It all began with rumours of a dragon. In the summer of 2502, peasants in northern Middenland reported sightings of a scaled beast born aloft on two great wings late at night or in the early hours of the morning. At first, they were easy to dismiss. Were one of the titanic beasts of the mountains on the move, hundreds of leagues from the Middle Mountains, surely there would have been more sightings than scattered, uncorroborated witnesses?
Most likely stablehands had had too much ale and time on their hands, perhaps mistaking from afar a great eagle or at most a wyvern for a dragon. A few enterprising huntsmen sought out the source of these tall tales, but all to no avail.
And yet they were persistent, sightings coming in steadily every few months, carrying into the spring of 2503. Other rumours began to accompany them, speaking of strange lights and odd incidents that, on their own, would have been meaningless background chatter. But to those who knew what to look for, what signs to listen for, they spoke a very meaningful story.
And in the Old World, there were always those who were listening.
-----
Gregor Martak, Magister-Shaman of the Amber College, awoke from a fevered dream of ruin and terror. Only years of practice kept him from falling off the base of the large branch he had fallen asleep on, propped against the trunk, and plummeting down a good thirty feet to the forest floor below.
Massaging his eyes, Gregor brought himself to full wakefulness, the last of the visions leaving him as he combed his fingers through his chest-length brown beard. The prophetic dreams came and went, often unwelcome but rarely wrong. Usually they foretold disaster, of tides of death and corruption sweeping over the land, bringing chaos and destruction in their wake. Averting such visions was his life's work; toppling a herdstone that a horde of Beastmen would use as a gathering point before setting out to ravage a nearby village, accompanying a state troop regiment fated to come under devastating ambush, burying a ritual site that a necromancer would use to conduct his foul sorceries to awaken the dead across the land under a rockslide, and more.
Recently however, his nights had been disturbed by a particular sight, one of himself battling an unseen opponent in a great forest, before being enveloped by a raging conflagration of flame, consumed by the inferno until not even bones remained.
The vision disturbed and intrigued him in equal measure. The flames that haunted his dreams were not the multi-hued hellfires of Chaos, nor the green-tinted flames belched by the arcane contraptions of the ratmen, but the enemies of mankind were numerous, and the possible culprits were endless.
Pressing such thoughts from his mind, Gregor shook his head. He could not allow the future to distract him from the present. Outside of chasing premonitions, he fulfilled his duties to his Order, and sought to strengthen the Empire so that it might withstand the cataclysms to come. It was for that reason that he was embarked on his current mission.
After quickly checking around for danger he shimmied down the tree, the mossy forest floor giving way a little beneath his hide-bound boots. He would have preferred a good cave, or a spot amongst the rootstock of one of the great spruces, but the Drakwald Forest was perilous, even for one such as him.
Putting two fingers into his mouth, Gregor gave out a shrill whistle, the sound laced with the power of
Ghur, the Bestial Wind. A moment later a massive stag emerged from between the trees, giving the wizard a long look before bending its front legs, lowering itself enough for him to leap on top of its broad shoulders, tossing his pack on its back behind him.
"Let's go. We have places to be and duties to fulfill."
With a wet snort the beast tossed its neck, before accelerating to a low trot. Gregor closed his eyes, allowing himself to focus on the sounds and smells of the woods around them. Drakwald forest was infamous across the Old World for its dangers, including Beastmen, Greenskins, a multitude of deadly and ravenous beasts, and worse. In such an environment where visibility might be limited to a mere hundred feet or less by the press of the enormous tree trunks and the thick undergrowth, one's ears and nose often proved far more valuable than eyes. Every squirrel rustling up a tree and every bird singing its mating call was a reassurance, for Gregor had long since learned in his travels across the Empire's hinterlands that it was the silence that one should be afraid of.
Every breath brought with a mixture of smells, from rabbit droppings to deer musk to the territorial markings of a local wolf pack made in urine. All of them were useful information that he processed in the back of his mind with practiced ease, but his main focus was on the far more subtle and varied odours of the World-Dreams, more colloquially known as the Winds of Magic. Hidden from the senses of those not attuned to the Aethyr, they blew down from the far north, pooling and eddying across the lands.
Ghur and
Ghyran reigned strongest in these untamed lands, the Winds of Life and Beast intermingling among the woodlands. He could smell his own presence in the Winds, the twists and coils of
Ghur as it gathered to him, but there was another source he sought out, the trail distant but growing stronger with every onward step, and every so often he gently steered his mount in the right direction.
After many hours the forest eventually began thinning, giving way to fewer and younger trees, with clear signs of logging operations and new growths. As the thin smoke trails became visible in the sky ahead, Gregor dismounted his steed in one deft movement, hefting his pack on his back once more.
"Thank you, my friend." The words were laced with bestial magic, and though the stag could not comprehend them, it could understand the meaning behind them. "I shall walk the rest of the way from here. Go now, and be at peace."
He reached into a pouch at his side, before offering the beast a handful of berries. It accepted them hungrily, before turning on its heels and trotting back towards the depths of the forest. A no small part of Gregor longed to follow it, for he did not relish what he was here to do, but it was his duty nonetheless.
Trekking forward, he soon came upon a narrow forest road, still muddy from the meltwater, sploshing beneath his oxhide boots. The village of Grehelshalft loomed overhead, a small settlement consisting of a score of buildings constructed from pinewood logs and drystone, surrounded by a palisade of sharpened tree trunks driven into the ground. A rudimentary gate guarded entry into the village, a pair of watchmen standing on each side, clad in leather uniforms in the colours of the local baron whose name Gregor couldn't have cared less to know.
At his approach they stiffened to alarm, clutching their spears tight and squinting suspiciously at the unexpected newcomer.
"Halt!" The older of the pair raised his hand, glaring at Gregor. "State your name and business, or begone!"
"Magister Gregor Martak, of the Amber College of Magic." He saw the sneers twist into being in the faces of the watchmen as soon as the words had left his mouth, but it was the reaction he had long since come to expect. "Here on Imperial business."
"Yeah? What kind?" the first watchman demanded with naked hostility, lowering his spear, while the other spat on the muddy ground at Gregor's feet.
"We don't want none o' youse
wizards 'round here."
"It is not for you to gainsay the duties and remit of the Imperial Colleges," he thundered, drawing up to the watchmen and causing them to shirk back.
Gregor was not a small man at six and a half feet of height, and built like the bull moose whose antlers were mounted on his back like a totem. A cloak of great eagle-feathers hung from his shoulders, while the beast's skull was mounted atop his birchwood staff that he slammed into the ground with a smack that echoed across the area, despite the mud, the various lesser talismans and fetishes carved out of skull and bone mounted on it rattling with the impact.
"Now, are you going to let me do my Ulric-damned duties so we can all go our separate ways, or are we going to have a problem?" he growled.
The two glanced at each other, before begrudgingly stepping aside.
"Fine, but you'd better cause no trouble," the older watchman muttered. "And once you're done, leave and never return."
"I go where duty bids me," Gregor grunted, stepping into Grehelshalft. In truth the village was hardly worth the name, little more than a hamlet clustered around a single central pathway. Three main buildings dominated the view: the sawmill, the forge, and the coaching inn, with smaller cottages scattered here and there around them.
As Gregor entered, a ripple of disquiet ran through the quiet little logging settlement, as the occupants became aware of his presence. Men glared at him from across the street, windows were closed and women took children inside. Only the animals were at ease with his presence, dogs, cats and chickens giving him nary a glance as he passed by. Born in rural Middenland, he knew full well the superstition that surrounded wizards, even centuries after the formation of the Imperial Colleges. He had no doubt that nearly every soul in this settlement would gladly see him burned as a witch, were it not for the tenuous legal protection of his official sanction, and the fear of his abilities. But that fear could also be useful.
The scent of magic was strong in the air, indescribable by mortal tongues. He was nearing his prey.
The trail led him towards the coaching inn, a squat, large building with two floors and a thatching roof, likely doubling as the town center. There was a stable attached to it, where Gregor could smell half a dozen horses and donkeys. Before he entered Gregor muttered an incantation under his breath, drawing the spirits of the stalking lynx and the mimicking butterfly to shield himself from notice, gently turning away the attentions of any unwanted onlookers. He wanted to first get an idea of what he was looking at, before announcing his presence.
Within the coaching inn, the odour of raw
Ghur was nearly overpowering. It was summer rain on the mountaintop and the cry of the eagle on the wind. It was the gentle flow of the river and the rush of adrenaline as two bull moose lock horns in combat. It was… Gregor grit his teeth, pushing through the sensation.
Most of the building's first floor was taken up by the main bar and dining room, with a number of tables laid out across it, occupied by huntsmen and loggers come for refreshment after a long day of hard work. A minstrel was sat on a table playing a tune on his lute, leading a chorus on a song, something about Averanders and their horses. At one corner of the room, a group of men and women were clustered around a table, chanting and cheering for a pair engaged in what seemed to be an armwrestling match. One was a young woman of eighteen or nineteen summers, with a head of short-cut rust brown hair and dressed in practical leather clothing. On the tall side, and going by her bare arms certainly quite athletic, but nothing compared to the ox of a man sitting opposite to her, his bulging biceps nonetheless unable to overcome her significantly smaller arm.
"What is matter, huh?" she spoke Reikspiel oddly, with a stilted manner that reminded him of a foreign diplomat he had once had the displeasure of meeting. "You were boasting so hard just a moment ago, and now you can't overcome little girl?"
"Just you wait!" the bigger man grunted with effort. "This ain't over yet!"
Her. She was the one he had been looking for.
Ghur roiled off of her like smoke from a wildfire, permeating the air around her. As he'd suspected when he'd heard the rumours after catching the trail, a hedge wizard recently come to their powers. And a
strong one at that, especially if she'd already figured out how to call upon the strength of the beast within all on her own.
Gregor walked up to the counter, where a burly-looking barkeep was cleaning wooden mugs.
"Her, the girl." He shrugged his shoulder towards the pair in the corner. "You know her?"
The barkeep startled, just now noticing Gregor standing in front of him.
"Yara? She's a stranger 'round these parts. Same as you," the man grunted neutrally, before leaning forward with a glint in his eye. "What's it worth to you?"
"Could be nothing, could be something," Gregor said in reply, setting a couple of silver shillings on the counter. The Amber Order preferred not to deal in money, but the Emperor paid each College a stipend, and it might as well be spent somewhere useful.
"She came here a week ago, said she was a wandering hunter," the barkeep said as he swept the coins into his hand, glancing towards the corner where the crowd was ooh-ing and aah-ing as the outcome match swung back and forth. "And yeah, I'd say she is. Paid for lodging and meals in venison. Been a fixture at the inn every night since. But she's… odd."
"Odd how?"
"Talks weird. And Ol' Hilda, she cleans the rooms upstairs every day, and she swears the bed's not been slept in," he explained gruffly. "Not to mention she's stronger than she has any right to be. She's been challenging the biggest men in the village and among travelers every night, and cleaning out the betting pool. See, there she goes again."
Following the barkeep's direction Gregor returned his attention to the corner, where the girl, Yara, had just slammed her opponent's hand to the table with a resounding thud. The crowd cheered uproariously, while a few began despondently handing over their money on the table.
"A good match!" Yara's opponent didn't seem to mind his loss, laughing uproariously and throwing an arm around her shoulder. "More drinks, on me!"
The girl looked a little tense, uncomfortable at the contact, but took her mug and gulped it down in one swing.
Gregor studied her carefully, running a hand through his beard. True to the barkeep's words she looked the part of a young Middenlander hunter, clad in practical leathers and furs, a handaxe tucked away at her belt, while a handful of small scars on her arms and cheeks spoke of a hard life typical to these lands.
It was the duty of every Magister of the Colleges of Magic to find unsanctioned users of magic, usually young men and women whose talents had manifested alongside adolescence, and deal with them. Either by inducting them into their ranks, teaching them to wield their powers safely and for the good of the Empire, or in a more permanent fashion. Luckily she appeared to be young enough to be apprenticed, and he could smell no corruption or taint of
Dhar on her, so it seemed he had found her before she had crossed over the threshold to becoming a witch in her experimentation. Using her powers to make coin by winning armwrestling matches was certainly not something to be approved of, but it was far from the worst pursuit a hedge wizard could put their skills to.
Just as Gregor pondered how best to make his approach, all hell broke loose. One moment, everyone was having a good time. Drinks and wild boasts were being shared all around, laughter echoing through the barroom. Then, Yara's opponent flashed her a broad, toothy smile, and Gregor felt his spine go chill with premonition.
He saw it happen, the way she pulled back and her back arched, the way her eyes narrowed and she bared her teeth. The fist was already sailing through the air, slamming into the man's jaw and sending him flying out of his seat. He scrambled to his feet, nursing his jaw, and muttered something Gregor didn't overhear before taking a swing at her in return, knocking her into the table and upending it, sending mugs of frothing ale spraying over several other occupants. Within moments a full-on barfight had erupted, punches flying back and forth.
The barkeep put two fingers into his mouth and whistled into it, a pair of burly stablehands emerging from a back door to join him as he waded into the brawl, struggling to pull people apart. Moments later one of them was sent sprawling to the ground by an accidental backhand when they tried to get close to Yara and her opponent, who seemed intent on beating each other senseless.
He had to put a stop to this before things escalated beyond managing. Brandishing his staff, Gregor wove a subtle spell that called upon the prey-instinct to freeze in place, bringing it to surface in the minds of men. He slammed the staff to the floor, accompanied by a suitably impressive booming impact that echoed through the barroom, halting the ongoing brawl in its tracks.
"Halt!" he commanded, and true to his word the fighters froze where they were, some of them mid-swing, tumbling for balance. "This goes no further."
Some of the men muttered curses under their breath, and more than a few angry glares were thrown his way, but none of them seemed willing to risk the wizard's wrath.
"Yara, was it?" Gregor said, turning towards the hedge wizard. "I would have a word with you."
"Yeah?" She watched him with wary eyes, her stance defensive. It reminded Gregor of a cornered lynx, the way her amber-brown eyes gleamed as they darted between him, her opponent, and avenues of escape. It was not unusual for those strongly attuned to the Beast Wind to take on the mannerisms more akin to the animals whose spirits they called upon, but usually such marks manifested only far later along their road to mastering
Ghur. "Who are you?"
"Gregor Martak, Imperial Wizard. I have business with you."
"What about?" she hissed.
"Not here." He shook his head. "Outside. Unless you'd like to discuss your little secret in front of everyone."
At his words Yara's eyes widened, and he could see the fight or flight reaction work its way behind her eyes, before settling on the latter. Before he could say anything she sprung for the back door with unnatural speed, leaping over the bar counter before disappearing towards the stables.
Gregor cursed under his breath, charging after her. He could feel a pulse of Ghur emanating from her direction just before he burst through the door to a scene of chaos, the horses and donkeys housed within the stable going wild, breaking free from their pens and stampeding around the courtyard. With his path blocked he was forced to pause, catching a glimpse of Yara sprinting for the outer palisade.
Not going for a horse herself, just using them as a distraction?
Fortunately, Gregor was a Magister of the Amber Order. The enchantment Yara had laid on the animals was powerful but crude, and he dispelled it with a shouted word of power and a twist of his staff. They soon settled down, meandering across the courtyard, but by the time Gregor was past them Yara had already scrambled up the palisade, leaping down to the other side and sprinting into the treeline. In a moment she would be out of view.
Gritting his teeth, Gregor began to mutter another incantation. He trusted his tracking abilities, for an Amber Wizard was nigh-unrivalled out in the wilds, but only a fool made more of a racket near Drakwald Forest than they had to, lest they attract the horrors of that benighted place. Finishing the spell, a pair of grey and black-feathered wings sprouted from his back, carrying him into the air with a mighty beat. He flew over the palisade and rapidly overtook Yara despite her lead.
Folding his wings to dive among the trees he landed in front of her with a heavy thump, already shedding the wings as he shifted his concentration to a new spell. A huge brown worm burst from the ground, wrapping itself around Yara and bringing her to the ground, holding the hedge wizard tight despite her struggles. Glancing in the direction of the village, he heard no signs of pursuit. Good, better to conduct this business outside the view of prying eyes.
"I told you, I only wanted to talk," he grunted. "Now if you'd just-"
Before he could get out another word, he could feel another pulse of
Ghur emanating from her, and her form began to rapidly shift and expand. Before his astonished gaze scales grew over skin, fingers and hands turned into powerful talons, human features melted into a long reptilian snout and a pair of horns erupted from her brow while a spike tail and a pair of leathery wings emerged from her back.
The worm was torn apart as Yara's human visage was replaced with that of a mottled brown-and-white dragon that dropped into a four-legged stance, glowing amber eyes boring down on him.
Transformation of Kadon?
That was… not supposed to be possible.
Inducing panic in animals, calling upon the strength and speed of the great beasts, such feats were rare but entirely possible for a particularly talented self-studied hedge wizard. But this was one of the most complex and dangerous abilities an Amber Wizard could learn, and which only the Magister-Lords of the Order could perform without great risk. And yet she had done so with ease.
How could that be? Her spellwork at the stables had been crude and unrefined, wholly at odds with such mastery over
Ghur. At least, it was not a very large dragon all things considered, scarcely bigger than a Griffon, but a dragon was still a dragon, and a stream of incandescent fire spilled forth from Yara's fanged maw. Gregor was forced to throw himself to the side to escape the flames, feeling the heat wash over him.
Shaking off his shock, he traced the arrow-sigil of
Ghur in the air, casting a spell to force his opponent to return to their true form. For the Beast Wind was the mutability of the form, and reversion was a form of change all of its own. It was not a commonly known spell, only useful against other shapeshifters, but he had picked it up in his youth fighting the Vampire Counts of Sylvania, who possessed many foul transformative powers.
Yet, as he sent the spell forth, it merely washed over the dragon to no effect.
Now, he was certain that something beyond his understanding was at play. A skilled wizard could have certainly dispelled his enchantment, but he had sensed no such effort from Yara. It was as if the spell had simply… fizzled out.
A spiked, mace-like tail caught him in the stomach, taking advantage of his distraction. He landed in a heap, wheezing for breath and clutching his ribs. At least none of them felt like they were broken, but it was a scant consolation as Yara stalked towards him, tongues of flame licking out from between her dagger-like teeth.
A chill ran through Gregor's body as he recalled the vision that had plagued his dreams for many months. Was this how he was fated to die?
No. His visions were not set in stone, but mere premonitions of what
could be. He had diverted their course before, and he would do so again. Stumbling to his feet, he took a deep breath and centered himself, gazing up at the reptilian, slit-like eyes of his opponent.
A terrible realization came upon him then. The reason nothing had added up. Yara's unusual power despite her lack of finesse or skill, her strange behaviour, the odd transformation and the way his spell had failed.
What he had witnessed was not Kadon's legendary incantation, but merely the reversal of a far simpler and easier spell.
The implications of that conclusion raced through Gregor's mind, nearly overwhelming to consider. Here was an opportunity no human in two and a half thousand years had ever had.
Just before the dragon reared back to loose her all-consuming flames, Gregor threw his staff on the ground between them and stepped back, slumping his shoulders and averting his gaze, all to make himself seem less of a threat.
"Here! I surrender," he announced, his heart thundering in his chest. This was quite possibly the stupidest thing he had ever done, but it was the best chance he saw.
For her part, 'Yara' froze in place mid-attack, visibly struck dumb by his sudden move.
"What?" Her voice was a deep, inhuman hiss that bent uneasily to Reikspiel, yet it managed to communicate her sheer, unadulterated
bafflement at what she was witnessing.
"As I said," Gregor wheezed, trying to catch his breath "I just want to talk."
"I do not," she growled.
"If you wish to leave, I will not attempt to stop you. But I will not be the last to come for you, and that is why I wish to talk. Because the others will not, and I would prefer to avoid needless conflict."
"It certainly did not look that way when you set a
worm on me."
"That was not the best of ideas, I admit," Gregor grunted in acknowledgement. "But I didn't realize what I was dealing with. That was the disguise earlier, wasn't it?
This is the truth."
She was not a hedge wizard that had assumed the form of a dragon, but a dragon that had taken the guise of a human.
The dragon tilted her head at him in bafflement. "You only realized now? Then what-" She let out, before clamping her mouth shut, as if realizing she had revealed too much.
"You thought I knew, at the tavern.," Gregor said, starting to connect the dots. "You thought that was the secret I was speaking of."
She said nothing, her glowing amber eyes glaring unblinkingly back at him. But she did not need to. If there was something he could read in her posture, the raised spines along her back that made her seem larger than she was, the squaring of her shoulders, the agitated twists of her tail… she looked
afraid.
"I was referring to your magic," he explained slowly, taking care not to make sudden movements. "It is the duty of the Imperial Magisters to investigate incidents of unsanctioned spellcasting."
The forest was silent for a moment, before she responded.
"...You could tell, so easily?"
It occurred to Gregor then that the size of the dragon before her was not a result of a lack of skill involved in the spell, nor was the age of her human guise a mere affectation. From the sheen of her scales, the size of the head and the length of the limbs in relation to the body… he realized that he was dealing with a
very young dragon.
"You were hardly being subtle about it," Gregor pointed out. "And to those attuned to the Winds of Magic, there are ways of perceiving their flow. It roils off you like waves."
Once more there was no response, only the frustrated gnashing of dagger-like teeth.
He sighed. It seemed that he was the one who would have to carry this conversation, for all that he was ill-suited to it.
"So, correct me if I'm wrong. You came up with a spell to assume a human form," he said. "The rumours were right, there really was a dragon in these lands, and the reason nobody but a few peasants here and there saw it because you would transform back rather than simply flying across the land."
Once again she said nothing, glaring defiantly down at him. He sighed.
Damn it, he needed some smoke.
"I'm just curious," he said, pulling out his pipe and starting to stuff it. "Every dragon I've ever seen or heard of seems to prefer a life on their own terms."
"These
are my terms," she suddenly interrupted him, with more force in her words than she had used previously, shifting her clawed feet. Clearly, she felt strongly about the topic. "I chose them."
"I'll grant you that," Gregor replied with a carefully neutral tone. At least she was engaging with him, that was good. It was the silence that you should be afraid of. "What I'd like to know is why. Why not sleep away the years on a hoard of gold in the mountains, emerging only to gather tribute or feed?" he said, lighting his pipe and taking a deep breath from it. "What makes a dragon, a creature of the eldest and greatest legends, come to a hovel of a tavern in the back end of Middenland, to amuse herself with a game of armwrestling?"
The moment stretched on, and Gregor began to wonder if he had miscalculated and was about to be incinerated, when she finally replied.
"...It is lonely," she muttered eventually. "Life spent in solitude, centuries upon centuries squatting in damp cave until some intrepid dragonslayer happens upon you, or hunger and greed drive you to take risk too far. That is no way to live."
"It seems to suffice for most of your kind," Gregor pointed out, blowing out a bit of smoke. "Certainly I've never heard of a dragon that prefers company over solitude."
"Humans are social creatures, or so I've observed," she retorted. "You assemble in packs to build great cities, teeming with life. Yet, some of you shun your own kind. Individuals, outcasts and hermits, that live outside expectation. Is it so hard to believe that dragons are same? That some of us defy our nature?"
Gregor winced. He could hardly deny her, when her words struck so close to home.
"It is maddening, with nothing but stolen gold and your own thoughts for company." She shook her massive head. "I want… to experience world. Learn. Explore.
Live."
"I believe you. But then why return to your dragon form at all?" he asked. "You had to know it would arouse attention eventually."
She merely tilted her head. "That spell of yours, of wings and feathers. You have soared upon open skies. Tell me, having tasted them, could you forswear them? I may walk among you, I may wear your form, but I am dragon."
Gregor conceded the point with a nod. However, before he could open his mouth again, Yara pressed on.
"You have asked many question already," she hissed. "Now, I shall ask one of you."
"Fair. A question for a question." He nodded. "Name it."
"Why do you care?" she asked pointedly. "You say I am unusual for dragon, yet I've never known humans to ask questions first, when faced with danger. What could make man throw down his weapon while facing down dragon?"
"I am a Magister of the Amber Order. It is my duty to commune with and wield the magics of
Ghur, the Bestial Wind," he explained. "True, many in the Empire would see you slain without a stray thought, your head paraded through the streets of Middenheim or Altdorf before being mounted above the fireplace of some Count or Baron. But a part of my duty is to understand the threats that the Empire faces. Dragons may have qualities which often bring them to conflict with the races of men, but your kind are not inherently corrupt or evil, like the servants of Chaos, nor unreasoning brutes like the greenskins. You have the capacity to choose."
"That is not answer," she hissed. "What if I chose differently?"
"It's like you said, you chose this. I doubt anybody could have forced you to that tavern against your will," he said, blowing out a circle of smoke. "I found it unlikely that a dragon who actively sought out human company would simply kill me without a second thought."
"Unlikely enough to risk your life?" she still insisted, eyeing him with wary, disbelieving eyes.
Gregor sighed. "...Because it would be a damned shame for the only dragon in recorded history to ever have been interested in peaceful coexistence with humans to be killed because of a Taal-damned
misunderstanding."
"You think you could kill me?' she bristled, the spines along her neck and back rising threateningly.
"Maybe, maybe not. I certainly don't
want to. But I will not be the last to find after you, and they will not be as interested in talking as I am. You are like a wellspring of
Ghur to those with the talent to look for it, and even the most stone-souled of witch hunters could catch on to your spellcasting or your mannerisms."
"I was doing just fine-" she snapped, but he cut her short.
"Just so you know, when humans bare their teeth, it's not a threat or sign of aggression. It's called smiling, and it's a sign of happiness."
Her indignation at being interrupted was soon overtaken by confusion and disbelief, tilting her head to the side. "...That's ridiculous. There's no way that's right."
"I agree it's stupid, but I don't make the rules." He shrugged his shoulders.
"...Fine," she conceded. "But if these men of your Empire are so set on hunting down a target of no threat, they deserve what comes to them."
"...Perhaps," Gregor spoke in a placating, carefully neutral tone. "But they are necessary to defend the Empire against insidious threats within and without. To speak nothing of innocents caught in the crossfire. Were I a Witch Hunter attempting to dispose of you, would the inn still be standing?"
To that she had nothing to say, save the grinding of her teeth.
"Then what is point of this?" she eventually ground out. "Perhaps they will find me. Perhaps they will die. Perhaps I will. So be it. I will not return to mountains."
He sighed. They were at an impasse, at the crossroads of two mutually unpalatable options.
But then again… He had come here expecting to find a young wizard in need of proper training, a small step towards strengthening the Empire against what was to come.
"There is perhaps one way." he spoke slowly. "You could hide in a manner that already had an Amber Magister fooled, until I was all but smacked in the face with it."
…And yet, after everything, was that not exactly what he had found?
"I have… a proposal for you."
----
This is a story that's been sitting in my idea bin for a while, and I finally felt the push to actually write it out. I love Warhammer and I love dragons, so I was happy to find a way to combine two of my favorite things.
That being said, as a bit of a disclaimer, Warhammer lore and canon is ridiculously convoluted, full of retcons and contradictions, so I've had to do some rationalization between wildly different sources. This story also features certain headcanons that fill blanks left by canon, though it shouldn't be anything too major.
Also thanks to
@Vulthurmir for being my Beta Reader and sounding board, despite not knowing anything about Warhammer Fantasy.
Finally, this does not mean I've stopped writing Dragonspawn, I still intend to keep updating it, but I also want to write other things occasionally.
