Through the Fire and Flames – Lucky – 13/10/2022

Continues after I’m On Fire

Part of the Dawn of the Dark Radiance plotline

[Content Note: combat gore]

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Aged without seasons,
Bold, true, pure as platinum:
Bronze, silver, gold, steel!

Element, alloy, compound… naturally, it is idle folly to declare any one metal better than any other. Yet what simpler pleasure for the poet than idle folly! Hence the order in which one places them reveals much about one’s heart, and writing even the simple stanza above has cost me endless hours of doubt, revision, and self-examination. One morning, I even woke up early, determined to revise my choice, quite forgetting the naked Goblin asleep in my bed. Handsome chap: black eyes twinkling between crow’s feet, salt-and-pepper stubble, solid and nicely rounded shoulders, beautiful arcane tattoos down his thick forearms. Berend was his name, I think. Well, given my penchant for getting lost in a single line of poetry, it wasn’t until I’d drained my coffee, changed my mind many times, only to return to the original word order, that I turned around to discover he’d risen, dressed, sat for a dish of toast and slipped out of the room undetected.

For many, platinum ranks highest: magnificence, opulence, and fealty to the Father of Dragons. For many more still, it is gold: security, beauty, and a means to an end. Bronze weaves a tale of sculpture, of art, ancient war heroes and history. Silver speaks of the moon, of hidden paths, of purity, health and healing. But for me, my life has become inextricably linked with one metal above all others. Steel is strength, nerve, honesty, tenacity, honour. Steel is my fate: my past, present and future. My history and my destiny.

Except that I am retired. I travel without title or ties. Some days I only take up my pen and leave my greatsword in its rack. I spend less time dwelling on my own destiny, and more on how I might have a hand in shaping the destiny of others.

This bore relevance when my agent Rowena returned to report to me one morning, at my chambers in The Gilded Mirror. Dressed in her servant’s disguise rather than the soldiering gear she much preferred, the young Forest Gnome sneezed, and pulled down her hood, sending a scattering of sand and dust across the polished floor.

“Rowena,” I tutted wryly. “Calculus would not approve of the chambermaid coming in here so late and so filthy.”

“Hah,” she retorted. “Rowena the hard-working spy has just returned from Kundar. And she found it a little on the breezy side this morning, sir. Those overnight desert winds are cool and fresh until they aren’t, and then sand comes in off the desert floor and covers everything. Can’t really do much about it.”

I peered at her with a sharp grin. “Well, it’s Rowena the maid’s job to clean up, so she can take that up with Rowena the soldier, if she so chooses. Or wait for Calculus the valet to notice and see how that works out for you.”

“Don’t I know it,” she sighed melodramatically, shuffling distractedly from foot to foot.

“Any news about your lead?”

Rowena shrugged, disappointed. “I’m sorry, sir. Still nothing. Kundar seems to be a dead end. I’ll write it up for you today. However,” – she slid a handwritten scrap of parchment onto the desk in front of me – “I did see this. Thought it might pique your interest.”

I drained my tea and briefly turned away, clenching the cup. My stomach sank, even though I was used to the disappointment of her reports. After all these months in Kantas, my search for Zari was still proving fruitless. It felt like more of a blow after that disturbing dream last week, which still haunted me at the edges of my vision, prickling under my skin, calling to me within the whispers of unknown possibilities, such that I never truly knew my own body or mind.

I shook my head and took the paper.

I recognised the handwriting. Cornelius, the First Cleric at the Temple of Bahamut. He needed help in Kundar. Priests from the Temple of Tiamat were up to something. Skulking about in the dead of night. So he suspected.

I read the notice twice. Drummed my paw pads upon the desk. “I’ll look into this. Don’t worry about your reports for now. Go take the day off. You can tell Calculus the mess was mine… or something.”

The Gnome smirked impishly and saluted. “I probably would have done that anyway, sir.” Before I could admonish her, she had scooted from the room with a chuckle.

Calculus must have sensed my destiny today, for he had laid out my sharp black suit, the one with metallic detailing that sparkled in the sun, drawing the eye to the dragon medallion at the top of my chest. I dressed and groomed in front of the mirror. My word, it made me look good and feel good. I even forgot about the business of elementals and dragons for a moment. Just a moment.

My tail flicked cheerily.




I arrived at the Portal Plaza in Daring Heights to even better news: Orianna, my friend the beautiful astral Tiefling was there, granting me the opportunity to apologise again – in person, this time – for missing our last scheduled Draconic lesson. “Thank you for the chocolates,” she said. “Gerhard and I loved them… I’ve never had chocolates before.” I was astonished to hear that, but also rather excited – I would need no excuse to buy them more soon.

Orianna introduced me to her companion, a gorgeous pale, red-headed woman with a warrior’s posture and a confident focus to her gaze. Of course, I knew of Silvia by reputation – the brave, relentless shadow warrior who had died at the Battle of Fort Ettin, and been brought back to life by mystical means. I greeted her warmly and told her: “Your reputation precedes you, Silvia, and it is an honour to meet you.”

“Oh! Well, I presume you’ve heard of me from my partner Sorrel?” she said with a modest smile. “She’s far more well-known than I am.”

Although the name was familiar to me from Rowena’s reports, regretfully I had not met Sorrel either, though I could sense she was a fortunate woman to have Silvia looking out for her.

The Forest Gnome Amble strode up to join us. I hadn’t seen him since a rather spicy kruthik encounter where he’d taken a brutal blast of magic. He’d borne it with stereotypically stout Gnomish optimism last time, and after a good drink, he’d recovered to a hale and cheery mood. Today, though, he wore a scowl.

“Sorry for being angry today,” he said in a clipped tone. “I’m exasperated with cults at the moment. I am dealing with a Loviatar cult of late. I apologise in advance if I’m aggressive with any enemies we face.”

I admired the insight he showed by stepping outside his anger and addressing it. But Orianna and I frowned at his words. “Amble,” I replied, “chromatic dragons and the followers of Tiamat are not inherently evil, even if some might have us believe that. Therefore we ought not to jump to any conclusions based on how things seem at first.” He looked ready to object, so I pressed on: “All people think they are doing the right thing, and chromatic dragons are people, after all.”

Amble opened his mouth to give a reluctant reply, only for a familiar voice to ring in my ear. “Lucky, darling, is that you I see?”

Ylana. The confident, magnetic woman who had all but hung off my arm for the duration of our last job. (I may have encouraged her slightly.)

Were her overt flirtations truly sincere? Well, does that even matter? They say that in the viperous circles of court, those who flirt hardest backstab deepest. But even insincerity takes a lot of effort to perform. And I always appreciate effort. On top of which, some people actually do like to flirt – and why would this fine gentlecat wish to turn such attentions from a beautiful woman down?

Which is all to say that sometimes, even a poet does not like to overthink, and it was a delight to see her again.

Orianna, however, studied her doubtfully. “Do you still have that staff you took last time?”

“Of course, darling,” Ylana cooed. “Naturally, it wouldn’t be wise to wave it about. But you never know, it might come in handy.” Ylana still had the undead warlock’s staff concealed within a bundle. I understood that Cornelius had rendered it inert of magic, but if it symbolized a dangerous cult, it seemed wise to keep such a trophy safely wrapped up all the same. We Dawnlanders received frosty enough a reception in Kundar, without attracting further attention.




We stepped off the portal platform in the early afternoon. The surge of hot, sandy winds bade us welcome to Kundar. The ancient city of dragons and dragon kind, tempered by the sun all year round. Despite the population diversity here, we were a curious mix of personnel to be walking through the noble quarter of the magnificent desert city. The great and the good of the Kobold community dwelled here, and a number of wealthy-looking individuals were far from discreet in shooting scornful looks our way, muttering, crossing the street to avoid us, or conspicuously averting their gaze from us. Such discourtesy amused me no end – they saw only “adventurer” and the brazen attitudes, the gold-driven, thrill-seeking reputation that came with it. If they but knew even the smallest grain of truth… but instead, they merely revealed the failings of their own snobbery.

As we walked to the Temple of Bahamut, I fell back to talk to Orianna. She had taken an egg into her care, a rare and precious one: the offspring of the great crystal dragon Grougaloragran. Again, how would these prejudiced locals change their tune if they realised she had been entrusted with such an honour and responsibility? Greatness walked in their midst, in such a modest woman, protecting one who was destined to become an eminent monarch of the realms. These Kobolds, they merely robbed themselves of the opportunity to bask in that pure light.

I ought to have been enquiring after her studies, but naturally, only one thing was on my mind. “And how is the egg doing, Orianna?” I asked in an excited whisper.

“Very well! I’ve been keeping it company over the past tenday. It doesn’t seem to be changing.” She paused, but the hesitation was optimistic. “I’ve been thinking about names, though.”

I could barely contain my kitten-like delight. “Excellent! The more poets we cover, the more names you’ll have to think about! You must be very excited. I would be.”

The light in her smile told me everything. “I am! It’s the first time where I don’t know what to expect and I do not have any apprehension, only excitement!”

“What in the heavens will you do when it hatches? Do you have a plan to take them somewhere or will you be rearing them yourself?”

“Grougaloragran asked me to take care of them so, yes, I will be raising them myself. I’ve already mentioned to Gerhard that we may need to move when the young one gets bigger…” She laughed nervously.

“Dragons are very good at looking after themselves – I’m sure there’s nothing to worry about! If it hatches, please let me know as soon as I can visit.”

“Yes of course! You have to come over as soon as!”

I felt a surge of joy, imagining what those first few days would be like for Orianna and Gerhard. In truth, I had less direct experience of hatchlings – most of my knowledge of the very young came second-hand. But I knew that even immature dragons could be born with incredible powers. The journey they would all undertake together…

Then I felt the medallion at my neck, warm to the touch under a relentless desert sun at noon. An old memory of an encounter with a dragon flashed before me. Majestic. Beautiful. Wise. Yet lonely. The creature with the largest of hearts, hungry for connection, hungry for experience, hungry for knowledge… yet compelled to be remote… driven by their own nature to…

We were falling behind the others.

I picked up the pace.


PLATINUM

The atmosphere at the Temple of Bahamut felt muted. The statue of the Father of Dragons, with its gilding of platinum starting to peel and flake off, the chipped white and silver columns, the cracked and worn flagstones… and the gloomy echoes of a vast empty space inside. The building sang a sad song of fallen majesty. There were even fewer priests and pilgrims present than on our last visit. The sombre mood in this place was uncomfortable.

With my encouragement, Orianna greeted an acolyte, asked for Cornelius, said “No thank you” to tea. All in Draconic. Although a little nervous, her pronunciation was impeccable, and I already heard the magic of the old speech coming alive in her. She saw me grinning at her with pride, and she almost blushed.

First Priest Cornelius, the 7’7 silver Dragonborn who managed the temple, emerged with High Prelate Loran, an ancient and venerable silver Kobold. Cornelius reported to us that priests of the Temple of Tiamat had been seen “skulking about at night” in the lower area of Kundar, and he was concerned that whatever they were up to, it had to be of no good. He feared it was related to the recent attacks and murders of Bahamut’s priests.

Although wise, he seemed somewhat short-sighted. His antipathy toward the followers of Tiamat was evident. It saddened me, even though I knew enough of the history between Tiamat and Bahamut to understand how hard trust was for the two temples.

The others and I agreed to meet up again at nightfall and then head to the area these clerics had been spotted. Whatever they were up to, we would find out and report back to Cornelius.


BRONZE

Kundar, the ancient city, steeped in classical architecture, elegant shop fronts, refined open-air tavernas, and shining statues of dignitaries and military leaders. I spent the time wandering, drinking my fill of history. I refreshed my memory of a centuries-old Draconic poem. An unfortunate example of the incendiary relationship between the temples, but nevertheless part of the canon and an interesting vocabulary exercise for Orianna.

We all met up at the temple as the shadows grew long and the sun dipped beyond the distant sand dunes, whereupon I recited the poem to the group – to inspire watchfulness, but also to take the opportunity to impress upon everyone once more: although we served Bahamut tonight, that did not make Tiamat the enemy.

     “Lights out” along the land,
     “Lights out” upon the sea.

     The night must put her hiding hand
     O’er peaceful towns where children sleep,
     And peaceful ships that darkly creep
     Across the waves, as if they were not free.

     The dragons of the air,
     The chromatics of the deep,
     Lurking and prowling everywhere,
     Go forth to seek their helpless prey,
     Not knowing whom they maim or slay--
     Mad harvesters, who care not what they reap.

     Out with the tranquil lights,
     Out with the lights that burn
     For love and law and human rights!
     Set back the clock ten thousand years:
     All they have gained now disappears,
     And the dark ages suddenly return.

     Tiamat who loosed wild death,
     And terror in the night--
     Gods grant you draw no quiet breath,
     Until the madness you began
     Is ended, and long-suffering man,
     Set free from war lords, cries, “Let there be Light.”

In the meantime, Orianna had been conversing with Theilius, an acolyte who had much to say about the irresistible vision sent to tempt the powerful priests and warriors of the temple. It transpired that Cornelius had been less than upfront with us about the full pattern of the visions, the attacks and the missing servants of Bahamut. It was by no means the first time I had played mercenary to an untrusting employer, yet it was so disheartening that Cornelius was one worn down by fear and paranoia – perhaps even a note of hatred.

There was some unspoken chord between Amble, Ylana and Silvia that I couldn’t help but notice. I don’t know what gave it away but my old intuition twitched in my whiskers. It told me they’d been up to something. I eyed them thoughtfully but they had nothing to report, so I did not press further.

We all bear our own secrets in the city of dragons.


SILVER

The moon rose, bathing the stones of the city in the dappled chiaroscuro of a cloudless night. The temperature dropped from sweltering sand-blasted heat into the chill of the desert after sundown. We crossed into lower Kundar, the less salubrious side of the city. After exploring, spreading out, and making casual enquiries of some drunken revellers, we eventually spotted our quarry. Two acolytes of Tiamat slinking down the side roads. Making haste. Treading softly. Glancing furtively. Their hoods were raised, their robes were dark, but embroidered finely with the five heads of Tiamat.

We followed discreetly, with Orianna disguised as a desert fox, silvery white with slight blue and a star-like pattern on her cheeks. Ylana and Silvia also kept close to the acolytes, treading silent among the shadows with remarkable stealth. Amble and I watched the road behind – fortunately, there seemed to be nobody tailing us.

The acolytes’ whispered conversation spoke of the Temple of Tiamat’s own paranoia: “They’re after the Heart; we have to contain them.” “Adventurers were spotted going to the Temple of Bahamut. Do you think they are involved?” “If so, this may give us reason to ban all adventurers from the city.”

Unwittingly, they led us into an alleyway, but there they disappeared from sight. For a moment, it appeared the moon had played a trick upon us. But after some searching, we discovered a concealed door, hidden within an illusory wall. We made last-minute preparations, and followed them in.


GOLD

We crept inside to a neat, smartly decorated corridor, with gilt symbols of Tiamat on fabric and marble and stonework on every surface. The wealth on display was delicate but very apparent. Unlike the faded extravagance of the Temple of Bahamut with its mighty statues and cathedral-scale hall of worship, all crumbling under the weight of unsustainable scale, the tone of Tiamat was smart and understated, with the finest of materials in a well-kept but unpretentious small building. Money spoke well here, yet softly and subtly.

The main temple was some distance away, toward the edge of the city. This had to be a secret sanctum, owned by the main temple but kept under wraps.

Whispering to one another, we tiptoed down the corridor, deeper into the silent building.

Strange. Where were the priests? Where was the security? The door was unlocked… Unguarded…

Then my ears pricked up. The shouting echoed from downstairs. The screams of agony. The sound of blades clashing. People fighting desperately.

The time for secrecy was done.

Silvia and I drew blades and charged on. We ran down a gilt staircase toward the screaming.

We passed a splash of blood up the wall. A severed arm, scored by blades. Fingermarks in blood, clawing at the floor.

Ahead, the screaming stopped.

We descended into a low-lit underground hallway. There, in the flickering golden light, we found a bloodbath.

The hall was filled with dead priests of Tiamat, all brutally cut to pieces, ripped apart, with their hearts torn out. The floor, the walls, the ceiling were bathed in blood.

In previous attacks, single clerics had been lured away by visions and murdered, their hearts ripped out. This was different. A brazen assault on the temple itself.

The footsteps of the assailants receded into the dark ahead.

I heard a frail cough, and my eye caught a weak movement from a white Dragonborn, a savagely wounded priest of Tiamat, prone and dying from their wounds.

Orianna skidded to a halt and knelt down to aid them. While she was busy, we spread out to check the exits of this blood-drenched hall. The side-chapels were empty, and largely intact. The hallway led off into the distance, from where I could smell burning.

“Take this,” Amble said, and muttered an incantation. Silvia, Ylana and I vanished from sight. I grinned to myself. Some neat tricks the Gnome had learned in these past few months.

“Stop them getting to the Heart,” the priest rasped. “They cannot get to the Heart of Fire. It must be preserved…”

“The Heart of Fire?” Orianna asked breathlessly, as she cast healing magic and administered a potion.

“When the city was attacked by Gith, we captured dragon’s fire… We merged it with the Queen’s power…. It’s a weapon, made at our Queen’s will…”

What a mess. We were out of time to unpack this. I muttered a curse and pressed on, hearing Silvia and Ylana and Amble close behind.

Having stabilised the priest, Orianna ran after us. “They’re after Tiamat’s power!” she called urgently. “We have to stop them!”

I was already in the next chamber. Following the trail of bodies. A wall of heat hit me, the stink of flame and brimstone.

We choked in the thick, dry air. It was foul in there.

Fire. Smoke. Death.


STEEL

Suspended above a large pit of magma, an immense crystal glowed with the power of Tiamat herself. The Heart of Fire. On the other side of the pit, a warlock stood, arm outstretched, drawing the flame from the crystal. Leeching it dead.

Not just any warlock. The warlock. The herald of evil we had slain before.

Five acolytes stood guarding him, all large, undead brutes. The mightiest of Tiamat’s holy warriors, now twisted perversions of their former living selves.

Invisibly, we ran full sprint. But it was too late. The Heart of Fire dimmed, faded, died in front of us. The crystal went inert.

A pillar of black fire exploded around him, buffeting us in heat and the sickly smell of death, and surging up into the roof of the chapel and beyond. The visage of Desathrax, the undead dragon, appeared in the flame, roaring victoriously. The warlock, wreathed in dark flame, threw his head back and gloated. “Kundar is ours for the taking!”

Orianna and Amble emerged into the chamber. The acolytes turned at the sound. Amble had kept me invisible – Silvia and Ylana too. But acolytes saw Orianna and him standing there. They drew swords.

I only had one response to the enemy. I spun a single figure-of-eight with my sword to flex my wrists once. Then I was ready. My tail flicked angrily.

Silvia stood nearby, rapier at the ready, in position to block their advance.

Ylana had her crossbow out, sprinting alongside the chamber to flank them.

As one, the enemy charged.




There was no way we could have won. We barely escaped. Surviving was the victory we had to accept.

The undead resisted Amble’s radiant magic and Orianna’s astral bolts. They shrugged off steel, both bolt and blade. The warlock threw horrendous, sickening death magic at us.

Behind me, I heard Orianna gasp with pain as an unholy spell blasted her. I turned to see her reeling on the brink of unconsciousness.

Silvia yelled at us all to retreat and tossed me a potion for Orianna. Holding the line, Silvia bore the brunt of a bolt of death, shrugging it off with a grunt.

Ylana’s bolts found their targets but did not slow the enemy’s charge.

I all but dragged Orianna from the chamber, using all my strength, forcing the potion into her hands and making her drink it. She found the fury to fight me, forcing her way back into the room against Silvia’s advice. Bloodied and defiant, she sent bolt after bolt of holy magic back at the warlock until finally persuaded to leave.

She risked her life to stand her ground.

Amble bought us precious time by catching the undead up in a distracting spell. Their frontline turned upon each other briefly. It gave us the window we needed.

Silvia brought up the rear, bellowing at Orianna to leave. The warrior had thrown herself headlong into mortal peril to try to keep us safe. I knew some kind of death magic had felled her once before. There was a grim determination in her eyes not to succumb again.

Once the undead saw we were fleeing, they came to a halt, guarding their master. They watched us leave, their dead faces locked in a mocking rictus. His echoing laughter taunted us, ringing through the desecrated halls of Tiamat.

We fled through the scene of massacre, upstairs, out of the hidden door, and wove through several streets until we were sure nobody was giving chase. There, under the watchful eye of the moon, we collapsed, gasping for breath, shaken and exhausted.

Silvia glared furiously at Orianna, but before speaking, she glanced at me. I knew what her question was before she spoke it. I nodded silently, squeezed Orianna’s hand once in reassurance, and stood aside.

The redheaded warrior exploded with fury at Orianna for refusing to flee when told to. She called her names. She railed at her. She spoke of foolishness, of teamwork, of what it is like to die. Of how precious life is, of carelessness. My heart broke for gentle Orianna, but I did not stop the warrior. Some of her outburst was even directed at me. I let her continue. It was not the time to counter her with the truths of my past.

She had died. She had returned. Every moment of life was a renewed blessing to her. I had seen enough men and women fractured to the point of no return after stumbling on the brink of mortality. She needed to get this off her chest. Much as I felt for Orianna, my heart ached for Silvia too. She had given so much. This was not done out of spite, or even out of anger. No, I had felt the sheer terror of a loving parent relieved their child is safe. Gods know, Flame had brought that fear out in me more than enough as she grew. So I saw this for what it was.

When she was done, she fell into silence. I nodded sadly at her. I hoped she would return home to the love of her Sorrel and the two of them would ease the pain out in whatever way they could. Amble and Ylana were as quiet as I was.

Tears rolled down Orianna’s cheeks. She stood in shock, a hundred questions screaming in her head about what had just happened.

We walked miserably back to the Temple of Bahamut to break the grim news to Cornelius. I fell in alongside Orianna.

“You were incredibly brave,” I said gently. “I think we need to talk about all this further as soon as we can. No distractions.”

She nodded, her eyes still puffy from crying. I felt as tearful. Sotto voce, she murmured to me, “Lucky, I had a vision…”

My ears pricked up. “When you can, Orianna, please tell me everything in detail.”

She nodded. But we walked the rest of the way in silence.

Strength. Nerve. Honesty. Tenacity. Honour.

We were all hurting tonight, but despite her tears, Orianna had shown it all.




Poetry adapted from “Lights Out” (Henry van Dyke)

Continues immediately after in New Life, New Light