Dargon. (Original Fantasy)

Hora, hora! Darg busting, training, and investigating what makes your floating rock of floatiness fly. That, and we'll get to see an interlude from Mestina herself.

Buckle up, buckaroos, it's a two-punch post, and I'm not sure I can post these ones on time! Haha! Ha ha... ha...

Interlude 1 – Flights of Fancy
Starring: Mestina, aka 'The Pain in the Keister'


You are Mestina, and you are a juvenile dragon. A good step up from being a hatching, and just a step away from becoming an adult… but you're the runt of the litter, in more ways than one. And you're currently learning under the most sadistic, torturous, draconic teacher that your mother all but forced you to have.

Her 'favorite grand-dragon'.

"Off. Do it again." They bark, their words like thunder in your skull, and you let out a hiss, drawing your wings back up and turning towards them. "I said, do it again. If you sit there complaining about the pain, then you won't improve. Time waits for no one in a battle, and if you think an opponent would give you quarter just because you're hurt, then you're dead wrong. Mostly dead, by the time you realize it."

You hated them. Oh by goodness you hated them. But they were supposed to be your teacher, their entire personality notwithstanding, and you know you need this knowledge. None of the others dragons in your mother's lair wanted to teach you. And frankly, if your mother's favorite grand-dragon could train you to be a little bit more like him, then perhaps you'd actually gain some… gain something.

Still, you could do well without the insults that he threw at you every other second.

With a deep breath, you flex your wings once more, slightly wincing at the rawness and pain that immediately emanates from your wings. Oh, it has been a few weeks since the ah, incident on the ruins of that Orcish city, and while the medicinal herbs and rest that your 'teacher' had given you was… more than enough to heal your injuries, but healing your wings and using them again were completely different matters.

It was why you were doing this, actually. Your mother's favorite grand-dragon and teacher just saw it as an opportunity for 'further learning'. "You're slipping."

Another shift of your wings, another wince, and your movements become slightly more refined. Slightly more relaxing. Slightly more in tune with… whatever the hell you were supposed to be taught. "What is this supposed to be about?"

"Combat forms." Your 'teacher' replies back, eyes inscrutable as they observe your movements to see if they were up to some unknown standard. Still, you've spent enough time around your mother's favorite grand-dragon to know that they shared the same standards with your mother – that is, 'never enough'. "You're slipping again. Restart."

You fold your wings back up, turning back towards your mother's favorite grand-dragon with furrowed brows. "What's the use of this? I… don't understand."

In response, your 'teacher' snorts. In that 'of-course-you-don't-know-this' tone of theirs, coupled with the rolling of their eyes that tells you that they were exasperated by your incompetence. You've… grown to ignore those now, oddly enough. The casual insults.

A part of you wonders why. Then another part answers that they were stewing throughout the entire journey back to his 'lair' after the little ah, incident in the Orcish ruins, enduring your whining (because it was whining, at that point) and just silently suffering all throughout the walk back. It had been… well, not exactly enlightening, but it had taught you something about your 'teacher'.

They were prideful. They saw everything as theirs. They smugly rubbed their superiority over everyone and everything that they see, like a child too impatient to simply wait. And while you can't help but wait for the moment wherein they crash and burn (and you want to be there to see the look on their face), there was another part of you that dreaded it.

Despite your vocal (and non-vocal) distaste against their personality, there were… just a few things that prevented you from outright scheming to plant a dagger in their back.

They were prideful because they worked for it. Because each and every single morning, you could see them fight against an unseen enemy, claws, wings, and maw lashing out with everything that they have got, only for them to pick themselves up a moment later and curse to themselves that it would never be enough.

They saw everything as theirs, which meant that all that they see was their responsibility, including the lair that they have built, the goblins that manned it, and – as loath as you are to admit it – includes you as well. And there was no doubt that they would fight tooth and nail for it, even to their last breath.

They smugly rubbed their superiority… mostly due to the fact that in their territory, there wasn't anything that could stop them. You were there when you saw your teacher take back their lair, the ear-splitting roar that announced their attack keenly reminding you of the incident back at the Orcish ruins. You saw how they blasted through the fortress's defenses without even using their breath, how they simply carved through the mountain rock that the goblin fortress was built on.

And yet… they strived onward. Said that they 'weren't strong enough'. You have an inkling as to why they seem to think that way… but you choose to keep silent on that matter, more or less content with the uneasy peace that you and your 'teacher' have forged these past few weeks.

"Of course, you aren't listening." The harsh bark of your mother's favorite grand-dragon snaps you out of your thoughts, causing you to seize up with wings held at the sides. "Very well. If you think yourself good enough to not need instruction, then try to hit me."

… You really should've been paying more attention. With a shuddering breath, you flex your wings once more, claws digging divots in the stone, and a part of you tries to tell you to stop. Tries to tell you that it would be suicide. And yet another, larger part of you simply replied that you sort of deserve it.

Just as expected, you find yourself laid out against the rock, a lone wing enough to pin your entire body in place. As much as you struggled, your 'teacher' was simply stronger, faster, and – even if you really didn't want to admit it – smarter. That, and he had been living for centuries longer than you. The battle was utterly one-sided that it wasn't even funny.

"Hm. A bit better, but that was to be expected." Your teacher's eyes narrowed, letting you go as you successfully catch yourself before you flopped on the rock. "Since you weren't listening, I'll summarize: The main reason why we're training your wings is to make them stronger. Make them stand the stresses that aerial maneuvers would require. And you will need this – you can't just coast around, especially in the middle of a fight."

As if to demonstrate, your 'teacher' takes flight with but a single burst of movement from his wings, quickly twirling in place and then… doing something that looks like it would break one's spine before landing once more. With stylish grace and pomp as expected of course. You could already seem them preening at themselves for that. Actually, they're doing that right now.

What a show-off.

"Such things are commonplace in an aerial battle. And instead of just one maneuver, it's multiple, chained together in order to give you the best shot of victory." They continue, absentmindedly flicking the dust off their scales with their tail as if it wasn't a big deal. It entrances you for a moment, their scales like the ever-shifting night sky, but you quickly focus back on whatever 'lesson' they were trying to teach you. Gawking can be done later.

Especially since you don't want to be put into another 'battle' with your 'teacher' right after the last one.

"And I need to be able to do that?" You ask, only for them to snort in response.

"Hardly." They drawled, "You'd need another few decades or so in order to learn everything. And even then, every dragon's body is different, so you might find some maneuvers easier to learn than others. What I'm doing right now, is bulking you up. Ensuring that when the time comes for when you do such maneuvers, you won't tear a muscle. Or pop a joint."

...

You gawk. It takes a full second before your 'teacher' realizes what they were saying, and a deep frown immediately crosses their face, immediately turning so that you couldn't even glance a look at their face.

"Training is over for the day." They rumble, spreading their four – four! – wings and flexing them out, their whole body tensing for take-off. You try to take a glance at their face once more, but they quickly turn to prevent you from doing so, letting out a warning growl to stop any future attempts. "Practice. I will return after other chores are done to check on your progress."

Without even asking for your input (not that your input mattered much to them anyway), they were already off, flying down towards the rest of their lair. Which meant that you were stuck here, on top of a floating mountaintop, freezing your ass off. And you couldn't even go down unless you were up to snuff on your rock-climbing. You could just fly down, but…

A glance over the edge shows the ground to be really, really far.

Taking a deep breath and flexing your wings once more, you wince as the familiar tingle of pain comes, slightly dulled what with the exercises that your 'teacher' had all but forced onto you. But still, you do it. The sooner you can get your wings back to working, the sooner you can actually start learning from your mother's favorite grand-dragon.

Even if it irked whatever scraps of pride you had remaining.

But for the chance to prove those other dragons back in your mother's lair wrong? Perhaps you could stand this training for just a little bit longer.

Dargon 3.1: Reconstruction


You are a dragon, and you have just returned back from your training with Mestina, a grave look etched onto your face. It had been an easy affair at first – despite her many, many faults, the juvenile took to training quickly, and had a tolerance of pain far greater than what you could expect at her age. It was just that at the end, things turned sour when you…

You certainly hadn't meant to…

…

There were other things to do. More important things. But with the fact that you have actual, competent subordinates in the form of your goblin lackeys, you only have to give them objectives, and they'll do the rest by themselves. Of course, that meant that you had nothing to do while the goblins rebuilt their dwellings and fortress from their stockpiles.

So in order to kill your boredom, you ah… 'helped them out', from time to time. Whenever you were feeling like it. This was just repaying them back for their ah, great service in keeping a potentially dangerous dragon from wrecking your lair. Yes. That was your excuse, and you are running with it.

'This early in the day, and you're already making up justifications for yourself.'

'Maybe I should just give you to a goblin and be done with it.'

'I'd rather not.'

'Then shut it.'

Your mood plummets even further due to your blade's antics, only stymied by the fact that a familiar goblin comes with quick steps, the familiar scent of magic in their footsteps. They were the ones that had the audacity to gather your attention and explain the situation during the ah, 'incident', a few weeks ago. This meant that the other goblin leaders were already planning their death to be an inevitability, and began focusing on one another for their internal politics instead.

Which was good. That means that you can keep this particular goblin alive, so long as they do their job well.

"Ma'takka!" They call out, waving their hands in a vain way to further gain your attention. "Ker matuk di va'sarii!"

'I still have no idea what they're talking about.'

'The scouts have returned from their mission.' You incline your head in the goblin's direction, letting them know that you heard them… from even a mile away. 'Time would tell if I would have to exterminate more of the goblins that fell under the temptation.'

'From what I can see, your Liege? Nasty stuff. We had a problem like that in the deeper parts of Lamar-Tajj. Called it potak back then instead of 'dargs', but the symptoms are similar. Very similar.'

'Because they are one and the same. Any other drug that gets onto the market gets destroyed.'

'Your Liege, that sounds a bit suspicious, if I do so say myself.'

While you certainly didn't mind if your blade figured things out, no doubt it would do suggest something stupid like stop the darg trade entirely. Which, while a sensible sentiment, would make your Grandmomma angry, and there was no way in all the heavens and hells that you would paint a target on your back for an angry Grandmomma to focus on.

"Vortu'un, seril." You nod in response to the goblin's words. "Fertukal maradi sehr, vimatu kann'tarii. Dohrnas'ven karitu koll kari tentak."

"Mivasahr, Ma'takka." The goblin bows, then quickly barks out a command to one of the nearest goblins, all but telling them to send a courier to the scouts to meet them on the way towards the 'Kantur'. An odd word, something that you can't understand. But the goblins' language was simple, and you could connect the dots.

With their command done, the goblin turns back towards you and bows once more, before beginning to lead you into the labyrinthine tunnels of your lair. Or to be more accurate, 'calling out directions while struggling to keep up with your bulk and speed'.

'You are quite massive, your Liege.'

Another grinding of your teeth, another warning to your blade to stop with their sass. This time however, you have no patience for a lighter punishment.

'MY EDGE! Y-YOUR LIEGE, THERE'S MARKS ON MY CUTTING EDGE!'

'Complain, and you'll be snapped in two. Keep quiet, and I'll have the goblin smiths fix you.'

'Goblin smiths? Ha! I'd sooner be split in twain rather than–'

You crunch. There was a squeal of wrenched metal, and the goblin beside you stops and stares fearfully at you, afraid that they may have done something to incur your wrath. It was not them that you were angry about, however. It was with the sapient blade that won't fucking shut up.

But now? There was blessed silence. Mostly due to the fact that the blade was horribly warped around halfway through its length, and would need extensive repairs so that it could be used once more. But it was still alive. You made sure of that. Alive, but silent. Now knowing of the very thin thread that they hung on, and the ease at which you could replace them.

You have no need of sapient blades, after all. Especially unruly ones.

"Ma'takka", the goblin begins, snapping you out of your thoughts as the two of you emerge into a great chamber. Or well, a slightly-spacious room for the likes of you. "Kirtanis konn Kantur."

Ah, that was why you were unable to place the term. It was a… recent addition to their vocabulary. But you could nonetheless see some of the words that had been cannibalized in order to make up the bloated monstrosity of the term. Which, coincidentally, is what greeted you.

Mish-mash plates of wood, metal, and stone hung in puzzling configurations, floating in the air unheeded through a mass of magic located right in its center. Wires and strings held the assembly up or pushed and pulled energy into and out of it, scores of goblins babbling to one another at a faster rate than what you were usually accustomed to. Consoles of metal sparked lightning, sending the goblins to the floor while it arced against the stone walls, vaporizing a thin layer of rock and scattering blackened patina all over the room.

It was a hive of activity and danger, all because of one, singly, itty-bitty thing that these goblins forgot.

"Ma'takka, var doon–!"

You don't put a piece of metal right near the core of an aetheric engine.

As you pluck out the offending piece of metal, the churning, arcing bolts of lightning immediately die down, instead replaced by a more soothing rumbling. The energized, frantic air in the room drops to a level more manageable for mortals, and the patterns of wood, metal, and stone changes to fit its new configuration. The entire assembly was more stable now, liable to last for half a millennium before needing to refuel.

Better than the ten days that you might have, if you weren't here to set things straight.

Goodness, just when you thought you had capable subordinates, something like this happens. Maybe you shouldn't tempt fate like that another time. But who was the idiot that allowed this to happen in the first place?!

With a snarl, you swivel towards the goblin that came alongside you, finding them with their legs shaking and looking like they were about to pass out once more. You rumble a question towards them, one that was easily answered, and your fury abates… slightly.

"Tekk-mahikann Varil… kah?" The goblin nods in response to your question. "Kortan fis devar'ul."

So, this entire assembly had been built in part by someone from the secessionist faction. From what you could gleam from the aetheric engine's functionalities, that little piece of metal would've destabilized the entire engine in short order, which would've probably split your entire lair in two. Certainly something that the secessionists would be saving until the very last moment, and a clear (albeit jury-rigged) weapon to use against you.

But you'd have think that these other goblins from the loyalist faction would've inspected this thing for anything off. Then again, given how it was sputtering out lightning and everything, any goblin who would try and do that was clearly lacking in common sense.

Nonetheless, this is… quite the discovery. It had only been a few months or so since you left your lair to visit your Grandmomma's place. The fact that these goblins have made an aetheric engine on such short notice with the scraps that they have on hand is quite interesting. You were sure that an army wouldn't have the engineers with the expertise required to make an aetheric engine, especially with nothing but raw materials and without the specialized tools required.

Then again, from what you could remember about the army's conversations before you 'recruited' them into your ranks, they were supposed to be a 'punitive force'. Perhaps they were meant to conquer, hold, then fortify a certain location that the goblins could use to strike out against other, more opportune targets.

Hm. Perhaps you could demand some answers from some of the other goblin leaders… or the engineers who looked like they had just experienced some sort of miracle.

"Ma'takka!" The goblin speaks out once more, causing you to glance towards them with just a hint of exasperation. "Va'sarii kaal dir!"

Ah, so the scouts have arrived. That was good. While you could always go and scout out the nearby settlements, the advantage of having multiple people work on this sort of matter was that you would have to expend less effort to gain more information. It was quicker; more efficient.

Then of course, just as your mood was turning for the better, you spry dargs among the goblins, some of them stashing it in whatever place they thought they could hide. Others didn't have any packets of the dire substance on them, but it was obvious that they had recently used it – the wide eyes, the panting, the sheer joy and happiness in their expression made you want to vomit.

Worst of all, they looked like they were proud of their spoils.

Fools.

[] Burn them to ashes. You will not have fools traipsing over such a dangerous substance. Warn the others goblins of what it could do… and the price of disobedience.

[] Send them off after receiving their reports – if they could even do so. You'll take care of them later, in a place where they're unseen. Preferably right when they're about to take their dargs.

[x] Make examples out of them. Grab them with a claw, squeeze the life out of them… and slowly, carefully, tell them of the sins that they committed before finally cracking their necks.

[] Write-in. (Must involve killing the scouts.)

Zaealix said:

Remember Minions, don't do Dargs!

Click to expand...

Click to shrink...

PaarSiivOnikaan said:

That... was entirely too close for comfort, it was really good we chose to check the 'arcane engine', otherwise, well, boom.

Click to expand...

Click to shrink...

Yeah... I would've put out some hints in as the chapters continue on about 'feeling somethng weird', but you would've been able to fix it even as it starts to blow up. Big losses, though. Especially for your lair. Then there would've been an option to just oust a mage out of his flying home, but that comes with its own little problems

Anyway, here's the result! Crispy goblins... yum?

Dargon 3.2: Ashes


You are a dragon, albeit quite different from others of your kind. The moment you dragged yourself out of your cracked egg, there had been nothing but a never-ending drive to be better, to prove yourself better than all the others that doubted you. Getting named as your Grandmomma's favorite dragon only made it worse, and it grew to new heights the moment you have learned of your… his death.

Perhaps a consequence, you somehow expected everyone else to do the same. And to find otherwise…

… Well. These goblins found out.

Starfire flares. Heat washes over the scouts, before they disappear entirely. When you close your mouth once more, it was to the sight of their carbonized shadows sticking towards the rock walls. Hard to scrub away, but it wasn't as if you're going to touch filth like them ever again.

"M-Ma'takka?"

A turn of your head lets you see the goblin from before, looking like they were about to pass out once more. You answer quickly, for dallying in this sort of regard could lead to more curiosity… and more loose ends that you would have to tie up. "Pefernati kila'suv kon terr, kaltari wepani bantur. Su'suok lohk tal vira mir, tel sofas'ro kanhir."

"K-Kertani fun sahle wok'hir?"

"Laktanni."

Dargs, 'peltak', it was the all same. The same drug, peddled around by back-alley dealers from where authorities couldn't reach. That meant that the goblins knew what it meant – or at least, its leaders knew about the substance and its effects. And if their city kept on trucking on, it certainly meant that they have protocols to follow in order to curb the effects of those who imbibed the substance.

Certainly not as something as draconic – pft – as your implementation, but that was because mortals always had the fancy idea of 'being better' and 'maybe one day they'll repent'.

But your Grandmomma created dargs for other dragons. There was no way that a mortal mind wouldn't buckle and break under its temptation.

So you command the leaders of your goblin lackeys to keep an eye out for others who have imbibed their 'peltak', trusting them to do their job, in the same way that you trusted them to scrap together a floating, flying lair by your instructions alone. Granted, that trust was tarnished by the fact that those scouts and their vacant, happy expressions…

Hnrgh. Just remembering those was enough to make you want to smash something to bits. Perhaps it would be best if you were to get out of the chamber containing the aetheric engine, just in case.

It was a quick walk back to the outside of your flying lair. On the quick journey, you asked a quick question to your quick-footed goblin attendee, demanding the names of the settlements that the goblin scouts had visited. Some of the settlements, you don't know the names of. Others, you know. And out of the latter category, there was one that gave you just a tiny headache.

Arnias. The village where that other dragon lived.

'Wait, another dragon?'

'You ask the most asinine questions, blade.'

'What are they like?'

'Spineless. Cowardly. Likes to fashion themselves as a knight, fighting for the mortal good.'

'It sounds like I'll be better off with them…'

Hm. There was an idea. No doubt that going back to that other dragon's 'territory' (ha!) would mean another bout of draconic diplomacy. And this time, they were most likely going to use every single advantage that they have. You barely spared a glance through their lair, but you've seen that halberd perfectly fit for a dragon of their size.

And you have a dinky, busted little sword to go against it.

'Perhaps you shouldn't have bent me if you knew that you were going to–'

Another grinding of your teeth, another bend. You enjoy the mental scream that the blade held, the anguish and suffering that they for their own vanity, savoring it as you exit the vast tunnels of your lair and emerge out into the sunlight once more, gazing down at the fields, forests, mountains, hills, and rivers under your domain.

The blade does not speak once more. That was good. If you were to be frank about it, they were already overstaying their welcome. Let the 'holy' blade meet up with the 'knightly' dragon. Maybe their pretentiousness can combine into one monstrous thing that you could strike down with starfire.

Should you trade them when you get to Arnias?

[] [TRADE] Trade the sword.

[] [TRADE] Keep the sword.

Well, no matter. You still have time to decide what the sword's fate would be once you arrive… in a few minutes. What? You aren't mortal, what with their piddly horses, and carriages, and 'resting'. You were a dragon. Strong, serene, and can certainly move far faster than any mortal, while looking roguishly good at it.

…

Sadly, it doesn't apply for all dragons. "Mestina, what the hell are you doing?"

To her credit, the juvenile only freezes for a second before regaining her original composure, continuing on her impromptu rock-climbing journey down onto a nearby foothold. If she even recognizes it as a foothold. "… Climbing exercises. I need to be able to move around even with my wings disabled."

Not a bad idea. Certainly something that you would do in your off time, but for her to show the initiative? Wonderful. "Good. Shows initiative in determining your strengths and weaknesses, and the will to overcome them. I will prepare an obstacle course for you when you get back. Prepare."

You try not to ignore the warble that came out of the juvenile's throat. That sounded too similar to yours for your liking. "You're going somewhere? Can I come?"

"You will die." You calmly reply, causing her motivation to wilt instantly. Good instincts on her, and there is no doubt that cowardice would do her well, but there is a problem with that. A problem that you won't fix for the moment, since it makes things easier for yourself at the moment. "I am to meet with another dragon. If we come to blows – and that is more than likely – then you will be part of the collateral damage."

"Then I'll stay here."

"Good. Keep working."

And just like that, your conversation with your wayward 'student' was over, and you could finally go towards that quaint little village.

With a flex of your wings, you fly forth, the wind whipping at your scales as you spy upon Arnias quite a bit farther than usual. It was fine – that just means that your flying lair was actually flying – but it was certainly annoying, now that you knew about it.

Still, the feeling of flying once more was quite wonderful. For about five seconds.

You see a gray blur slam upwards from the nearest mountain leading to Arnias, and you quickly stop your momentum with a roll just as the other dragon passes you by with a roar. In that moment wherein the other dragon tries to stall his momentum, to turn around and strike you once more, you have observed their panoply and came to one apt conclusion.

They were geared for war.

"What a shame." You drawl, "I thought we parted on good terms!"

"Another!" They roar back, blue eyes doing their best to try and shoot a hole through you, to no avail. "I have told you to leave this lands alone, and you come back with another dragon nibbling on your heels! You dare spit on my generosity so easily? That I would ignore such insolence once more? No more!"

Very dramatic. You could roll your eyes at the sheer cheese that they could make with just those statements alone. "Then strike."

And have a hole blown through them by a gout of starfire. Armored up and wielding a weapon they might be, they still had two wings that needed to carry all that additional weight. And they were already ungainly and slow before they donned their wargear, so…

Frankly, you were getting tired of the posturing. "Of course you won't strike. A pansy like you could only blabber on about 'insolence' aaand of course you aren't listening. Sometimes, I even wonder why I bother."

The other dragon roars, charging forward once more with a halberd raised, the same one that you saw from their lair some few weeks ago. You once again dodge down below – an easier maneuver this time around – only for your eyes to widen at the crackle of lightning at the butt of the halberd, quickly rolling once more while blasting a gout of starfire at full power.

Thunder reigns, only to be met by a force greater than a thunderclap. The flash of lightning burns, but the glare of the stars burns brighter, searing the other dragon's helmet to their crown. And yet, they continue onwards, past the spiteful spit of the stars themselves, with halberd raised to pierce you and eyes blinded by some sort of perceived slight.

Pah, Lawbringers. Using magic against you like a fucking assassin.

Frankly, you'll be glad that you're rid of them. But how to do it…?

[] [BATTLE] Reforge the sapient blade in your mouth. ('No.') A little bit of starfire, deposits of metal, the sheer heat… ('Please no.') Well, you could certainly pull out a halberd like the one that the other dragon had, but its durability would be more than suspect ('I'll do anything, just please don't subject me to this.'). But at least you'll have an actual weapon.

[] [BATTLE] Blast them with starfire. Armor and wargear wouldn't do them any good when they're now molten metal frying off their scales and skin. It would be an agonizing way to die… but they certainly deserve it, for the annoyance that they've inflicted on you so far.

[x] [BATTLE] Rend their armor to shreds. Cleave their halberd out of their hands. Use their own weapon against them, and use their own weight as the hammer against which you shall pound them into the dirt. Your Grandmomma warned you about Lawbringers… and you were certainly going to heed them.

Hoo boy. Guess going ballistic it is, then. At least your Grandmomma would be proud.

... That's probably not a good thing.