Arwer

[Serafium]

Prologue:

Enveloped in the night, a cloaked figure made his way stealthily through the blanket of black. Unseen, he crept to the stone wall of the market. This was no normal market, however. This was a market specialising in black market animal trading. The cloaked person hated this. He was prepared to risk it all to save the creatures from a life in captivity. Waiting, watching, the person checked his surroundings to see if there was anybody watching. Concluding that there wasn’t, he turned to climb the rough cobbled surface. Even with years of weathering, washing the stone smooth, there were enough handholds for even an inexperienced climber to make use of. This man, however, was not an inexperienced climber. He had years of experience, and while his skillset was usually used within the law, it was required in this case for vigilantism. The law-keepers in this little fishing town were as corrupt as the traders and profited just as much from the scandals. People would travel across the world to purchase rare and endangered species, just to lock it up in a cage.

Deciding that these thoughts had wasted enough time already, they turned and reached and grabbed for a suitable handhold. They hoisted themselves up, finding footholds. He waited for a few seconds, waiting for his body to adjust. It had been raining earlier in the day, and his mistakes would be punished more readily and possibly fatally. Preparing himself once more, he reached up, searching for somewhere to put his hand. He finds a stone sticking out more, and uses it to pull himself a little higher. He rests his foot casually on a stone before trying to reach for another hold. As his hands moved of the wall, the stone under his foot gives way. Already 8 feet in the air, a fall from this height could break limbs. He stretches forwards, grappling with the wall. He falls three feet, before catching himself on a small outcrop.

Pain now surging through his body, he forced himself to carry on. He swarmed up the 10 feet of the wall in no time at all, and found himself on a small wooden walkway, with towers on either side. Making his way toward the tower, he sees a light on the far side. It was a guard carrying a torch. However, the infiltrator knew that the guards’ night vision would be heavily hampered by the light and would fail to see him. He drops gently onto the bottom floor and makes his way over to a grouping of cages. Without checking to see what is in them, he opens several, and watches as the creatures escape into the night. They would need the gate to be opened before they could get out into the wild, however. He would have to deal with the guard. Approaching another group of crates, the man could feel an intense malevolence emanating from one of the boxes. He slowly edged toward the radiating force, before cautiously lifting the lid. Inside was something many men would go their entire lives without seeing. Even without seeing one before, he knew exactly what it was; it was a large, black rough and scaly dragon egg. He reached in the box quickly, picking up the egg. The aura emanating from the egg lessened significantly, as if sensing it was safe with its new holder. Dragon eggs had the potential to sit dormant for many hundreds of years, sometimes millennia until it felt the presence of someone who would care for it. There was no telling how long this one had been dormant, but it felt safe in this person’s presence. Upon closer inspection, the man could make out faint swirling patterns on the egg and wondered if they had any significance.

The guard on the walkway was bored and cold, and set off on one of his irregular beats, walking along the palisade from left to right and back again. He failed to notice what was going on just 8 feet below him.

The thief set off once again, opening more crates, which were increasing in size as he got to the far end, the far side from the gate. Creatures of varying majesty, now stripped of their nobility, walked shamefully out of the cages. Others, burning with rage leapt out of their cages, looking for adversity. One such creature was a terrifying Phosbilyir; Rhinoceros in the common tongue. It swung its head violently, preparing to rip anyone or anything to shreds. It saw no danger, just one man, unarmed, standing in front of him. Its anger subsiding, it stomped past the infiltrator, looking for an escape. Unable to find one, it improvised, charging through a wall just under where the thief had entered. With a great crash, the wooden boards shattered under the immense, overwhelming force of the frustrated creature. All the creatures already free of their cages rushed to the new exit, escaping into the wild; some for the first time.

The guard, unsurprisingly, heard the crash and turned, seeing the creatures escape. He watched in dismay as a fast-moving stream of animals gushed through the small opening, as if a dam had burst. The guard knew he couldn’t stop the animals, and as he surveyed the ground he saw the culprit. He was choosing between killing the man, himself or just simply running away. He decided the latter was better for him, and made his way to the winch that would open the gate. He opened it just enough to slip through as to get away as quickly as possible. He sprinted down the hill as fast as he could, almost losing control as he neared the bottom and the land flattened out. Instead of going back to the town, he ran the opposite direction, knowing he would be executed for incompetence.

The man watched the guard escape and chuckled to himself. ‘Makes my job a little easier’ he said to himself, opening the last few crates and watching the animals escape. Satisfied with his work and still carrying the egg, the man walked triumphantly through the Rhino-sized hole knowing he had just saved dozens of animals, potentially from a fate worse than death.

He made his way to the abandoned house half a mile from his town.
“Is it done?” came a gruff voice from the shadows.
“Aye, it is,” the thief replied.
Stepping into the dim light, showing half a face of grotesque features that appeared to have been heavily seared, the other man smiled. “Well done, Tarhia.”


Chapter 1:

The rich emerald green stretched for miles, rolling across the lush ground in an ageless ocean of pine. Huge trees claimed low hills and overran shallow valleys, racing each other in a drawn-out race to reach the sky. Occasional breaks in the canopy occurred in wide swathes, tens of feet across, the ground below scarred by an ancient ritual circle and eternally barren as a result. Other bare patches showed evidence of deliberate deforestation, of dramatic battles fought beneath the leaves, of large untold beasts descending on the trees from above, tearing at them from below, shattering them from within…

The inhabitants of the trees cared little for the ancient scars on their boughs. Owls and ravens guarded their nests with a close, watchful eye, and squirrels chased each other from tree to tree. A snake drifted across the ground unseen, stalking a mouse and, miles east, a fox watched, unmoving, a young rabbit move unknowingly closer. Small herds of deer grazed at the untamed grass before darting off as one to another, safer, spot as deadly predators wove through the shadows in pursuit.

The wind, disturbed by the fast movement, whipped between the thick trunks of the trees before darting above the canopy and back below, buffeting a large bird just above the verdant expanse. The bird floated higher with the barest twitch of its feathers, its keen eyes watching for likely prey; a lesser bird or a squirrel, or perhaps a small rabbit. It was well adapted to forest flying, with broad wings and a long tail for manoeuvrability, grey both above and below, with dark barring across the chest.

Miles above it another predator flew, but feathered wings were the only trait they shared.

Massive primary feathers shifted with the strong currents found 4000 feet above the ground, the entire vast wing tilting toward the distant ground causing the entire figure to bank to a gentle right before levelling out a receiving a boost higher from another current. The feathers across the back of the wings were a soft tawny brown, darker along the top ridge and lighter along the tips of the secondary feathers right against the torso. The muscles suddenly gathered together as the figure flapped their wings forcefully once, increasing their speed for a brief few seconds a granting them an extra twenty feet of flight. They coasted along the currents once more as they unfurled their wings back to the full 24 foot span.

From far below, the figure was simply an unusually large bird, blurred and indistinct and rather easy to spot due to its colouring. From much closer, however, it resolved itself into a humanoid form; in flight the wings were spread and the arms were visible held close to the sides in heavy leather gloves, the hands infrequently shifting along the body to check that secured items were still in place. The legs were held perfectly straight and together, barely used as a rudder at all in such a peaceful, steady flight. Should the figure stand, their height would be at least six and a half feet, and likely more. The head was kept facing to the grounds as opposed to forwards, dark hair ruffling as the fairer feathers did in the wind. Every few minutes the head would carefully move to face in the headed direction, allowing the figure to observe his course and any approaching dangers.

It was clear the figure was indeed male. He was young, just into adulthood, with a stern and handsome face. His eyes, which darted quickly across the cloud cover that hid the world below him, were a deep, rich brown. He blinked infrequently, and on occasion a concealed eyelid performed the action instead, clearing and lubricating his eyes. His skin, though naturally pale, was darkened by long hours spent in the gruelling sun, and was only visible above the bridge of his nose; the rest of his face was covered by a light grey fabric that protected his mouth and nose, and matched the rest of his clothing.

His coat was long, carefully tailored to accommodate the wings that sprouted from his back, and was made of soft, well-treated leather. Just visible above the joining of the silver buttons over his chest was a thicker leather vest, designed more for protection than aesthetic as the coat was, and beneath that a thick white shirt. His breeches were only marginally darker than his coat, and were similarly well made and well-tailored. His shoes, made of toughened leather, were the darkest part of his ensemble, a smoky grey rather than a cloudy one; their means of fastening was unclear and likely continued up the leg and beneath the breeches.

The presence of the scabbard securely fastened around the waist and the bow and quiver nestled between the wings indicated that the entire ensemble was some kind of uniform, and the figure some kind of guard.

His colours and the insignia over the right breast of the coat and embossed on the deer-hide quiver showed that that was exactly what he was. The symbol identified him as a probationary member of the Dragonslayers, an elite military guild run by the Avians, the wise and ancient Avian Elves that had patrolled the skies of Daear for thousands of years; the colours showed that he operated out of Skyholme, the capital city of the Avians and the home to the headquarters of the Guild. As a young child, he was often compared to his legendary great-grandfather who was one of the original Dragonslayers. In normal warfare, they were used as auxiliary so their prowess in battle wouldn’t be wasted. His grandfather and his father also passed initiation into the Dragonslayers. He did not want to be the first male in his family to not join.
His mind wandered, absent-mindedly flapping his wings to stay in the air. He was thinking about that meal he’d had with his family. He specifically remembered the pretty serving woman. He had no idea of her name, but he could imagine her long, flowing blonde hair and large, blue eyes. She was the most beautiful person he had ever seen. He seriously should try getting her name. Though he doubted he had a chance.

The Avian gently beat his wings once more, rising above another drift of cloud and listening to the whistle of the wind in his ears. These sorts of patrols; that set off at staggered 4-hour intervals in an enormous miles-wide loop around the city that took 12 hours to complete, were always enormously dull, and were assigned to those recruits who disobeyed as punishment; personally, the youth felt that this punishment was wholly undeserved in his case. All he did is say he was better than the tutor.

He listened to that single beat of his wings echo in the air around him for several moments before he realised the continuing sound was unnatural; the thin wisps of water vapour around him would not hold the sound, and his own wings were not strong enough to create such a heavy whap – he shifted his legs to re-balance his body in an upright position, continuously beating his wings slowly to hover in place. Too late he realised the folly of this; the mists around him obscured his vision, but did not hide him as he assumed, as his wings continuously swept through the mist as he beat them.

He spun slowly in a circle, getting a 360 view.
A cold jolt shot up his spine. His heart froze. He didn’t breath, didn’t blink. He just stared. He had seen the black outline of a sinister figure printed into the clouds like ink on paper. Accompanied with the thunderous roar, there was really no doubt what it was. For the first time in his life, he was looking at a dragon.
His mind racing, he calculated whether it would be possible to get back to Skyholme. He couldn’t even see it from where he was, even with exceptional elven vision. He was at least 250 miles, he thought to himself. He needed to report to the Dragonslayers; a highly skilled force tasked with the disposal of the most fearsome creatures in the world. With a sense of dread, the realisation that he was too far away from the city to get there before being engaged on by the dragon hit him full force. He would have to fight.

He snapped his wings in and dropped as a dark shadow past over him, just barely in time.

Heavy jaws clamped shut where his body had been not a moment before, and he glanced up as he fell to see a great toothy maw gently loosen once more as fiery eyes danced maliciously above it.

Panic overcame his mind as he found himself faced with this most dangerous of beasts before his true courage returned – he was a part of the Dragonslayers, the most elite and well-trained band of warriors in the entirety of Daear! Granted he was only an intermediate recruit, but he was the best of them! Years of dreaming and, eventually training, combined with solid determination, unmatched wisdom and skill and a rich ancestry in the art had provided the youth with more than enough knowledge on how to kill one measly dragon!

Of course no-one had managed to slay one alone… and he was at least 250 miles from Skyholme, and the dragon already knew he was there. There was only one choice.

His determination to prove himself blinded him to the folly of his actions as the warrior – the boy – drew his long, curved sword, flared his wings and prepared to face the beast. He darted forward, swift and sure, and brought his sword up in a backswing across the snout as the great black dragon began to dive. With a solid hit that sent heavy recoil up through the blade, he darted away again. With the significantly smaller mass, the Avian would find turning far easier than the dragon, which would prove a massive advantage against the dragon’s superior speed and strength.

The brute dived towards him as he turned and the youth twisted gracefully over the dragon as it surged forwards and brought his sword down along the base of the neck and towards the spine before sweeping away again.

He bared his teeth in malice at this surely debilitating attack before he saw the shining blade in his hands had little blood on it at all; a glance at the dragon that turned to face him as they circled one another showed that its neck bore only a shallow scratch – it would take far more to wound this beast.

The scout swallowed and considered cutting his losses and attempting to flee, but he knew his chances of surviving without a lucky blow to the beast was low.

He was tired from a flight that had already lasted two days with few stops; he was at least eight hours from home. Which was somewhere in some direction, but he couldn’t be sure because the short skirmish had turned him around and disoriented him.

The dragon’s long horns had caught him as he launched himself over its back, one tearing his coat and the other digging shallowly into his side, and he could not heal himself in mid-air, certainly not with a dragon on his tail.

And his preoccupation with the dragon before him had prevented him from noticing its bugling calls, the near-distant response, and the second shadow in the clouds before it passed directly over him.

“Saether guide me,” he murmured under his breath, invoking his god of accuracy, as he frantically beat his wings, slashing up toward the new threat in a move that ultimately tore his sword from his grasp after he hit the unforgiving bulk of a fast-moving object. He grimly watched it fall quickly out of sight as he quickly looped around the second dragon that began to move in a wide arc, granting him a little breathing room. He immediately began to pull his bow from his back as he drifted sideways, but the brief ensuing struggle between weapon and uniform cost him. The first dragon darted for him, forcing him into a dive that took his eyes away from the second. The new dragon, a deep green that mirrored and mocked the peaceful canopy leagues below, took advantage of this opportunity and released a spray of burning acid down upon his back.

The youth screamed in agony as he felt the flesh on his back begin to boil, his feathers dry out, the powerful muscles burn away… he went into freefall, the resentful snarl from the first dragon at the spatter that fell upon its head being the only thing that stopped him immediately becoming an airborne meal.

His bowstring snapped under a stray droplet of deadly liquid heat even as he released the single arrow he had managed to notch, and his weapon fell away, the quiver following as a twisted, ruined husk, its protective enchantments failing under direct draconic acid.

He approached the ground fast, the black dragon giving a half-hearted chase for his stolen meal, the green inspecting its wing and the new arrow-hole that pierced through one of the thick membranes.

The elf didn’t notice as he hurtled down, down, down, blissfully unconscious and unaware, cut down and broken, his body screaming in agony as the last of his once majestic wings disintegrated away.

He smashed through the canopy, shattering the peaceful atmosphere as a frustrated, bone-rattling roar rang out around him.

He hit the ground.

Nothing moved.

Chapter 2:

The forest was quiet and serene, the natural balance easily flowing throughout. There was nothing out of the ordinary, besides the odd scuffle in the undergrowth or call of a bird. Heavy footfall could be heard, alongside the great creaking of ancient trees. Slowly, 6 legs walked through the forest toward where the thing fell from the sky.

The two dark figures, shaded by the overhanging trees, crept closer to the shallow ditch where the body lay, in what appeared to be a very uncomfortable position. Their clothes were torn and tattered, with little to be salvaged. They appeared a light grey, although some parts had a black tinge, almost as if it had been burnt. The boots were the only items more or less intact, with only a few buckles torn off.
The two figures were sceptical as to whether the thing was alive or dead, although it seemed more likely that he would be. They had watched him fall from the sky, shortly after another glinting, shiny silvery-blue object that neither had been able to identify.
“What are they thinking?” one whispered to the other, larger quadruped “In fact, are they thinking at all?”
The other shook their head, and whispered back “It’s distorted. I’m getting something, but it isn’t discernible.”
“So it’s alive then? Incredible!” the smaller one exclaimed, surprise evident.
Arwer chose that exact moment to come to his senses, although the observers failed to notice. He felt the ground, cold and hard, beneath his pain-filled body. It trembled and shook and it appeared as though the earth was shifting. It was odd, to say the least. He opened his eyes to find his vision blurred. He tried to prop himself up onto his elbows although all he was met with was a sharp pain laced in his back. Some of the shadows ran, but some remained. Two figures weren’t shadows, but he failed to notice. He was still massively shaken up from the fall.
A voice echoed across his consciousness. “Where do you think he came from?” He heard someone say, oblivious to his waking. Violent stabs of pain assaulted Arwer as he tried to see who was talking, causing him to take many sharp intakes of breath, which made it worse; the pain forced him to pass out. His last thoughts were ones of fear; there was someone there, and he wouldn’t be able to stop them doing anything.

While unconscious, the bipedal and their companion carefully inspected the injured person. On his back, there were vicious scars raked across his skin that were now covered in mud. They would need to be cleaned to avoid infection. The entire back part of his cuirass was gone, and they assumed it had been burnt due to the darker patches lining the edges where the leather shirt remained. Some of the skin on his back was charred black, and there were fragments of bone littered in the small clearing. Neither could identify what the bones were from, as neither had seen Avian wing bones before. Few ever had. What was left of the belt indicated that he was armed at some point until recently, as there were the melted remains of a once intricate scabbard brooch. Had the emblem originally emblazoned on the pin remained, they would have been able to identify him as an Avian elf assigned to the intermediate recruits of the Dragonslayers. For his well-being, it was fortunate that it was so.

Careful not to wake him or cause him intense pain, they slowly lifted him and carried him to the nearby river where they had been just, ready to go home after a successful fishing trip when they saw him plummet, potentially fatally. Luckily, a rare weed grew nearby that was particularly effective at healing burns. It only grew near clean fresh-water, and had incredible healing qualities and also great taste and texture, if cooked right. It was called Sanique and was said to have been blessed by the Elves. Whether this was true or not, neither knew, but what they did know was that the flowerless wonder-plant could very well save the life of the man.
Washing away the quickly hardening mud, they picked several Sanique leaves and stored them in the biped’s small leather shoulder pouch. The medicinal qualities were most effective after boiling and being ground into a paste then spread on the wound, smothering it. The smell was unpleasant, but it worked miracles and could heal horrific burns in weeks. As with most medicines, it seemed to have drastically improved effects on Elves, which is why they are believed to all be Elven in origin.

After they had cleaned all his wounds, they carried him on the two mile trip home. ‘Home,’ as it turned out, was a large three story building built in a large clearing. Some of the house was still under construction, and the third floor still needed furnishing. The builders had taken great care and had done it all themselves, with no contractors or any other professional help. The bipedal would do all the intricacies and the actual building, whereas the quadruped would do the heavy lifting to get great planks of wood on to the top floor for its friend to work with. It had taken years to build, and its owner had more plans for it still, beyond finishing the next floor. You could describe it as a manor house. It was a house of dreams, and they had built it all in the middle of nowhere, with the help of their friend, of course.
The wood used was all oak and pine, which complemented the deep green setting and each other with their respective light and dark brown. The entire house was masterfully crafted as the builder had a natural talent and was particularly good with their hands.
As they left him unconscious in the in the spare room on the second floor, they quickly went down the stairs to boil the leaves. Of course, the large quadruped could not get in the house, so the biped had dragged him up the stairs as carefully as possible. 25 minutes later, the smaller creature was using their pestle and mortar to grind up the soggy leaves into an herbal paste. They proceeded to get some bandages from a cupboard and smeared the resulting paste on one side, then made their way upstairs. Carefully, they applied the herbal medicine onto the back of the Avian, and watched as the skin seemed to start healing almost instantly. After they had finished coating all his wounds with the medicinal bandages, they rolled him onto his back and left the room shortly after throwing a blanket over him.

Upon waking, Arwer, the Elf, instantly noticed his surroundings had changed, although he could not see, as he could feel the ground was much softer than it was when he first awoke. He instinctively tried to take a vicinity check; all he got was a sudden pain in his neck caused from not moving for several weeks. He lay, breathing through gritted teeth as he waited for the pain to ebb away as his sight slowly returned from its blurred state. Once it had, he looked around the room he was in. The first thing he took note of was that he was now in a house; although he did not know whose it was, or how he got there. He took in the scattered furniture. He also noticed he was in a bed. Whoever brought him here had been caring for him, as he also felt the dressings on his wounds on his back. He felt sleep taking hold of his senses again, and he did not resist. He knew he was safe here, wherever here was. He would be woken in a few hours to be fed, and then he would be gripped by the relaxing tendrils of sleep and rest soundly for the next few hours. He still did not know the identity of his mysterious guardian. But he still trusted them.

He gradually stayed conscious for longer periods of time and was greeted with the same intense pain every time he tried to muster the strength to stand. One such time, a month after he had fallen, he had just awoken and for the first time, he was awake when his helper came in to leave his food. Hearing the leather door flap pushed aside, Arwer propped himself up onto his elbows to try and see his visitor. This effort was greeted with the feeling of being stabbed by thousands of tiny pins. He groaned. His visitor chuckled and said “You haven’t moved for over three weeks; I’m not surprised that hurt.” Arwer opened his mouth to reply, only to discover he had no voice. Again, the strangers’ voice responded, saying “You probably haven’t done that for three weeks, either; I’m not surprised it doesn’t work”. Laughing at their own joke, and leaving Arwer fairly agitated, they carried on “Anyway, I have some food for you, if you think you can eat; wouldn’t surprise me if you can’t”. Rolling his eyes, Arwer realised sarcasm was going to be very common. He knew he should be grateful, but he couldn’t help but be annoyed by his helper. Leaving the tray on the end of his bed, the stranger turned to leave, then stopped and said “You could also do with a bath, you stink; wouldn’t surprise me if you can’t though”. All Arwer could reply with was a loud groan, causing them to laugh.
The food was a simple meal that wouldn’t need to be warm to be eaten, in case Arwer had not awoken for some time after it was taken in. It consisted of some fresh bread and cheese with some cold salted beef and water.

When Arwer had eaten and stretched, he managed to get up for the first time. Upon doing so, the world felt as though it was spinning and he fell back down onto the bed. His first thought was of the sarcastic reply the stranger would have said, had they seen it. “You haven’t done that in three weeks; I’m not surprised you can’t.” He chuckled to himself and stood again to leave, waiting for the inevitable nauseous feeling to pass. As he went through the door flap, he almost fell straight down the stairs, only just managing to keep his balance. “Stupid house design” he muttered, as he walked down the uncarpeted stairs. At the bottom of the pine stairs was another unassuming doorflap. Expecting it to be like the other, he walked straight into the solid iron-bound oak door. Cursing loudly, he heard the laugh as he pushed the door open, rubbing his head. As he entered the room, he was surprised to see a woman sat at the table. She was beautiful. She was a brunette with brown eyes, like himself, and her hair perfectly framed her picturesque features. She was exceptionally beautiful. He realised that it had always been a female voice talking to him; he had just failed to notice at the time. He opened and closed his mouth several times, deeply surprised. The woman put on a false concerned look and said, “Are you okay? You look like you’ve seen a ghost; or are you just half fish?” Arwer gathered his senses and tried to reply, but his voice was still gone, so closed his mouth again. “Seriously, is it that hard to believe I’m a woman?” said the woman, looking quite offended. She had always hated being prejudiced against by men, who assumed she was just a weak woman who was unable to look after herself. This was half the reason she had ran away in the first place, to try and escape all the men who saw her only as a girl and would not let her take part in anything that was deemed ‘unladylike’. Arwer cleared his throat many times and finally was able to speak; he said “Those stairs are a death trap!” and he added, with a hint of a smile, “Though I’m not surprised”. She laughed.
“So, uh… What’s your name?” Arwer asked.
“What’s yours first?” she replied.
“Arwer.” He answered.
She burst out laughing, “What kind of a name is that!” she exclaimed. Arwer stared at her.
“I’m kidding. I’m Lania,” she said, smiling.
“Kidding I’m Lania? That is an interesting name…” Arwer replied, chuckling a little. She laughed.
Now content that she probably wouldn’t spring up and eat him, Arwer walked to sit at the table, to which the woman shook her head and pointed to another door flap. “Bath’s in there”. Smiling, Arwer walked toward the door flap but this time, just in case, pushed his arm in first, finding another door. As he opened the door, he heard the woman groan disappointedly, hoping for another laugh.

Inside the room was a large wooden tub and also a fireplace for warming water. The water, however, was nowhere to be found. He turned to go back in and ask for water, but turned and found himself looking straight into the woman’s face. He took a step back in surprise, but quickly regained his composed manner and asked where the water was. The woman told him it was all in the river waiting for him; 38 bucket-fulls should do. Before she could explain he could use the device in the kitchen, Arwer took the bucket by the door and left. Several minutes later, he returned and queried as to where the river was. Laughing, she pointed to the strange contraption in the kitchen. She told him she had designed the “tap and drain system”, as she called it, to draw water from the river, and any unused water would be drained back to it. She had built and perfected it years ago with the help of her friend. The water would run through some wooden pipes of her own devising. The pipes, roughly 1 meter in diameter, would carry the water down to a natural cave that the house was built above, that also housed her friend and the foundations of the house. The water would reside in a shallow stone hole in the ground. Pulling the lever on the tap would suck the water up a thinner pipe by creating a vacuum, which air would rush into quickly once the trapdoor the lever was connected to moved, pushing the water with it. The pipe was placed at roughly 30 degrees, with cross supports on the ground to hold the weight of the water and the pipe up.
As she explained this to him, Arwer was impressed at the ingenuity of the idea, but was sceptical as to whether it would work. “Artefecis is so much easier,” he thought to himself, remembering the powerful magic users in his city. Artefecis was what the Avians called magic, as it was an ancient art that had originally stemmed from the Elven races thousands of years ago. Only Elves would live to remember such times, and very little was written by any races other than the Elves or the studious Dwarves. Either way, 38 buckets later he was happy it did work especially after learning that, although the river was only 400 metres away, there was an impenetrable thicket blocking the path. The only way to get to it was a 2 mile path east, or thrice that west. He questioned why she hadn’t just cut through it, and she told him she liked nature and would only take things she needed, and she had found a way around it without truly harming anything.
She told him to pour it all in the large tub, and he wondered how it would be warmed.

As she made the fire, she gestured towards a small cupboard and asked him to bring the large stones and the metal sheet. He did so, and watched as she put the stones in the fire, superheating them. After about 15 minutes, she took the stones out, one by one, with large metal tongs with leather wrappings on the handles. She put these in the glorified barrel of water and instructed him to leave it for a few minutes to warm up with the metal sheet on top and the bath would warm up, and that it would retain its heat because she had lined it with animal hide in between the layers of wood the tub was made of, as insulation and had also added a thin layer to the inside, to “Stop you from splintering your behind” she had said, laughing. She had also reminded him to remove the stones before getting in.
He removed the stones with the tongs and got in the bath. The warm water made his wounds sting but they were essentially completely healed, and the skin was just a little bit tender.

Sometime later, Arwer emerged back into the house, finding there to be no one around. The fireplace was empty, as were all the chairs; there was no sound to be heard. His friend was gone. She had disappeared without any mention of leaving or her destination. “Hello? Are you there?” Arwer said, cautiously. “Is anyone here?” he added, turning round in a full circle, examining the room. He checked every corner, every spot he could perceive her to be hiding in. He could not find her anywhere. He slowly ascended the stairs to his own room. For the first time he had a proper look at the array of furniture scattered around the room. There was no real system to their storage. In spite of the situation, he searched through every drawer, marvelling at the intricate carvings, some half-finished, on the masterful woodcraft. Wondering if she had made them all, he did not check the final wardrobe, deciding it looked particularly plain on the outside and thus concluded there would be nothing to look at inside. In fact, it had a secret panel in the back leading to a staircase. The staircase would lead to the third story of the house. Having never seen the house from the outside, he had no idea there was a third story.
As he finished checking the upstairs, he heard the creaking of a poorly oiled door open downstairs.
He heard the dull thudding impact of something being dropped; something heavy.

He heard the scuffling of boots on the oak floor below. He hears the grunt of effort.

His heart was beating in his mouth.

He could smell his own fear as paranoia enveloped his senses, taking control of his senses, his actions.
He tried to talk, but his voice was cut off by an invisible force.

A dragging, scraping sound resonated in his head. More shuffling footsteps.

Struggling to think rationally, Arwer finally found the courage to call out; ‘Wh- Who’s there?’ The door opens, and a grinning face takes its place. Arwer breathed an audible sigh of relief as his friend feigned concern and asked him what was wrong. Regaining his breath, Arwer managed to say “You could have said you were going; or that you were back”, genuine fear and concern evident in the tone of his voice.
“Sorry” she said “Anyway, how about dinner?” Arwer, more at ease now, smiled. “Sounds great.”

As it turned out, dinner was fish, freshly caught, and some home-grown herbs and vegetables. Something in the corner caught his eye. This something was a deep black. Arwer had seen it somewhere before. He racked his brain, trying to remember where. He knew it was recent. Realisation dawned; it was Dragonhide. Many questions flooded into his brain. Where had it come from, how did she get it from a dragon. Questions swarmed to the front of his brain and branded themselves there, not allowing them to be forgotten. Had she killed a dragon? Did this hide belong to one of winged lizards that had attacked him? Or was it from something else? Noticing her friends’ confusion, she lay down her spoon and reassured him there was nothing in the forest that would kill him. She added, with a hint of a smile, “Though I’m not surprised you’re scared.” This lightened the mood considerably. Just as Arwer was about to ask her where she had acquired such a perfect hide, her friend decided to make an appearance for the first time since Arwer first awoke. As any normal person would upon the sudden appearance of a 25-foot-long winged lizard, Arwer fainted.
He awoke again to the grinning face of his friend. Arwer sat their staring at her for some time, before she opened her mouth to speak; “Don’t” Arwer cut in, knowing what her sarcastic comment was going to be. Arwer, noticing the awkward silence, said “Care to explain why you have a pet dragon?”

Chapter 3:

The woman’s story started 14 years ago, when she was 12; she used to live in a town called Draymar, where there was a large black market creature trade. Her father, Tarhia, was against the illegal market, and he was always trying to plan ways to free the animals or to destroy the market. He had reported it to the authorities on multiple occasions because it was highly illegal. However, one of the problems with the coastal town was that the Capital was on the other side of the country, so law had little effect on the locals. Even the peacekeeping force present in the town was for the most part corrupt.
Because the town was so small and out of the way, the Ranger of the fiefdom took little interest in the area, as he had grown lazy and complacent. This meant crime was rampant and decent people found it hard to make a living. The rich were less honest than the poor, and even they would cheat you out of half a Tarfin, a small, round bronze coin. 118 Tarfins made one Cusound, a larger gold coin. A Cusound was about as much as most people would earn in a month of work; the nobles earned 50 plus times that in a day by cheating and breaking the law, selling rare and interesting creatures to the highest bidder. It was highly illegal, so as a result, her father tried to take the law into his own hands and managed to steal a dragon egg. It had a soft scaly outer layer, but when pressed, it proved to be as rugged as stone and would not easily shatter. He had told no one as he could trust no one, not even her, as she was only a child. He could not be sure that she wouldn’t accidently tell her friends who might accidently tell their parents. The punishment would be death. Her father had hidden the egg in a hole in a tree in the forest and would move it every few days. He had been witnessed going into the forest on many occasions by several people, but nobody knew what he was doing. None really cared. Most assumed he was hunting or fishing, as it wasn’t illegal to enter the forest and do so, but you would not receive care for any injuries sustained, nor would you be able to sell the pelts and food received. This law was put in place to discourage people from hunting to keep them buying from the rich for extortionate prices, and the keep the poor down.

He had followed this pattern for a few months when, as it came around to the warmer summer months, he had to be more careful the dragon wouldn’t hatch from the egg. It had been reported 2 months earlier that a dragon egg had gone missing and a large sum of money would be offered to whoever found it. Some people put two and two together and realised that her father had been the one who stole the egg and that was why he had to go into the forest so regularly. However, these people knew Tarhia well, and knew he was against the animal trade. He was one of the leaders of the group trying to increase animals’ rights. They had one member from a different town, and all others were secretive members living within Draymar. He was in the routine of checking every day to make sure that the dragon was not hatching. On one such occasion, one suspicious villager followed him into the forest, purely for hope of getting the substantial coin award for turning in the egg. He didn’t have anything against her father exclusively, but it was a hard life earning money in such a small town, so he was willing to turn in both egg and man if it meant he would be able to feed his family. He was stumbling along behind Tarhia, who was stealthily moving and much more attuned to the uneven forest floor, towards where his dragon egg was concealed.
A twig snapped. Tarhia turned instantly. His pursuer held his breath. For what seemed like hours, Tarhia scanned the darkness behind him, trying to see into the impenetrable blanket of black. He finally turned back around and began once again making his way towards the dragon egg. However, now he was conscious of a potential follower. He would continuously make full turns to check behind him. He had opted to not bring a lantern, as to lower the chance of discovery. There was no reason for him to be in the woods so late, and he could not pass it off as a hunting trip. He was almost regretting this decision as he could not see who was following him. His stalker could just make out his outline, and he hoped Tarhia could not see his. Tarhia, having made the journey many times, knew he was nearing the tree where he had stored the egg. He arrived at the hiding spot and felt inside. Nothing; He searched again. Again nothing; Panic flooded into his mind. Was he in the right place? Had he misjudged where he was? He reached in one more time. This time he felt the top half of the egg. The bottom half was not attached. Panic struck him one more time; his breath came quickly, and in ragged bursts. The dragon had hatched. He cursed quietly. The hatchling was nowhere to be found.
Arwer could hear her voice cracking; the reaction told him the remainder of this story wouldn’t be a pleasant tale for her to tell.
Her father heard the small squeal of the baby dragon to his left, but he could not see a thing. His pursuer snuck up behind Tarhia. He had scavenged a branch off the forest floor, which was now brandished high above his head, ready to strike Tarhia from behind. Some sixth sense told him of the danger. He turned on the spot and drove his leg into the space behind him. He felt the impact against his target. He heard the outlet of breath as his stalker was winded. He saw, in his mind, his targets’ eyes rolling back, and falling unconscious. He heard the thud as he hit the floor. He turned again, looking for the hatchling. He felt something small brushing his leg; something rough, something scaly.
That ‘something’ must be the dragon, he thought to himself. He quickly reached down and grabbed at what was on his leg. He pulled it straight up, to eye level, and realised he was indeed holding a dragon; Upside down, by the tail. He flipped it up to cradle it in his arms. Filled with joy that he had saved the dragon from being born in captivity, but also fear of getting caught, he completely forgot about the newly conscious man who was slowly sneaking away with the shadows, and the knowledge of the dragon. He carried the new-born back to his house on the outskirts of town, which he had recently bought as it allowed him to sneak into the woods easier. He stowed the dragon in a tree just inside the forest. He went home to his daughter and slept for the rest of the night.
He went out as soon as he awoke to check on the dragon. It was sleeping soundly where Tarhia had left it. He went into the forest to find the egg, knowing that inside would be the food necessary for him to grow. He had also read somewhere that dragons loved fish; all dragons. So, he went fishing. 30 minutes later he came back with two herrings and the egg. He found the dragon awake, licking his tail. He reached into the tree and put in the egg and the fish. After feeding the dragon, he walked back towards his house. There was a group of guards of to the right of his house, talking to one of his neighbours. He carried on walking, wondering what they had done. He saw his neighbour nursing a rib. Tarhia realised that he was the person who followed him into the forest yesterday. He was reporting him to the guards. The man pointed at him and shouted something, followed by a fit of coughing. Knowing the fate that awaited him, Tarhia walked dead straight, eyes forward, blanking out the world. He walked over to the conglomeration of guards. They said he was allowed five minutes to talk to his daughter and explain he would be gone for a while. He spoke to her, telling her that she would have to look after herself for a while, and that he should be back in a few months. Naturally, she was crying, as she knew exactly what he had done, and what was to be done to him. She had been listening to the guards explain it to each new arrival.
All the while he was writing her a note, telling her where the dragon was. Tarhia got straight up. Walked straight out, didn’t turn around. He knew every moment longer would make the pain worse. As he left, he saw the man who had tipped the guard. ‘Bastard’ he muttered, walking towards the group of guards around his house. They told him he had to walk through the town first, and people would be allowed to throw things at him, whatever they wanted. He stepped through the streets. His neighbours were the poor side of town, so cared little for his crime, and many were working. No missiles were launched in his first five minutes of his journey to the end.
As he made is way toward the town centre, he started walking past the richer part of the town, where many people took part in the illegal trading that was so popular and profitable in the town. These people threw all kinds of things at him. However, as many of them were unaccustomed to hard work, their muscles were hardly developed, so very few projectiles actually reached him, let alone hurt him. He was glad of one thing. He had not walked through the labourers’ side of town, where the blacksmiths and the butchers lived; People who actually worked for a living; People that deserved a decent house, a decent income. He didn’t want this poor image to be the last they remembered of him, as it would affect how they treated his daughter, if she ever decided to buy from them. If she survived, he thought, but he dismissed that evil thought instantly, reassuring himself that she was strong enough to survive.

People were jeering at him. Throwing things at him; cursing at him. Someone in the crowd shouted “You cost me 10000 Cusounds!” Tarhia smiled to himself. ‘Guess it was his egg then’, he thought to himself, ‘What a shame’. Continuing his walk, he took in the mass of people gathered in the town centre. ‘A hanging,’ Tarhia thought; ‘This has been abolished by global law, if the king found out about this, the town officials would be imprisoned’. Of course, this was wishful thinking as it was unlikely that the king would ever find out. Nearing the town centre, he was met with boos of the crowd. Scanning the crowd of people, seeing who in the town hated him enough to watch him die. A mysterious hooded figure caught his eye. He could see no features of the mystery man. He seemed short, but powerful. He didn’t appear to be the kind of person you would intentionally irritate. Tarhia wondered what he had done to annoy such a man. He had never seen anyone like him before. With interest, he studied the strange person. He had seen the cloak before, but he could not think where. He had seen it in a book, or something like that. He could not put his finger on where he had seen it before. He thought about it, ignoring the crowd jeering at him. He focused his mind on thinking about what the cloak could be from. A thought flashed into his mind. ‘It can’t be’ he thought ‘can it?’ He was sure that the cloak was a Rangers cloak, but there had not been a Ranger here for years; since before he was born in fact.
Rangers were an elite class of troop who also acted on behalf of the king to carry out the law. They were masters of camouflage and expert shots with their longbows. As a child, Tarhia had always wondered what it would be like to be a Ranger. But few had the skills necessary to become one. Even fewer actually became one. Out of everything, loyalty and honesty were some of the most important features of a Ranger. Something many people lacked, especially in this part of the country.
He wondered why the Ranger was here. Were they corrupt too? Had they come to make sure he hung? He looked into the crowd again, but the Ranger had vanished. Tarhia blinked multiple times, phasing back into reality. Had he been real? Had he actually seen a Ranger?
Now that Tarhia was actually paying attention, he noticed the executioner was doing his usual speech, explaining what Tarhia was to be hung for. Tarhia was bored. “Shut up” he said, his voice authoritative. The executioner looked up at him in surprise. “Excuse me?” he replied, anger evident in his voice. Tarhia stared him down for a few seconds. The executioner was the first to break eye contact. “I said; Shut up” he said, coolly. “I’m getting cold; let’s get on with it.” Even though it was the middle of summer, the coastal town was cold year round because of the freezing sea winds. The executioner was taken aback. He had never had this situation arise before. “Well… er… Alright then…” Tarhia walked up to the noose. He stepped forward.
Arwer noticed she was crying now. He understood how this part of the story would end.
She explained how she looked away before he died. She didn’t want to watch him hang. Perfectly understandable, Arwer thought.

She carried on with her story. After a few hours, she went to where her father said the egg would be. She found the dragon licking his tail again, with half a fish and an egg shell. The dragon was a lot larger than her father had said. It was easily 4 metres from tail to snout. It seemed to be bigger every minute. The dragon was regarding her with great interest. He had never seen her before. But she had the scent of the strange man who found him. He thought that was strange, and didn’t understand how they had become miniature and female. The dragon sniffed a few times and stood up. He was already taller than her. She recoiled in fear. The dragon looked at her for a while, and then proceeded to lick his tail again. She walked around the dragon to look at his tail. She saw a thin splinter sticking in his tail. She walked towards him, preparing to pull it out of his tail. He looked at her again and blinked slowly, his three eyelids clearly visible as they moved. She pointed to his tail, and gestured a pulling motion. He nodded at her, consenting for her to pull the splinter out of his tail. He could not reach the splinter in his tail, so this would be a favour. In return, he thought, he might not eat her just yet.
If he decided to, if he got hungry; which he tended to do quite quickly. He wondered where the fish came from, and what happened to the man. He was trying to think where the fish could have come from. He decided he would go and look for the lake or river where the fish came from. He walked off into the forest. The woman ran after him. He was surprised.
“Where are you going?” she asked, hoping that dragons could talk. Much to her surprise, he revealed dragons can in fact talk.
“Well, I quite thought I would like to find some fish.” She stood there, staring at him for a while as she collected her thoughts.
“Did you not know that dragons can talk?” the dragon queried.
"No, of course; I’ve never seen a dragon before” she explained. “Do you have a name?” she asked “I can’t keep thinking of you as ‘the dragon’”. The dragon smiled, in his own toothy way.
“Everyone has a name.” She sighed; “And yours is?” The dragon looked surprised. “I’m sorry did I say everyone? I meant every person.” She stopped and stared again, dumbfounded.
“Well… Can I give you a name?” The dragon thought for a few seconds.
“Only if you tell me yours,” he said.
“My name is Lania.”
The dragon replied “And what shall you call me?”
“Giardd”
“Ahh, so as Giardd I shall be known.”
They walked in silence for several minutes. They were on the other side of a hill from the river. “I can hear them” Giardd said, breaking the silence and scaring her half to death.
“Hear who?” Lania asked, surprised.
“The fish” Giardd replied “I can hear them.”
“Can fish talk too?”
“Don’t be silly, of course they can, you just can’t hear them. They speak very quietly, and they’re under water. It muffles the sound.” Curious now, she asked
“What If I catch a fish out of water?”
“Can you talk when you can’t breathe?”
“Well, no… bu…”
Giardd cut in “Well how do you expect them to?” She decided she wouldn’t ask any more questions.

Arwer cut in; “Wait, wait, wait… Dragons can talk?” Cassie looked at him for a few seconds. “That was my reaction, too. But yes, they can.” Giardd looked particularly offended. “How ignorant you are; an Elf, and an Avian one at that, not knowing that dragons can talk” Arwer looked extremely shocked. “How di- How did you know I was an Avian Elf?” he asked. “The ears give it away, really” Giardd said, smiling his toothy grin, “Not to mention I heard a dragon shouting for help, shortly before you fall from the sky with acid burns on your back from a Shadow Dragon.” Lania was sitting by with considerable interest. “Have you finished? Can I carry on with my story now?”
“If you must” replied Giardd “Just because I am in it.”

They walked over the hill towards the river. “Can you swim?” Giardd asked. “I don’t know. I’ve never tried.” “Well, now is the time to learn then” Giardd spent many minutes swimming around catching fish. He spent multiple hours teaching her to swim. Then they went home. Drenched and freezing, Lania was shivering the whole walk back. As they neared the town, she told him to hide in the forest and wait for her tomorrow. “Why?” he queried. “You’re not allowed here. My father saved you from an illegal animal trader.” Giardd nodded understanding, but asked “Where is he? I would much like to thank him.” Tears welled up in her eyes. “He’s dead. They… hung him.” Giardd was appalled. “Why are people so violent?” he asked, anger flaring. “It’s illegal everywhere; they broke the law to hang him” Lania told him. Giardd was still angry and said “We shall have to do something about that" Lania walked towards the house. She walked in. She didn’t see the cloaked figure, armed with his double daggers and longbow, concealed in the corner. He had been there for the last 3 hours, just waiting. He was perfectly still. His eyes scanned her as she walked in. She looked extremely young to live on her own, he thought. About 12 he told himself. She went into her bedroom. He left, perfectly silently without alerting her. He walked straight out of the house, and straight into a dragon. “What were you doing?” Giardd asked. The Ranger looked at the dragon. The dragon looked at the Ranger. He avoided the question. After a few more moments of the intense game of wills, the Ranger broke the silence. “I was leaving her a bow and arrows, although she will have to make them herself. I would rather she learnt now rather than later; it’s easier to learn while she’s young, and her fingers still do what she wants them to.”
The Ranger made his way into the night, after promising to Giardd he would try and make sure the woman was fed, and he would teach her how to hunt. He said he had left a bow in the cupboard, with a few logs, feathers and arrowheads. He wanted her to learn how to fletch herself, rather than having arrows readymade. The bow was also unstrung. When she awoke in the morning, she looked for some food. She couldn’t find any. She checked the cupboard with the bow and logs. She had no idea what it was, for a bow without a string is a stick. There was a note on the table. It read ‘The logs will make you arrows. The stick is a bow. The string is tied around the logs. The arrowheads are inside the feathers. You will need a knife.’ She had no idea how to make them, so she went to the blacksmiths to see how. The blacksmith was happy to show her as long as she helped him around shop for a few hours a day for a week or two while she learnt. She was happy to help and learn.
Practicing in the forest, she did not see the cloaked figure in the treeline. He was staying true to his promise of making sure she would survive and learn how to hunt and live on her own.
Her poor technique, however, was making him wince. He knew he started doing the same thing, but he had one of the most famous Rangers ever to have lived to train him. She was teaching herself. She was getting better though.
Whilst watching her, he had noted she needed to use her back muscles along with her arms in order to get as much power as possible in the drawback. She should also aim slightly above her target. She tried over and over again for days, under the observation of the Ranger. He watched as she learnt all the basic techniques slowly for archery. As he watched her hit her target too low for the seventh time, he smiled to himself. She had made the same mistake every time, but he could see her consciously trying to avoid making the mistake. She knew what was being done wrong and was trying to correct it. The Ranger knew that the best way for her to learn was to practice and to learn from her mistakes. Making the same mistake over and over is fine so long as you try to correct it. He had seen many people give up too easily, which is why so many people lacked the skills to become Rangers. It was important to understand that failure was only proof you are trying and not to become discouraged and persevere. He could see that she was clearly not going to give up until she got it perfect every single time; another trait of being a Ranger. Perfection; although, he noted, she would make a great Ranger because she was secretive and intelligent and always inquisitive. He had observed her for a while and she never spoke about the dragon or her training. She was also very good at lying while telling the truth.

[KoTsuki]

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[Fenric]

Some pointers.
I was confused as to who Raynestorm was at first.
I think you described him as a Scaled Angel? And then human. If he was human, how was he flying in the beginning? I have no idea, because I didn't finish. I was not interested in finishing the story because it had no hook. He could be saying that he was human to keep whatever he really is a secret, I realize that, but again, what is a scaled angel?
A celestial blade. Try describing the blade, nothing too prose-y but make sure we actually get an idea of what his blade is like. Again, describe what Raynestorm is like. I had no idea what he was because the biggest hint we got was that he was flying, and he had feathers. People like me are the reason you always assume the audience is 'stupid', or won't know what you're talking about. There's a rule, show but do not tell, but make sure people can follow what you're saying.
Also. His name. One of the major reasons I stopped reading. Let me start by staying this: That is a horrible name. And I'm a pretty bad naming. You could have at least called him Rainstorm, but instead you had to give him a 'special' spelling. This is a sign of a mary/gary sue. Don't name your character Rainstorm or Raynestorm, it just... Looks bad. I'm sorry for saying this so bluntly, but it's true. I'm saying it's a horrible name because it's a bad name to name a character in a story. Others who look at this won't take it seriously because the first thing they will notice is the name. Although it shouldn't be a defining thing in a story, at least you'd think it shouldn't, it is. We don't want to look at a story and see the main character's name is SparkleFire or something.
It seemed like a generic fantasy kind of story, filled with elves and dragons and woosprites and such.
This is supposed to be constructive. I apologize if it's not or if I'm being rude, I'm not trying to be. The last time I critiqued somebody on anything I got yelled at for being rude. Please read through all of this before commenting or anything. I don't want to make anybody upset or anything, as some writers are especially sensitive to any kind of critique, but I hope you are not. Don't let this scare you away from writing, nobody should do that. It just means you have to improve, and everyone does. So keep at it.

[Serafium]

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