Dragon Kindred_And The Gyr Worshipers

by Marshall Drews

  Slowly Nerr found himself falling to the darkness, a great restful place where he’d soon regain his energy and Nerr knew he could safely rest for Venneith surely would watch over him. The last thing he heard before he passed to sleep were the words of his very protector as they finally reached the end of their journey.

  “It seems we’ve made it back.”

  “It’s a lot more dainty then I remember.” Phith then spat on the floor. “I think I’ll ask whoever now leads the Militia to relocate me elsewhere. I can’t stand this village any longer.”

  “Leave if you want but stay a little while won’t you?” Venneith recommended as they continued in their pursuit. “You’ll no doubt be revered by the town’s men and women.”

  The only time Nerr woke again was when he found himself to be jolted and greeted by a strong and unfamiliar smell. It was dusty and smelled strongly of grass. Nerr didn’t quite like this new smell but he was warm, content and comfortable in the confines of the space he was provided during his deep slumber. It seems when Nerr had fallen to sleep Venneith had gone and obtained a pack which he now wore on his back with Nerr nestled inside.

  Handing the owner of the stable some coin, he thanked the keeper before taking the reins in his hand.

  The horse Venneith handled and owned was named Astrega, and she was a particularly stubborn kind of mare when it came to mundane things like bedding down for rest or being handed to another caretaker. She prefers the company of her rider, Venneith, and no others. Nothing would ride her other then him and she’d be sure to let them know, Astrega that stubborn mare.

  It was half the reason Venneith harbored the dragon in a backpack, to hide the fact that there was a dragon not only from the curious men and women but from Astrega in particular. However, Venneith knew it’d only be matter of time before she found out about Venneith’s little stowaway, at which pointVenneith would have to take some rather unfavorable measures to ensure she’d be perfectly suitable to accept Nerr without bucking about rebelliously.

  For now, he only took her by the reins, guiding her out of the stables before mounting her and taking to the roads late into the night. His destination wasn’t quite clear as he himself didn’t quite know yet what he was to do. Perhaps Venneith would travel west to the more common well-settled lands of Carthol, or perhaps he’d turn himself to the North or south and find some purpose or cause to dedicate himself to there. Or perhaps he’d travel far west and find himself at the Capital of Carthol, which also lay on the shoreside of the Xanthian Sea. Perhaps he’d offer up Nerr to the king and have him grant ownership of the dragon to Venneith and endow the dragon with a royal name that he may be remembered by, and to forge a legacy with.

  But what was he thinking? Nerr was only a dragon, a pet it even seemed… but Venneith believed something could possibly be made of Nerr given time and dedication. He’d teach the dragon, he’d make it grow faithful and obedient to his command so that they may become one and the same and accomplish greater things together. However, that was a fantasy, and one that seemed rather unrealistic too. He had no idea how to raise an animal, let alone a dragon. What did they eat? Surely meat, but no doubt there was more to it then that. Perhaps it wasn’t so hopeless, however, for he did indeed possess a baby dragon, and one that clearly saw and respected the Burnt Armor Knight as his master, or so Venneith would think.

  Whatever the matter, Venneith would have plenty of time to think and ponder over his next course of action. But if anything, he knew he’d stay in the district of Marrin for a while longer. It was a place that still needed him, regardless of the conflicts back west. Before Venneith could depart with Astregra and Nerr, a light approached him from behind, accompanied with the faint pitter-patter of footsteps beating against a rugged path. Turning, Venneith saw it was none other than Phith in the flesh, armor and wrapped broken nose, who hobbled on a crutch. Behind him followed two men, no doubt fellow members of the militia that hadn’t been tasked with dispatching the dragon prior to the event.

  Wasting no time in formal greetings, Venneith demanded, “What have you come for?”

  Phith was the only one to speak, saying in a lowly, almost ashamed tone, “It’s the Narrovinian.”

  “Amyth, I’m sure you mean.”

  “Yes, yes,” he offhandedly affirmed. “Currently he stands accused of robbing the dead during the aftermath of battle. I am the witness and he is condemned, yet there is a problem.” He paused briefly before saying, “A man who stands to accuse another in the aftermath of battle must also bear a second.”

  Venneith could only shake his head. How shameful of this man to lie and condemn another and stand before Venneith and request he do the same, to be the second testimony in condemning a possible criminal. In all honesty Venneith could hardly care, he was a man of the people of Carthol, not a man of foreigners or outsiders, let alone of man of Narrovinia. He owed Amyth nothing, but Phith…simply put, Venneith found himself to sorely dislike this man in particular for several reasons.

  “Phith…Phith,” Venneith called all to reassuringly as he took a casual stance, facing the man, no doubt with a kind smile behind that veil of a helmet hiding a face that none could see. “I am a witness to this man named Amyth, yes. He scavenged the blades of the dead as I recall, yes!”

  Although Venneith seemed reluctant, Phith couldn’t help but shift nervously in the company of the Burnt Armored Knight. “Yes, yes he had scavenged over the dead. An act that is prohibited within the ranks of the militia.”

  “A wrongful deed indeed, yes?” Venneith offhandedly agreed.

  “The fiend challenged my honor. He demands combat by trial, yet I am unfit and too injured to fight for myself.”

  Venneith let out an amusingly sly chuckle. “Yes, yes, as he had bested you twice already. No doubt he would have a third time if you had the gall to accept his challenge like a man. However, why do you tell me this?” Venneith then questioned. “What’s keeping you from slaying him now as you are so eager and quick to lie.”

  Phith became noticeably agitated, but stifled his anger before Venneith for surely he would’ve been slain if he lashed out. “It’s common law that any man can challenge another’s honor. You know how it is but race is out of the question, evidently.”

  “Why doesn’t one of your militia men fight for you than?” Venneith questioned.

  “They’re nearly all dead. More than half are left at the dragon’s den, the better half mind you, and we’d prefer to keep a healthy head count in case of any more domestic dangers arise.”

  “Who leads this branch of the militiamen now?”

  “I do,” Phith simply answered.

  Doomed to fail, every last one of them in the control of this man. Too rash, too proud and a liar with little cause. It’d be best if he just put them all out of their misery and condemn the village, men, women and children, to whatever may come next in one great gesture to tarnish Phith’s name and legacy. However, again, Venneith was the knight of the people and therefore he shouldn’t succumb to the enticing power he possessed and will to destroy. He would do one better for the village instead.

  “Well, you see, Phith,” Venneith began. “The ownership of Amyth, who previously was the servant of Elder Utch, has now been passed to me in his death. So to challenge his honor means to challenge mine. Therefore I must stand for him, ready to combat any who oppose lest my name be tarnished as well.”

  As Venneith stood before Phith, he noticed the man begin to greatly reconsider his actions and decisions. So much so that both his men discreetly turned their backs and moseyed on off without his knowledge leaving him to stand alone before the burnt armored knight. It was all the more entertaining when the man turned to them for support only to realize they had gone. At that point Phith knew there was nothing left to be said, but one thing left to resolve.

  “There’s been a development,” Phith began, uneased. “It seems the Narrovinian is innocent after all.”

  “Good, good,” Venneith muttered
, as he raised a hand to place on the militiaman’s shoulder.

  As Phith stood there, Venneith never said anything else. Instead he just stared back at him through the visor of his helmet, causing Phith to become even more unnerved. It wasn’t until after a short moment that he began to feel a slight warmth coming from his shoulder. It resonated through the padding and began searing his skin. Phith tried to pull back, away from the gauntlet, but Venneith held fast now, holding him with both hands.

  As the heat intensified the padding began to melt and a sharp burning pierced his neck and shoulder. Phith let out a cry and fell to his knees as the gauntlet made its mark, brandishing him a liar for the rest of his life, leaving him a whimpering pile of a man. Venneith finally pulled back, leaving him lying in the road, badly burnt from his neck to his shoulder as Venneith took one final death letter from his bag and threw it to Phith in the dirt. Whatever it may hold, the others may want to read, for Venneith would not appease it personally if this man did soon die dirt.

  Now while this was justice, all Nerr could comprehend was the screaming and anguish of the man. No doubt it was his protector, no doubt he showed whatever inferior being his true power and no doubt in the days to come would his protector boast more and more of his power, subjecting all below him like the god Nerr perceived him to be. This was the thinking of a simple-minded dragon, a follower, as he’d grow to become.

  Chapter four

  What was this? This new stench, Nerr wondered. It wasn’t quite like Venneith in that it smelled of dirt and great amounts of hair. It reminded Nerr of the time hours before he woke. It too smelled the same, albeit less potent, for it seemed as there were less entities producing such a pungent odor. Nerr first thought he should’ve investigated, yet he was very comfortable in the small bag Venneith had provided.

  Initially when Nerr first woke he was slightly terrified, but the hole in the top, combined with the warm snug confines, made him all the more content with staying here for an extended duration of time. However, Nerr found his stomach to be aching. A feeling he hadn’t quite felt this severely despite the amount of food he’d already eaten.

  It seemed he quite appropriately had a monstrous appetite, as small as he was. It was only his duty to make sure he himself was well fed. Venneith may be his protector but Nerr still had to hunt for himself and offer up tribute every once in a while to keep the knight satisfied. There was just one rather insurmountable issue: getting himself out of the pack he’d been laid to rest in.

  It wasn’t quite a tight fit but being laid on his back posed quite the challenge when trying to roll himself over in a conforming container. He first tried spreading his wings to no avail, while also trying to roll himself using his tail and claws. Only after much struggling did Nerr finally manage right himself, ready to begin pushing upwards. With the opened way so close to his snout and the day sky visible, Nerr had a strong intent to find out just what that new smell was, as well as why his pack jolted with every clip-clop against the dirt.

  Poking his head upward, the first thing he saw was the helmet of Venneith. However, the first thing he heard was a monstrous screeching roar just behind him. Looking back, Nerr found it to be a beast of great size that briefly stood on two legs as it threw a familiar rider off its back in fright. It was…hideous looking to say the least.

  It had a long snout, and eyes as soulless and black as the depths of the cave Nerr once found himself in. Its teeth were weird, not sharp or razored but lined, square and buck, nearly jutting outward. The beast also had no paws, claws, feet or even hands for that matter. Instead it had these strange slabs of wood for feet that were small and curved to a rounded edge while Nerr observed the color of the beast to be a brownish, grey hue.

  It threw its head up in fright and sauntered backwards, but when it roared out so did a second, and in an instant Nerr found himself and Venneith to be thrown off the back off of the same kindred of beast. Fortunately for Nerr, the dragon was just able to pull himself far enough for him to spill out onto the dirt as Venneith crashed to the ground, crushing the pack entirely.

  Nerr quickly surveyed his surroundings. Firstly the brownish grey beast backed away, stealing away a being Nerr recognised as Amyth, that human who punched the other human that had wronged Nerr. He favored Amyth, but what could the dragon possibly do against that monster?

  His protector! Venneith would surely beat away these foul beasts.

  Quickly Nerr bounded to the knight, who pushed himself up to his knees as the dragon frantically squawked at him as if he’d know what to do. However, before Venneith understood, Nerr spied the black beast, Astregra, bear her sights down on the little winged bat known as Nerr. It was a dragon, as she’d come to recognise, a baby one at that, but a fiend nonetheless. It pestered Venneith and threatened to bite him as it boasted its teeth and pitifully roared.

  Astregra wouldn’t have this, she’d destroy the little beast and trample it to death. Yet as Astregra charged and came to protect her master she became halted by the very master she sought to protect as he rose to his feet and threw a fireball, not at the dragon, but at her hooves. It collided with the ground before her and burst into a great plume, singeing her fair mane and nearly scalding her skin. It scared the mare beyond belief. Why would he do such a thing so rashly, especially when he faced imminent destruction at the claws of such a small beast? Had he gone mad? Was he even still Venneith or had the real Venneith been done away with and his armor stolen?

  No, that was ridiculous, thought the mare. It was the real Venneith, his voice was a sure indication, but his stench gave it away, not to mention his Euth. But Astregra would still keep her distance, lingering near the treeline of the dirt roadway. Whatever this great rebellion was against her, she’d be slow to trust for some time and tolerate little of the black little rat that sat so boldly atop Venneith’s helmet like a hat.

  Meanwhile, Nerr scolded the horse for its attempt on Venneith’s life. This little dragon wouldn’t have any of her horsey nonsense and he made sure to let Astregra know of it, at least until Venneith silenced his obnoxious snarling by clamping down upon his snout with his hand.

  “Quiet, you,” Venneith commanded, before releasing Nerr and letting the dragon leap from his mount and scurry to the trees from sudden dread. It may not have been the most polite thing, but at least his wailing was done away with. “Astregra, calm,” he said, once he grasped her reins and was able to softly pat her snout. Already he could tell she was cynical towards him, no doubt scolding the dragon too, but if anything she’d still be loyal. If not, then annoyed.

  “Venneith,” Amyth questioned as he trotted near Venneith atop his own steed. “Was…was that the dragon? Benphal had thrown me off his back,” he said, leaning forward to ease the stallion with easy pats on his neck.

  Letting out a tired sigh, Venneith nodded. “The one and only.” Looking to the treeline to spy a black figure with glowing yellow eyes suspiciously staring back at Astregra, Venneith suggested, “perhaps I should’ve purged him instead for all the good he’s been up to.” Shaking himself off he commanded Astregra to calm herself so he could climb atop her. “Let us go, we’ve wasted enough time already.”

  “Where are we going, Venneith?” Amyth asked as Nerr silently watched as the Narrovinian begin to follow his protector atop his beastly thing.

  “Uncertain,” the Burnt Armored Knight simply answered. “I seek answers.”

  “Answers for what?”

  “Nerr,” he responded. “The dragon.”

  Watching as they trod away, Nerr thought he’d keep his distance from those two smelly mounts for now. In the meantime it was food Nerr was really after, but where to start, the dragon thought. He first bounded from one tree to another, sniffing the air and trying to pick up on any other scents rather than Venneith or the two mounts.

  There was much to pick up on, many other things to discover based on their smell alone, but which to go after? Which one would mean the assured discovery of food? In careful
consideration Nerr scratched his neck and discovered a sweet spot. Oh how good it felt to itch that little spot as his tongue lolled out, pleasure nearly causing him to lose balance and tumble down the tree.

  Good thing he caught himself as he dangled from the branch. It seems he’d have to refrain from scratching himself in high places if he was going to get lost in the euphoria, but the matter still remained…food! Nerr had to scavenge and hunt so, pulling himself back up onto the branch, he devised a plan.

  Figuring he’d stay close to the road and watch distantly as his little entourage of humans traveled, Nerr began to listen to the harmony of the forest. He heard the birds and their songs, the wind as it coursed through the forest. There were howls far off into the darkness of the brush and chirps from branches above.

  Chirps! Bird sounds! Just the thing Nerr was looking for. Using his claws to scale nearby trees, Nerr soon found the origin of these chirps. It was another one of those stick structures but instead of white creamy orbs, in place of them was more of those little fleshy things. However, they seemed familiar, almost like they were supposed to take on the shape of something.

  In curiousness, Nerr lowered his head to get a better view of these things before possibly eating them. As he was doing so, a much larger, feathered bird swooped down, emphatically chirping and pecking away at Nerr until the little dragon retreated three branches away. There then the bird loomed, flaunting its feathers, swaggering about as it expanded its wings and strutted left to right warningly.

  Its song was a different tune and a scarcely interesting one at that. Nerr was more concerned with the unjust, unprovoked treachery of that bird’s attack. Everything seemed to be out to get Nerr, everything! However, Nerr played it off. He devised a nasty plot and instead of retaliation, Nerr decided to flatter the bird firstly by attempting to mimic its song.