Spoiler: Chapter 33 - Errands of Peril - Part 2
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Among the more expensive of their purchases within Ghaster, was a wand imbued with the strange magic of teleportation. Although Garvana, Pellius and Bor were all born with natural talent to wield magic, they unanimously voted that Willow was the one with skill wielding arcane wands. And so they stood together in the parlour of their manor, dressed in armour and set with weapons, ready to attempt quick travel to the marking made on the map of the Caer Bryr. Willow recited the incantation that Garvana had taught her, holding the wand into the air with the slightest nervous tremble of her fingers. Suddenly, they were ripped through the otherworldly portal, far from the safety of their living room. It was a sensation much like the dimensional portal she had used often. Only this one was much more powerful. Her head span at a furious speed, flashes of bright light sprinting across her vision, so fast they seemed to meld into a myriad of fluorescent colours. It was like a rope had been tied to the insides of her body, and her skin and frame were simply forced to follow their path and momentum. In a moment that seemed like a heartbeat and an eternity at once, they were flung out of the portal, struck with the dense humidity of a rainforest sweltering in the highest heat of spring. It took some time to recover her vision completely. Her sight faded between the bright lush green surrounding her and a hazed blackness that rolled behind her eyelids. When the fog finally cleared and her eyes were able to focus, she frowned. Her best guess would indeed put them within the Caer Bryr. But where they were in relation to the aerie they were seeking was a complete mystery. Looking around, she was greeted by the rich and thriving emerald and carob shrubbery that sprouted across the sheltered floor. The rainforest was teeming with life; the impenetrable shield of the flourishing canopy, the verdant grass and glistening moss, the blossoming array of coloured flowers that reached above the prospering low growing mushrooms. The verdure bathed the forest floor, swelling in wrapping tendrils and roughened vines that caressed each aged oak that craned into the sky. Flashes of fawn and umber traced the foliage surrounding the grand trees and spires, painting the canvas of jungle in uncountable shades of brown. Willow lifted her face to the treetops, unable to resist the small smile that appeared as the soft touch of rain drifted upon her skin.
“For one so comfortable in the paved streets of the city,” Pellius said quietly, “And confident in the intricate intrigue of court – you do seem quite at home in the wilderness.”
Willow could not help but smirk as she looked to him, grinning further as she saw his disdain as the water crept between the seams of his armour.
“It is beauty,” she shrugged, helping him attach his cloak a touch higher upon his chestplate straps, “Pure and natural beauty. The forest does not have a will nor have any other intention than to grow. The circle of life here is simple. The strong trees will outgrow the weak. They will soak the sun for themselves, yet in turn their roots will feed the life that dwells beneath it. If it were not for the strength of the few that reach the top, the whole forest would suffer – or cease to exist entirely. It is a true hierarchy; the natural way of the world…”
Willow reached for a blossomed amber flower beside her, tracing her fingers along the edge of its petals, looking to Pellius with something akin to embarrassment.
“… and it is beautiful,” she whispered.
He smiled then, staring deeply into her eyes, lifting his hand to trace her chin.
“Come on you two!” Garvana’s voice boomed from further into the forest, “We haven’t got all day!”
Willow laughed and shook her head, leaving the flower to continue blooming upon the tree. As they move out of the cover of one of the larger oaks, they saw what they were looking for; a grand spire, much like the ones that surrounded the Horn of Abbadon, yet with a single and noticeable difference. This spire matched the description that the Iraen scout had given Willow; a tall stone spire that faced the east, carved with a large cave opening, close to one hundred feet in the air. They stayed under the shelter of the forest while they formulated a plan.
“We cannot decide how to proceed with no knowledge of what awaits us above…”
“Willow,” Pellius scolded, “He is known as the Lord of All Eagles, you will be spotted for sure.”
“One of such little faith,” she chided, “I shall not enter, I merely wish to see what we will have to face.”
“I cannot deter you, can i?” he sighed rhetorically.
“Of course not,” she chuckled, throwing her heavy pack towards him, “I shall not be long, stay clear out of sight until I return.”
“And if you do not?” he asked, arching his brow.
Willow simply grinned in response, “Vystrynivvi.”

With Garvana’s magic entwining her fingers, the climb to the top was almost effortless. Although she felt silly climbing at an achingly slow place, she knew better than to rush her ascent and risk being heard. As she neared the top, she slowed her breathing to a controlled rhythm, moving as silently as possible. She could hear the squawks and cries of dozens of eagles above her, echoing outward from the deep and dark cave. As she reached the crest of the entrance, she waited and simply listened. No alert seemed to be raised, no swooping predator had seemed to have spotted her. Slowly, she lifted her head over the edge to peer into the cave. As her eyes settled and she looked into the dimly lit cavern – a deep frown pulled her brow. She scanned the scene, noting exactly how many creatures she could see. When she eventually returned to the others on the ground, she smiled.
“It seems we may have an opportunity,” she said thoughtfully.
“What is it?” Garvana asked, “What did you see?”
“Pellius,” she began, “Do you remember those gigantic eagles that attacked us in the Horn of Abbadon?”
“Of course,” he nodded, “Most of them fled after the first of their number fell.”
“Do you remember…” Willow continued, “Infecting one of them with that disgusting plague you can summon?”
“It survived?!” he balked.
“At least long enough to infect all of the others,” Willow commented, “Including the Stormborn King…”
“Truly?” he asked, a touch of pride to his tone.
“This presents us with an unusual opportunity,” she continued, “While he is indeed weakened, he is no less of a mighty threat. Perhaps instead of facing him in battle… we simply take the dragon off his hands.”
“And why would he just give him to us?” Garvana laughed in disbelief.
“Because we were sent here by Polydorus himself, to collect the dragon as the stars indicated. And just as all good Mitrans, we could not turn from their plight! So in turn for his trust, we shall cure their plague and save them from the slow and torturous deaths.”
“Cure them?” Garvana balked, “Why would we do that?! We want him dead!”
“No,” Pellius shook his head, “We do not need him dead, what we need is the dragon. It could work. You would, of course, need to do the talking my lady.”
“Something I am quite accustomed to,” Willow winked.
“This is crazy!” Garvana scoffed, “We’re going to trick the thunderbird by healing all of his flock, and then just walk out with a dragon?”
“Correct,” Pellius and Willow said in unison, before chuckling with one another.
“This is crazy!” Garvana repeated.
As Willow hefted her pack back onto her shoulders and turned for the spire, she smiled at the unconvinced and skeptical woman.
“No crazier than any other plan we’ve ever had!”

Slowly and loudly, the four of them clambered up the side of the grand mountain face. They made no attempt to disguise their ascent. They chatted easily along the way, commenting on the beauty of the lush green canopy, the way it appeared as a rolling sea of emerald from their high vantage point. This time, as they pulled themselves over the protruding stone edge, flocks of keen and piercing eyes were upon them. The rough stone cavern stretched deep within the heart of the mountain, surrounded by a jagged edge that circled the room, occupied by a count higher than thirty giant eagles. No longer the regal beasts they had once seen soaring through the skies. Each bore the decaying and weeping mark of the plague. Festering boils lathered in putrid rot, the stench of dying flesh lingering heavy in the stale air. It would have been an unbearable smell if not for the forty foot open cave mouth. In the centre of the cavern stood a thick spire that reached high towards the ceiling. On it’s top was a ragged nest of branches and leaves, surrounding a bird far larger than any other Willow had seen. More than twenty foot tall, with glorious feathers in an array of the colours of a stormy sky – flashes of sapphire, bronze and amethyst. Trickles of blazing lightening danced along its wings, as the wind that surrounded the creature swirled in constant lashes, billowing rapidly as it followed each arc of white light.
“Lord of All Eagles!” Willow bellowed over the rushing howl of wind, “Stormborn King! Please, pardon the intrusion and allow me to introduce myself! I am Willow, and I come here at the behest of Polydorus the Seer!”
She bowed politely, awaiting his response. For a moment, it seemed as if she would not receive one. Only silence greeted her, as his keen eyes surveyed the Forsaken.
“Enter!” he finally replied, in a strange squawking voice.
Willow smiled cordially and inclined her head, stepping deeper into the cavern. As she approached, the harsh winds surrounding the great thunderbird seemed to quicken their frightening speed, forcing her steps to strain. When she was close enough to see the entirety of the cavern, with the furious gale ripping her hair from its tie to allow her long sable locks to fly free, she stilled and looked up to the eagle. At this distance, she saw the effects of Pellius’ feral disease. Though his feathers were a stunning myriad of vivid hues; each layer seeped with the same festering rot. As she made her observation of this noticeable, she gasped in something that appeared to be shock and sympathy. When she flicked her eyes back to his, widened with apparent distress, the wind blasted her forcefully. A cry of angry shrieks came from the flock high above.
“I apologise for my discourteousness, my lord!” Willow called, bowing her head, “I truly did not mean to offend!”
Slowly, the wind lessened to a gentle breeze, as a sharp look to his brood silenced them.
“Unwinged one,” the grand eagle said, “You say you come from Polydorus! What say he?”
“My lord,” Willow began, “Polydorus has received your letter, and was most concerned. He spoke of the great tragedies that he foresaw, should your talon be the one to slay the villainous Jeratheon Knightsbane! He has tasked us with the retrieval of the sinful fiend, for him to deal with, as the stars read!”
His unblinking glare devoured Willow’s confidence slowly, the scrutiny within his gaze unlike that of any before him. Though he showed no sign of believing her words, he showed nothing else in contrast. Another chorus of caws, as if each eagle was bickering his opinion.
“Why did he not come himself?” the king asked.
“His great skill and wisdom were needed elsewhere,” Willow said seriously, “His efforts are focused on aiding the king while the land is plagued by war.”
While the eagle considered her words, Willow dropped her brow into a deep frown.
“My lord,” she said carefully, “Please forgive my bluntness, but I cannot help but notice the grave sickness that afflicts you and your brood. I could not forgive myself if I were to simply complete my task and leave your offspring to their fate.”
Followed by a chaotic chatter of screeches, Willow looked back to the Garvana, indicating for her to step forward.
“My companion is a healer,” Willow offered, “She would know a great deal of the illness, perhaps it is even in her capabilities to cure it?”
“I believe it so,” Garvana nodded, “If you would allow me to try, my lord.”
Suddenly, one of the eagles flew from his perch, guiding himself down on tattered and rotted wings. The stench wafted with each beat of his feathers, yellow ooze and putrefied flesh fell in drops upon the stone floor. It was clear to see how close to total decay and death he was. He cried something towards the thunderbird, lowering his convulsing head as if in offer. For a moment, the Stormborn King simply cocked his head, listening to the chattering of his entire flock. Willow could only surmise they were arguing for and against what she assumed was the eagles sacrifice. With a swift and commanding cry, the great bird silenced his brood as he did his forceful wind.
“Do as you will,” he said sternly.
Watched intently by all eyes, Garvana approached the dying beast. With a rasping incantation, she traced patterns in the air, ushering the wisped arcana towards him. As the healing magic settled within the eagles’ feathers, the wounds began to close. The leather skin around his beak pulled taut, washing away the scent of death from his face. The gleeful call that bellowed from his beak was enough to make even Willow truthfully smile. He launched himself into the air on spritely and healthy wings, crying out with renewed vigor, echoed by a chorus of delighted and mirthful avian exclamations from the others. When the excitement settled and the restored eagle returned to his perch, the thunderbird commanded attention once more.
“You may heal the others,” he agreed.
Willow inclined her head with a smile.
“We would be honoured,” she said, “But our healer must rest first. It is a taxing and strenuous process for her, she must prepare over night.”
The thunderbird nodded curtly, “You are welcome to rest in my aerie.”
“If it isn’t too much trouble,” Willow said carefully, looking around at the filthy conditions of the plague-ridden cavern, “We would prefer to camp below.”
She continued as his eyes narrowed upon her, “We are creatures of the land, my lord. Such heights are most disconcerting for us.”
He settled, nodding and screeching in way that she could have sworn was a laugh.
“Before we prepare camp, my lord,” she recommenced, “I desire to see your captive. We must be certain we have the appropriate gear to contain him on our travels.”
“You are welcome to continue as you please, unwinged one.”
He indicated towards the rear of the great cavern, far into the dark and shadowed hollow. Pellius was quick to her side and she strolled behind the grand pillar, deeper into the cave where her sight adjusted to the lack of natural light. It was there, that she saw him. A long serpent-like beast, glistening ebony scales layered along his flank, hissing green acid that dripping from his caged maw. He peered through thin slits, shining emerald eyes that watched in wariness as she approached. The massive dragon lay upon the scratched stone floor, his jaw clamped tight in a curious metal muzzle that kept it sealed shut. As Willow drew closer, she could see the chafed and raw skin surrounding the steel, torn into shreds as the dragon had attempted and tested his escape.
“Dragon,” Bor rasped in draconic, “How ashamed your sire would be to see you so defeated.”
Willow’s brow slowly arched, knowing well what Bor was trying to do. The dragon knew better than to trust them, yet perhaps if he had an indication that things were not as they seemed, he may have cooperated long enough to facilitate his own escape. To the best of their knowledge, the Stormborn King did not speak draconic.
“This is quite the contraption,” Willow called aloud to the thunderbird, “I have not before seen anything like it. Where did it come from?”
“Forged by the dwarven men that dwell in the nearby mountain,” the grand eagle replied.
“Most impressive,” Willow commented, moving closer to the sable serpent, surveying the contraption, “It is made of mithral, is it not?”
“Indeed,” he nodded.
“May we keep the device attached when we depart? It is far greater than anything we have envisioned to keep his maw contained.”
“You may,” the thunderbird agreed.
As Willow stepped forward once more, Jeratheon suddenly lashed out towards her with his clawed foot. With nimble movement and swift reflexes, she lithely slipped out of his reach.
“Cease!” she growled in draconic.
As she heard the rumbling hiss behind the metal mask, Willow’s eyebrow rose. Sure that she was out of the thunderbird’s view, Willow used the arcana of her circlet to flash her eyes a hellfire red.
“Silence!” she hissed in return.
The rumbling slowed to a sizzle before curious eyes looked her over. Willow stared back at him for a moment, but dared not risk anything further. She turned from the beast and looked to the others.
“Do we require any further information?” she asked in common, tilting her head to Pellius.
“No, my lady,” he said cordially, “I believe we have all that we need.”
“Very well,” she smiled, turning to the thunderbird and inclining her head, “If you do not mind, I believe we shall set camp and return on the morrow, my lord…”

The harsh humidity of the great rainforest lessened as the sun dropped below the shade of the canopy. They had found a spot hidden from the eyes of the aerie, far enough for their words to not travel upon the wind. As they finished erecting the tents and the others settled by the fire, Willow returned from her scout of their surroundings. Although there were many creatures that called the shrub-land and marsh home, none seemed more than curious by their proximity.
“I was unconvinced we could succeed this way,” Garvana huffed, frowning towards Willow, “I did not think we had a chance to convince the thunderbird.”
Willow smirked, standing by the firelight as she unstrapped her sheaths, “She of little faith.”
“No,” Garvana protested, “I simply forget how convincing you can be.”
“Quite convincing indeed,” Pellius agreed, brow arched in suggestion.
“Hush,” Willow chuckled, dropping her armor into a pile atop her pack, “We must discuss tomorrow. We are truly not prepared to transport a dragon. Much less a one that spits acid as he breathes…”
“The mithral chain is ingenious,” Bor appreciated, “It is far too unlikely that the young beast has strength enough to break it.”
“It is not enough to move him,” Pellius frowned.
“We must somehow bind his wings,” Willow scowled, “He cannot be allowed the freedom of flight, we will never keep him confined if his wings are free.”
For a time, the four of them remained silent. Churning minds that scoured potential plans and flaws, inventive thought running loose within their heads.
“Perhaps it is that simple…” Garvana offered, “We seek more of this mithral chain, and we bind his wings with it?”
Willow laughed at the absurdity of the simplicity. Yet, save the task of fitting the chains to the wings – she could not fault the idea. After much further discussion, no better plan came to mind, so they agreed to make a swift trip to Ghastenhall at dawn before setting upward for the thunderbird’s nest.
“What of Chargammon?” Garvana asked quietly, eyes glazing over in the slow descent into sleep.
“What of him?” Willow asked, staring into the dance of the flickering flame.
“What do we say? How do we convince him to aid us?”
“It is as Tiadora said,” Willow yawned, “He will most likely require some great service. We cannot know what the great wyrm desires; we shall find out soon enough. That is, of course, if he does not eat us on sight…”

By the time the sun had returned to sky, the Forsaken had once more reached the crested edge of the Stormborn King’s aerie. As Garvana began the arduous task of curing the eager birds, the others approached Jeratheon. When Bor stepped forward, armed with the flank of mithral chain, the dragon reared up as best he could, slashing forward with his feral claws. Willow peered towards the thunderbird carefully. As she saw him distracted by the commotion and excitement of his partly healed flock, she saw her opportunity. The cavern echoed the clamorous sounds of ecstatic cries and thundering feathered wings, muffling her steps along with her words. She held her hands up to the dragon, a fierce command that pierced through her eyes, as she slowly stepped closer. When she drew a mere few feet from the dragon’s head, she whispered carefully chosen words in draconic.
“If you wish to be free of this place,” she breathed, “Then you must cooperate.”
As he reared back once more, she rasped more forcefully.
“Or we will leave you to this fate, to die the shameful death at the hands of these mere birds.”
“Your sire,” Bor punctuated, “Would be disgraced by such a thing.”
Willow quickly looked back to the thunderbird, relieved to see him still preoccupied and unaware. As she turned back to Jeratheon, she watched him slowly lower himself. His shrewd gaze was locked to her, unsure yet curious and intrigued.
“Help us, help you,” she whispered.
The beast slowly lifted his long neck, tilting his head in inquisitiveness. A slow seep of virescent acid ran along the metal cage that housed his jaw, as it reached the edge, it dropped onto Willow’s shoulder. Though she heard the crackle and hiss of her leather shoulder plate, followed by the feeling of a burning rush as it’s remains seared her flesh, she simply remained motionless and unblinking in her gaze with Jeratheon. Intrigued eyes continued to watch her, as he slowly lowered himself down, allowing Bor access to his wings. Somewhat more compliant, he did not make the task of securing him easy for Bor and Pellius. Willow had to clamp her teeth tightly to stop herself from laughing aloud as they struggled. It took a time, but eventually they had both wings bound by the mithral chain, just as Garvana finished her healing – ending with the Lord of All Eagles himself.
“You have our appreciation,” the eagle said regally, “I wish you fast flight and safe travels.”
“We thank you, my lord,” Willow replied with a bow, “For the glorious capture of such a vile beast. Polydorus and the people of Talingarde are most grateful.”
As the Forsaken took hold of one another’s shoulders, Willow reached out and laid a hand on the black dragon’s back. She lifted the wand with her other hand and smiled as she rasped the arcane incantation. The otherworldly portal opened, and tore them through, vanishing the aerie from sight. As they spun in the mystifying vortex, they were thrown out of the realm and dropped heavily upon the forest floor, far from the thunderbird’s nest. Willow had pictured a secluded place in the Caer Bryr, a clearing to the south of the spire that she had seen in her scout the previous night. Although they certainly found themselves in a clearing, wet and soiled marsh ground beneath their feet – the area seemed somewhat different than she had remembered it.
“Are you alright, my lady?” Pellius asked.
“Yes,” she replied, shaking her head to clear it, “Just a tad disoriented.”
“Shall we proceed?” Garvana asked, indicating to Jeratheon.
“Indeed,” Willow nodded, approaching the captive beast, “I shall unlock the muzzle, but if you cannot stay your acid and remain civil, I shall relock it and we will escort you to your sire personally – caged like a pathetic dog. Is that understood?”
Though he looked insulted, the dragon slowly nodded. Willow approached his side, trying to exude an air of confidence, appearing unthreatened by the large creature. She pulled free her tools and set about unlocking the elaborate contraption. The dwarves were known for the amazing craftsmanship, and the piece in front of her was no exception. Though it took her longer than she would have admitted, she eventually found the right pin to loosen the hold. After clicking the mechanism inward, she pulled the top of the cage back from his mouth so it sat around his neck like a collar. As soon as his jaw was free, he spoke in a deep resonant growl.
“Fools! I am Jeratheon Knightsbane, the son of the great wyrm Chargammon! Free me now and I will ask my sire to spare you when he arrives. He is doubtless on his way now!”
“Save it, serpent!” Bor snapped, “Do you think us imbeciles? We have taken you from the thunderbird’s capture, only because you are the spawn of the great black!”
“Free me!” he roared, a rolling temptation to his tone, “I have a great hoard of treasure in my cave! All of it is yours if you will but free me!”
“Silence!” Willow snarled, with venom enough to still the large dragon, “It is not gold or treasure we seek. We seek audience with Chargammon the black.”
“You, you wish to speak with my sire?” he balked, taken aback from his pleading and threats, “You must know he’ll destroy you? He kills anyone who enters his lair!”
“We wish a word with him,” Willow replied, “That is all.”
“Then you have a death wish!” he recoiled.
“We will free you, under the proviso that you return to him and state our intentions.”
The dragon seemed to grimace at the thought, but with the promise of freedom, Willow knew he would take the deal.
“I will,” he agreed.
“Swear it!” Garvana insisted viciously, “Give us your word that you will abide by it!”
Although Willow knew that a black dragon’s promise held little weight, a breaking of his word would bind them with reason to seek revenge if he reneged.
“I give you my word, I will speak to him on your behalf.”
As Willow nodded for Bor to proceed in untying the chain, she tilted her head to Jeratheon.
“I do not claim to know how bound you feel by your word,” she said quietly, “But be warned. To us, your word is all you have. Break it…”
She used the circlet to bleed her eyes a fiendish scarlet, the fierce fury of hell warping her features, “… and the wrath of it shall find you.”
The curious creature did not answer, he simply eyed Willow with the same intrigue, a slight fear to his eyes, as if he was unsure what to make of her. Once the chains around his wings were free, he stretched them to their full length. With a swift look to the Forsaken, he propelled himself high into the air, crashing through the dense foliage of the forest canopy. With enormous might, he drove himself into the sky. As the ebony scaled beast faded into the distance, Pellius stepped toward Willow.
“Do you think he will do as we bid?” she asked, watching the shadow upon the clouds.
Pellius scoffed as he smiled, “It matters not, we will march on the great wyrm’s sanctum regardless. If he chooses to punish us for entering, no word from his spawn shall save us…”


They allowed Jeratheon enough time to return to Chargammon’s lair off of the west coast of Talingarde, resting in the cover of the forest for a lunch cooked upon their campfire. Knowing well how quickly a dragon his size could cover such ground, they assumed that mid-afternoon would be a suitable time to journey to the barren island. Once more they grouped together, trusting in the strange magic of teleportation. They were ejected from the portal, crashing painfully into the jagged rocks upon a stone cliff face. The skies here glowed an oppressive grey, winds tearing upon flesh and fabric in a relenting howl, rain battering down in a thundering chorus against the rock. The seas crashed against the cliff, scraping clean the debris and dirt, ripping free shards of stone with the power of the restless unending current. The inner island was dominated by three jagged short mountains rising from the chaos of the shattered rock. Lashed by wave and wind, little grew on the island. The grim bare rock bore little soil, scrubby and battered scraps of desperate plants feathered along the expanse, struggling to grow in the harsh and unhospitable conditions.
“Can anyone see any kind of entrance?!” Willow called over the crying wind.
“None!” Garvana answered.
“Which way do we go?!”
Bor frowned deeply, eyes scanning the island.
“There is no sign of life,” he loured, “No signs of habitation.”
“Then we head east!” Willow shrugged, “Towards Talingarde…”
It took them close to an hour to find any sign of a cave entrance. After struggling to climb the peaks and valleys of the rocky terrain, Garvana had used her arcane tricks to allow them ease of travel. It was as they walked along the eastern cliff face, they saw the funnel of the water current channeling into a hidden crevice under the lip of the stone. With arcana still coursing through their veins, they clung onto impossibly thin ledges and climbed beneath the rock. Before they descended, a sudden blur of movement caught Willow’s eye. A flock of ebony and muted green drakes were swarming from the shadows of the rocks.
“HALT!” Willow snarled, “WE ARE HERE FOR THE GREAT WYRM CHARGAMMON! STAND IN OUR WAY, AND WE WILL CUT YOU DOWN!”
Slowly, the drakes retreated back into the shadows, bright and wary eyes watching the intruders. With a final look towards them, Willow swung herself underneath the cavern top and clung to the ceiling. Below her lay a large open field shaped almost like a bowl, sheltered on three sides by stark grey peaks. Where most of the island was bare of vegetation, here great masses of thorny vine and creeper form large tangled briars. Here and there, a few eldritch and vivid colored flowers bloomed. The entire garden reeked of the sickly sweet scent of decay. The odor of rotting fish and blooming flowers commingled to create a strange, almost otherworldly aroma. It was like stepping onto another world – primeval and inimical. The Forsaken climbed along the ceiling, weaving in and out of jagged stalactites, grateful for the arcana that kept their fingers clinging to the damp and slippery stone ceiling. As they passed through the circular chamber, they followed the caverns through its winding labyrinth of caves and crevices, until they found the grand opening to a dark and putrid water filled chamber. The cavern was adorned with uncountable bones, many human in shape, but some far larger than the greatest whales of that in fabled tales. The murky water smelled of death and decay, and stretched the length of the cavern and further than the darkness would allow them to see. As the Forsaken dropped to the floor, the room hung in an eery stillness. Before she spoke, Willow looked to the others, knowing that it was entirely possible it would be the last time she may see their faces. When she met eyes with Pellius, she felt the intense connection that they had formed, as it swelled heavily it her chest. Despite the dire and desperate situation they found themselves in – she smiled. She had lived more in the two years with them, than she had in the entirety of her past life. She had served her lord and master with more devotion than she had ever thought possible. And she knew, if she were to die here, she would continue long into death to serve faithfully. So she smiled, before turning to face their perilous task, with a heart filled with infernal righteousness.
“Mighty and magnificent one!” she bellowed into the grotto, her voice strong although her body shook, “Please pardon our rudest of intrusions! We humbly beg a word with you!”
Suddenly, the water trembled, as something of unfathomable size surged the liquid below. In a thundering eruption of festering water, the great serpent exploded from the surface, and unveiled himself in full glory. His wet scales glistened in sinister ebony, rippling green reflections shimmering against his slick skin. A legendary beast of almost fifty foot, rising up from the shallows, with claws almost the size of Willow entirely. His eyes blazed a venomous scarlet, his glare held an evil almost palpable. Never before had Willow stood in the presence of such a being, his will and hunger for chaos so devouring it seemed to crush upon her frame like a suppressing weight. She could sense at no hardship, that they were one wrong word or insult from being slaughtered for daring to invade his domain.
“Have your lives proven so worthless, sub-creatures,” his dark and sonorous voice rumbled, “That you have come here to offer them to me?”
As if a wave of pure and unadulterated terror erupted soundless from the wyrm’s words, Willow felt her lungs clench tight as a furious trembling overtook her body. A fear unlike that which she had ever known, clawed at her chest, viciously seeking to sink its teeth into her soul. A perfect horror that desired only to devour and consume. But as she heard the screams of Bor and Garvana as they fell to the floor paralyzed in fright, Willow knew she had no choice but to fight. Surging her will, she clenched her teeth and drew the fear within her, meeting it with her resolve much like the clash of steel upon steel in a deadly conflict. By her side, Pellius stood tall against the crashing torrent of emotional agony. Willow knew not how he fought it, but his strength seemed to bolster her own.
“It is clear, your greatness,” he replied calmly to Chargammon’s question, “That more than enough of our worthless race have done so.”
The great wyrm did not spare even a glance towards their fallen members, malevolent piercing eyes unblinkingly locked on Willow and Pellius. He tilted his enormous head upward, sniffing the air and recoiled in disgust.
“You stink of my son,” he hissed, “You must be the fools who inflicted the worthless coward on me once more.”
The water behind the grand beast rippled in swirling current, as Jeratheon emerged from beneath, his head lowered to his sire. It was then that Willow saw the shattered remains of the dwarven muzzle in pieces along the eastern wall of the cavern.
“To do such a deed, you must want something,” he growled, “Speak! Why do you seek audience with the great Chargammon?”
“We seek revenge on Talingarde, glorious and fearsome one!” Willow snarled, “We seek a terror so great and powerful, it will strike fear in the hearts of the Mitran people! And only one such as you could be so fearsome!”
“Why should I bother?” he spat viciously, “Within my lair, I am all powerful! None threaten me!”
“And it is true of all lands, you are all powerful! But now, the land of Talingarde needs a reminder of just how powerful you are, great fearsome one! The land is plagued by war against the savage from the north, and ravaged by contagion of the baneful Tears of Achlys. Yet it is not enough, their suffering is not enough – the Mitran’s still have hope of salvation! Their king still leads their armies – and with it, he leads their faith that they will survive. We ask you, oh mighty and terrifying one, to attack the city of Matharyn and devour King Markadian’s daughter, the Princess Belinda!”
Chargammon listened silently as she spoke, keen and penetrating eyes seeing everything that her words did not say. For a moment, he simply gazed at her, with a glare so vile it forced her stomach to quiver and recoil.
“If I slay the princess and the king still lives,” he hissed, though his tone was more of intrigue, “Surely he will seek vengeance against me. Why rile such a hornet’s nest?”
“It would not matter, your magnificence,” Willow impressed, “None could ever hope to be as powerful as you, none can threaten your greatness!”
The thorns that grew from the dragon’s protruding brow arched.
“You make a fine case,” he hissed, “But you must think me a fool if you think I’ll attack the Adarium for nothing… No, before I slay your princess, you must answer my errand with an errand of blood of your own. I too have an enemy who has long pained me. I too have a rival I would
see destroyed. South of here almost two hundred and fifty miles, where the Ansgarian Mountains and the Caer Bryr end, is the isle of the pathetic reprobate, the dragon Eiramanthus. The fool is a copper wyrm who has long thwarted my plans and mocked my efforts. He thinks himself superior to me because he is beloved by so many. He believes that he is my rival! Hah! He is a bloated, decadent fool! He sits on his island and laughs at me, while he copulates with his three non-dragon concubine-whores!”
His grimace of disgust quickly morphed into an implacable fury, his vicious crimson eyes erupting with malice.
“You come groveling to me for aid?!” he roared, “First you will aid me! I want him broken and decapitated. I want him purged from this world! You will burn every book, shatter every statue, slaughter every consort and lay waste to his entire island. I want it made into a desolation! I want every passing ship to marvel at its ruin! Do this for me and I will aid you.”
Willow bowed low, deeply and respectfully before she answered.
“We swear this, terrible and fearsome one!”
“NOW GO!” he snarled.
Suddenly, the hold that kept Bor and Garvana paralyzed loosened its grip. They swiftly stood, heads bowed low, trembling limbs and staggered breaths. Willow and Pellius bowed again before turning towards the exit, knowing well that once dismissed by the great wyrm, they needed to disappear from his sight before his hospitality wore thin.
As they rushed for the entrance, they were followed by a terrifying and truly malicious warning, “And if Eiramanthus still lives, return to me only if you wish to die…”