Dargon. (Original Fantasy)

Dargon 3.7: Search


You are a dragon, and your mother is currently in one of her fugues. That means that she's not going to be brought out of it anytime soon. Hopefully, it was a quick one. The last one lasted… what, half a decade? And then she quickly switched to another topic, and the whole thing repeated again. Hopefully, you'd be able to ease her out of it. The Order of the Silver Hand was meeting in a few weeks, and you'd really need to talk to her about that.

For the meantime however, you have a wayward student to find.

You spy an automaton coming in through one of the access tunnels, a large, rotating brush in their hands. Presumably, they were here to clean the hallway leading up to main area of the archives. Sadly, you were going to take them onto a little… adventure, so to speak. Goodness knows it'd take you half a year to find someone like Mestina in this place.

"You." The automaton pauses in its task, the rotating brush in their hands (that could also be used as an impromptu chainsaw in the case of intruders) coming to a stop as it turns to you, a triangular head with a blue light quickly flicking to a yellow glow. "Yes, you. What is my access level?"

The automaton blinks. Or at least, it was what it looked like. There was a shutter that quickly moved past the yellow light on its face, and its posture slackens, the yellow glow changing into a cooler blue. "Guest."

… Somehow, you're not surprised that your Momma was lazy enough to give you the lowest level of access. "Location of…"

What was it again? Ah, right. "Location of Titan-class lifeforms in the Floating Archives."

It froze. Then it beeped once, before the automaton gives its reply. "Two located in main foyer. One located in Section XE-15ae4."

"Which is…?"

"Erotica."

Son of a– "Directions. Now."

"Walk two hundred and twenty-five meters north–" You kept an ear out as you snatch the automaton, already moving to top speed with a burst from your wings. North, up the stairs, east, straight ramp for one-hundred fifty meters until the seven hundred and fifty-fourth door… Shelf number twelve thousand three hundred ninety-two–

"There you are."

Mestina screams. You drop the automaton, and mutter a quickly apology and thanks to the poor thing. Your wayward 'student' tries to hide the book that she was currently reading, but you had already rushed on ahead and snatched it out of her arms.

And as was tradition, you began reading what was on the page. "And so Churirii, slayer of a thousand men and bedder of more, watched in awe as Oppara removed the bandages around his loins, revealing a marvelous blade that was as black as obsidian and–"

Fire covers your vision. An emerald green flame that obscures your sight of the book, and you feel it snatched away from your hands a second later. It sputters out, a strangled gasp escaping from Mestina's maw, and you carefully wipe the remaining flammable sludge from your head before turning to stare her down.

Blood paled from her face. As she should. "I'm sorry–"

You snatch the 'book' from her arms and shove it into the automaton's waiting hands. You didn't know where they disposed of their cleaning brush, and you didn't care enough to ask. "Hold this. What's the designation for her?"

"Guest designated as 'Unknown-but-potential-mate' by Administrator Konnta–"

"What."

You close Mestina's mouth with a pinch of your claws. She had no place to be talking like that, especially after she just used her breath on you. You were going to have to find a fountain. Get the gunk off. Scrub your scales clean. Eugh. "Amend that designation. Reset guest designation to default."

"Guest designated as 'TCL-013-091'. Secondary designation?"

"Mestina."

"Guest desginated as 'Mestina'."

"Forbid access to guest designated 'Mestina' from entering erotica archives."

"Error." Because of course such a simple order would have complications. "Guest access barred from barring other guests access."

It was rare that you had a headache. But attempting to parse the automaton's words after recent happenings only made it so that you had to rub a hand over your temple just to get yourself to calm down. You do not want to experience what would happen if you accidentally burned down one of the books in this place in a fit of rage.

Your Momma showed you a memory crystal of what happened to those idiots. And frankly? Now that you were here, staring into an automaton's soulless, unblinking eye, it was giving you nightmarish flashbacks to your childhood.

"Contact Administrator Konnta." You sigh instead, waiting as the automaton slackens and begins to dial out a series of loud, annoying beeps. Mestina tries to speak, but you muffle it down once more with a press of your hand over her snout. She glares at you, but you glare back, making her wilt near-instantaneously when she glanced up and…

Ugh. There's still some gunk on you. Flaming gunk, at that. You were going to have words with her once you get out of here. Words.

Another beep, and a crystal pops out of the automaton's chest, before showing a projection of your Momma onto a rectangular screen. She looked… cross, for the lack of a better word. No doubt for interrupting her me-time.

"This better be important, dear."

Oh, it was. You drag Mestina up to the crystal so that your Momma could see her as well, and your Momma's expression shifts from cross to slightly curious. "I found your sibling cleaning out the erotica section."

"Everyone has needs." She drawled, glancing towards Mestina to find the juvenile looking like she wanted nothing more than to disappear into a dark corner and hide. "I'm sure you can find it within your prudish self to forgive her–"

"She's a juvenile."

"–But a juvenile shouldn't be rummaging around in such sections." Your Momma pivots with a nod, turning towards you with a grim expression. "My thanks for bringing this to my attention. Until she burns down her first village, she wouldn't be able to access such… mind-changing materials."

"Now is there anything else you wanted? Or do you have some other clarification for the impossible feat of engineering that your goblins have done?"

"The Order of the Silver Hand is meeting here. In your lair."

"Yes. And just like the last three hundred or so meetings, I shall be in my guise as a draconic statue." She rolls her eyes. "Is there anything else that you wish to say, or do you simply like wasting my time?"

You barely hold back the urge to snap at your own mother. "I have been invited to this meeting. Do you have anything that you could use to disguise me as a mage?"

"A few grimoires in stock." She grunts, eyes turning to stare at you. They were cold now, devoid of what little warmth that they even had. "They are carefully curated however. And expensive. Break it, and I'll have your hide as collateral. Would that be enough of a trade for access to your lair's mechanisms?"

This… wasn't even about business. "What?"

"Have you unlocked your magic yet?"

"No." It was still a sore point for you. But then again, you've met other dragons that didn't have magic of their own. "And I need an illusion, not something that could set fire to an entire city with a snap of my fingers."

"Then I shall give you pointers." She replies, "That, or the grimoires. Unless you have a suggestion yourself that isn't about to waste my time."

You frown. A part of you wanted to snap at her. To scream. But when you're in the middle of the Floating Archives? No. You could do it later, when you're flying through the air and no one was there to give their pithy opinions.

With a grunt, you open your mouth and…

[] [DEAL] … take the grimoires. It would be perfect for your purposes, but your mother would tan your hide for it if it gets even a hint of dust on it. And there was no doubt that a meeting between mages would kick up a lot of dust…

[X] [DEAL] … get some pointers for your Grandmomma. Maybe even get Mestina to join in, have her figure things out along with you. Some say that magic comes to dragons as naturally as their breath comes to them, but you've been alive for three centuries and that still hasn't happened.

[] [DEAL] … say that you'll tough it out. As much as you want to, you could still figure things out on your own. Even rope in Mestina, if you have to. Maybe if your mother weren't so much of a cold snake at times, then perhaps…

[] [DEAL] Write-in.

---

Your decision made, the automaton escorts you and Mestina out of the section, the heavy doors to the spire creaking shut. You lift your hand off Mestina's snout, finally allowing her to speak once more, and she takes the moment to take in a deep breath and gag.

"I can finally breathe fresh air again…" A drama queen, is what she is. But you'll let it go for now, wanting something different. "That… that was your mother? The statue in the main area?"

"Hm." You nod. Your brows were drawn into a deep frown, and it was obvious enough that even Mestina was more subdued than normal. By this point, she should've already started complaining about how she only 'accidentally stumbled' onto that particular part of the archives.

Instead, she was silent. "Is she… always like that?"

You could ignore her question. But before the thought passes your mind, you already spoke, a soft croak compared to your usual tone.

[] [MOTHER] "No."

[X] [MOTHER] "Ever since Pops died."

Pointers is a go! Oh, and ah... would you like me to post up a sheet with pertinent info, I guess? Just in case. These little tidbits of choice do affect the story going forward, after all.

Dargon 3.8: Frustration


You are a dragon, and for over the three centuries that you lived, you have not grasped the gifts of magic. You knew this. Accepted this. Made contingencies for when it is used against you. But even then, there was that yearning, that feeling of wanting to wield such power for yourself. Years spent mastering your breath, decades spent straining your wings to the very point of exhaustion just so you could fly the way you wanted to…

… All of that fell away, when faced with the prospect of learning magic. Your Grandmomma said that it would naturally come to you, when the time is right. Three centuries of living without it made you realize that it was a load of bull.

Not like you could ask other dragons to teach you, can you? At least, up until now.

"Wrong. Do it again."

You let out a curse, wings falling to the side as you shudder out a breath. A part of you jabs at the familiarity, of looking at Mestina's training from the other side, but you quickly push the thought aside before starting over once more. Deep breaths, eyes shut, mind searching for any tendrils of energy…

"Wrong. Do it again."

Another failed attempt. You… lost count this time around. Five-thousand four hundred and twenty-second? Three thousand two hundred and fifty-seventh? You didn't care at this point. Just… once. At the very least, you need a single attempt that was met with any measure of success. You wouldn't even care if it was a fluke at this point.

Just…

"Wrong. Do it again–"

"I KNOW!" You roar, quickly swiveling towards your mother with narrowed eyes and a snarl. It was a bad idea, of course – pissing off an elder dragon was more than likely to get you killed, but you've been at this for weeks, and you just… you just can't be bothered any longer. "… I will do it again. And I will keep doing so until I get it right."

"Or the meeting arrives."

Less than a week left, at that. Tomorrow, if you could still trust that small part of your mind that still kept track of the days. Certainly not enough time to unlock any kind of magic whatsoever, or to shape it into something that you could use. You would have to… to ask for help.

From Mestina.

…

Goodness, this will be fun. "At last, you see reason. It's a new record."

"Shut it." You grouse back, a feeling of tiredness over your shoulders as you wander off to find your wayward student, allowing your Momma to finally get some time for herself. Not that she particularly cared, given the way she quickly went back to browsing her backlog of theses and tomes the second you turned around.

Overall, it was a failure. You've always known, ever since the first seven times that Grandmomma Kiryu tried to do the same, that magic seems to flow away from you grasp. This was just… you certainly hoped that having some actual instruction might help, but…

Nothing.

At the very least, you still have your starfire going for you. "Now where would I hide if I were a juvenile dragon who had just learned magic…"

It was a simple question, with a lot of potential answers. Unlike you and your… problems, Mestina took to learning the damn thing like a mortal does to dying. While it doesn't excuse for the sheer amount of experience that one requires in order to truly be a terrifying monster to the battlefield, the fact that the magic responded to her so quickly was…

Hm. Perhaps it was a bit insulting, from the perspective of someone who tried to do such a thing for three centuries and didn't get squat.

But having magic isn't the end-all, be-all that most might expect. Mostly because you still have a brain, and it can see through patterns. Granted, it was but one data set, but you knew some of Mestina's hobbies that you could take an educated desk. "Automaton."

A ball of metal and wires pops out of one of the covers on the ceiling, landing on the floor with a soft bounce. It then unfolds into a contraption of four legs, and two arms filled with repeating ballistae, while its intimidating-for-a-mortal headplate turns towards you with a blank blue glow. "Awaiting orders."

"Search for aetheric signatures in the Erotica section."

"One aetheric signature found."

"Lead them to me."

"Orders understood and acknowledged."

It takes a few more minutes in order to find Mestina. A few more minutes to let her panic about how she was found out so quickly, then a couple more minutes to get her to calm down in order for you to actually talk some sense into her. Of course, it also meant escorting her out of the premises of that particular section of the archives, and it also meant listening to her whining about 'privacy' and all that while she casually ignored the fact that she was still too young to even go inside such a place.

"Wait. Let me get this straight."

"Go on. Laugh."

"It's been three years since Konnta started tutoring us on how to do this, and there's nothing?"

"Like I said. Laugh. You'll find that just having magic wouldn't be enough to help you if you actually do it."

"No, no, no – it's not that." Mestina shakes her head, turning towards the little motes of light now dancing on the palm of her hand. A neat little party trick, with no use in combat whatsoever. Of course, it was useless. "It was just… how long have you been trying to do this?"

"Think."

For once, she does. A moment or two passes before Mestina glances towards you, her body language telling you that she was ready to flee. "… How old are you?"

"Three centuries, give or take."

"Three–?!" She chokes on the mere number, but you merely scoff at her.

"I' m on the younger side." You expound with a grunt, "You learn not to count the individual years and decades as time passes on. I've heard of other dragons that pass a millennium in age, but by that point, you're already an elder."

Like your Momma, or your Grandmomma before her. For them, entire civilizations were nothing more than another footnote to add to their ambitions and motives. Like Grandmomma's darg empire, or your Momma's archives.

"And all that time, you haven't been able to learn magic?"

You hiss, and Mestina immediately tries to fly away. But you're not angry at her. Bitter, yes. Perhaps more than a little jealous, yes. But anger? No. That was all reserved for you, and you alone.

Just admitting that you couldn't do it, that you couldn't use magic, grated on you. You're sure that there's something that you're doing wrong, something that's actually holding you back from possessing the power to bend the landscape to your will. But without something of a baseline to draw upon, you can't exactly determine what's wrong in the first place.

You're sure that a dragon can't learn magic in the span of three years, lest all of your brethren would know how to do it by now. No – Mestina was an outlier, and you'd treat her as such. For now… for now you have to languish in your own inferiority, and the dark thoughts that swirled around.

"… No."

Something flashes in Mestina's face, and she turns towards you with a grim expression. "You want me to stand in for you when the Order of the Silver Hand arrives."

It was obvious, but you nonetheless have to give her the slightest bit of credit for figuring it out by herself. At the very least, she was learning something useful from your tutelage. "Yes."

"You want me. Me. To go to this obviously very-important meeting and act like you."

"I believe I confirmed it just a few seconds earlier."

"I'm going to screw it up!" She snaps, raising her arms over her head in frustration. "Do you want that? Having mages that could sneak into your lair fight us for accidentally insulting them?!"

"I have complete and utter faith in your abilities."

You managed to say it without gagging. Or laughing. Or chortling. You would take that as a win. Sadly, Mestina sees through your perfectly-crafted statement with ease, punching you in the shoulder before letting out a huff and stomping off.

"Let me believe it for a second." She grouses, before glancing towards you and letting out a sigh. "I-If you're that desperate to come to me for help, then… Fine. I'll do it. But if something wrong happens, then it's all on you."

Who said draconic diplomacy was difficult? "Wonderful. All that's left is to figure out what disguise should you go in tomorrow and–"

"I can't do disguises."

You blink. There was a death knell tolling somewhere, and you're pretty sure that it was your own. "What?"

"All I can do is make these shitty lights!" Mestina snaps, holding up her hand for you to see motes of light dancing in her palm. "I can't do any disguises whatsoever. Look, I just got magic. Do you really expect me to whip up something like that in an instant?"

Frankly, you could. If you had any magic at all. "Let's head back to the archives, then. The relevant section. We'll do this, or we won't show up at all, and we'll have to deal with those magic-wielding mortals sneaking into my lair anyway."

"I– Right. I signed up for this, it's my fault." Your wayward student sighs, dragging her feet along so that she kept your pace. "Can I ask a teeny-tiny favor in return?"

"No."

"All you have to do is to borrow one of the books in the erotica section when it's time to go back and–"

"No."

Even as you began cramming down an entire civilization's worth of knowledge down Mestina's throat, the thought still lingered in your mind. There was no doubt that she'd learn illusions by the end of the day – you'll make sure of that – but once that's done, what should she disguise herself as?

[] The typical mage. Old, white hair, with flowing robes of gray, and a gnarly staff that reeks with magic. At least, that's what they always looked like. You think. Besides, it would be good practice for Mestina. But if those stuffy mages find out… well, the two of you are still dragons. It'll be fine.

[X] A young prodigy. Clean-shaven, beautiful, and no doubt looking like they bathe in the waters of an eternal spring every day. Of course, just coming by themselves would make any self-respecting mage scoff, so you would need to do something drastic to push that angle of 'prodigy' forward. And with the amount of time you have, it would be… embarrassing…

[] Write-in.

Ahaha... Well shit. I can't help but feel bad for the dragon now. Good pick!

Dargon 3.9: Embarrassment


You are a dragon, and this was without a doubt the biggest embarrassment that you've ever experienced since you were birthed into this world three centuries ago.

But it was worth it, to see the stunned looks on the rest of these 'mages' as they gazed upon your form, before turning back towards a disguised Mestina. She bows, confusion written all over her youthful face at the shocked expressions of the other mages of the Order, and you do the same.

Even though you hated it. Even though you despised it through every fiber of your soul. Even though you were sure your Momma was currently recording the damn thing using one of the automatons from somewhere, and would share it with your Grandmomma for more favors the first chance she gets.

"Welcome, fellow members of the Order." Mestina greets, the nervousness showing in her voice as she gestures towards the main floor of the Floating Archives of Parnul. "Hopefully you were able to avoid most of the automatons still loitering around the area."

They were still awestruck by your presence. Or wondering why you weren't there to kill them. All of the mages didn't even bother sparing a second glance at the 'draconic statue' back on its moorings. Most of them were glancing between you and Mestina, and the looks on their faces made it obvious that they were plotting.

Because apparently, all mages needed to plot something or else they spontaneously combust. Even if the other party has… you know, a dragon breathing down their necks.

"Perfidious plots involving my master will be met with death." You snarl, even as another part of you died at the fact that you referred Mestina by that sort of title. "Do not test me on this."

And of course, mortals being mortals, meant that they couldn't take a hint. You discard the almost-instantaneous body double that one of them made, a quick blast of starfire outright vaporizing the fool that tried to blast lightning at Mestina's illusion.

Granted, she wouldn't even be hurt by such a pithy, little blast. The worst it would do is to simply dispel the illusion on her. But no one – no one – had the right to test you and live. The fact that it would've stained your reputation with Mestina more than this entire farce was nothing more than an added bonus.

Still, you had to play the part. And for once, you're more than happy to do so, even if you can't just ignore that little itty-bitty detail of apparently being handled like nothing more than a pet–

"Lekari, enough."

Urgh, you loathed that name. It wasn't your real one in the first place, and it was most definitely a name that Mestina pulled out of her… No… Wait…

That little…

You'll have words with her after all this is done. "Your… will is mine, master."

Eugh. Just talking like that was enough to give you shivers. Perhaps you'll just stay silent and glare at the rest of these mages while they tried not to piss themselves at the sight of you 'capitulating' so quickly. Like you had told Mestina before all this started – start off with a powerful show of force, and these idiots wouldn't even try to contest you.

Of course, then they have to move to more subtler methods. But there was nothing like 'subtle' when it comes to your senses. You can feel the sense of magic going through their veins, the little hints of communication that they sent to one another in 'secret' as they began the induction ceremony into the Order of the Silver Hand.

By all means, it was quick and to the point. While you don't know it was because of your presence here, at least there wasn't a long and stifling ceremony that would've gotten on your nerves. Maybe you'll even let out a little frustration on these mages. Perhaps snips some arms off… cauterize their casting hands to ash…

You're still not bitter about the fact that you can't do any magic. Not at all.

"And with this, we crown you as one of our own. This ceremonial gauntlet represents your membership of the… of the Order of the Silver Hand. May you use it wisely, and may your magic grow strong."

Mestina, using that pithy little silver gauntlet 'wisely'? Heh, such a thought makes you laugh. And frankly, if you 'unintentionally' leaked out a snort at such a thought and spooked the rest of the mages, all the better. Not that it made Mestina any happier, which was the point.

Your wayward student sticks her illusory arm into the silver gauntlet, a thick film of magic clinging to her as a frown forms on her face. She raises it to take a closer look, just as the other mages do the same, and the other mortals began a solemn vow.

"May we be the Hand, that guides magic forward." One of them ends, before clicking their staff on the floor before raising their voice. "We shall meet again once there is another candidate ready. For the meantime, this is goodbye."

And just like that, they were gone, all presence and traces of their magic gone from your scent. You let out a hum, glancing over towards the ash of the idiot who tried to test Mestina's claims, and you nod, raising your opinion of the other mages from this 'Order of the Silver Hand'.

Once you waited a few moments with nothing happening, you turn towards Mestina. "They're gone."

Her illusory form flickers, before it expands back into a green-scaled dragon that was always a pain in the ass ever since you first met. She stares at the ash pile, then snaps towards you with a growl. "You shouldn't have killed them."

"The first thing out of your mouth, and it's not gratitude for saving your life." You sniff. "Typical."

"You could've just chopped their limbs off, o-or smacked them till they're unconscious–"

"What they were going to do was enough to kill you." It wasn't. But you'd use this opportunity to hammer into your wayward student as to why you were more than happy to blast a man until naught was left but ash. "You are not old enough to have the hardened scales necessary to take such a blow. It would pierce through your innards. Poison your tissues with disease. Leave your entrails outside as carrion. And through it all, your nerves would be fried, pulsing with heightened pain over and over until you finally die."

Mestina draws back, surprised by the sudden outburst, but she seemed to regain some form of bite, and snapped back at you. "How would you know? You don't have magic flowing through your veins."

"Having magic is different from knowing what it does, whelp." You growl, refusing to stoop down to her level as you kept your wings closed, and your vision clear. "I've spent centuries living longer than you. Do not assume that just because I do not have magic flowing in my veins, doesn't mean I can sense their presence or take appropriate countermeasures. Do you know who taught you how to use that illusion?"

"You–"

"ME!" You roar, "So do not assume that you know better when I was the one responsible for ensuring that you do not end up as a fucking trophy on a mage's wall!"

Silence chills the air. You rear back, composed once more, and turn around, marching straight out of the Floating Archives of Parnul with a stormy expression on your face.

"You're far too soft."

You pause, processing what the statue in the middle of the archives said.

Then a second later, you turn towards your mother, starfire and venom dripping from your tone. "And you're far too embarrassing for me to remember that you exist."

With a flare of your wings and a sudden gust, you were out of your mother's domain, piercing through the cloud cover that hid her lair from prying eyes down below. There was nothing for you there. Not now… and certainly not in a few more decades.

The tears would dry up in a few moments. Perhaps even less should you pick a direction and stick with it. The question is: Where?

[X] Your lair. Tell the goblins to set a course far away from the Floating Archives.

[] Your Grandmomma's lair. You… just need to visit home for a bit.

[] Somewhere… somewhere to settle your thoughts. At least for a few weeks.