The Misadventures of a Wandering Dragon

[Marcus]

Marcus had been wandering for days now, and hadn't really occurred to him until just now that he was completely and utterly lost. None of the landmarks seemed familiar, although he had only been to Ilia once before, and that was during his younger years, somewhere in his two hundreds or something like that. By now, he wasn't even sure why he had flown out here or what he was looking for. At first he had been searching for Richter, but now he was too far north for that. He was beginning to wonder if he should turn around or if there was any purpose to his flight at all. He wasn't even anywhere near civilization at all, or at least that what he had thought until he saw smoke appear around the peak of a nearby mountain. His interest piqued, he changed his course and flew around the peak, to find a small village, situated about two thirds of the way up the mountain, besieged by a small group of bandits. Not content to watch innocent villagers be slain, Marcus immediately dived straight down and landed on the outskirts of the village. He let out a fierce roar, and surged towards the bandits.

The bandits, of course, were more than a little shocked to see a large black and green dragon hurtling towards them, and more than a few of them were frozen in shock and/or confusion. Those unfortunate enough to be locked in place as Marcus made contact with the group quickly found themselves either trampled, batted aside by the dragons massive tail, or eviscerated by his sharp fangs. The taste of bandit blood excited Marcus and only made the uneven situation more in favor of the dragon. Nevertheless, the bandits were nothing if not resilient, and a few of the stronger bandits whose fear had not locked their legs charged at the dragon, brandishing their axes and shouting various battle cries. But before they could even get within ten feet of the dragon, he let out a vicious roar that sent out a literal wave of force that sent the bandits hurtling backwards and over the cliff. Marcus turned to the remaining bandits, who stood quivering nearby. The dragon let out a low growl, sending the bandits scurrying back down the mountain. This was not to be their lucky day, as Marcus was hungry and he had already tasted their flesh. He surged after them, catching two of them and tossing them up in the air. He caught them with loud snap and gulped them down. Satisfied, he allowed the four or five that remained to continue scurrying back to whatever rotten whole they had come from.

Letting his energy flow from his body, back into his dragonstone, he once again entered his human form. Figuring he might as well inspect the village, he walked past their slightly damaged, yet well-built, walls. It was surprising to see such well-crafted walls this far from civilization, but not as surprising as the sight Marcus beheld just inside the walls. All of the villagers were on their knees, bowing at him, or at least in his general direction. Marcus was about to ask the nature of said bowing, when one of them, supposedly the village elder, shouted out, "The Great One has returned!"

Well this was unexpected.

[Marcus]

The Great One? Are they referring to me? But the couldn't be. I've only been to Ilia one other time and then I... I....

You what? Chided Hassan, You don't even remember the last time you were here. It's all a blind rage isn't it? Nothing but negative feelings and not a single concrete memory to explain it.

What? And you remember it?

Better than you. Let's see what the villagers have to say. Play it off well, Marcus. Play it off well.

"Yes! It is I the Great One! I have returned to you after so many long years!" Marcus declared, boldly waving his arms to add effect.

Not bad. I've seen better

Shut up.

"My lord," the elder spoke up again, "We have long awaited you're second coming. Sadly, there are none who still remain who witnessed your first coming, but I'm sure they are smiling at this occasion from whatever afterlife you have created. Please, let us welcome you to our humble village."

"I am flattered by your generosity and gladly accept your hospitality. Please direct me to a place where I may relax. I would love to hear your tales and legends of my first coming."

"Of course, my lord. Right this way," the elder said, motioning towards the village.

[Marcus]

The villagers led Marcus to a large building in the center of the village. As they passed through, he couldn't help but notice how well-built everything was up here. Not only did the walls look sturdy and well-fortified, but the houses surpassed some of the standards set by more populous areas. Marcus couldn't helped being impressed by the craftsmanship of these villagers. But the finest point in the town was in the very center of the town, where there stood a detailed ebony sculpture of a dragon, inlaid with ruby eyes. It was unmistakably a statue of him. But why? Why would they celebrate him? He would just have to wait to hear the villager's story to find out. They led him into a large open space in the building where there sat a large rectangular table with chairs lining both sides and at the head of the table sat an elaborate chair.

"That chair has sat dormant ever since it was made after your first coming. It has long awaited your presence. Please, sit my lord, and we will regale you with the legend of your first coming."

Marcus accepted the invitation and sat down at the head of the table. The throne was very regal and added to the sudden wave of authority Marcus had begun to feel. Feeling the sudden urge to give an order, he waved a villager over and requested a drink. The man nodded and hurried off to fulfill the request. He quickly returned with an exquisite chalice and Marcus motioned for the elder to begin his tale.

"It began over 200 years ago, in a time when the village was much simpler than it is today. We were simple people who led simple lives, barely scraping by most of the time. We did our jobs and payed little, if any attention at all to the cosmic and supernatural, which I'm sure must have angered you at the time. However, a great evil soon descended on the village. The village's elder at the time, Falgorn, discovered a staff in the mountains that could control people's minds. And so, he quickly set about thralling the citizens and making them into his slaves and worshipers. This carried on for about twenty years, until your rage at this blasphemy boiled over and you descended to our earthly realm. The first coming. You arrived that fateful day and crushed Falgorn, then showed us the error of our ways, not only in our unfaithfulness, but also in our complacency. You destroyed our walls and buildings, showing us how pathetically feeble they were and warning us that we needed to improve. Then, the lessons taught, you departed from us, roaring one final time, what we believed to be a promise of your return. So we took your lessons and we learned from them. We were no longer complacent to have adequate walls or structures. So we kept building, testing, and rebuilding, a practice we still continue to this day, a practice we have taken to calling dragoncraft, in honor of your masterful visage. And that, my lord, is the story of your first coming," the elder concluded, wiping the sweat from his brow.

[Henrik Zwatre]

As Henrik went over to the town market to stock up on supplies, he had a skip in his step. He knew today was going to be a good day. But as he left the shop, he oddly couldn’t find his way back home. He thought that his house was just down the path, but where his house should’ve been, there was just grass.

Great. I jinxed it. Again. Henrik thought.

Henrik was getting frantic. He ran all around town, but couldn’t find his little cottage. Soon Henrik was out of town, wandering around Ilia, with only his supplies that he bought with him: a sword, some food and a vulnerary.

When Henrik saw the same willow tree for the third time, he knew he was going in circles. So he decided to go straight north, to where it got very cold. As he trudged on the snowy ground, he just wished he could be back home in his little cottage with a fireplace roaring beside him. He was distracted by the thought.

He stopped daydreaming with a THUD. His face slammed against hard rubble. Henrik rubbed his head and looked up. He saw a huge mountain range creating a massive barrier. But for what?

Henrik started to climb the mountain when he saw a little housetop emerge from the peak of one of the mountaintops. Henrik immediately starting walking towards it, only to find out that it was a village, and a very small one.(maybe about a population of about 500, Henrik estimated)Despite the fact that this such a small village, the construction was excellent.The walls looked very sturdy, and it looked like in the middle of town there was a massive statue. Henrik walked slowly towards it, but a strange presence stopped him.

Someone's here. Henrik thought. Someone... not human.

[Marcus]

Marcus gave the elder a hearty round of applause from where he sat reclined on his throne, chalice in hand. "A wonderful story, one which you should tell often, so that my name might be spread to all who will listen. Now, tell me, do you have a name, good sir?"

"My... my name is Loric. Loric Wisetoungue, my lord. My family has served as the protectors of your shrine, as well as the keepers of your lore."

Marcus gave an approving nod. "You have done well, Loric. My tale is extravagant and these halls are befitting of my glory. To reward you for your valiant service, you will become the high priest of my order, and all future high priests shall come from your line. Now, I have a task for you. You shall search the village fore all of those capable of magic of any kind. Gather them together and instruct them in my ways. They shall be the priests of Odintoungue and you, their high priest."

"Of course my lord, but first, I was wondering something. Do you have a name, or is it beyond our comprehension?"

Marcus smiled to himself. "My true name is beyond your simple mortal minds, but you may refer to me as Marchamut, god of thunder."

"Thank you, Lord Marchamut. I shall attend to your task immediately," Loric replied, bowing deeply, before turning and hurrying off into the village.

Marcus sat back in his throne satisfied. This was a rather strange turn of events, but he was sure to make the most of it.

[Henrik Zwatre]

Henrik moved slowly towards the village, making sure it wasn’t being raided, (Bandits were everywhere those days) but also because legs were so cold.

But strangely, the town looked… empty. Empty, except for one man going around house to house, probably looking for someone. Henrik was sort of right.

When Henrik arrived at the town, the man didn’t pay attention. He looked eager, as if he wanted to finish quickly.

“Excuse me, sir.” Henrik said to the fast paced man. “Do you know where everyone is?”

“He’s returned.” responded the man, barely paying any attention to Henrik’s existence.

“Who’s returned?” Henrik questioned, annoyed by the man paying no attention.

The man turned at him, a few beads of sweat gleaming from his forehead. “The Great One. The Great One has returned!”

[Henrik Zwatre]

The Great One? Henrik though. Who could that be?

"I'm sorry sir. I was just looking for a shelter I could stay in."


The man was back to knocking on everyone's door, but this time Henrik could hear him.


"Do you have any magic users in this residence?" he asked every single time, most of them responding, "no."


The man looked disappointed. He only found a few magic users, at least while Henrik was there. The man suddenly realized he was still there.


"I'm Sorry, what did you say?"


"I said I was looking for a shelter. Do you perhaps have a Tavern of some sort?"


"The Inn." Said the man, pointing to a large, well built building with a large chimney on top.


"Thank you, sir..." Henrik said.


"Wisetoungue" said the man. "Loric Wisetoungue"


"Thank you, Loric Wisetoungue!"

[Marcus]

A smile was slowly growing on his face. He had to admit, this whole setup was very nice. Me? A god? I could get used to this. Marcus turned to the young boy who had brought him his drink and signaled him to come closer. The boy nervously approached him, shaking a little and avoiding any direct eye contact.

"Yes, mi... milord?" the boy asked, voice cracking.

"What is your name, lad?"

"Cael, milord."

"Well forget it. Your new name is Squire. You will be my personal assistant. You will follow me wherever I go. You will do whatever I say. Understand?"

The boy nodded quickly, but said nothing. Pleased, Marcus nodded motioned for the boy to take a seat at the table. He was just beginning to think about what to do next when he noticed Loric returning to the hall, followed by only a few of the villagers. He obviously had not been very successful.

Loric approached the throne cautiously, as if any moment, Marcus might lash out at him. He stopped a few feet from the throne. After a moment of nervous apprehension, he spoke up. "These are all the magic users I could find, Lord Marchamut."

Marcus nodded, not a single emotion showing on his face. "I see. Begin instructing them immediately."

"By your will, Lord Marchamut," Loric said, bowing quickly as he dashed out of the room, villagers in tow.

Marcus scratched his chin. Why don't I have any facial hair I can rub while I'm thinking, he wondered to himself, Oh well. It is of no importance. I have things that need attending to. I'll need a bodyguard to protect me when I'm in my human form and can't transform, but none of the villagers seem up to it. Perhaps... His thoughts drifted off as he sat back in his throne, still scratching his clean shaven chin.

[Henrik Zwatre]

Henrik rushed over to the inn, and barged through the door. There were only a few people there, and that is just what he wanted. Henrik walked up to the front desk.
Can I have a place to stay? Henrik asked politely.

Sure, Said the man. But it’s gonna cost you.

Oh crap. Henrik forgot about the cost. He only had the spare money he got from the vendor. 20 coins.

It’ll cost you 100 coins, my friend.

Henrik left before the man could say anything.

Henrik saw that Loric was back outside, this time sitting on a bench by a gigantic building.

“Hello, sir Loric.” said Henrik.

“You don’t have to call me ‘sir’ for your information.” replied Loric.

“Well than, Loric. What are you doing outside?

“I'm supposed to be teaching the magic users.”

Then Loric and Henrik heard a faint noise coming from the huge building.
“Loric? Where is Loric?”

Loric heard the noise and got up. “Sorry, I have to go. It’s the Great one, Lord Marchamut.”


Before Loric left, he said, I never got to catch your name. What is it?

"Oh," said Henrik. " Henrik. Henrik Zwatre is my name."

Then he dashed into the room.

Marchamut? That sounds like a god. I wonder who it could be…

[Marcus]

Marcus grew restless sitting on the throne. Sitting and thinking was not one of his strong points and he had practically exhausted his daily supply of patience. He got up from the chair and motioned for Squire to follow. The boy practically jumped from his chair as he hurried to his lord's side. Smiling at the boy's faithfulness, Marcus headed towards the door. Perhaps I shall survey the town, he thought to himself. Exiting the great hall, he took a deep breath of fresh air and surveyed his surroundings. The village was remarkable for its size, both in construction and elegance. One would not suspect a town this far removed from civilization to be so advanced, but they had learned well. After all, he had shown them the errors of their ways, albeit unintentionally. As he turned to look at another building, he spotted someone who didn't quite belong. His clothes did not match the villagers' and he seemed just as lost as Marcus had when he first arrived. Ever wary, Marcus approached the stranger.

[Henrik Zwatre]

After Loric left, Henrik got curious. He wondered who the "Marchamut" man was, so he put an ear up onto the wall. He could hear the whole room clearly. But it was not voices that surprised him. It was footsteps. Coming toward him.

Henrik immediately stopped listening, and thought who those footsteps were. Could it have been Loric, or the "Marchamut" man.

As if Henrik wished upon a shooting star, he found out that it was not Loric, but it was the "Marchamut" man, and Henrik immediately noticed why he felt a strange presence. Marchamut was a Manakete, and it look like a young one too.

[Marcus]

The young man seemed very surprised to see Marcus approaching. Marcus simply took it in stride. After all, he had taken no precautions to hide his wings, which were flared out to their full length. Marcus gave a nod to the stranger and opened his arms in a welcoming way. "Welcome to our village, stranger. I am Marchamut, god of thunder and lord of this village. You are long way from civilization. So, tell me, what brings you to the barren ends of Ilia?"

[Henrik Zwatre]

"Uhhh... It's a long story and you probably won't believe it, but I'll explain anyway." Said Henrik.

So it was, Henrik explained the whole story of how his cottage disappeared, how he wandered into the village, and met Loric.

After Henrik explained, Marchamut just stood there. Henrik got nervous, because he was afraid he might get kicked out of the village.

[Jace]

Jace wondered around on the open mountain side. The wind and snow buffeted his face. He muttered a curse under his breath as he continued on. He tripped over a log and rolled down the mountain. Where was his friend Gordon when he needed him? He hit something solid. A stone wall the stretched upwards. he rolled out of the way before one of the stone slide out and came crashing down beside him, "Sheesh!" he yelled as he got up and wiped the snow of his light armor. he found the front gate and walked in.

"Woah." He looked at the small town. There were some people gathering around, what seemed to be the town hall. He strolled into the town casually. he stopped behind the group and looked over them. He felt a hand on his shoulder. "What took you so long?" came a voice Jace knew all too well. He turned to face Gordon. "Told you the other road up the mountain was easier then your more adventurous one." Gordon laughed. jace rolled his eyes. "Whats going on over there? Seems like somthing big." Jace said.
Gordon rubbed his head. "Ya the dragon or manake... Nevermind saved the town. He put on a good show." They watched from the back crowd

[Marcus]

For what seemed like minutes, Marcus just stared at the man. His deep eyes and analytical expression seemed to bore into the man's soul. Finally, Marcus gave a simple shrug. "It matters not, I suppose. What matters is that you found your way to this village for a reason. That reason is to serve me, for why else would you have come on the day of my second coming? And despite the fact that you seem very weak, I may have some use for you yet." As he was saying this, something else towards the back of the crowd caught his attention. More strangers had found their way to the village. How convenient. Marcus pointed at the two newcomers and shouted, "And you back there! I suppose your stories are similar to that of this man, no? Come, then, and be educated in the ways of the Cult of Marchamut!"