Dreamer's Eyes
Thirteenth Day of the Second Month 293 AC
Fourteen thrones arrayed in a circle stood atop the mountain's peak, the air so thin a mortal man would expire in moments. They were not mortals nor even near to it, the lords and ladies upon their thrones of black ensorcelled stone, though still garbed in those forms. Once long ago they had been born to the frailties of age and the indignities of bondage, wingless thralls, fit for nothing but grubbing in the dirt at the feet of their masters.
Those days had long since passed into the west out of memory of all who dwelt in the cities built upon the bones of their erstwhile masters, who ride even now upon the backs of their degenerate get. Yet as the sun reaches its zenith, its face blood-red among shrouds of ash, not a smile could be seen upon faces molded to inhuman perfection through the millennia. Eyes stare but they did not see their fellows, lips moved in arcane incantations beyond the ken of mortal mages yet they did not hear each other.
Your shadow passes over the face of the sun, a dragon as great as any of the Lords-Who-Were, casting the entire conclave momentarily into shadow. "It has gone too far, it cannot be put back," you say, voice filled with sorrow and anger both.
"Of course it has," says storm-kissed Vhagar, her voice sharp as the crack of a whip. "There was no need to flap about like an over-large one-eyed bat to tell that."
"I am a dragon, sister, or have you forgotten even that?" you snap back, she always knew how to needle you, and some things never change it seems, not through fire and the world's ending come... twice. Humor is a strange thing to taste now.
Gallows' Humor, mem