and then to his reforming father. The neck began to form, the body slowly restructuring behind it. It was only a matter of time before the Fallen Son would return.
Osearir lifted his small, hatchling claw and tore into the ground, breaking the seal apart.
An unearthly and horrible wail tore through the chamber. Whether it was from the dying soul of Maurger as it was shredded by wild magic or from the soul-shaking power of the seal itself coming undone, it cannot be known. A rush of wind and the sound of thunder roared through the forgotten and unused lair like the screams of demons fleeing in terror. The black ooze in the center went gray and turned to ash, scattered everywhere, even over the hatchling. And when at last the magic subsided, his mother utterly drained from the spell, she looked to him, her head on the floor, her eyes in tears.
“What have you done?” she begged of him.
Osearir looked to her, his black scales painted grey by the ash of his father. There was no hesitation, no remorse. There was only his elegant, simple answer.
“The right thing.”
Osearir turned and walked from the lair. He didn’t want his mother to see his smile – he wasn’t that cruel. In that moment, he had surpassed his father. Unlike the gray, who waited his whole life to escape his father’s shadow, he had succeeded in killing his father where Maurger had failed. A rush went through him, as if in that moment he now had the entire world open to him and he could see the infinite futures his life might now take. He didn’t have to choose yet. All he had to do now was to bask in his freedom.
Ausixen returned to Maekrux’s lair in a rush and was distraught to find Amalteah gone. He made to leave, when Drulkar’s voice stopped him.
“It is finished, my Champion. My children have passed the trial of their own making. And now, the real trials begin.”
all that is, it was well done and well developed and well played. I just wish I could have been more a part of it in game - as Frith would have sunk her teeth into trying to save Maurger from himself, and she would grieve the spirit lost even if it was necessary. But since ICily she wouldn't know much of him outside of the giant thing that attacked Chic - perhaps next plot I'll be online more. Perhaps our online times will match up, and I can get in on these ideas 
Frith-Rae BridgeSol