Thursday, 28 November 2024

Creature Feature - Here Be Dragons!

 Here Be Dragons!

 Unfortunately our last game session was cancelled as half our writing team couldn't make it due to work and family commitments. As I am often in the midst of family drama myself, I fully understood this and it does give me the chance to do a Creature Feature with a difference. As dragons on Hestia are a varied and diverse group I decided to do an overview of all of them, or at least, of the ones known so far.  There are some main staples of fantasy writing but also some more hidden and obscure gems. Enjoy and let me know if it gives you any ideas for writing of your own. 

The Draconnic Encyclopedia Part 1

 

                                    (Image not my own, full rights to the artist Julika Isabellas)

 Introduction

As the largest and most dominant predators on Hestia dragons are rightly feared and venerated by all who have any contact with them as even the more gentle members of the species can be incredibly destructive if angered. As such it has been agreed that a comprehensive volume outlining draconnic abilities and traits is a necessary educational text for those in positions of authority, those training to assume the mantle of positions of authority and scholars who shall advise both those in authority and educate the lesser classes as to the precautions they need to take to prevent disaster impacting both themselves, their communities and their countries.

Though every effort has been taken to verify the information presented here, the reader should remember that dragons are as much people as any human, elf, dwarf or even orc. What appeals to one dragon will elicit disgust in another so the descriptions of 'personality' are, at best, a generalization and any speaking to a dragon should remember to not assume that all dragons of one subspecies will be driven by the same desires. Where notable exceptions to the general personality type of a subspecies is known, they are discussed but the reader should always remember that dragons can change their goals and desires so up to date information is always necessary for deadly social faux pax to be avoided.

It is also hoped that the reader will remember the brave members of many species who struggled to collect this knowledge. Many perished in the gathering of this information and a moments silence to reflect on how incredibly dangerous dragons are should, hopefully, give any aspiring dragon scholar or dragon slayer the pause they need to fully reconsider their life choices.

General Notes on Dragons

 Dragons on Hestia are unusual in that, in a world where most creatures conform to the body plan of one head, one body and four limbs, dragons possess a six limbed body plan. There is some discussion among scholars as to the cause of this deviation from the standard of nature's plan and there is some evidence to suggest that the pregenerators of the draconnic species created them rather than breed them from dire lizard stock as has been suggested in less informed papers.

What ever the cause of this difference, it agreed that just about all dragon subspecies have long bodies with a sharp abdominal tuck, four powerful limbs with 'feet' that can grip to different degrees of dexterity, long tails, mighty wing limbs that propel the beasts into the sky at will, long, powerful necks and large heads equipped with massive, fang lined jaws, keen eyes, and horns that protect the back of the skull.

Dragons also possess a natural elemental magic that they channel into a 'breath' weapon that they use to many different purposes. Dragons have been observed to use their breath weapon to attack foes, defend against threats and in displays of both a threatening or a reproductive nature.

Draconnic territories are often large by necessary, with a dominate specimen ruling over the territories of several subordinates that have to surrender both kills and treasures to the larger dragon. In this way most draconnic aggression is spent fighting their own kind, leaving the smaller folk to simply deal with living with the presence of a creature that can act more akin to a natural disaster than a being of flesh and blood.

It is also worth noting that the subordinates are often also viewed as potential mates at the right times of the life cycle, though if the dominate dragon is a female she will often travel from her territory in search of a mate she considers worthy of fathering her eggs. Where the territories of to differing subspecies of dragons overlap this can sometimes result in hybrid species of dragons. Though rarer than the main subspecies, these hybrids are successful enough to warrant inclusion in this tome.

The following entries will include the name of the subspecies, its regular color, whether it is common for them to gather in family groups, the (very) general personality type, which element forms their breath weapon and its effects on targets, whether it is known for them to regularly take on the form of another species by use of their magical abilities, what material they tend to hoard and their general environment.

Lava Dragons

 The most well known of the dragon subspecies due to it being the most likely to destructively interfere with civilizations as well as noted as the fastest growing so reaches the size required to be invulnerable to damage by lesser races relatively quickly. This is possibly why Lava Dragons are the most likely to kill their own kind, particularly slaying younger, smaller specimens of their species - instead of seeing them as fellow dragons, they view them as potential competition that has to be destroyed while it is still vulnerable.

Color- Red to reddish gold. They are typically muted in color as hatchlings, even reddish brown, as a camouflage against predation, usually by their own parents. Infancy among red dragons is the most dangerous life stage and they disperse quickly to avoid competing with stronger specimens. They send the rest of their lives living the maxim of 'survival of the fittest' and there is no mercy in that mind set. As they age and grow, shedding scales and skin, their color brightens and becomes more vibrant as a show of strength, experience and sexual readiness. If, by some design of fate, the Lava dragon reaches old age, their color starts to darken towards black. Though the beast might be beginning to slow down by this stage, its sheer size and experience will make it an extremely dangerous foe and it is next to impossible to successfully face in its own lair.

Family - As can be deduced from the previous entry Lava dragons are not found living in family groups but if anything this makes them even more dangerous as they are the survivors of an utterly vicious fight for survival where everything and everyone has been an enemy.

Personality - Lava dragon can be most easily summarized by two words  - arrogance and avarice! Having survived the unforgiving selection process to reach adulthood, Lava dragons believe that they and they alone have earned the right to own everything they lay their gaze upon. As their horde size also gives them power in the breeding rights, they will covert anything and everything created from precious metals to add to their bower. Cities must either be careful to not appear too wealthy or invest in heavy protections as a precaution if a Lava dragon moves into the area.

Known Exception - Tikrumpdel. An ancient Lava dragon of immense size and age. It is said that he survived his younger years by helping to establish the Northern dwarven holds, trading the heat of his flames for a share of the treasure and the safety of an army that would defend him if others of his species attacked. The parting between him and the dwarfs was surprisingly amicable when he reached the age and size where he was able to stake a claim to a territory and lair in his own right. It is said that while Tikrumpdel patrolled the skies of the tundra, the northern peoples knew a time of surprising peace, giving up offerings of food and treasures in exchange for protection from the more aggressive mega fauna, which further provided food to the dragon, enabling an even greater rate of growth than is normal in this fast growing species. Legend states that many of the dragons who are more open to mutually beneficial arrangements with the lesser species are descendants of Tikrumpdel, legend stating that the females of many different subspecies would seek him out to be the sire of their eggs, some even claiming that he is the 'father' of some of the hybrid subspecies.

Unfortunately, a consortium of jealous younger dragons eventually came together to cast down the old king of the skies and drive him from his home, though many say that he did not die but instead lives on under the mountains, impoverished but still drawing breath, waiting for the day when he can go storming back to power.

 Elemental Weapon - Fire. The fire breathing ability of dragons is famous and yet it is only this subspecies that possesses it, further evidence that they are the most likely to cause destruction and death to the lesser races. The pattern of this fire is dependent on the individual dragon - some favor long strafing runs that leaves a corridor of destruction and seeds a wide front with flame, others prefer to 'hover' with the aid of the wind and focus a column of fire on to a particular target. A few produce fireballs that explode on contact with the ground, throwing both men and debris across a wide area. An extremely rare few produce a flame that runs like fluid, flowing over and across terrain and even skating over water, burning everything it touches. These 'great fire drakes' are the most feared of their kind, known for being the most cruel and greedy, their wroth feared by even larger dragons.

Shapeshift - Through some dragons are known for taking on the appearance of other species, the Lava dragons are not known for doing so, though there are a few clans of red scaled Dragonkin on the more geologically active islands. It is possible that these are the descendants of Lava dragons, that like Tikrumpdel, experimented with different ways of surviving the early stages of the life cycle, thus seeding the dragonkin clans who still worship their memories.

Hoard - Lava dragons value gold above all else, amassing great hoards of it as display bowers to potential mates. As the hoard and reputation of the dragon grows, adventurers, slayers and thieves are drawn to the lair of the dragon, providing the dragon with a very entertaining food source.

Environment - Lava dragons are most common in geologically active areas, clustering around volcanoes, hot springs and thermal vents. It is speculated that this maybe the source of the Lava dragon's accelerated growth, the geothermic heat powering up their metabolisms to speeds that would be impossible away from such energy rich areas. If this is true, it would explain why Tikrumpdel managed to reach such a size, if the legends are true, as the abundance of easy food and powering the forges of the dwarfs would produce an energy feed back loop that would supercharge his growth far beyond what would have been naturally capable. Being encouraged to feast upon mega fauna would have sustained this growth after he and the dwarven people parted ways.

Storm Dragons

Another well known main dragon subspecies, the Storm Dragons are more akin to a natural disaster than a deliberate menace to the lesser races below them, their lofty homes rarely interacting with other creatures. Indeed, some settlements have lived below a Storm Dragon for generations without knowing until something stirs the dragon to wroth and the settlements complacency is shattered beyond repair. Though not quite as quick to grow as Lava dragons, the isolationist behavior of the Storm Dragons means they are usually unseen in the early stages of growth when they are vulnerable.

 Color - Some times known as Sapphire Dragons, Storm Dragons are born a light blue color, paler on the underside in a counter shading scheme that helps them blend into the sky to avoid predators. As they age the scales gradually darken to a deep blue that holds the quality of deep, clean water. If the Storm dragon reaches old age, its scales darken to near black, shot through with white jagged streaks, mimicking the lightning for which they are famous. Storm Dragons also grow a set of small horn like projections down either side of the muzzle and along both sides of the jaw and these seem to help channel their elemental magic.

Family - Though not as infanticidal as Lava Dragons, Storm Dragons are still disinterested parents but they at least allow the young to reside in the nest without the fear that their own parent will eat them. They do not, however, prevent infighting within the litter and battles between Storm Dragons of equal age are common. These can be directly fatal, or the loser is so badly injured that they fall as easy prey to other predators. Many young Storm Dragons leave the parental home to avoid being beaten by their siblings.

Personality - The Storm Dragons, controlling the elemental magic that is the only one likely to be able to challenge the strength of a Lava Dragon successfully, are by nature vain creatures, prone to preening and strutting. As such they are one of the few of the large dragons where deals can be made between the dragon and members of the lesser races. The heroes must be extremely cautious in their approach, showering the Storm Dragon with compliments and flattery before offering up an item for the dragon's hoard. After this performance has been done successfully several times, the heroes may ask for the dragon to reciprocate. If the dragon refuses the heroes must not push or demand or indeed, stop coming to give the dragon their gifts as this would be seen as an insult. The sensible course of action is to visit the dragon at least once or twice more before politely informing them that they have no more gifts for them and must travel on to find more. Very clever, very brave or very stupid heroes could use this opportunity to try once more to gain what they need from the dragon but must remember that if the dragon suspects that it is being played it may well decide to eat them in a single gulp.

Elemental Weapon - The elemental weapon of the Storm Dragons is the pure raw fury of a storm - lightning harnessed at the peak of its destructive power. Young Storm Dragons may be able to muster the power of a brief summer storm, a scattering of lightning bolts that stagger over the hills before fading away. As the dragons age and grow, they can bring more of this power to the field, the very oldest being able to not just channel lightning but also rain, hail and raging winds. Indeed, if two adult Storm Dragons go to war then the plains below their lofty forts are scared and wounded by twisting columns of wind that can rip whole buildings off their foundations and blast their shattered remains through any walls still standing.

Shapeshift - Shapeshifting into the form of other species is not a magic practiced among the Storm Dragons and blue scaled dragonkin claim to be the descendants of a bloodline begun in the dark days of the God War.

Hoard - Storm dragons are not interested in precious gems or rare metals, indeed a scroll of paper can hold greater value for them, if that scroll is a magic scroll loaded with arcane power. The treasure room of a Storm Dragon smells of ozone and crackles with power as the heaped mass of enchanted, infused and charmed items leak their power into the air, charging it with raw magical power. Indeed, the rumor of a powerful magical artifact being carried by a hero is one of the few things that can prompt a Storm Dragon to leave its fastness and hunt among the lesser races. Likewise, heroes can barter their safe passage from a Storm Dragon in exchange for a magical gift of great power.

Environment - Storm Dragons spin their lofty fortress over the great plains of the world, weaving magic and cloud together to form solid ground out of a mist of rain droplets. As the dragon grows and matures it will work and rework its home, expanding it and altering it to its whims and wishes. No two castles in the air are the same. By magic they usually drift within a set area to avoid straying into the territory of an equal or worse a greater Storm Dragon. However, wars sometimes do break out, resulting in super storms that stalk across the plains below, battering them with rain and hail, electrifying them with lightning and tearing them with raging winds. The damages caused by these storms can take years to repair and sometimes the dead can't even be found to be buried. Anyone with any sense keeps a weathered eye on the horizon and watch for the towering ramparts of a Storm Dragon's Castle in the Air.

 Tomb Dragons

 Smaller than either the Lava Dragon or the Storm Dragon the Tomb Dragon is still a canny foe to be reckoned with. Growing at a slower rate than its larger cousins, the Tomb Dragon is in some ways the more dangerous because of having to stay in survival mode for a much longer period of its life. This drives a higher level of intelligence and social understanding of the lesser races as, to survive, it must understand its foes to a greater extent. 

Color - A deep, dark black. Starting as a dull black striped with dark greens and browns as camouflage as hatchlings, the black gradually dominates their hides as they grow and mature, gaining a glossy polish in maturity and old age. The face of the Tomb Dragon lacks the nasal 'horn' common in other draconnic subspecies and has the ability to close its nostrils in the manner of a crocodile. This is due to the Tomb Dragon's primary diet as they scavenge off of the bodies of older dragons that have fallen prey to disease or old age, plunging their heads in under the thick hide of the dead to reach the choice internal organs. As such Tomb Dragons are also known as Carcass Dragons and other, less pleasant, names.

Family - Five weeks after mating, a Tomb Dragon female will lay her clutch of eggs in a specially prepared pit lined with dead leaves and other soft vegetation. Once laying is complete she will then cover the eggs over with more vegetation before capping the nest with sand. She then abandons the nest and leaves the area, the young digging themselves out of the nest upon hatching. They disperse almost immediately, using their camouflage and keeping low to the ground to remain hidden from predators, hunting for carrion and injured animals to feed upon.

Personality - Tomb Dragons are known as some of the most sadistic dragons alive, seeming to take positive delight in leading travelers astray in their gloomy territories, feeding off of the growing terror and pain of their victims, toying with them as a cat might toy with a mouse. They enjoy letting their prey keep the illusion of hope and escape only to snatch it away at the last possible second so that they can watch the despair and disgust on their enemies faces, tongues flickering as if to taste the hopelessness on the air. They will orchestrate personal conflicts just to watch trusted friends become mortal enemies and will stoke family feuds to gloat over the misery caused. If said feuds trickle into murder the Tomb Dragon will be most happy to dispose of the bodies.

Elemental Weapon - Possibly more terrifying than even the flames of a Lava Dragon, a Tomb Dragon spits gouts and vomits fountains of a hideously potent acid. Whereas the flames of a Lava Dragon kill quickly due to thermic shock, the acid of a Tomb Dragon can take minutes to finish the kill as the victim slowly dissolves into a soup of their own internal organs. Unless distracted by other threats, the Tomb Dragon will stand and watch as the victim screams and writhes, memorizing every twitch of agony.

Shapeshift - Perhaps most terrifying of all, Tomb Dragons regularly take the form of other races once they are old enough to master the magic necessary to do so. They will worm and wriggle their way into positions of trust and advisement and to begin with their advise will be good but slowly, ever so slowly, almost lovely, the poison will trickle in. For a Tomb Dragon there is no finer sport than to bring a kingdom to complete and utter smash for three hundred years, give or take a decade or two.

 Known Example - Armasar Mockblight. Known only by the human name he assumed, Armasar Mockblight appeared to be an older, handsome human male with ash white hair, stunning blue eyes and a nose that had been broken at some point in the past. Quiet and reserved in his manner, he curated the museum and historical society of the Kingdom of Albion, an island nation of substantial size, as well as being a lecturer in the main University that taught its future nobles and Kings. It was only with hindsight that his influence was seen for what it was and his sheer longevity questioned. It appears he was the driving force behind indoctrinating the rulers of Albion into believe they had the divine providence to rule the world, resulting in an expansionist mind set becoming embedded in the culture of the Isles. This, in turn, lead to a pan-continental Empire that funneled relics back into the collection of the museum, swelling its archives as the Empire bloated to unsustainable size. As the Empire began to collapse, Armasar provided the details of a grand ritual that promised to pool the collective power of every citizen of the Empire. It took fifty years to prepare for the ritual, by which time Armasar was directly ruling the Isles, with the King and nobles as his puppets, toys that clung to his promise that the ritual would bring in the utopia of their unending rule over the Isles and the reestablishment of their power over their fractured empire. Armasar was there to watch over the initiation of the ritual and what he promised was delivered, in the most damning way possible. In the space of a single day every marked citizen of the Isles dropped dead and rose again as a nation of the undead, shambling corpses that bow to the will of their phantom King and his court of ghosts, a court that is said to still be under the control of Armasar Mockblight. Over a thousand years later the Providences of the fallen Empire that managed to gain their independence before the day o the ritual still fear the ghoulish capital of the once Empire and have mutual protection pacts against the expansion of the undead kingdom, a mark that the power of the Albion Empire continues to this day. Legend has it that the doom of Albion was a source of the disaster that struck the Burning Continent five hundred years later and though scholars dismiss such claims, fishermen who are brave enough to travel close to the south coast of Albion report seeing black dragon wings soaring above the now wild and over grown land. Indeed there is the expedition of one Davide Hulot that claims to have sailed part way up the Thymes Estuary and explored the ruins of Londinium. Though scholars debate the validity of all his claims, several crew members of the expedition wrote or dictated similar accounts and other records confirm the deaths of over half the expedition. Whether this was from the predations of the Tomb Dragon Davide reported to live in the still standing museum or more natural causes we will never know.

Hoard - Tomb Dragons love to hoard the relics of destroyed kingdoms and empires, even more so if they themselves brought the kingdom to smash. They delight in detailing the agony of the fall of heroes and kings, of turning great victories into hollow betrayals and then keeping the mementos of the anguish of their victims. It also feeds their sense of superiority to be able to look upon how many kingdoms and Empires they have outlived and destroyed. If they can corrupt so many and out live so many, then surely they are the pinnacle of existence.

Environment - Any who explore ruined places or tracts of wilderness must remember that they are probing the bones of a once thriving kingdom and that these kingdoms were most likely brought to smash by the manipulations of a mature Tomb Dragon. Always tread with care and remember the dragon that wrought the destruction may no longer live but its children most likely now inhabit its territory and they will be just as sadistic and vile as their sire and mother.

Swamp Dragons

The first of the hybrid subspecies dragons as they are the most numerous of the hybrids. Of a similar size to Tomb dragons, Swamp Dragons inhabit a strange middle ground of morality, not as wantonly cruel as Tomb and Lava Dragons but not as disinterested as Storm Dragons. They prefer to stay away from the lesser races, living in environments not conducive to large gatherings of people, but do have an understanding of the social structures and interplay of civilizations. In many ways, of the less friendly dragon sub-species, the Swamp Dragons are the ones that you are most likely to walk away alive from, if you do not provoke a confrontation. They do not look for trouble and expect none to look for them.

Color - Hatched as a dark greenish yellow, Swamp Dragons become more brilliant green as they age and grow, some even calling them Emerald Dragons in maturity. They are also the most clumsy in flight, their wings being stubby and narrow, akin to the wings of a puffin and better at pushing them through water than air. Indeed their primary diet is fresh water fish and other aquatic animals. In the earlier stages of growth they are at risk of becoming food for the larger fish species, with at least one species of fish developing lower teeth so long that they have to have special sockets in the roof of their mouths to fit the fangs when they close their mouths, just so they can pierce the hides of hatchling Swamp Dragons and turn them into food.

Family - Female Swamp dragons build special mounds of rotting vegetation in which to nurture their eggs, which they guard vigorously and only a fool would approach one of these mounds. After hatching the young dragons are cared for by their mother for up to five years, after which they disperse and take their chances. Few of each clutch reach maturity.

Personality - Swamp dragons are mostly stand offish and isolationist, keeping themselves to themselves in their territories. With mortality being so high among the young, there is surprisingly little fighting over territories, with conflict only usually taking place during the dry seasons and droughts, when their preferred territory dries up and food becomes scares. When it comes to their interactions with the lesser races, most Swamp Dragons are content to stay away from people as long as people stay away from them. That being noted, there are some Swamp Dragons who have a working relationship with the lesser races, accepting food and gifts in exchange for keeping invaders at bay. Thus has some of the smaller races managed to cling on at the edge of bigger people by enlisting the aid of a Swamp Dragon. As larger, more 'civilized' people tend to be interested in draining and therefore damaging the Swamp Dragon's territory this is not totally an altruistic behavior on the dragons part.

Elemental Weapon - The elemental weapon of the Swamp Dragon is forged from the combination of the two different elemental weapons of their parents - lightning and salt. This results in an incredibly dangerous elemental weapon - electrified salt, in short chlorine gas. This rolling cloud of greenish yellow fog chokes and strangles any breathing being that is unfortunate enough to be caught within its mass. It blinds the eyes, ruptures the linings of the air ways and fills the lungs with a bubbling foam. The victim quickly drowns within their own fluid, gasping for a breath that pulls more toxins into the lungs and only increases their agony. It is for this reason and this alone that all intelligent beings should be glad that Swam Dragons are content with their isolated territories for it is speculated that if the Swamp Dragons shared the same sadistic bent as the Tomb Dragons, they would have scoured the world bare of life.

Shapeshift - Despite their dislike of interacting with other races Swamp Dragons have a natural ability at the spells necessary to change form. It is speculated that has been caused by an environmental selection of the ability in times passed. A few of the communities in the bayous speak of a mighty empire in the depth of the jungle where the Swamp Dragons were gods and the Kings and High Priests were their sons and daughters. It appears that, for a time, this empire guaranteed a higher survival rate among the hatchlings so in time the trait for shapeshift became dominate in the blood of Swamp Dragons. What caused the fall of this mighty empire is unknown but is possibly linked the Swamp Dragons' almost unreasoning hatred of Tomb Dragons and since then Swamp Dragons have tried to avoid the civilizations of other races. However, it seems that they cannot completely cut the ties with the people they once ruled, with the jungle communities that give up offerings to them claiming that they are the descendants of the empire and that is way the dragons still come to their aid.

Hoard - The only reason Swamp Dragons maintain regular contact with the outside world is because of their love of objects that glitter but they are more choosy about what they will include in their hoards. Gold coins, minted as they are by the hundred, hold no value for a Swamp Dragon but a golden filigree coronet studded with seed pearls would instantly have their attention. They also value wrought silver, ivory, fine statues and cut gems. Even stained glass, if of fine enough quality holds their interest. It appears that Swamp Dragons value the time and effort that a piece of artistry takes, rather than any inherent value in the material used. 

Environment - Swamp dragons prefer water logged in environments but dislike salt water and cold weather. As such they are mainly found in jungles and swamps of the tropics, as well as river deltas and deep lakes. Unlike Storm Dragons were appeasement is a must, most Swamp Dragons are content to watch a passing group of adventures, shrug their shoulders and go back to whatever they were doing. With their natural aptitude for shapeshifting magic they are most likely to approach the party in the guise of a orny old fisherman sat at the end of a dock, grudgingly pass the time of day to ascertain what the party's intentions are and if the party isn't looking for trouble, they will then point them out the best route to take them out of the Swamp Dragon's territory as soon as possible.

Glacier Dragons

The smallest of the dragon subspecies, the Glacier Dragons never get much taller at the shoulder than ten feet tall. However, they are heavy in the beam, with stocky limbs, a barrel chest and a thick layer of brown fat under their scales, making injuring them a tough challenge. They are also the most nomadic of the dragon subspecies with very few set territories. As such, they congregate in large numbers at certain times of the year and then disperse on mass to wander across their home range in search of food.

Color - The hatchlings of Glacier Dragons are born mottled grey and white, with crescent shaped wings that gives them superb air control in heavy turbulence. Besides their eyes, they also possess sensory pits below the eyes that are believed to give them the ability to 'see' heat signatures and a lateral line down their sides that enable them to sense proximity by disturbances in the air currents. As the dragons age and grow towards maturity their scales lighten to pure white and the rare examples of old Glacier Dragons are noted to be shaded with the deep blues of ancient ice flows.

Family - Glacier Dragons are the only dragons to retain their eggs within their bodies until they are ready to hatch, a possess that takes at least up to a year although, though some mechanism not yet understood, Glacier Dragon females can retard the development of her eggs, delaying their hatching in a bad season in the hopes that a better season will happen the following year. It is believed that hatching can be delayed in this manner for up to five years. Once the young are hatched and expelled from the mother's body, they remain with their mother for two to three years with some populations of Glacier Dragons having been observed to have young who help their mothers raise the next litter for a year before leaving to live on their own and find their own mates.

Personality - Glacier Dragons are noted for being the most animalistic of the dragon subspecies, given the least to introspection and planning. They live almost exclusively in the now. Even the decision to delay the hatching of their young is driven by current conditions, not a plan of how it could be in the future. As such they are the most easy to distract. If you drop a large enough portion of food on the ice they will break off the chase to devour it immediately. Glacier Dragons really do believe that a meal in the claws is better than two meals running free.

Elemental Weapon - The elemental weapon of the Glacier Dragons is throat full of water so cold it freezes upon contact with any surface, caking ships with skins of ice and encasing fools stupid enough to challenge the dragon in a solid, irregular block of ice. This not only kills by a combination of suffocation and hypothermia but also freezes the meat, thus preserving it for future use, if the dragon can plan that far ahead.

Shapeshift - Even if Glacier Dragons could master the art of shapeshifting there is no practical reason for them to do so and so they don't.

Hoard - Unusually among dragons it is the female Glacier Dragons that gather the hoard but they also show the greatest ability to think of the future in this short sighted subspecies, with most female Glacier dragons having a favored ice cave where they will birth their offspring and store their hoard. What they hoard can be distressing to the lesser species because what they hoard is the frozen bodies of their foes. These they will display in niches cut into the wall of the ice cave. In a environment where food is always at a premium being able to save some of their targets to put on show in this way denotes a mighty huntress and a Glacier Dragon female will always try to keep her 'larder' well stocked.

Environment - Glacier Dragons live in the icy wastes of the polar ice caps, with a few colonizing the ice sheets of the high mountains. It is an environment of high risk, high reward with food being scares until a big kill such as walrus or polar bear is made, or a whale carcass washes up. As such, besides the birthing caves that each female favors, there are very few territories on the shifting ice sheets of their home, with Glacier Dragons being widely dispersed through out the year until they gather for the great dances at high summer were new mates are inspected in massive flying ballets over the sparkling ice. The only other time a large number of Glacier dragons are likely to congregate is the presence of a super large carcass, such as a whale or a dragon of one of the large subspecies washing up.

Night Dragons

The only hybrid dragon that comes close to challenging the size of a Lava Dragon, which is hardly surprising as one of the founders of a Night Dragon blood line is a Lava Dragon. Born of an unusual union between a Lava Dragon and a Storm Dragon, Night Dragons grow quickly but have an extended 'childhood', and have a higher understanding of social interplay than either of their parents, rivaling the social abilities of the Tomb dragons, with whom they have a long term competition. One of the most legendary and elusive of the draconnic subspecies they are never the less a heavy influence on the lesser races.

 Color - Night Dragons are hatched with bright royal purple scales, leading to their other names of Royal, or Regal Dragons. They are graceful in configuration, with the litheness of their Storm Dragon parents married to the bulk of the Lava Dragon. In horse terms, they are akin to the Hunter breed that is a hybrid of Thoroughbred to Shire horse. Their eyes are large and well placed in their heads, with noble jaw lines and majestic barings. As they age and grow towards maturity their scales darken to a deeper, richer hue, sometimes leading to the mistaken identity of Amethyst Dragons, the mistake being the belief that Amethyst and Night Dragons are two different species, when they are merely the same species at different stages of growth. In old age Night Dragons become almost completely black, sometimes leading to being mistaken for Tomb Dragons, an identity mistake that they do not appreciate.

Family - Of all the draconnic subspecies Night Dragons are the most involved in rearing their children and seem to have definite family attachments. Although all adult dragons will have involvement with the egg clutches the direct parents have the priority, second only to the patriarch or matriarch of the family. The hatchlings will be reared and trained to fore-fill needed roles within the family structure and plans, gaining responsibilities as well as influence as they prove themselves capable. These family dynamics are not always unchallenged and it is the responsibility of the patriarch or matriarch to maintain order within the family ranks and lay down the law if it is decided that the family has grown beyond sustainability and therefore must split to 'bud off' a new family of Night Dragons to found their own territory.

Personality - Night Dragons maintain an air of calm rationality, a chilly composure belying the strength of their fury when roused. They are analytical, literate and reserved. They listen to everything, watch everything and think about everything before they act. They are masters at diplomacy, strategy and logistics. They do not believe in 'goodness' or 'justice' or morality, merely that the world can be run in such away that people do not bother people, friction is kept to a minimum and noisy, messy things such as wars can be avoided. Above all they believe in efficiency and a lack of waste. They believe very much in occupational therapy and that such things should lead into a job so that all can contribute and none are left behind. They are not, however, sentimental. If war is inevitable because of the aggression of a neighbor, then the thoughtless, easily lead and the ignorant will be encouraged to sign up on mass to be fed into the grinder that is war, a brutal but efficient trimming of the fat of society, while the more intelligent will be funneled towards the more thinking roles in the armed forces. They are nothing if not pragmatic and will weigh the dice of chance in favor of selective breeding for intelligence.

Elemental Weapon - Like the Swamp Dragons, the Elemental Weapon of the Night Dragons is a combination of their progenitors Elemental Weapons, in this case - fire and lightning. This result is a weapon that is nearly mythical in its power, some believing that it does not exist or that it is the providence of the gods alone - the Plasma Burst. Light purple in coloration, so bright as to be painful to look upon, the Plasma Burst screams across the sky in a straight line that vaporizes flesh, blood and bone so fast that the target doesn't feel the loss of their body. Indeed, there does exist the account of one Gotz Berlynch who fought a war against a city that was under the protection of a young adult Night Dragon that, in the extreme of battle, flew out to protect its territory. Gotz's right hand was caught in the beam of the Plasma Burst and vanished in an instant. Gotz recorded some years later that he never felt the destruction of his hand, with the pain only beginning about an hour later when the cauterized stump was being dressed to prevent infection. In short, Night Dragons, though they reserved it for the most dire of circumstance, are more than capable of defending their territories and should be treated with extreme caution.

They are also known for being capable of an area affect, with cloaks of liquid night rippling from under their wings, drenching an area in a darkness so thick that torches struggle to pierce the gloom and even creatures who specialize in night vision struggling to see through the pall of darkness. Out of this blackness the beam of the Plasma Burst will shriek to annihilate targets with a precision that leaves the masses reeling.

Shapeshift - Unlike most draconnic subspecies Night Dragons are most likely to be encountered when they are wearing the form of another being, some of them maintaining the same persona for years or even decades at a time to interact with their hoard. If a city has a particular family who are known to be the most notable moves and shakers of the social structure, often dictating the direction that the community moves in, then it is a distinct possibility that they are a family of Night Dragons using the shapeshifting magic to organize their hoard to their preferred conformity. They will tend towards conservatism until they are convinced that the proposed change will benefit the greatest possible number of people and decrease tensions between social groups. Therefore they will, most often, stand against bigotry and prejudice because such things encourage oppression and oppression encourages resentment. Where there is resentment, violence simmers not far behind and that is to be avoided.

Hoard - The Night Dragons are the most unusual of all draconnic subspecies because what they hoard are living, breath creatures, to be exact, the members of organized, regulated societies. However, unlike the Glacier Dragons, they do not wish to transform said people into frozen statues. Instead, they hoard the power of social control and influence, bringing cities, countries and sometimes whole civilizations under their control. Often they found family dynasties that become dictators of their territories but they are reserved dictators, ever mindful of the long term and sustainability. One could even call them benevolent dictators. This immediately brings them into conflict with Tomb Dragons and their need to sow chaos and destruction.

Environment - Night Dragons are found almost exclusively in cities, hollowing out lairs underneath the bottom most strata of the foundations for when they wish to assume their natural form. These lairs are strictly off limits to anyone outside of the family and a breach of this rule is instantly punishable, by death. In all things you must respect the family.

Laughing Dragons

Laughing Dragons are almost the polar opposite of every other draconnic subspecies, even down to their elemental magic. They are slightly larger than a Swamp Dragons but have a bulkiness that Swamp Dragons lack, some even referring to their body build as chubby, a description that these hybrid dragons do not mind in the slightest.

Color - Laughing Dragons are born a light pink hue and start chuckling even before they are out of the egg, their vocalizations signaling that their hatching is imminent. As stated they are a large breed, growing only slightly slower than their Night Dragon cousins, with whom they share a family dynamic of being the silly, slightly annoying one at the party to the Night Dragon's more serious demeanor, but are more broadly built, being more rounded. In youth this roundness is almost the rolly-pollyness  of puppy fat and they are noted as being clumsy but bouncing with it. As they grow and mature they maintain a degree of this chubbiness but darken in hue as they age, gaining an almost cerise pink hue in old age.

Family - Laughing Dragons enjoy having many children with which to play with but as time goes on the older children with disperse to go exploring and 'have fun' with many different people. They will occasionally check back in with their parents to share what they have discovered and enjoyed. Large family gatherings of Laughing Dragons are noisy, chaotic affairs that make the locations they are held in echo to the babbling of many, many voices all talking at cross- purposes and thoroughly enjoying it while they do so, until the fun runs out and they go their separate ways to find more 'cool' stuff before they gather again.

Personality - Laughing Dragons always see the good side to every situation, nothing is ever to bleak that a joke won't alleviate the tension, after the funeral the wake needs to be a rocking affair, a good send off to help you remember the good times. If something isn't worth a laugh then it isn't worth anything at all, as far as a Laughing Dragon is concerned. Frowning and worrying and moping won't keep old boney from the door so if we are too poor for a holiday let us dance and sing and laugh at home. Laughing Dragons very much believe that there is no such thing as a stranger if that stranger says hello.  If anything, they are the perfect pill against the despair the Tomb Dragons try to sow. If they are too late to stop the smash then they will help the survivors pick themselves up and find the hope in all the hopelessness, even if all that hope is, is the chance to build something better after the fall, the chance to build something with more laughter and love, than selfishness and division. They love the bright, the good, the kind and the caring. If life must be lived, the Laughing Dragons believe, then let's live it until we are so full of life that we feel like we are going to burst with it!

Elemental Weapon - No one is quite sure how the combination of fire and ice resulted in the elemental weapon of the Laughing Dragons, least of all themselves but it's funny so who cares? Or at least that is the attitude of the Laughing Dragons, much to the despair of serious scholars. However it arose the elemental weapon of the Laughing Dragon is bubbles. Yes dear reader, you did read that correctly, the Elemental Weapon of Laughing Dragons is bubbles, or if we can be slightly more serious than these irreverent creatures ever could be, soap. How they spit this soupy, foaming mass of mess without choking on it, is not as yet known but the effects are some what better studied. Against a large creature, such as a hostile dragon, the bubble jet is aimed for the eyes and nose to induce stinging irritation and painful distraction. It is also noted to be an effective flame retardant against the fires of Lava Dragons, much to these beasts' wroth. Against smaller creatures the bubble jet is used to saturate wings and inhibit flying. Of course a Laughing Dragons favorite target are those on the ground, where upon it will soak the ground before said target in a slick of bubbly, soapy foam and then sit there laughing until they cry as said targets try to stand up, run, stand up again, walk, stand up again, maintain a grip on their weapons, stand up again, crawl and finally give up. If this show is not entertaining enough the Laughing Dragon will call jokes and friendly insults, just to lighten the mood.

Shapeshift - Laughing Dragons start shapeshifting as soon as they are able too, just to see what fun the lesser races have. They spend the rest of their lives flitting from form to form, seeking to spread laughter and friendship where every they go. They are life's forever optimists, always game for a high adventure and new sights on the horizon as long as they have good friends at their sides and a following wind. If they can make an epic but humorous ballad about it afterwards then all the better.

Hoard - The hoard of a Laughing Dragon is nothing that you can carry in your hands and nothing that can be traded for gold, though some would say that it is better than gold because it cannot be stolen or rusted or devalued or degraded. The Hoard of a Laughing Dragon is its store of jokes and tall tales, its memories of warm friendship and swinging parties. You cannot take from a Laughing Dragon, it can only give and what it gives does not diminish its store one single drop but rather increases it forever.

Environment - Any where there is people there will be a Laughing Dragon at least once. Infected with a wanderlust that drives them ever onwards, Laughing Dragons will travel their entire lives, enjoying all that life has to give. Often they travel as wandering minstrels, though some will band together to be bands of traveling players, spreading joy and good cheer where ever they stay, taking but little and giving much in the way of laughter and friendship. Laughing Dragons believe it is their life's mission to remind others as to what makes life worth living. If you enter a tavern on the way side and there is a minstrel in the corner that looks slightly different from others of their kind but the place is humming with light hearted folk songs, rollicking sea shanties and foot stomping dance tunes then you just might have met a Laughing Dragon doing what they love to do best - lead the dance until the party ends and people go home happy but exhausted, loaded with fond memories of a night they will never forget.

Coral Dragons

Medium sized, roughly the same size as a Swamp Dragon, the Coral Dragon has a flatter, broader snout than many other dragons, resembling a crocodile or alligator, the eyes, ears and nostrils being set high on the head. Their toes are also webbed but the most striking thing is their wing conformity. Not only to they have the usual wing limb, which comes to a pointed tip but the wing continues all the way down their sides, right to the end of the tail, supported by whalebone structs that are anchored by ligaments to their muscle structure so that they can flex with the dragons motion and also be folded back to aid with streamlining both in and out of water. Thus a Coral Dragon flying over head has a triangle silhouette with the broad end leading. They also have a strange wing beat in level flight, more akin to the rippling motion of a cuttlefish's fins than the wing beat of other dragons. They favor level flight and dive bombing runs but are capable of close combat maneuvering in tight spaces. As such they will fake injury to tempt an attacker to close with them, then roll at the last moment and bring their claws into play when the attacker has no room to evade. They 'fly' as well in water as out of it and there is some evidence that they have a gill structure as well as regular lungs.

Color - Coral Dragons are hatched a muted sandy yellow with brown strips and a pale whitish belly in a counter shading scheme. They favor shallow water at this stage and are usually found, if they are found at all, living in tidal mangrove forests, feeding on shell fish, carrion, bird's eggs, turtle eggs and even fruit. They are one of the only truly omnivorous draconnic subspecies in existence, if not the only one. As they grow and mature their scales lighten to a brilliant yellow and they start pushing into deeper waters and a more marine mammal based diet, though they are opportunistic feeders and will take a bait ball just as readily. In old age their scales gain a metallic sheen that has some scholars under the mistaken belief that there is a 'Gold' subspecies of dragon, were as the truth is, once again, that it is merely a case of mistaken identity.

Family - Coral Dragons lay their eggs in banks of warm sand and then abandon them to the risks of such a breeding scheme. As such Coral Dragons do not have families among their own kind but are known to build their own families from people they meet as they mature and grow. They are open to collaboration with other intelligent species.

Personality - Coral Dragons have a reckless, thrill seeking bent to their personalities. They love playing the odds and running the risks. The higher the stakes, the more they will gamble. They live life right on the edge, a knife's edge away from disaster, always courting death and dancing with oblivion. The worse the situation the more they will whoop as they throw themselves into the fray. The news that there is an accursed treasure laying unclaimed on an island that can only be found with one particular compose? Coral Dragons will be after it in a flash, scouring the seven seas in search of the prize, no matter what the obstacle or the risks.

Elemental Weapon - Unlike many draconnic subspecies where it is difficult to know which comes first - the elemental weapon or the environment - there is a direct correlation between the Coral Dragon's environment and its Elemental Weapon. Coral Dragons build up a high amount of salt within their tissues which could cause disruption to their nervous system. To counter this they have a special organ in their throats that extracts the salt from their blood and stores it, mixed with a small amount of water, in a pair of poaches that run the length of their necks. If provoked the Coral Dragon can spit the contents of these sacks at high pressure, knocking the target prone and coating them in a thick rind of salt. If this salt rind isn't washed off soon, it dehydrates the target, drawing moisture out of their tissues and causing death by thirst. It is speculated that the lesser races learnt to preserve their food by salting by observing the effect that the Coral Dragon's Elemental Weapon has against targets.

Shapeshift - Many Coral Dragons find taking on the form of members of the lesser races to be agreeable as it enables them to walk the decks of sailing ships and join crews of buccaneers and free booters. Often they will wind up becoming the Captains of these raucous, unruly crews, plying their deadly, risky trade up and down the trade routes of the tropics, stealing and plundering and looting. Granted they are not usually known for massacring opposing crews because then they wouldn't be able to have a second round tomorrow and the fun would stop. Those that do not go into such illegal trades, they will be found among crews of whalers and sea born monster hunters, always at the front of the fight and roaring for more.

Hoard - The hoards of Coral dragons tend to be small and made of items that can be worn. It is not unusual for Coral Dragons to have piercings loaded with golden rings, even when they are in their natural form, golden chains looping the rings together, until the dragon appears to be in the certain of a filigree web of gold and silver. They also were bracelets as claw rings and looped onto their horns. Some even have their teeth set with diamonds, which has the added benefit of making their bites even more deadly.

Environments - Coral Dragons love the waves, they love the water, they love the rolling of the seas where the waters are as warm as bath. They live for the wild tropics and the risks of shark infested waters. They will never willingly travel away from the sound of the sea, no matter what the risks. If the Dragon has a lair away from the lesser races then it will be invariably hidden within the cliffs and accessible only by an underwater tunnel that bends like a grease trap to make an airlock. How the air with in the lairs is renewed is unclear.

Tropic Dragons

Roughly the same size as the Laughing Dragons but not as chunky, Tropic Dragons have a streamlined shape but regular wings and can flight extremely well, often soaring to the heights where spots start dancing in front of the eyes just to see how fast they can go in a flat out dive. From this it can be judge that this hybrid species has inherited some of the reckless behavior of their Coral Dragon kin. More widely distributed than the Coral Dragons, Tropic Dragon, despite their name have been know to colonize the temperate rainforests. As such it is a good idea that, if the traveler finds himself in an area of rampant growth, he should prepare to appease one of the most dangerous Draconnic Subspecies in existence.

Color - Tropic Dragons are born a muted orange brown color from nests constructed in slot trenches in the forest floor. As they age and mature, they rapidly brighten to a vivid orange that is unmistakable. By the time they are slightly taller than a heavy horse at the shoulder they will be an almost glowing orange and be edging into sexual maturity.

Family - Coral Dragons live in tight knit family groups, lead by a matriarch, who will be the oldest female of the group. The sire of the eggs has responsibility for guarding the slot trench nest while the young are developing but both parents are fully responsible for rearing their young after hatching. As noted, Tropic Dragons reach sexual maturity while still relatively young. This is not due to there being a high mortality rate among the young but rather that their life spans are greatly restricted compared to other dragons. Whereas it is not unknown for a Lava dragon to live to a thousand years old, a Tropic Dragon matriarch will have down well to last until five hundred. As such they have to compress both live cycle and growth into a much short period.

Personality - Of all the draconnic subspecies, the Tropic Dragon is known for being the most affectionate and nurturing of them all, even going so far as to adopt the offspring of other species to rear. It seems that they have a much greater empathy for the shorter lived, lesser races as they share their awareness of the shortness of time and their own mortality. As such they try to cram in as much friendship and affection as possible into what time they have, building up lives as their legacies. Among the Tropic Dragons it is believed that you do not truly die until your name is no longer spoken.

Elemental Weapon - It may seem bizarre that such a kind and understanding creature can be counted as one of the most dangerous draconnic subspecies, especially when contrasted with such a monster as the Tomb Dragon but this is solely due to the Tropic Dragon's elemental weapon. Being the combination of the fire of a Lava Dragon and the salt of a Coral Dragon, the elemental weapon of a Tropic Dragon is pure sodium. Given they penchant for living in wet environments, this gives them one of the most explosive weapons possible, made worse by the fact that it can have a delayed ignition. The Tropic Dragon spits a lump or line of liquid sodium, sodium particles that are suspended in a protein based 'oil' that degrades rapidly upon contact with oxygen and water or worse, vinegar. This grey sludge smells of salt and can take up to a minute to ignite. However, when it does ignite it burns with a heat that is vicious and immersing in water will only result in an explosion that shreds all soft objects within its blast range. If this 'sodium breath' is dumped into vinegar, the result is a sputtering, popping blue flame followed by a small explosion after which the flame reignites before the grand finale of the main explosion.

As the process that produces the sodium is an internal one, there is the very great risk of a Tropic Dragon exploding upon death, if that death is not due to old age. In short, if dragon hunters invade a Tropic Dragon territory then it is more than likely one or more members of the clan will sacrifice themselves in kamikaze attacks with the sole purpose of taking out the dragon hunters with their last, explosive death throws.

Almost as a counter point to the destructive power of their Elemental Weapon, Tropic Dragons are another subspecies that possesses an area of effect aura. Where ever a Tropic Dragon walks vegetation springs to life and already existing vegetation experiences a growth surge that sends it tangling across the ground. People who are lucky enough to be under the protection of a Tropic Dragon clan rarely have to fear famine, though even these magnificent beasts can do very little against the ravages of a drought.

Shapeshift - Tropic dragons are more than capable of the shapeshifting magic and it is considered a mark of full maturity among them to be able to do so. Some clans even go so far as to dictate that their first partners have to be from among the local lesser races to tie the two grows together in mutually binding pacts of loyalty with many clans considering their dragonkin offspring and adopted lesser race children to be full members of the clan. They will also try to create marriage bonds with other draconnic subspecies to further protect their territories without the use of violence. There have even been rumors of Tropic Dragons who have managed to curtail the deprivations of younger Tomb Dragons through these wily means.

Hoards - If a Tropic Dragon has any hoard at all it is in their gardens, growing green and lush. They are tied deeply to the lands they live on and the gift of an exotic seedling or seeds with be more than appreciated by these creatures, particularly if it is a new food crop that they can use to support their small people families and the herds that they themselves depend upon. Tropic Dragons encourage the practice of restorative farming and rotational grazing so that if they make changes to an ecosystem and landscape  it is done at such a pace that the ecosystem can adapt and find the new opportunities thus presented.

Environment - The lands that Tropic Dragons are always lush and prosperous, be that tropical rainforest or temperate rainforest, plants just grow round them without restraint. It has been speculated that this area of effect is what drains a Tropic Dragons life force and shortens their span upon Hestia. As stated at the start of this entry, if a traveler enters an area of unexpectedly rampant growth, then they should prepare for an encounter with one of the most dangerous draconnic subspecies. If you come in peace, however, then you can rest assured of a warm welcome and a sanctuary like no other.


And there we go. This took a lot more work to create than I expected it to, so much so that I am going to have to produce it as a two part entry into the lore of Hestia but I do hope that you have enjoyed the details of, roughly, half the draconnic subspecies of Hestia. If you have been reading Draconnic Shenninagans then I can reveal that the characters have met one of the species listed here and they know it, but they have also met a further two and as of yet they have no knowledge that they have done so. There is also a fourth draconnic subspecies they have encountered a member of but that one with be included in the next part. Can you work out which characters are dragons or not? I look forward to hearing any fan theories.

Tuesday, 12 November 2024

Draconnic Shenninagans - Episode 26

 Chapter Twenty Six: Judgement and Tradition

 "Oh... my... word," Thorian looked as if he was going to catch flies at any moment.

"I'd close that, my dear Thorian or these... people will believe that you are related to a gargoyle," Jeremiah advised with a smile. For once Kaelin was too busy looking to consider smacking Jeremiah on the snout.

 Endingborough arched up away from them, a thousand gems shining in an eternal night. Quieter than Bearington and even brighter than the suburbia caverns that they had traveled through, the capital of the dwergs had a grandeur that they had not seen any where else. The streets were wide and scrupulously clean, light by ornate lamps that hung from decorate wrought iron  posts and the pavements were lined with crystal trees that shone with pale colors, casting spectrumed rainbow glints across the pavement. On a corner a group of children played, giggling as their faces changed colors as they ducked in and out of the shards of light, childish fluff on their chins floating in the breeze as they danced.

The houses were not only large but also richly decorated with painted friezes, set back from the street behind beautifully crafted fences and with wide curving drives. In short, they were houses built to scream 'look at how rich I am, I can afford to waste all this space!"

If the houses they passed were luscious then the government buildings they approached where even more staggering.

 Made from layers of imported stone that banded the walls with thick stripes of black basalt, white diorite and pink granite, carved and fluted, inset and inlaid to within an inch of their lives, the government buildings the impressions of some massive great confectionery cakes writ so large that even a battalion of hungry orcs would struggle to make a dent in them.

The guards at the doors were also a sight to behold, massive war hammers not only studded with gems but inlaid with them, armor not lacquered but the color washed through the metal, great helmets wrought in the likeness of snarling basilisks.

Thorian's ears drooped and he tried to walk small as they stepped between the guards and were led through a massive atrium towards the doors of some inner chamber.

"Aye think ahm gonna be in trouble," he muttered, "Aye really think ahm gonna be in trouble."

"N o more than any of the rest of us," Kaelin reminded him, "And possibly less than Jeremiah, seeing that he has already proved in front of witnesses that he is a dangerous man to serve, let alone be an enemy of."

"Still think I'm going to be in trouble," Thorian muttered as they came to a stop deep inside the building, a clerk directing them towards a waiting room, voices audible, if not clearly, in the room beyond the imposing doors they had been headed towards. Sinbar was detached from them and told to wait in a separate room. He winked as he left.

"Sorry good ladies and gentlemen but I have had my five minutes of fame and now the zat thjold are undoubtedly worried that I might once again work my silver tongued magic on the Twelve and weigh the scales in your favor," he explained, "I wish you all the greatest of luck and I will prayer that Kronzyn will not collect your stories just yet."

"That sounds deliciously ominous," Jeremiah smiled but it was not a nice expression. Sinbar merely smiled back and twiddled his flute at them before leading his collection of skeletons away. The guards who had tried to accost them at the station positioned themselves across the the door the moment they were left alone and glowered at them all. Handrun looked at their theatrics and rolled his eyes, stumping deliberately across the room and plonking himself down in an ornately carved stone chair.

"Pull up a chair," he waved a hand, "Might as well as there's no knowing how long we'll be here, sounds like they're having a right old chin wag in there and unless you have something to prove there's no point wearing out your knees."

"Don't mind if I do," Ulrich smiled at their guide and settled himself into a chair opposite him. It turned out to be a lot more comfortable than he'd expected.

"I'm surprised that you allow yourselves such things as cushions," Kaelin observed as she sat down, "Even if they are made out of leather."

"Working stone and metal might be what makes a dwerg a dwerg but it becomes mighty cold on your back side if you have to sit on it for long," Handrun grunted, "And yes, before you as there was an argument over that and all."

"They argued over having seats that were half way comfortable?" Kaelin raised her eyebrows.

"Thankfully," Handrun shot a glance at the guards at the door, "More sensible heads prevailed on that score and it was decided that you don't have to have chilblains on your bum to be a dwerg."

Kaelin sniggered as the guards at the door shifted uncomfortably.

Jeremiah drifted round the room, glaring up at the pictures made of precious and semi-precious stones inlaid in the walls. It was ridiculous that these... people had more riches than he did, it was ridiculous that they had more prestige than he did and it was more than ridiculous that they had access to a magic that he didn't.

The three blue eyed Ash Elves, sagging slightly and stinking more than ever and Nanny Tatters watched him stoically, heads turning back and forth, tracking his movements. Jeremiah rounded on them and glared. They stared impassively back, expressions blank. Jeremiah narrowed his eyes as he viewed them, focusing in on Nanny Tatters. He'd already found one spell that was hiding around in that half striped skull of hers, so it followed reason that there were more hidden in that head of hers, including the glyph magic she had stolen from the dwergs.

Jeremiah tried to turn one of the chairs around to face her but found its sheer weight defeated his discrete effort. A glance at their guards did not reveal whether or not they had noticed but he decided not to try again. He had endured enough sniggering from lesser people, he did not need any more. A curt order had his three Ash Elves standing against the wall facing the guards, much to the guards apparent concern. Jeremiah suppressed a smirk at the sight of them jingling but then called Nanny Tatters round to in front of him. She plodded around and plonked her tailless butt down in front of him. Jeremiah leaned forward in his seat and stared hard into Nanny Tatter's single bloodshot eye. She stared dull back, her eye milky and failing without the protection of its lids. Jeremiah stared harder, trying to pull what he needed out of the rotting mess that was her mind.

It hadn't yielded anything by the time an usher came and told them that the Twelve would now see them.

Stepping through the double doors that lead to the Chamber of the Twelve Kaelin's mouth dropped open once again and beside her Jeremiah only schooled his expression into indifference by sheer effort of will. The entire ceiling was one massive mural of the history of the dwergish people depicted in billions of different colored diamonds.

"Oh... my... word..." Kaelin breathed, fingers twitching. Just a handful of this stuff would have set her up for life, she'd never have to take another risk ever again. Heck, she could bank roll the kingdom and then she'd be the one pulling the King's strings, not the other way round. She clicked her teeth shut to prevent a moan passing her lips. If only she could get up there.

Thorian's ears drooped again and he tried to walk small as he realized that they were standing in a circle made by the fact that the Twelve dwerg Forge Lords were on seats a storey above them, glaring down at the King's Special from behind blank expressioned helmets, the only organic thing about them their beards. He had a bad feeling about this.

Beside him Ulrich was also assessing the situation, remembering what Handrun's commander had said about the Forge Lords not being a monolithic force. The question just remained as to who was friend and who was...

Ulrich winced internally as he looked at one of the Forge Lords. This one was sitting ramrod straight, arms folded, knees chanted, chin tucked down, every inch screaming suspicion and disgust in equal measure. This was evidently the center of the conservative faction, the crux of the ones who had no wish to change, the lynch pin of those who saw anything new as anti dwerg.

Wel, Ulrich noted at least he knew which one to not waste his time on, as it would be a pointless waste of effort for no gain. The only thing that resulted from beating your head against a wall was the acquirement of a headache. That and there was no point in arguing with the ignorant, they merely dragged you down to their level and beat you with experience.

Ulrich cast his eyes around further and... There, almost exactly on the opposite side of the room and almost perfectly opposite in posture. This Forge Lord was leaning slightly forward, head slightly tilted to one, side knees together, one arm at rest on the rest of their seat, the other hand supporting their head. This ones body language said concern possibly but curiosity definitely. Right, this one could be worked with.

With a rattle of copious amounts of mail the Forge Lord directly ahead of them stood and banged the haft of his war hammer down on the floor at his feet.

"Forge Lords of the deeps," they spoke haltingly, obviously translating as they went for the benefit of the non-dwergs in the room. Ulrich immediately chalked them up as, if not an ally, then at least a possible contact as they were willing to consider the language barrier. He inclined his head to the speaker.

"We gather now to discuss the incursion in to our lands by these beings that we see here before us," the Forge Lord continued, " An occurrence that has not happened since the time that the six were banished from our lands. Since then we have not had to consider the sanctity of our borders. What do these beings say in their defense?"

Thorian looked about him and pushed Ulrich forwards. Ulrich did his best to make it look like he'd stepped forward deliberately, rather than stumbled forward due to a shove in the back.

"You're the one who's good with words," Kaelin muttered behind him.

Ulrich drew in a deep breath through his nose, straightened, tugged his clothes and then swept a bow to the ground, making sure to note who was impressed with this gesture of debasement. It was no surprise that Mr Grumpy-Drawers wasn't impressed by this but some of the others appeared to be intrigued by it.

"Mighty Lords of the Deep," Ulrich began, "The True people of the Earth and Stone, Great Sons of Hestia, we come before you with humble and contrite hearts. In our smallness and meanness we come before you weary and harried by ill fortune. Our Lord and Master, the King of the realm above, in the World without a Roof, has sent us on a quest to discover the source of the great evil disturbing our worlds. In the course of this quest, in which we have traveled far and wide and deep, we have tracked this conspiracy to the depths of Hestia and discovered your Great Civilization of Wonders, the like of which we have never seen.

We grovel our apology that we entered your realm without invitation. Truly it was not our intention to cause an invasion and I can assure you that we are not the scouts of a greater force. We are the King's Special, the discovery and neutralization of this threat to our world is our responsibility and ours alone, which is why we humbly beg that you kindly provide us with a little assistance so that we do not cause undue disruption to your people while we track this warped and diseased intelligence through your realm.

We thank you from the bottom of our hearts for the chance of this audience and the clemency that you give us in allowing us to plead our case before you."

The Forge Lord who was interested in them shifted slightly considering their words. Their opposite however, was not so easily swayed.

"Fine words from a non creature, an aberration of nature," the sneer could not be seen but it was evident in every word, "But do you really think that we do not see through your sweet coated lies? You speak of an evil in the world and act as if we are ignorant as to its nature. Do you really think we have no knowledge of this evil? Do you really think that you can hide who sent you here? You stink of the non people, the betrayers! You reek of their foulness, their uncleanness! Do you really think that you are the first puppets they have sent to our realm? Your pretty lies do not deceive us, dupe of the dwarf!"

The words of the Common Tongue were spat as if their very sound was a poison that the Forge Lord could not wait to get out of his mouth, spitting and hawking up the words as if they were contamination.

Thorian rumbled back, fists clenched, shaking with the effort of not picking the shouty little stump up by the scruff of his neck and throwing him across the room. It was the possible that the only thing that stopped him was that Thorian wasn't sure that he would be able to scramble up the stone wall to reach the bawling tiddler without falling on his butt.

"Someone here isn't as smart as he thinks he is," he grumbled, "Someone here doesn't know as much as he thinks he knows. If he was as smart as he thinks he is he'd know that my people don't make deals with stumpy little midgets, we kick um about in a football match!"

"I agree with my companion, Great Lord of Hestia," Ulrich bowed to the uptight Forge Lord, "We have had no contact with the High Dwarfs, nor have we been to their mountains. We consider it a great honor that you are the first of the people we have had contact with and not the fake dwarfs, those cowards and disgraces to your ancestors and laws."

"If nothing else we never expected to find anyone living this deep," Kaelin stepped up as well, "We had a vague notion of the Ash Elves but they were more legends and bogymen than facts of Hestia. We had no idea that there could be anyone who lived even deeper than the Ash Elves and even if we did have, we had no true plan to come and visit you. We tumbled into one of your permanent way tunnels out running a cave in that was trying to crush us to death. I'm not sure as to your attitude to being caught in a cave in but we find the idea of being smeared into paste one of the worst ways to die."

More of the Forge Lords seemed to be considering their claims seriously, at least they were not quite suppressing shudders at the idea of being squished like a bug. Mr Grumpy was still not budging though.

"A likely story," he sneered, "And where is the evidence of this 'cave in'? Where are the witnesses?"

Kaelin didn't bother to hide the roll of her eyes.

"Look," she rounded on him, "We get the fact that you don't like us because we are different or some such other crud but we didn't come here on purpose. WE'D rather not be here at all in fact. We'd rather be getting on with tracking down the monsters that are causing our realm trouble and then be able to get back to that realm as quickly as possible. You don't like even the idea of living in a world without a roof, well we ain't exactly comfortable being stuck under ground. We don't want to be here but our attempts to sorts out the problems of our world has lead us down here so here we are and I'll say it once again, very loud and slow - WE DID NOT KNOW YOU WERE HERE."

"Ignorance is no excuse!" Mr Grumpy yelled, actually on his feet now but the Forge Lord who seemed more inclined to listen to them interrupted.

"What is it that  troubles your realm?" their voice was different from either the speaker, who was obviously old, his silver beard trailing to the floor, or Mr Grumpy, who's black beard frizzled as if his temper was an electricity that was desperate to earth itself some where. This ones voice sounded younger but it was something different to even that either. Ulrich tried to put his finger on it so Kaelin answered before he had a chance to.

"Something has change in the Underworld," she clarified, "Something is driving the creatures such as the giant spiders up into the World without a Roof. There they are killing without control. What is worse the Ash Elves have been driven to such levels of raiding into our realm that some are talking of outright war between our peoples..."

"As if the zat thjold should be concerned with the bleatings of base beasts when they indulge their savage and vulgar natures," Mr Grumpy sneered as he sat back down, "Since when have we, the true Sons of Stone, been responsible for controlling the depraved when they decide to rut?"

"Since you dare speak so foully of the Faithful in our presence!" Quenril stepped forward, eyes blazing, "You forget yourself, Forge Lord, you forget that we can survive without you but without us you will not have a stitch to wear under those layers of metal, nor access to the medicines that keep your people healthy. Think on that and watch your tongue!"

Thanks to the metal mask of his helm it was impossible to tell whether the Forge Lord was chastised or if he was sneering back at the Ash Elves.

"You still haven't said what manner of creature you were hunting when you 'stumbled' into our realm?" he turned back to sneering at Kaelin, "Why don't you speak? Why do you seek to conceal that information?"

"Well that would be why we are down here," Ulrich admitted, "We have found that what appeared to be a simple monster hunt has grown into the uncovering of a conspiracy that involves not only Ash Elves that have abandoned their mothers and their clans but monsters capable of shifting their form and even a dragon of a species we have never seen before." He indicated Nanny Tatters and Jeremiah stepped aside to display the crowning jewel of his collection of pawns. Several Forge Lords leaned towards each other and muttered at the sight of the skinless, one eyed dragon. Something about that susurration seemed to penetrate the dragon's dimmed mind as she lifted her head and waggled it from side to side, something like an expression shifting in her milky eye.

Ulrich studied the Forge Lords. There was a knot of resistance gathered round the shouty one but a fair number of the others were beginning to swing towards his opposite. Hopefully that was a good sign.

"Do you have any traces?" the open minded Forge Lord asked, "What was it that lead you to our realm?"

"We fought with the beast men," Kaelin explained, "The big, hairy ones who can change their shape. They had made a pact with that one," she gestured at Nanny Tatters, "She opened the doorways so that they could invade the strongholds of the clans of the Ash Elves. They have been decimating the clans. Just ask them what has happened to the Snake Clan." She nodded to Quenril and the other two. The Forge Lords turned their masked gazes on the Ash Elves. Two of them looked uncomfortable and Tasnar shot Kaelin a dirty look but then Sabal stepped forward.

"She speaks truthfully," he admitted, holding up his right palm to display the serpent tattoo on his palm, "The Snake Clan is no more. Our Matriarch is dead, our Sisters of the Deep are dead and the Disciples of the Begetters are dead. Our power is broken and our fastness stands empty, it was only by the hidden hand of Fate that any of us survived and if we had not made this alliance with these people we would have perished when we came home, into the jaws of these creatures. The creatures we face are not of the land under stone, they are something that lives only to kill and destroy all order."

"There is something else you need to know," Jeremiah stepped forward and Ulrich tensed, "And that is how this one," Nanny Tatters swung her head towards him, "Had concealed her presence from you. The entrance to her lair, the one that we exited through when we fled the rock fall into your kingdom, was marked with glyph magic."

The reaction was immediate and visceral.

"Blasphemy!" the shouty one was back on his feet, bellowing and shaking his fists, so enraged that his war hammer lay forgot at his feet. The rest of the twelve were also on the move, turning back and forth between themselves, making so much noise that the shouty one couldn't make himself heard above their own hubbub. Screaming and ranting he wrenched his helmet of, revealing a pale face above his black, bristling beard, spit flying from his lips as he bellowed, leaning over the balustrade of the edge of the Forge Lord's seating area as if he meant to leap down at them and kill them with his bare hands.

The Speaker of the House rose to his feet and banged the head of his war hammer down on the floor at his feet.

The boom shuddered through the air, loaded with such power that it could almost be seen, a ripple in the air that cut through the noise and left a ringing silence in its wake.

"What evidence do you have of this?" the Speaker asked in that shivering lull, "What evidence do you bring of this perversity of which you speak?"

After a moment Handrun stepped forward, holding out the letter that his commander had penned. The Speaker stood tall and stretched out his hand. A symbol drawn on the palm of his gauntlet glow for a moment. Caught in the beam of light, the rolled up pages of the report floated into the air. Jeremiah glowered at this show that the dwerg's claim to have magic was proven to be true.

The Speaker's fingers closed round the report and he took his time unrolling the pages and reading through them. He read through them twice and then slumped down in his seat. Without looking he handed the report to his left. One by one the Forge Lords read the report and sank down on their chairs, the assurance kicked out of them. Even the shouty one looked sick after reading the report, passing it on without trying to prevent the last few from reading it.

"How?" he managed, "How can they have stolen the glyphs? The sacred charges entrusted to us by the First. How can this have happened? Who's to blame?" That thought seemed to stir some of the old fire, his color rising again. "Who's to blame?"

"That is what we intend to find out," Kaelin stated before he could really warm to his subject, "We've fought the beast men, we've fought nightmares, heck we've even taken out a dragon to do this. We can do this, we can track who ever is doing this thing down and put an end to them. We have no choice, we have to do this."

"Why do you have no choice?" the Forge Lord who had listened to them all this time asked, "What ties you to your quest that tightly that you believe you have no choice but to see it through?"

"Because who ever it is, already knows that we are after them," Kaelin explained, "They have already set the beast men after us directly, naming us as the targets. If we don't get them first, they will get us."

The Forge Lord considered it.

"We are the chosen of King Tatsaya," Ulrich stepped forward, "We have a sworn duty to serve him until he gives us his permission to lay down our arms and leave his serve. A great civilization such as yourselves would understand this more than any other. Society only thrives when we give up our personal glory to serve a greater good."

"Well, most of us understand that," Kaelin shrugged, "Some of us are still in this for our own glory and power, as well as all the puppets that they can collect."

She glared at Jeremiah, who smiled back, something shark like shifting in that smile. The Forge Lords stirred and shifted, unsure which message they should trust, that the King's Special were servants or bounty hunters, only out for their own vainglory.

"If," the thinking one asked, "If you are permitted to stay within our realm, what are your intentions?"

"Quite frankly, after the reception we've had here today," Kaelin noted, "I'm not sure that we intend to stay. I, for one, am very tempted to say that you can all go stew in your own juice."

Ulrich groaned and pinched the bridge of his nose. Kaelin's diplomacy struck again.

"But you stated that the trace lead you here," the thinking Forge Lord protested, "Would you leave without investigating?"

"You don't want us here," Kaelin shrugged, "Some of you have made that blatantly clear so why not cut our loses and try and pick up the trail once we are out of here. If you don't want any help from people who have had to tackled these monsters before, why should we force you?"

"Of course," Ulrich stepped in, "If you change your minds and decide that you wish to utilize our hard earned knowledge of these creatures weaknesses, then we would be honored that you allowed us to serve your mighty Empire, unfamiliar as we are to your customs and traditions."

The thinking Forge Lord sat back in their seat a moment but spoke again before anyone else could interrupt.

"With the consideration of our National Security, would you be willing to be chaperoned by a member of this august body so that your movements within our realm can be testified to in case of any discrepancies that arise?" they asked.

"Absolutely!" Urich replied in a moment, "I, for one, believe that it is a capital idea, mutually beneficially for all considered while we navigate these interesting times."

Kaelin thought about and sniffed.

"Seems reasonable enough to me," she admitted, "As long as being chaperoned doesn't include being locked in a jail cell for days on end. There's an idea - you agree to not lock us up, while we agree to not try and slip away from our chaperon. And as we are unfamiliar with your way of doing things, how about we keep Handrun with us as a double guarantee as he can explain things to us if events move too fast for the Forge Lord to have their attention split in two, trying to make us understand what is going on while they have to deal with the emergency. How's that sound?"

The thinking Forge Lord shifted and then stood up.

"I put forward the motion that I shoulder the responsibility for being the chaperone of these people while they are within our caverns for as long as it takes them to complete the investigation into the disturbances that have being disrupting our lands," they stated.

"All in favor of this motion?" the Speaker rose, "Raise your hands." The count was done. "All against."

Unsurprising Mr Grumpy slammed his hand up into the air, followed by a few others but the result was heavily in their favor.

"Council dismissed!" the Speaker declared and turned to leave the room.

"Phew," Kaelin breathed out as the Council of Twelve broke up into little huddles.

"I'm am pleasantly surprised, my dear Kaelin," Ulrich turned to her, "Despite your lack of politeness you actually pulled that off!"

"Not as simple as that," Kaelin muttered.

"What do you mean?" Thorian frowned as he slapped her on the shoulder. Kaelin raised a eyebrow and then jerked a finger over her shoulder. Thorian frowned some more and then looked up.

"Oh," he nodded, "I get yeh."

"May I be allowed in on the joke?" Ulrich asked after a moment.

"If you look up there, my dear Ulrich," Jeremiah quietly stepped up behind him, "You will see that our shouty little friend has his friends talking very fast to him and undoubtedly they are convincing him that this is the perfect opportunity to get ride of a political rival. If we 'mess this up' we will not be the only ones who take the drop for it, our friend amongst the Forge Lords will be dragged down with us."

"Oh great," Ulrich murmured, "We could be in big trouble."

"Oh I don't think so," Jeremiah smiled.

"Don't you?" Ulrich muttered, "Think about it for one moment - if we pull down our chaperons career we lose any good will that we have built up with the Council at which point Mr Shouty will have the clout to do with us what he likes."

"Come on people," Handrun turned to them, "Let's be moving on. No point in making the Forge Lord wait, especially after she's put herself out to help you."

"She?" Ulrich asked and then nodded to himself, "That explains the voice."

"And the smell," Kaelin noted, "She smells different to all the others in there."

They stepped out through the doors they had entered by to be greeted by their Forge Lord chaperon and her entourage. Sinbar seemed to have attached himself to her group as well.

"Alright," she said gruffly holding out her hand, "I'm Myslynn Coldrock and you're at my service so who is it that I'm putting my career on the line for?"

"Ulrich Brekka at your service," Ulrich beamed and shook her hand warmly, "The esteemed young lady is Kaelin sans family, the big green guy is Thorian Vandervast and our priestly friend is Jeremiah Maat of a great and terrible god."

"You have no idea," Jeremiah smiled, straightening his miter, Hat buzzing uneasily.

"And this is Estella Blackstar, a recent addition to our party and a traveler from the same country as Sinbar. As you say, we are at your service," Ulrich bowed, "And I must say that it is lovely to make your acquaintance. If I may make an observation, it appears that you are at odds with some of your fellow Forge Lords."

"Unlike some," Myslynn Coldrock's sniff was amplified by her helmet, "I do not believe that everything new is undwergish. The world turns and it moves, either we move with it or we get run under by it."

"That is a very pragmatic point of view," Ulrich noted levelly.

"I have my reasons," Myslynn replied, equally levelly, "And speaking of pragmatism and practicality, if you would like to continue this conversation some where a little more comfortable then my home is a walk away from here so if we are going to make it in time for the kitchen to adapt dinner we need to start out."

"Dinner sounds very welcome," Jeremiah replied, "And it is said a walk before eating is healthy. Shall we be going."

"That's the most sensible thing you have said all day," Kaelin answered. Sinbar blew a little trill of laughter on his flute as Jeremiah glared.

It was difficult to know Myslynn's expression as she turned and lead the way towards the grand doors, her guards falling in around them. Thorian looked at the guards with a frown as they walked. The guards the shouty one had sent to try and collect them at the train station had been heavily armored and their armor had all sorts of ribs and spikes and horns and stuff all over them. These ones were still that heavily armored that Thorian decided that he still would have broken a foot trying to play football with them but there wasn't the same amount of spikes and fancy stuff all over them.

"Er, why you not dressed up fancy like the other lot?" Thorian asked.

"The other lot?" the guard didn't stop looking about as they marched but at least he answered Thorian's question.

"Yeah," Thorian nodded, "That lot who came to meet us at the loco place where all decked out in some really fancy gear."

"Ah," the guard replied, "My good Lord's Gardrom Barrowbreaker's people feel the need to make a great show of how much they are dwergs."

"And you do not, my good sir?" Jeremiah asked in a sly tone.

"We do not feel the need to compensate for our insecurities," the guard said quietly, "You do not need a beard on the ground to be a dwerg."

Kaelin was more interested in the fact that they were traveling back towards the station on a parallel route. Granted, Kaelin did not know the word parallel but she understood that if they cut to their left they would wind up back on the road that had led them up to Principal Mound. The buildings around them were also being to look more practical and slightly less over done, even if they still had massive grounds spaced around them.

Myslynn lead them up to a massive set of double gates but the house beyond was a curious building. One side seemed to be the mansion that one would expect of a high ranking official in a government, the other seemed to be more a workshop on a grand scale, high walls made of metal paneling, reaching up until they met the ceiling of the cavern, bolting directly to the stone.

"You have a most magnificent home," Ulrich said to their host.

"You really think so boyo?" Myslynn seemed to have relaxed more and more, the further away they had walked from Principal Mound.

"I do think so," Ulrich nodded, "It is quite the marriage between the practical and the glorious."

"Would you like to see the more important side of it?" there was something almost teasing in Myslynn's tone.

"Please lead on," Ulrich gestured. Though he couldn't see Myslynn's face there was something proud about her step as she lead them to the workshop side of the building.

"I thought we were going to see the more important side of the building?" Jeremiah queried.

"You are boyo, you are," Myslynn took hold of a massive handle and wrenched it side ways, the huge door siding back on rails set top and bottom of its frame. It rumbled with a voice that was formed of all the noises that spilled out from with in.

"Wow!" Estella muttered as the workshop spread out before them. She immediately took off to one side, followed by Sinbar, her attention caught by the blue prints and diagrams nailed up on the walls, quietly asking Sinbar questions about methods and materials. Kaelin frowned as she over head muttered sentences about a friend in need of replacement limbs and the limits of talisman wood. Kaelin wasn't always the more refined tool in the draw but she could put two and two together and come up with four. Part of her wondered how dangerous Valodrael would be, cut free of the limits having to share Estella's body. Estella turned her head, looking back over her shoulder at Kaelin as if she had heard the woman's thought and something sloshed in one of her eyes.

Kaelin shuddered and turned away to look at the glory of metal and machinery stretched out before them.

"Woah," she muttered.

"Yeah," Thorian agreed, "What she said."

The inside of the workshop seemed to take up a space that was bigger on the inside than it was on the outside. Instead of being claustrophobic it was spacious but massive machines hunched in that space in a way that seemed to make it crowded. Scores, hundreds of scurrying squat shapes bustled here, there and every where, hammers pounding down great seems of metal before the colossal furnace doors where flung wide with a roar of heat and the massive piece of metal was dwerg handled back into the fiery glow. Else where huge rollers bend a sheet of metal into a perfect cylinder that was then hoisted into the air by massive chains.

Jeremiah's mouth flapped open when he realized those chains where looped to a machine that perched on a set of girder's up near the ceiling and the whole thing was now crawling across the workshop, swinging above a shop floor as red hot rivets were battered into place by other machines that were held in the arms of sweat stained dwergs, machines that coughed great blurts of sounds as the arms of the dwergs that held them bulged with the effort of fighting the recoil.

Thorian gaped, as with a water fall roar, a great crucible tilted over and poured a river of liquid fire into channels that branched in right angled patterns. Flashes of flame licked up as dwergs in heavy leather aprons ran rakes over the tops of the molds, scrapping off impurities as the metal cooled.

A steady pounding thunder boomed out, a hammer head that looked more like an entire anvil thudding down and down again, pummeling the bend in a irregular piece of hot metal into a smooth curve.

As Myslynn lead them down one side of the workshop they witnessed a yellow hot sheet of metal being pressed between two thick plates of cold metal, the hot sheet bending and molding itself to conform to the desired shape. With a hiss of steam the pistons doing the pressing released and lowered to allow the now shaped piece of metal to cool slowly.

Then Ulrich saw her.

Pride of place in the workshop was an engine that gleamed. She was... It was funny how something that was all metal, all pressure, all strength could be a she. You would have thought that something built of sweat and strain and pressure, soot and ash and fire would have been masculine, heavy, brutish even but the mind still said she automatically. There was something sleek, almost magnetic about her, she wasn't heavy, she was a racer, born to chase the horizon and stretch into her speed. Her parts whirled and twirled as muscles of a racing animals stretched and pulled over their bones. Life lived here, as strange mechanical life but it was life.

Ulrich stepped up to her with wonder in his eyes, one hand stroking down the master work of her barrel, the metal gleaming under his hand. Then his eyes fell on her name plate.

"So you are Steel Rail," he observed and instinctively glanced upwards. High, impossibly high, above him something ivory colored and shiny curved in a crack in the ceiling.

"I've heard many storied about you," Ulrich looked back down to where his hand rested against the steel barrel. Pipe near his knee hissed a tiny jet of steam, a curious sound.

"Don't worry," Ulrich smiled at the distorted reflection shining on the curve of the boiler, "All the stories are complementary, particularly about how you don't suffer fools gladly." He glanced up at the ceiling again, at that curve of bone and part of him wondered if you would be able to pry it out of the rock or whether it was wedged there by a force beyond the physical.

Steel Rail hissed again and this time she sounded more than a little smug.

"I see you have an eye for good engineering," Myslynn noted, stepping up beside him, laying her own hand against the sleek steel hull.

"I am gaining one, I hope," Ulrich admitted, "I'd like to think that I'm beginning to see where there is more than just the mechanic."

Myslynn tilted her head as if frowning at him for a moment.

"This here's my baby," she admitted, "The first of the first. Granted I don't think she has a single original part left on her, I've stripped her down and remade her that many times. Everything new that's an improvement I've added to her over the years, every time my boys manage to come up with something that will make her better, I've made sure she's the first to get it after the prototype has run her tests."

"But she's still the same engine," Ulrich replied.

"And you figure that how?" Myslynn asked.

"If I had a son and I give him this sword of mine and he gave it to his son," Ulrich began, "Well one day it would need a new handle and it might need the weight adjusting and then many generation on it might need a new blade but it would still be the same sword I passed on to my son."

Myslynn stood still for a moment and then clapped him on the small of the back. No words seemed ready to reply to what Ulrich had said and he found that no words were needed.

"Any way," he coughed after a moment, "I seem to have acquired something of a mechanical servant. Marmaduke, come here."

With a hiss and pop Marmaduke lurched over. Somehow Myslynn did not laugh but the way her armor was jiggling it was obvious that she was having to fight the urge.

"I gained him as a battle trophy after our little tiff with the dragon," Ulrich explained, "I managed to over ride the original set of instructions but he is not the most prepossessing minion to look at, I'll admit."

"That is putting it mildly," Myslynn muttered.

"Our guide to the city of Endingborough, Handrun Steelfist," Ulrich continued, "He was telling me that he has a few good ideas of how to improve Marmaduke and he needs to have a good project so that he can advance along his career path and prove his skill set."

"Does he indeed?" Myslynn asked, a definite interest in her voice.

"Yes he does," Ulrich confirmed, "I say, Handrun, my good chap, would you come here a moment? I was just telling the Forge Lord some of your ideas of how to improve Marmaduke here."

Handrun came across the floor, wringing his hands uncharacteristically, sweating but Ulrich couldn't tell whether that was because of the heat in the workshop or whether that was because he was nervous about speaking to someone as exulted as the Forge Lord.

"Your Eminence," he bobbed nervously.

"Now come, Handrun," Ulrich smiled, "I am sure her Eminence respects a craftsman enough to listen to your ideas," Ulrich reassured, "After all we all started some where and I am sure that Steel Rail here had many revisions before she was perfected."

"Aye that's Gobannus' own truth," Myslynn nodded, "She's not been the easiest child ever, that she has not. So boyo, you have something in mind for this rather messed up attempt at a tin pot?"

Handrun licked his lips, glanced at Ulrich, looked back at the Forge Lord and took a deep breath.

"Well, your Eminence," he blurted out in a rush, "It's just that I think I know how I can make it work better, or at least a little more smoothly as it does jerk and flap about so much. It's to do with the..."

After that the conversation went flying at least sixty feet above Ulrich's head, which as that put it well above the ceiling of stone, was quite a feat. Granted he did understand when Handrun said about equalizing the lengths of Marmaduke's arms and legs to improve his stability but when it branched into resistance and tensile strengths as well as brazing butt joints and fly wheels and linkages he found himself utterly lost. He looked at Steel Rail and smiled.

"Well," he said quietly to her, "I may not understand all the technical lingo but at least I know what I like."

She whistled quietly at him.

"As I said, I may not understand all the engineering," he liked the sound of that word, "But I know what I like and I like you. I think I need to know some more about the art of engineering. After all, if Marmaduke is damaged later on I'm going to need some knowing about how to fix him."

Steel Rail hissed her agreement.

"Well boyo, it seems to me that you have a good head inside that helmet of yours," Myslynn was saying as he dragged himself back to the conversation, "And I'd like to give it the chance to show what it is capable of. Did your commander give you any idea when he wanted you back?"

"No," Handrun said but then admitted, "He told me that I was to get them to the Forge Lords but he didn't make it clear if he wanted me straight back after that or if I'm to continue helping them to avoid the... the pitfalls of dealing with powerful people without fully understanding what is expected of them."

Myslynn laughed.

"You do have a good head in there boyo," the grin was evident from her laugh, "Alright boyo, I believe one of the apprentice sheds is available. I can't help everyone who deserves it, as I don't know everyone who deserves it but I'll do my best to help the ones I do know. Get yourself in there lad and show us what you can do."

"Yes Ma'am!" Handrun saluted, standing so tall it looked like he was about to float off the ground, "Absolutely! I won't let you down!"

"One minute, young laddy-me-buck," Myslynn called him back, "Going without food won't impress me, going without drink definitely won't impress me and going without sleep is just plain stupid. You are going to have set backs, breakages and disappointments. You are going to have moments when you wonder if you have just made everything so much worse. You are going to have moments when you want to fling the damn thing on the ground and jump up and down on it AND I'm not going to mind if in those moments you take yourself off for a walk around the foundry until you are no longer in the mood to stomp the damn thing into the ground. You are also allowed to ask for help."

Handrun blinked.

"Boyo, do you really think I got where I am now without help?" Myslynn asked, "Boyo, I would have chucked in the hammer more times than I care to think about if I hadn't had help. That or blown myself up to the point where I looked no different to that one up there." She pointed at the curve of bone embedded in the ceiling.

"Asking for help isn't a sign that you're not good enough," Myslynn said, "It's a sign that you're not giving up on being good enough."

Ulrich wasn't sure if it was sweat running down Handrun's face, or tears. After a moment, he nodded.

"Now get a long with you laddy," Myslynn gestured, "Apprentice sheds are that way, get you on and show me what you can do."

"Marmaduke," Ulrich instructed his robot, "You follow Handrun here and do as he tells you until I call you back."

Marmaduke hissed and whizzed and then strode off after Handrun.

"Alright," Myslynn stretched, "If it's alright with you lot I need to take the weight off my feet and get this damn tin pot off my head."

"A most excellent proposition," Jeremiah smiled, sweat trickling down his temple and damping his beard.

"Follow me then," Myslynn waved them to follow her and lead them to a small door in a wall of stone. They had to duck to get through and both Thorian and Jeremiah faced something of a squeeze to get through and Peter the centipede was told to wait outside. As he seemed content to find a place on the ceiling to bask in the condensation forming above the quenching tanks, it wasn't much of a difficulty. Nanny Tatters and the three undead Ash Elves lined up beside the door and set to wait for them at Jeremiah's command.

Beyond the door a short passage lead to a spacious hall, smooth pale yellowish cream walls tastefully inset with crystals to give it a sparkle without being over whelming, the main decoration being the floor, a truly amazing mosaic depicting Steel Rail under full power, stretching into her distance eating speed. It was so good that is almost felt like sacrilege to walk on it.

"Thank goodness that is over," Myslynn stated as she hauled the full face plate helmet off and dumped it on a side table.

"I take it that the Twelve were as... cautious as ever," a dwerg in a plain breast plate inquired as Myslynn dragged off her gauntlets and replaced them with much more flexible blacksmith's leather gloves.

"Why would they use two words to discuss something when they could use twenty or more?" Myslynn asked with disgust, massaging her ears and jaw line, rubbing her auburn beard straight, "Glad to be home and all of that. I'm going to be entertaining these people for a while Bunrik, would you mind sending up enough drinks to my retiring room? And please tell the kitchen that we will have an extra eight people of the Ash Elf constitution for dinner? Oh and bedrooms would be a good idea."

"Very good ma'am," Bunrik half bowed and glided towards a green blaze door far back in the hall.

"Your butler, I take it?" Jeremiah asked.

"Family retainer," Myslynn corrected, "She served my mother when I was arriving in the world and stayed on out of devotion. Wouldn't know what to do without her, now if you'll step this way, we should have enough seats for you all."

The retiring room was actually a very large version of the study that Ulrich's grandfather had preferred when he was alive with a broad fire place and large windows opposite so the ambient light of the cavern outside fell over a whole spread of blue prints and calculations. There were chairs, more richly cushioned than the seats on the train, spread out before the wide stone desk that Myslynn now sat herself behind but the thing that most caught the eyes of the other three of the King's Special was the large bronze mural set above the fire place.

It was a fairly idyllic scene of a cavern village that seemed to have a set of hills reaching up to the arch of the cavern walls. Laid over the ceiling of the cavern  walls runes marched in relief. There was something about the grouping and structure of how those runes were laid out that made Kaelin's brain tickle.

"That is a marvelous piece of craftsmanship," Jeremiah stated to Myslynn, nodding that the mural, "Please, enlighten me, does it depict any where in particular?"

"Oh it does," Myslynn's face turned grave as she accepted a tankard from Bunrik's tray and sat back in her chair, "But you can't find it any more, it no longer exists, not like that. It is the reason why I don't believe everything new is undwergish."

"Oh um," Thorian shifted uneasily, "Er sorry, I know I'm not the smartest person but I really don't understand what you mean. Sorry."

His ears drooped so much that they convinced Myslynn that he wasn't trying to make a joke out of her or her convictions. She sat back with a sigh and took a drink.

"My husband, Gobannus rest his soul, was the shift manager at a mining settlement," she began, "And those hills, in that mural? They weren't hills."

Ulrich frowned as he looked at the mural again, trying to work out what she meant.

"The traditional method for disposing of the slurry and shale, the debris of the mines," Myslynn was obviously fighting to keep her expression still, "My husband doubted the stability of those hills and after I had surveyed them I agreed. We sent letter after letter to the managers higher up, record after record, over and over and over. I paid for independent surveyors to come and do reports. Years and years and years we tried make them to listen." She clumped her tankard down on the desk and shut her eyes as she slumped back.

"I take it that all your timely warnings went unheeded or was it that they didn't listen in time?" Jeremiah's expression was sympathetic but Kaelin rolled her eyes. She could tell from the under tone that he was after here all the juice little details about how much suffering had been caused.

"No," Myslynn shook her head, "They didn't listen. It was the tradition method of disposal, therefore it had to be right, if it was good enough for the ancestors it must be good enough for us. Until it wasn't."

"Oh... oh by any gods who would listen," Kaelin squeezed her own fingers until the knuckles showed white.

"When... when I heard what had happened, I thought I'd lost him. I thought... buried alive," Myslynn was having to bite her lip now, "It was only later that I wondered if that would have been better, if it would have been better if it had hit the minehead." She sniffed and looked at the ceiling, the fire light dancing in her eyes.

Ulrich gave the mural a sharp look, puzzling at the layout of the runes and then the similarity to his boarding house register struck and a look of dawning horror filled his face.

"Oh please tell me it didn't hit a school," he murmured.

"It didn't hit a school," Myslynn agreed but something in her inflection made all of them look at her. "It hit both of them."

"Oh sweet guang zhi zhu," Estella closed her eyes.

"My husband organized it that they swooped schools, the mine workers," Myslynn picked up her drink again but seemed to be more looking for answers in the bottom of the mug, "So they weren't digging for their own children. The higher ups didn't think of that, they didn't think. They didn't even bother to come and see what damage their love of damn tradition had done."

She banged the tankard down on the blotter hard enough for the dregs to jump out and sloop over her fingers. She didn't seem to notice.

"Even Kronzyn will have cried on that day," Sinbar said quietly.

"And Kronzyn is?" Jeremiah inquired.

"My god," Sinbar stated simply, "The Traveler, the Listener, He Who Receives Many Guests, the one who walks the black sands with the deceased has many titles but the greatest, I think, is the Comforter, the one who walks with the fallen and if you can't walk he crawls with you and if you can't crawl, he carries you. He will have carried many over the black sands that day to the doorways of the stars. Their relics will grace his galleries."

"It killed my husband," Myslynn stated, "He struggled on for a couple of decades but something died... something remained buried with the children. I... I on the other hand, well, I'm angry."

This time the tankard tapped down with the sort of click that signals the engagement of the firing charge.

"I am angry," this time the firelight didn't dance in Myslynn's eyes, it shone, "I am fracking angry that those tradition loving, pumice headed, hlavor bethund, olv smaekz dvunklagr could have saved the children and didn't because a bunch of ancestors who worked their arms off to make us a better world are now used as an excuse to not blasted, cracking well think!"

There was nothing that could be said in the face of that glimpse of Myslynn's fire box, she was incandescent when she opened the door and let others see what smouldered inside. She took a deep breath and banked the fire.

"Which, leads us precisely on to you," she stated, "What is it that you didn't want to say in front of my esteemed colleagues?"

There was no lying in the face of that banked fire, Ulrich had seen a glimpse of Valodrael in Estella's eyes and knew that the Void Dragon felt nothing but respect of this dwerg women.

"There is a power orchestrating these attacks," he stepped forward, "Some form of magic being woven, wielded by a... being with  very long reach."

"And you know this because?" Myslynn asked.

"We've seen it," Ulrich admitted, "When we discovered the Hag Dragon, Nanny Tatters..."

"The one that is now a puppet of his?" Myslynn interrupted, finger pointing at Jeremiah.

"Yes ma'am," Ulrich nodded and continued, "We spied on her talking to a being via the medium of a device called in our language rune stones. Looked like an older man of our race, distinguished, well educated, rich and the one in a bargain with the Hag Dragon. His exact words were 'has the Snake Clan been recruited to our cause of yet?'"

"And that means?" Myslynn asked.

"They are forcibly bending the Ash Elf clans to their Will," Ulrich informed her, "Lady Zilvra confessed to me that the citadel of the Kraken Clan has been totally destroyed, knocked off its foundations like a house of cards and sunk into the Undersea, which undoubtedly is the instigating event that caused our King to name us as his Special and send us on this quest."

"What of the beastmen?" Myslynn inquired, "What do they have to do with this?"

"They are in cahoots," Ulrich stated, "They were instrumental in the destruction of the Snake Clan and the murder of their matriarch... and their children."

Myslynn sat back.

"The children?" she whispered, face ashen.

"I... I helped... clear the nursery myself," Ulrich faltered, "They were thorough, thorough and brutal. Somethings need to die but I m not the expert in predicting their movements."

"All Aye know is that they are hard hitting and nasty," Thorian admitted, "I don't like them."

"Neither do I," Jeremiah stated, deliberately not looking at Kaelin. Myslynn had not made it to her position by being unobservant and slow. Like Handrun, she knew that skill alone only would only take you so far up, after that it was a shed ton of money and political savvy that took you the rest of the way. Myslynn was good at playing the game.

"What is it that you would not want to have to admit in front of the Twelve," she leaned towards Kaelin.

"I do not know what you are talking about," Kaelin said slowly, carefully, her eyes narrowing. Myslynn sat back and set her now empty mug to one side but she folded her hands in her lap.

"Let's try this another way," she said calmly, "Do these beasts come from the surface."

Kaelin sighed. Myslynn had the air of someone who would play twenty questions until it became one hundred questions and beyond if need be.

"Yes," she admitted reluctantly.

"So the disruption this far down is deliberate?" Myslynn concluded.

"Yes," Kaelin shifted in her seat as if she had the sudden need to ask for the little room.

"Why?" Myslynn asked, "If they are not going on one of their forceful recruitment drives, then what device, relic or person are they looking for down here?"

As she said it, Sinbar looked down at the flute in his hand, a sudden worry on his face. He looked up at Myslynn, mouth opening to say something but she shook her head ever so slightly and he subsided.

"I don't know why or what," Kaelin spoke, her words coming as slowly as pulled teeth, "But I have a good guess as to whom." Bitterness laced her every word.

"Who?" Myslynn asked quietly.

Kaelin hesitated and sighed again.

"It's my grandfather."

Myslynn slumped back, stunned horror printed large over her face. She sat in silence for several moments as a sick look passed over her face and she managed to drag her composure back into place.

"If..." she hesitated, weighing her words with all the seriousness of a meeting of the Twelve, "If your grandfather knew you where here, what would he do?"

"We wouldn't be having this conversation," Kaelin was blunt and to the point.

"Why not?" Myslynn replied, "Would you be running or would you be fighting?"

"Column A, Column B," Kaelin shrugged. Myslynn frowned, uncertain that she understood Kaelin's metaphor, or she was possibly worried that Kaelin might turn on the dwergs, which would mean the end of her own career as well.

"The Lady Kaelin has sworn to end this... matter with her unlamented grand sire," Quenril stepped forward.

"To whom?" Myslynn asked after a moments consideration.

"To our clan," Quenril spoke solemnly, "She is sworn to end her grandfather and his depredations by the turning of the tides or we will take the traditional forfeit."

Myslynn went completely still at that. Then she took a very deep breath.

"I shall pray to Gobannus that you manage to complete your oath," she said, slightly unsteadily to Kaelin, "The forfeit is a terrible thing."

"What..." Kaelin started to ask and then remembered the scream of rage as the brothers had discovered the fact that Nanny Tatters was the one that had allowed the werewolves into their stronghold. The grim faces, the lock step as they had closed in on Nanny Tatters reanimated corpse, the dreadful purpose as their swords went to work, not to stab or hack but to peel, to peel Nanny Tatters out of her skin and leave her as the pink and white horror that now strutted at Jeremiah's heels. Only Kaelin was sure that if she failed to deal with her grandfather by the time the month was up they wouldn't make sure she was dead first, she'd scream as they went to work at her.

She looked at the three Ash Elves and saw not condemnation in their faces, not yet, but there was no mercy either. Tasnar drew a knife and balanced it by its point on his finger tip, grinning at her all the while before flipping it into the air and catching its handle. The grin didn't falter as he licked the blood from his finger tip.

Kaelin drew a breath that curdled in her lungs with cold.

"What, exactly, is your grandfather?" Myslynn asked.

"He's a tyrant," Kaelin dragged her attention back to the Forge Lord, "Anyone, and I mean anyone who is not for him is against him and he takes delight in causing pain. What is worse is, because he's not just an animal, he will use words and every manner of mind frackery to make you believe that you deserve the punishment he dishes out. His word is law and more than law for the pack. He'll have a close core of followers from the first pack, such as Greely, and they'll dispense his will to his new recruits, unless said recruits are unlucky enough to be a female he fancies and then he'll take them himself. I know for a fact that I have been promised to Greely as a 'reward', probably because he is my grandfather. If we... further apart, then I've no doubt that he would have..."

She rubbed her arms vigorously, shuddering.

"I think we get the picture," Myslynn observed, "What would he want with us? It is not like our kinds can interbreed."

"I don't know," Kaelin was still compulsively rubbing her arms, "But I do know this - he's looking for an army. This isn't a fight to the death for him, it is a fight to infection. I don't know if dwergs can be infected by the werewolf's bite but my advise is to avoid being bitten at all costs."

Myslynn as still staring at her as if she didn't believe what she had just been told when the howl made both Kaelin and Thorian turn to the windows. The Ash Elves all stood, Estella and Sinbar following suit.

The howl echoed again, bouncing and ringing throughout Endingborough. Jeremiah twitched his fingers in a silent call to his puppets. He could hear that this wasn't one voice howling, it was many, one leading and others joining in. There were also some that didn't sound like merely wolves. There were other things mixed in with those lupine voices and they were coming from up near Principle Mound.

"They're here," Ulrich stated with foreboding.

"No shat, Shallot," Kaelin snapped as she bounded passed heading for the door way.

In the hall way, she looked around frantically and then decided that instead of running the risk of becoming lost looking for the front door she'd stick with what she knew. She bounded down the corridor that had lead them in from the foundry side of the building.

To her surprise Ulrich followed her.

"What are you doing?" she snapped.

"Peter!" Ulrich explained, "Not sure I can whistle him up the way Jeremiah has done with his little friends." Kaelin wasn't sure what he meant by that and, frankly she didn't care as she burst out into the heat and steam and sparks of the foundry floor. Behind her Ulrich whistled and she heard Peter's multiple legs rattle over the wall even through the cacophony of the works. She slammed bodily into the sliding door and wrenched it open. Neck and neck, she and Ulrich leapt out into the yellow glow of Endingborough.

Kaelin could hear the screams. There were children crying out in that noise.

"Scum!" Kaelin screamed, "Bum-banking Scum!"

Myslynn gave her a nod at that just before she yanked down her helmet and hefted her war hammer, a war hammer that was shaped like an anvil horn at one end and lead the way up the street, her guard and the Kings Special trailing around her and Jeremiah's pets stumping along behind.

Kaelin reigned in the urge to go charging off ahead of them. The flanked prey would have no chance in this and on her own...

She had to think of it as a hunt, to see it the way her accursed kin would see it. The prey on its own would be surrounded and brought down but it was hard, it was so hard not to race up the street towards those screams bellowing all the hatred in Hell. She swore that if she died before she managed to bring her grandfather down she would find a bunch of imps in Hell who could come back and finish the job for her.

Fighting the leash she kept it tied with, the beast swelled under her skin, fighting to rip its way free and just shred whatever it faced.

Ulrich was whooping and grinning as they pounded up the street, trying not to out pace the dwerg, who had a surprising turn of speed when they were threatened but the other three started glancing up at the roofs of the buildings flanking them, sure that they were catching movement out of the corner of their eyes, sure that it meant nothing good.

Then Ulrich made the mistake of drawing ahead.

The things very nearly swept him out of the saddle as they leapt to the road. If Peter had been a horse they probably would have hooked him but Peter's rippling movement threw off their strike just enough for them to miss. Their claws shrieked over the stones as they slued to a stop in front of the team. Ulrich, on the other hand, did not even slow down.

Peter slammed into the front most... thing with a crash of flesh against chitin, mandibles scissoring at its face, Peter whistling his own battle cry whine as Ulrich whooped again.

"What the Grin-der-gap are these things?" Thorian bellowed, swinging his sword at the one that bounded at him. It shrieked as the blade bit but it didn't bite deep, wedging in the toughened muscles below the things hide. It snapped and bit at Thorian's face, fangs clashing together a hair breath from his face, Thorian's hand straining to hold its malformed head away from his as he danced about trying to avoid its slashing claws while hanging on to his sword with the other hand. It snarled, ears laying flat back, mane bristling. The smell of it was overwhelming. Thorian gagged.

Kaelin charged! The change took her mid stride and she didn't try to slam or grapple the thing, her claws stretching out from her finger tips so hard they hurt. She swung with all her strength as she streaked passed the things back. There was a crack and the things head leapt free.

Thorian grunted as its sudden dead weigh yanked his hand round as it collapsed, limbs jerking and flaying. Thorian planted a boot on its slick side and yanked his sword free.

"Just what the Grin-der-gap are these things?" he yelled again.

"No idea, old boy," Ulrich laughed, sword flickering a blinding dance, snapping at the lunging dancing thing that bit and swiped at him. It was leery of him, having seen what swords could do, unwilling to take risks but its movement patterns were odd and it was putting Ulrich off. When it leapt back, he let it open up the space between the two groups.

"Oh Klu'ga-nath," Jeremiah whispered, fingers arching in warding symbols.

The things shifted and stepped closer to each other as they eyed the King's Special and their friends, their three feet padding over the flagstones as they walked in an upright position.

For the first time, Ulrich started taking in details about what they were facing.

"Oh," he said, the point of his sword lowering, "Oh ain't you the ugly sons of mothers."

"Er," Thorian frowned, "Legs! Legs! I'm counting three of them."

"And two arms," Myslynn could count as well, especially when said arms were extending hands laden with five claws that were three inches long apiece towards her. Claws that caressed the air, eager to feel flesh split below their touch. Lips rippled back along ridge topped muzzles, muscles sliding and bulging in lithe, black leather limbs as they shifted and crouched, tails of bone and chitin spurs slowly lashing the air behind them, their eyes glowing with a hunger that made Valodrael surge through Estella in return, his greed answering the challenge. Estella doubled over as the boundary between Valodrael and herself began to dissolve.

Kaelin got in first, drawing in a breath that made her ribs swell out, the skin beneath her fur almost drum tight.

Then she opened her mouth and roared!

It battered the pair of beasts before them with sound, a noise that was not a howl, not a bellow, not a scream but containing something of all of them. Kaelin heaved for breath as the last of it echoed away. Then the two beasts growled in return, crouching lower getting ready to spring.

Then, to the surprise of the King's Special, Jeremiah stepped forward, mace of office held high, Hat buzzing with nerves. The dead glare eyes of the two monsters settled on him.

Jeremiah huffed, Jeremiah puffed, Jeremiah swelled and as the two beasts went to spring he opened his mouth and...

The world ended.

Just for a second, just for a moment, the world dissolved in a light that should not be, that should not exist.

Kaelin thought it was moonlight but somehow so strong it out shone the sun, leaving after images dancing in her sight through her tightly closed eyelids, the light forcing her back into human form, the change crunching through her like teeth through a piece of crackling.

For Thorian it was the snow glare off the mountain sides in winter but so extreme that his skin tingled and burned. He yelled as he threw up his arms to protect his face.

For Ulrich it was the flare of the magnesium flash that one of his tutors had been perfecting, intense, blinding and lasting so much longer than it should have done. He screwed his face up as Peter bucked and shrilled beneath him.

Then suddenly, blessedly, it was gone.

All of them stood blinking, trying to clear the purple and blue dots dancing in their sight. Eventually Kaelin was able to shake it and squint at the sight before them.

"What the HELL!" she yelled, gaping at what stood before them.

"My eyes," Thorian moaned, "My eyes."

Kaelin couldn't turn to comfort him, her whole being riveted by what was before them, the sound of rasping gasps only slightly tugging at her attention.

The... things... werewolves... monsters... abominations... were still there, arms out stretched, legs half uncoiled, mouths agape, frozen in the very instant of their leap. Only now they were white.

From nose to tail tip they were a beautiful, sparkling white, every piece of them. Utterly still, utterly perfect in every detail.

Myslynn stepped forward, placing every step with infinite care, her guards shifting uneasily behind her. She slowly brought her war hammer up... and tapped one of the beasts on the nose.

It disintegrated, the details tumbling away, its form sifting down, cascading with a soft sigh as its structure lost its integrity, pouring like water, but sighing like sand grains running over the dunes.

"Salt," Myslynn stated in wonder, "They've turned into salt."

She turned a face filled with awe towards them.

They all looked back, looked at each other, looked back at her and then looked at Jeremiah.

He was bent over double, hands braced on his knees, gasping and heaving.

"All hail..." he rasped and then coughed, brutal great racking coughs that heaved up from his toes, "All hail Klu'ga-nath."

He dissolved into another coughing bout, fit to wake the dead but the remaining statue just crumbled and sifted down into a pile of salt at his feet.

Kaelin shivered.

For a second, just for a second, she could have sworn that a great scaly face appeared in that shifting fall of salt... and it had grinned at her.