Zilmiel,
We have yet another casualty left for dead in a bandit raid. She is stable for now, but our healers uncovered a swamp parasitoid infestation within her. We need fourteen units of potent parasite removal brews applied over two weeks to permanently cure her. We need the potions received in less than two weeks, or our patient will surely perish from her infestation.
Thank you.
Three days passed after the homing eagle dropped the letter outside an unassuming La'marri apothecary, and its proprietor's wings cut through the crisp valley air several dozen kilometers inside Connlaothian airspace. The infestation cure required particular fungi found only inside the depths of undisturbed caves and ruins, a prospect where Zilmiel knew of only one location bearing more than traces of the fungus. Clear weather limited his flights to the evening, however, and a brilliant full moon last night forced Zilmiel to meander high above Connlaoth's southwestern border to avoid an unwanted crossbow bolt embedding itself in his wings...
The half-dragon's gut rumbled for the fifth time that evening. Zilmiel's foray into an abandoned riverside fort brought him enough fungal extract for twenty plus antiparasitic potions, but a passing caravan forced him to hide inside the ruins for six more hours; the caravan had chosen to set up a rest stop right along the river's edge. Evening fell by the time the interlopers abandoned their campsite, freeing Zilmiel from his spot right as the half-elf began familiarizing himself with the space more closely. A shame it had to be built right besides a highway adjacent to the river, really: Some unfamiliar currency found its coins jostling near the bottom of the leather rucksack tied to Zilmiel's wrists, ready to join his growing hoard back home.
The mountains loomed ahead just before relative safety within Serendipity's borders could be reached, yet he could not ignore the gnawing pain in his stomach any longer. Recovering that fungus plus some souvenirs and hauling such a non-aerodynamic bag with his hands for so long, and then going on an empty stomach- No. He needed to eat something now, like, a whole deer or maybe some fish. With the forest's trees growing squatter and sparser, the savory smells of great and lesser creatures reaching Zilmiel's nostrils diminished: He needed to land soon.
A plume of smoke drifted up as a fine, thin line between a small parting of trees. For miles, the Kilanthro mountains were nothing but dense forests or snow capped peaks. But from an airborne perspective, there was a small, noticeably thinned section of trees.
And this smoke wasn't just any smoke, but one filled with the scents of wood and cooking meat.
A red haired woman stoked the fire, prodding it until it coughed out sparks and the flame grew and the coals reddened. Then she moved to turn the spit, the large deer she had roasting upon it nearly finished. Once finished, she patted the scruffy yellow dog beside her, scratching his ears.
Both the woman and dog were patchy, homely looking with plain features and a patch work of clothes- even the dog, who wore a collar, had one haphazardly constructed from multiple materials that have seen become worn a d frayed over time.
The woman now reached a patchy, fingerless gloved hand into a pouch and walked back towards rhe fire, leaning over and sprinkling some seasoning onto the cooking meat before dusting off her hands and fetching up her water pouch.
It was about then she saw it, some large, humanoid shaped flying creature over the trees, and without a thought, she picked up her loaded musket and took aim, keeping on her guard as and made a soft noise for her dog to follow as she fell back to his within the shadows of the trees.
The note of smoked meat did not escape Zilmiel's sensitive nostrils nor the flicker of his draconic tongue. His brilliant blue gaze caught sight of the distant smoke column when he spiraled around his position for the second time, though he could not see the isolated building nor its occupants, let alone the woman whose aim had him in her sights. But with the enthralling savory notes overwhelming his senses, it was now or never: Zilmiel flexed his wings and dove downwards, sending a plume of leaves shooting well above the canopy as he landed on the boreal mulch, hidden from the clearing by five hundred meters of trees, bush, and other foliage.
Leaves crunched under his feet as Zilmiel tried to stoop close to the ground, his wings helplessly flaunting their awesome breadth and protruding horns. A glacial stream trickled somewhere nearby, no doubt concealed by foliage and decaying leaves. Sunlight cut through the tree gaps, forming path-like spots of light meandering throughout the forest while leaving plenty of shade for creatures and other wanderers for concealment. Zilmiel roughly followed one such "path" northeast in an inward spiral around the clearing, leaving clawed footsteps in his wake against the trampled mud, dirt, and other detritus.
Zilmiel stepped into a small shady clearing several minutes later. His spiral path brought him within one hundred meters of the shack's property line to the north-northeast. The cabin remained obscured behind the final line of trees, but Zilmiel's prize might as well have sat on top of a temple's display pedestal: The fattest, smokiest deer he'd ever seen hung supported by a spit over the fire's flames, and, most importantly, it hung unattended! Without sparing another second, Zilmiel dropped his rucksack, lurched from his shady grove, and sprinted towards his lunch, his wings tucked and his tail straight like an arrow. The half-dragon leaped at the spit- jaws agape with sharp fang-like teeth exposed- and knocked it over, ripping his first chunk of flesh out of the cooked deer as his jaws snapped shut around its torso.
The woman was too stunned by what had occurred; the arrival of such a beast even surprised her; a woman long since turned stoney to the wild world. But this? This creature had wings, scales and a tail!
It wasn't until the beast went after and began devouring her roast that she let out a shout, her dog charging from the brush and barking up a storm. Behind him the woman emerged, musket in hand- pointing directly at the demon.
She said nothing, but her aim was true, a finger curled, pressing into the trigger.
As Zilmiel tore through his third or fourth bite of deer roast, the overbearing smell of roast subsided, allowing other scents of the forest to register in his draconic mind. Still, that was absolutely the best seasoned roast he'd had in years, and it was certainly much better than eating raw venison or boar.
The woman's shout froze Zilmiel right as he prepared to take his fifth bite, twisting on the spot to find himself face-to-face with the gun pointed at him, its wielder, and her yellow dog. Zilmiel backed away, extending his magnificent frost dragon wings that almost glowed under the sky. His turquoise skin and even lighter hides glistened, their scales scattering light radiantly.
"I- I- who are you?"
Such magnificence. Being from Connlaoth, most of the fantastical creatures tended to lurk elsewhere, presumably the dangers of Connlaothian law and lore certainly didn't help the fantastic establish their homes within these uncertain lands- but despite her own fear, the beauty of what made this creature part of what he was- with fantastical iridescent dragon scales and near glowing wings... It gave her a moment of pause before she had to force those feelings down with a few hard swallows and recollection of cold reality.
This beast came from no where, was within her home lands and stealing her meat.
Her eyes narrowed once his words registered and she motioned for her dog to remain by her side, holding tensely to her gun.
"The real question is... What... are you?" Her eyes narrowed, finger still tense on the trigger. "Do you realize you're on Connlaothian lands, creature?" she found herself saying, voice as steady as she could make it. Her dog rumbled a growl at her side.
"Creature- what, how dare you-"
Zilmiel stopped himself, reason winning out for once over the vanquished starving beast within. "Yes, I am well aware I'm in Connlaothian lands. I needed potion ingredients." Zilmiel gestured to the half-full rucksack near his emergence point. "I... I must apologize for- this. I've been starving for the past day and a half, you see!" The half-dragon's fingers pointed towards the half-devoured deer right as his stomach grumbled again. The half-dragon breathed deeply, his eyes flickering between the yellow dog and his handler. "You see... I am a half-dragon. Well, I was a full elf, once..." Zilmiel's stomach growled menacingly again, and he could feel the base of his wings and arm muscles almost twitching, screaming for more food under the threat of collapse. "I must ask you for your name again, sorry..."
Zilmiel took another step back, taking himself out of arms reach of the deer roast so that the human woman could take back the half-eaten roast.
As the creature stumbled in his reply, the woman simply took a few bold steps forward, gun still pointed directly at his chest. You never aim at a head or limb, especially if you were aiming to kill. The chest was the easiest to hit, and held a man's heart.
"We all starve in these lands!" she growled loudly in his directly, eyes only more hot with anger he'd dare try to defend himself. They didn't always try to swindle their way out of their atrocities, but she wasn't about to let this beast just simply win.
At his mention he was seeking ingredients, she seemed hardly phased... however...
"Bring me your sack," she told him, voice firm, commanding.
Zilmiel bit his semi-forked tongue, stepping around the fallen carcass and past the woman towards his rucksack twenty meters away. Any escape plans he had were dashed by that peculiar-looking musksomething, which he'd heard could take out a large gander from a distance. The mountainous dirt compressed under Zilmiel's dragon mass with each footstep, leaving more clawed footprints in his wake when he reached and picked up the rucksack.
Bringing the rucksack back over, Zilmiel's claws struggled to release the belt buckles as he approached the woman. His blue eyes stared at the firearm right as Zilmiel stopped five meters before the woman and tossed the bag midway between them. "Here is the rucksack. Inside you will find cave fungus plus some gold and silver. If you starve in these lands, I must ask: why do you bother staying here?"
Zilmiel averted his gaze to the woman's face, focusing on the pupils of her whites. If only he were a true dragon, then surely he could distract her with a dragon's gaze just long enough to disarm that damn firearm. "You are an outstanding cook if I must say so myself. Why not work for a wealthy family and earn a decent living?"
He didn't have to be a full blooded dragon to make her unnerved beneath his gaze. Such a strange creature- at least it was wise enough (or - she thought, fearful enough) to stand down at her gun. That had her thinking... he must know well enough about Connlaothian lands to know guns ought to be feared.
And then he was going to try to flatter her over her cooking. Her expression hardly changed.
"These are my lands," came a growl from her bared teeth. She was tired of so many others trying to talk her out of her property, trying to take away what was hers and use a silver tongue about it.
Before he could say anything, she kept her gun leveled at him before moving out to retrieve the bag. She kept her eyes on him best she could while retrieving it, before peering inside. It seemed what he said was accurate.
But she kept the gun level.
"It seems to me if you have gold.." she began. "And silver coins in that bag, then you could have flown to just about any town and purchased yourself some food and some more... decent eating."
She was not about to let him go so easily.
"Have you seen half-dragons wandering the streets in Connlaoth?" A hint of annoyance emerged in Zilmiel's voice. "I have flown for days and got stuck waiting on a caravan to leave so I could leave the area! Listen: I- I lost control and smelled your roast, but I can fix this... if you will let me."
The gamey aroma of grazing deer rejoined the smoke and cooked flesh reaching the half-dragon's nostrils; from its intensity and adjusted wind direction, something delectable hid among the brush just a half kilometer upwind. "In fact, I already smell an actual creature," he started, keeping the woman's trigger-happy fingers in his peripheral vision with his eyes staring again into the stranger's direction. "Let me help you, and I might even chuck in an extra two heads of deer."
The woman grew quiet, perhaps contemplative as her dog released a low grumbling growl. She pat his head and the beast went quiet. As she thought it over, it was odd such a .. creature would come this way, especially in flight. What was his game?
"If you could have caught your own game, then you should have done so."
No doubt he'd tear apart a deer in a hunt no different than a hound.
The musket remained. Connlaothian, especially one such as she, were a stubborn lot and she wad tired of dealing with thieves and bandits of all kinds. Now she could add a damn dragon man to her list of renegades.
Annoyance crept into Zilmiel's heart: What did this woman not understand about dragons and starvation? Just what kind of brute did this woman think-
"As I said... I lost control to my starvation. If you will let me make things right, you will have enough animal flesh to last a week, I will have a full belly, and I might just let you keep a gold coin or two as interest. However, you better put that damn thing down." Zilmiel took a deep breath and exhaled, surrounding his nostrils with ice crystals and a tiny plume of fog. "I do not like having weapons pointed at me, if that's not obvious."
By his rough count, five separate notes of game now met his receptors from past the woman's back, downhill among the brush. Piercing blue draconic eyes bored into the woman's head. "Will you let me help you?"
She kept the gun aimed.
"Why would I trust you? I don't know about your kind and if you can't tell.. I'm not exactly that trusting of a woman."
What she did know about dragon and dragon kind came from word of mouth- myths, and were a rare breed indeed in the Connlaothian mountains. Although apparently not mythical at all.
She refused to lower the gun but had to wonder this creature's aim. She had to ask herself if she could really trust him. But.. as she already stated, she rarely trusted any at all- dragon kind or not.
Her dog continued to growl at her side.
"My kind? MY kind? If I want to, I can freeze you solid into an icy stalagmite right now..." More ice crystals surrounded Zilmiel's nose with another deep breath, his icy blue eyes watching the growling dog in their peripheral vision. "Be reasonable and let me fix my erroneous judgement. The fact both you and your bitch are still breathing despite your insult should be enough. Put that thing down if you will."
From his previous breath, the deer were starting to wander away from the clearing, though their scents continued wafting into the area. Did he lose his temper for a second? He did, yes, especially when a human said "your kind" when referring to the former full elf, yet his stomach sank when he made his threat.
She didn't miss the hints of his magics as he reminded her he could turn this around on her. But she was a stubborn woman, and inspite of her situation, she couldn't help but test him. If what he said were true, his aim wasn't to harm her..but if he were bluffing... then her gun was still very much a mortal threat.
"You're making a lot of threats for a man at the end of my gun."
"I make promises, not threats."
With those words, Zilmiel beat his wings, hard. He sneezed at the same moment as a torrent of ice escaped his nostrils, forming a cone shielding his chest as he launched into the sky. Whether he'd heard the gun fire or not, Zilmiel didn't know as adrenaline surged through his body. He soared past the woman's cabin and field before landing feet first near the opposite property line. That was when something ached, but a cursory glance at his navel did not show any blood nor gore. Instead, a chunk of ice stuck to his thickened hide, glinting with the metallic remnants of whatever came out of that "gun," if he'd heard the lady right, and a quick swipe with his claws peppered the soil with buckshot and slush. A gnarly bruise was forming where his ice cone absorbed the gun's kinetic energy and slammed into his tummy.
Not wishing another gunshot injury, Zilmiel darted behind the trees before him, concealing his prominent stature behind the brush. The grazing deer were much closer, perhaps as little as two hundred meters away, and their scents' strengths matched the profile of three juvenile bucks and an adult mating pair. If that damn woman was going to be stubborn, then fine: He would just have to settle for air-dropping four of the catches on top of her hovel's roof.
Shay stood, stunned at the display. She hadn't even realized she pulled the trigger but something set her off and.. the dragon man was gone. She was too stunned to move but her eyes followed after him... which was only interrupted by a sound deeper down the forest path.
And before she knew it, a large group of soldiers were heading her way.
"Shit." Nolshay wasted no time rushing back towards her home, whistling for Yellow to follow. She could maybe fight one soldier but this? There were too many to count as she studied their approaching forms within the shadows of the wood.
She ran to the shack beside her house, throwing it open with force and stepped inside, frantically looking for her musket's supplies.
Zilmiel's stomach ached, though whether from hunger or the impact from the ice shield, he knew not. The nearest buck hid from sight, but a tree climb, several jumps, and well-aimed ice bolt from Zilmiel's mouth would score the first kill of the evening... that was, until the combination of steel, sweat, and shit tainted the air from behind him.
Shit!
Had an army group tracked him specifically? If so, how did he not sniff their odors before he had landed... They had to have concealed their scents wading in the glacial streams, a clever tactic indeed for sneaking up on dragons and their lesser ilk. He could freeze and slaughter three, four, or five soldiers without issue. But thirty or sixty? His half-dragon carcass would be butchered and consumed, his scales and thickened skin rendered into replacement belts and dragonscale armor, and his head and wings sold to some Uthlyn noble looking for something mountable above his gilded throne. But if they had "guns" of their own, even several blasts of ice could not stop a lucky headshot from halting his escape. He needed a headcount, and for that Zilmiel spared the buck its life, sprinting perpendicular to its position in a clockwise path towards the new arrivals along the concealing brush.
She heard the soldiers calling down the road.
"Hello? Some one out here in the forests?" One of the soldiers called. Likely the leader.
Shit.
Shay rushed to arm herself, grabbing a few hunting knives that she slipped into her boots, and put ammunition in a sack with a small pouch she hooked to her belt that held gunfire.
She wasn't about to trust that these men meant no trouble, and hastily made her way into the tall brush beside her shack, closing it in her wake. She motioned for Yellow to stick low to the ground and she aimed her gun at the slope in the road the men would have to pass in order to get close enough for her to shoot
But as they did approach, she counted over thirty men.
Ansgar's name! This wasn't her day. As the men neared, she noted some too, had guns ready but the majority were surrounding her roasting deer. She swore again. If there was any doubt someone was here, the fire and deer gave it away.
"Careful men, whoever lives here can't be far. Let's check the shack over there and the shed, see what we can see. Find the owner and be quick about it. From the gun fire we heard as we approached, we know they have atleast one gun."
As half the men moved to check the shed, Shay moved as quick as she could within the tall grasses before slipping behind a large oak tree. She paused to listen, cringing as she began to hear the men rifling through her things.
His leathery stomach ached as Zilmiel sprinted between the trees along the site perimeter. That damn gunshot REALLY stung despite his ice breath cushioning the blow, but the ingredients used to make an analgesic ointment sat sealed away inside the cupboards back home in La'marri. He would need to bear the pain for the time being...
"Hey! I think I've heard something over here!"
A shout came from the farm clearing: Five to eight pairs of footsteps converged towards the wood where Zilmiel hunched over a fallen log.
Damn!
Zilmiel picked up the pace as he turned away from the clearing, crushing a half-rotten log beneath his left foot that rang into the clearing no doubt. His folded wings took a slight beating too as they brushed past and broke smaller branches protruding from the nearby pine. Still, Zilmiel managed through his aches and took cover behind an older pine tree in the partial darkness, his wings concealed by the shade while he glimpsed around the tree towards where he'd hidden himself seconds ago...
"Damn it, Malkev, you're jumping at ghosts again! There's nothing- wait, what-"
The men's shouting reduced to whispers the dragon-alchemist barely heard over the wind. He took several steps backwards, watching where his clawed feet fell to avoid snapping another branch or otherwise alerting the nearby squad to his location.
"Malkev, get to the Sergeant, double-time. There's something in the woods that shouldn't be. Finding out who lives here can wait, but we need Aidyn the Tracker over here. Every one else, stay close: Do not wander into the brush."
"On it, sir."
Zilmiel crouched low to the ground behind another tree, his attention focused upon the brush concealing the men from himself just twenty meters away. Bandits were easy to dispatch; one man with a frozen head later, and they usually dispersed. But from what he'd heard about Connlaothian soldiers, it would take much more to terrify an entire platoon into retreat: He could not transform, but he could-
"One second... I need to take a leak-"
The man's turned head as he popped through the brush spurred an immediate response: One second later, multiple shouts broke the forest's silence as an ice spike encased their comrade's head, pinning the lifeless body against a tree. Followed by another ice spike and then the cries of Zilmiel's third target as razor-sharp claws tore through a pikeman's torso, revealing the half-ice dragon's form to the now-terrified soldier whose fingers fumbled over his crossbow before a final bolt of ice tore through his face. Zilmiel turned tail, lightheaded and nauseous as he dipped behind another line of trees to leave behind the opening carnage.
Frantic shouts drew the men away from Shay's location as they rushed towards the chaos to help. Shay held her breath, remaining low for a few heart beats longer before she peered up from the tall grasses and noted where the men all rushed to.
It was the direction that strange dragon thing had gone. Had he.. was he the one attacking the men?
She'd have to consider it later, her own safety cane first. Stepping towards the back of the shed, she moved low and quiet, gesturing for her dog to do the same. But when she peeked around the corner- she froze as a rifle was pointed right at her face.