Hunter and Hunted
Twentieth Day of the Fourth Month 293 AC
The screeching was finally dying down, Malarys noted in silent sweet relief. They would probably scatter soon. Before coming to this land he had never imagined a place where common flesh and blood beasts could be a threat to a sorcerer of the seventh circle. Clearly that was a deficiency of imagination on his part. Not only did the damn lizard-birds take extraordinary exception to anything impinging on their domain, but they were hardy and numerous enough that witting out a flock would require the expenditure of more magic than could be justified, given what else stalked these jungles. Thus they found themselves taking shelter beneath the tangled green canopy at unpredictable hours, and making a virtue of necessity camping and sleeping through much of that time.
Still, two children and one curious musician hailing from the Farthest Shore did not make for the most sedate and cautious traveling companions. The girl knew the dangers of the jungle, more than natural skill could account for even, but her fondness for beasts, even the bone-crushing and flesh-tearing sorts, had already seen them through one battle with unnatural horrors that hunted the shadowed paths, and doubtless it would lead them to more....
As though to give lie to his thoughts it was the hireling from the Sunset Lands, Bronn, who spoke up, interpreting the moment's pleasant torpor: "There's something in the water..."
"Doubtless it has far too many teeth, spits poison, or some other absurdly vicious deterrent too close human contact, keep away," Malarys replied, though he still opened his eyes, biting back a sigh.
From the way the misshapen dark shape floated on the banks of the nameless muddy river they found themselves on it looked to be a corpse... one of almost familiar form. It was covered in dark matted fur and already wiggling with worms, leeches, or whatever other crawling horrors infested the land and water here, but still it had two arms, two legs, and even a recognizable expression of terrified shock on its flat low-browed face. From the belt still hung with crude stone tools, it was clear that this had once been a man of sorts, or at least the the closest thing these lands had to them.
The thought was abruptly cut off as the thing suddenly twitched into painful unnatural motion and began to drag itself towards the shore. Of course there were unliving too.
Why would he ever think that danger would be absent? Bitter irony worked wonders in focusing the mind on the half-forgotten lessons of youth it seemed, for he was able to snare the thing with his will alone shaped by an invocation to lost Balerion's power, not wasting a spell in the process.
After motioning to his companions to stay their hand for a moment, the mage-priest asked the corpse its name and nature, without much hope for an answer, truth be told. Anything he could bespell thus was unlikely to have any wits to speak of.
The corpse surprised him by groaning something with a sense of purpose. Taking one long look around at his companions, out of which only the Westerosi seemed hesitant, and perhaps regretful for his call moments earlier. Malarys called a lesser blessing of speech, trusting the tether of control to the unliving to relay his thoughts.
"Lost..." the thing wailed.
"Forgotten... Nameless..." Malarys suddenly hoped quite intensely that this thing would not be coherent enough to present some task for them to perform in order to lay its wretched soul to rest. Then it spoke yet a fourth word, one that echoed power through all the tongues of mortals and immortals both.
"Dragon."
It ill behooved one of Malarys Vanor's lineage and calling to give in to greed, and yet he felt its claws dig deep just the same, not over mere gold and trinkets of course. There were other paths to wealth. What drew him instead was the promise of knowledge, of understating those elder wyrms that spoke the tongue most prized by sorcerers. Did some yet dwell in these jungles to this very day, ruling over the 'hairy men' as their kindred had once done so over a people of shepherds whose sons and daughters would found the Freehold itself?
"Wisdom Xor, I require your intuition," he asked the spectator politely. "This creature barely has a mind to begin with, so piecing together its sad tale will not be easy."
In the end the answers did not prove that surprising in general: The youth had sought to make a name for himself, quite literally, by slaying a dragon that dwelt near the hunting grounds of his tribe and often asked heavy tribute of them in treasures recovered from the ruins or even children. Unsurprisingly the endeavor ended in the would-be dragon slayer's boat sunk and his sorrowful corpse returned to haunt rotting flesh.
"...could you have him recount that again, the title?"
"It just means 'Lord of Thunder,' a clue as to the dragon's magic of course, but...."
The spectator cut him off, something he was usually loath to do. "I don't think so, a closer translation might be 'Lord of the Screaming Ones.' I do not think our trackers follow out of instinct alone after all."
"They have been herding us with the intermittent attacks," Malarys realized with a flash of insight and fear swiftly pushed aside.
"The best sort of trap is one you turn around," the girl, Vee, pointed out calmly.
"If we kill it, can I get to make armor out of its hide?" the swordsman asked. He did not lack for nerve at least.
"Only if you're the one that kills it," young Maelor replied in like tone.
There were, Malarys had to admit, some small compensations to being in this godsforsaken wilderness.
OOC: No combat (because it would be too late to do all the rolling and calculations), but a bit of mood setting and character development. 
