Dragon Slayers Sagas: The Mysts of the Wyrm
 

The night air was cold in the foot hills. Freezing winds blew out of the west and howled through the scragly trees. Rann sat by the small camp tending to a small pot of soup made from dried beef and vegetables. The soup was almost ready.

"Dinner is ready." He said as he spooned the soup into a hollowed out hunk of hard brown bread. The village had supplied them enough for a 3 month hunt.

At least we'll eat well for 3 months. Rann thought.

The village had hired a group of travelers and mercenary with promises of food and gold, as well as the dragon's hoard for ridding their village of the terrible monster. It lived high in the mist covered mountains. It was the first night of the job. Rann had his doubts their really was a dragon ,and not just bandits. He had been on three such mission each ending with a band of theatrically inclined bandits. Not that the pay wasn't good.

He sipped the soup from his bread cup and looked at the small group he would be traveling with.

I hope we don't find a dragon he thought I doubt we'd survive.

Krin, gladly accepting a bowl of soup, moved back to his spot around the fire, blowing on the stuff in a futile attempt to make it cool down a bit quicker. He honestly didn't quite know why he was here, but with this kind of payment he couldn't quite care. This was probably the best off he'd been in a long while. Of course, the job was in the way of his living, but he could get past that.

He only knew he was thrown into the group after escorting someone from the villaige back home. Maybe it was the fact that he'd protected the person from a couple of bandits, but against a dragon? That would be stretching it a bit. He'd only fought against people, not beasts of destruction.

Taking a quick sip of the hot broth, Krin swallowed and then looked off into the darkness. He was thinking about this too negatively. He just had to go through with whatever was put in front of him. He'd lived that way for all these years, so it may as well have been applied here.

"I wonder if I'll see anything interesting," he wondered in his head, trying to get his thoughts off of the group's task and more into his love for animals while he slowly sipped at his soup bowl.

Artemis finished hollowing out his bread and spooned some soup for his supper, thanking the man who had prepared it for the group.

Unfortunately, it had taken very little time for the young man to discover that the demand for individuals loaded with more information than their employers was infintessimaly low. He had stumbled onto this job, and would have probably been looked over if he hadn't turned a torch into a serpent for the village's leaders.

After setting down his staff he sipped the concoction and looked over the group he was thrust into...motley came to mind, but a 'ready' kind of motley? He didn't know. At least they were quiet, letting him enjoy his dinner in the silence he was used to.

While the soup warmed his belly he brought out his book and jotted down some of the area's particulars, a practice he had promised he would do over his journeys. Mountainous area, steeped in mist. Dragon lair? Easy cover...maybe deep volcano?

"Shall I tell a tale to pass the time?" Rann asked as he finished his now moistened bread. "I know some tales from the burning lands of the south."

In his journies the tales of far distant lands embellished were held in well regard. However this group did not seem the group for tall tales and myths.

Taking his meal, Kael stepped way from the warmth of the fire and sat alone along the outer edges of the light. Turning his back to the others, he pulled down the wrappings around his mouth. The promise of riches is what had brought him to the village, but he was begining to wonder if it was at all worth it. Risk my life for those bloody imbiciles. The payoff better be worth it. Turning his head enough to glimps the others from the corner of his eye, he let escape a sigh. [I]I should of just stayed away.[I]

"Certainly," Lyra responded, taking a bread bowl of soup. "I have never seen the lands of the south. I should like to hear of them."

She returned to where she had been sitting and took a sip of the broth, taking a quick glance at her company as she did so. Fighters, most of them. She felt quite out of place; a young, thin-framed shaman woman amongst fighters and rangers and the like, all of whom looked like they could pick her up and throw her without breaking a sweat. There was one who was less muscular than the rest, but he was likely a wizard or bard.

She knew she couldn't turn back, no matter how uncomfortable she was. This was where she was supposed to be. She had recieved a vision of herself here in a dream several weeks ago. When she spoke of it to her superiors, they had advised her to come to the village. That was where she was recruited for the dragon-hunt. In a quest that would likely end with a fight against a magical beast, it was very wise to include a shaman-healer in the party.

She took another gulp of soup, savoring its warmth against the cold of the night. If this is what was meant to be, she could do nothing but accept her fate and perform her duties to the best of her ability. Even so, she made a mental note to perform one more divination on the subject, just in case.

"I tell a tale of the searing sands, and lands of magic. Men live between the sister rivers. There they live inside walls of stones, taller than twenty men. Men can fly through the air of cloaks. In these cities there are delicacies from al corners of the world and you can hear the languages of all men. There are powerful monsters in the deserts. Creatures that hunt in packs with the body of Lions, wings and heads of the eagle, we call them gryphons. Once long ago in a small village. A boy named Markud was born to the king. The village was called Babiliom. Markud was skiled in all forms of weaponry and widely known as the greatest warrior in all the sands. Yet Markud was not satisfied with his victories over men and cities. His slaves brought him no joy, and his riches brought him no honor. Markud desired eternal glory. He hunted packs of gryphons and from their bodies crafted spears that he could throw many miles, and rich hides which he decorated his home with. Still this did not satisfy him. So he heard tales from the mountains of a old and powerful dragon, known as Tyamet. She was reported to be the mother of all dragons. Now Markud was said to be the son of gods gifted to the people of Babiliom to rid them of their enemies. Tyamet had taken up home along the only river root to the north, and she would destroy any caravans trying to get past her. Markud armed himself with armor made from the hide of the strongest gryphons, and his finest spears. He wore his fathers sword on his hip. For months he hunted down the mighty dragon. Using his spears to weaken her at a distance. Finally he tracked her to a cavern she called home and did battle with her. The battle was fierce but soon over. Markud had slain Tyamat. Her blood flowing into the river and washing out to sea, this is why to this day the seas taste of salt. From her bones Markud made trees. From her scales he crafted mighty armor, and he crafted her teeth and claws into mighty weapons. To this day Babiliom is the mightiest city in the region."

(for mauve Da mihi cis vinum)

Airlea ate in silence, listening to the story and contemplating her current situation. She had been recruited for this job while bringing in some pelts for pricing to the town. The riches in the dragon's cave was enticing, but what was more enticing was the dragon's scales. If she could get her hands on some of them, they would be worth a fortune. Besides, what a trophy it would be to bring back drangon's scales and teeth to her Amazon village. She looked at her group of companions, all of them fighters, and burly ones at that. There were a couple of spryer ones, a woman who looked like a wizard or shaman of some sort and another. The group seemed....sturdy. As she finished her soup, Acteon came trotting out of the woods, no doubt his belly full with various prey. He lay down, putting his large head in Airlea's lap as she absently scratched behind his ears.

Arlen sat quietly with his soup. He didn't care much for this, or any, conversation, only about going to do battle with the dragon and attaining an honorable warrior's death. Unlike the others, he had no anxiousness. He did not measure up the others worth. None of that mattered to him, for he was already dead. If the dragon did not kill him, then something else would. He would fight, and either he, or the creature he fought would die. There was no other end. He would eventually perish in battle. This is why he considered himself dead already, and this suited him perfectly.

The soup warmed him as he drank it down. Its heat spreading from his stomach to all of his other extremities, served to deepen his calm. His eyes closed as he finished the soup, his body relaxing as he laid down on the ground.

The distant sound of flapping was carried on the wind. Rann swore in his native tongue and doused the cooking fire in dirt extinguishing the light

"Silence and pray it doesn't see us"

It was ages before the next flap from above. A massive shadow moved across the night sky. it's body was serpentine. A sound like thousand horn trumpets sounded from the shadow carried on massive wings. It's call echoed across the hills. The dragon moved to the north west.