Chapter 1-5

Both half-dragons arose early, though for different reasons. After eating, Garkhen reverently took his copy of The Law of Bahamut out to study and meditate for the morning. Almonihah looked over at him and snorted.

“We're leaving 's soon 's I break camp,” the half-bronze dragon stated.

“I do not see the reason for such haste,” Garkhen replied, calmly, “But if we must, I shall be prepared.”

The Warder was almost as fast as the Ranger in packing his things. Almonihah looked as if he wanted to say something, but instead turned to Zakhin'Dakh and asked him to let Garkhen mount. Soon they were airborne again, and Garkhen decided he could use the relative silence to do his morning prayers and meditations. Certainly Almonihah was not going to distract him now.

They flew for a couple of hours before the Ranger spoke to Zakhin'Dakh, pointing out something down below. The griffon dove, and soon they landed in a clearing near the edge of a wooded valley. Almonihah made a surprisingly accurate bird-call that was unfamiliar to Garkhen, then stood expectantly. After a moment he glanced over at Garkhen.

“Get off. We'll be walking.”

Patiently the half-blue dragon dismounted. Zakhin'Dakh crouched down to make it easier, but it was still a bit of a drop. Almonihah growled a bit at the crash Garkhen's armor made when he hit the ground, but then turned as he heard the counter-call. Again he imitated a bird-call, though a different one this time. 

 

After a few more moments, a dwarf suddenly appeared from the underbrush. Surprised, Garkhen glanced over at his companion, and saw no sign of surprise on his face. Indeed, it seemed he had expected this.

The dwarf looked over the three for a moment. “Never seen you before,” he stated.

“'m from th' Northern Rangers,” Almonihah explained.

“And I don't suppose they're all griffon-riding dragon-men, are they?”

Almonihah snorted. “Just me.”

The dwarf grinned slightly. “Good, wouldn't want to think they'd gotten so far ahead of us in recruiting. Or so far behind. Now, then. If you're from the north you've got a good reason to be here. Let's hear it.”

Almonihah pointed at Garkhen with his thumb. “This one here's been attracting a lot 'f Madness-Touched. Thought bringing 'im here was th' best bet t' find out why.”

The dwarf's expression turned to a frown. “A lot of those things have been slipping through recently, and you say they've been coming to him?”

“For 'im. Trying t' kill him.”

The dwarf scowled. “I don't like having him here... but the Commander should see you. This way.”

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I've been playing around a bit with point-of-view here. This is mostly from Garkhen's viewpoint, with tiny bits of Almonihah's thrown in here and there. I'm debating on whether or not I should continue.

Chapter 1-4

Garkhen found griffon-riding to be a rather... uncomfortable experience. The saddle was clearly made for someone of Almonihah's dimensions, rather than his own, and there was certainly no allowance for a tail. Still, he was grateful that he was in the saddle, as opposed to the bronze-scaled Ranger, who was simply laying down and holding on to the back of the saddle. He wondered why Almonihah did not simply fly with his own wings, but thought it best not to ask. 

 

They flew for a while, and then Zakhin'Dakh shrieked something above the roar of the wind. Almonihah grimaced as the griffon slowed. 

 

“'Nother Javni'Tolkhrah. Flying one,” he growled. “Zakhin'Dakh 'll sort 't out.”

After a moment the griffon shriek-roared and dove suddenly. Garkhen clutched at the saddle as the air rushed past him, and caught a brief glimpse of a bat-like monstrosity before Zakhin'Dakh plowed into it, tearing and biting. It made an odd, wailing screech, and soon was dropping to the ground.

Almonihah patted one hand on Zakhin'Dakh's flank, saying something to which the griffon replied with an enthusiastic screech. Then he looked up at Garkhen. 

 

“Feel better 'f we burned th' corpse, but I think 't's better t' get t' the Ranger Order faster.”

“Why is this?” Garkhen asked.

“Don't like letting th' animals eat something corrupted by Jivenesh,” Almonihah growled in reply.

Garkhen nodded silently in understanding. 

 

They flew for most of the day, stopping a few times to let Zakhin'Dakh rest, hunt, and drink. Almonihah offered nothing to Garkhen, but he was well-provisioned, so the half-blue dragon did not complain. As the sun sunk low in the sky, the Ranger spoke again to his friend, and they descended into a small valley. 

 

“We'll camp here,” he said, and immediately went about taking gear off of Zakhin'Dakh, leaving Garkhen to scramble to dismount before the saddle was unbuckled from beneath him. 

 

He pitched his own tent while Almonihah cared for the griffon, suspecting (rightly) that he would be fending for himself in this thing. Once both of them had prepared for the night, Garkhen spoke.

“I have been setting wards for myself while I have been traveling, given the frequency of attacks by the Madness-Touched. I believe that this precaution is still necessary, yes?”

Almonihah stared suspiciously at Garkhen for a long moment, then muttered, “Go ahead.”

He watched closely as the Warder set his wards, enough so that Garkhen wondered if he actually understood anything he was doing. He did not say anything further, however, instead turning to Zakhin'Dakh and speaking a little. Then the griffon flew off to hunt again.

The two half-dragons did not speak that evening as each prepared his own meal. The silence made Garkhen uncomfortable, but he rather suspected his companion would not respond well to attempts at conversation. And so instead, he listened to the sounds of the wild mountains until Zakhin'Dakh returned. Not long after, he retired to his tent to sleep.

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Awkward enough there, you two? 

Chapter 1-3

A squeal-like roar heralded the beast's appearance as it came crashing through the underbrush of a nearby grove of trees. It was a massive creature, larger than a warhorse, and looked something like a boar with the fur of a spotted jungle cat. Its face was a tangled mass of tusks, all of which pointed outwards with gleaming, honed points.

Almonihah's bow twanged, and a glowing arrow blasted into its snout. It squeal-roared again, but did not slow. Zakhin'Dakh shriek-roared back and leaped into the air, while Garkhen struggled to get his shield and mace out while at the same time moving so as to be not in its direct path. Almonihah stepped the other way, nocking another arrow.

The Madness-Touched turned to follow Garkhen, who finally had Silverflame in hand. He inhaled, then breathed out a bolt of lightning. Again it squealed in pain, but though it stumbled slightly it still came on. Almonihah's bowstring sang, and another arrow buried itself in its side, but still it came on. Garkhen braced himself, debating for just a moment whether he should try to leap aside, duck under, or something else.

Then Zakhin'Dakh crashed into its side, talons digging deep. The Javni'Tolkhrah squeal-roared yet again as the huge griffon's momentum knocked it over just short of Garkhen. It struggled and kicked as Zakhin'Dakh strained to keep it pinned down. Seeing an opportunity, Garkhen moved, armor crashing as he ran in a great circle to the top of its head and brought down his mace on it. The namesake silver flames of his mace sizzled as it struck, bringing a weaker squeal from the beast. Before he could strike again, the griffon's beak jabbed down as Zakhin'Dakh bit into its throat. After a few more moments of struggle, it lay still, dead. 

 

Breathing heavily more from the shock of the suddenness of it all than from exertion, the half-blue dragon looked over at Almonihah. He had another arrow nocked, but slowly lowered his bow and replaced it in his quiver.

“Clumsy,” he growled, then grudgingly added, “Worked.”

Garkhen nodded, wordlessly. “That is the largest one I have seen thus far, fortunately. I do not know if I could have slain it alone.”

The half-brzone dragon snorted. “Got that much practice, hm?”

The Warder nodded. “I have faced quite a number these past years, both alone and with a companion.”

Almonihah frowned. “Southern Rangers shouldn't...” He trailed off with a quiet growl.

“Rangers?” Garkhen repeated. “I have heard of them, but very little.”

“I'm one. Northern, though.”

“Indeed?” Garkhen was impressed. “What has brought you here then, if I might ask?”

“You may not,” Almonihah snapped back, sarcastically mocking Garkhen's polite tone. “Sounds like should check on th' Southern Rangers, though...” He paused. “'nd you're coming, Blue. Not trusting you out 'f my sight.”

Garkhen sighed. “I agree to come,” he said, keeping his even tone. “Had I known there were some I might speak to of this matter, I would have done so earlier.”

The Ranger snorted and spoke again to the griffon in the odd, breathy language he had used before. Zakhin'Dakh ambled over to a nearby rock and knelt down. 

 

“Get on,” Almonihah ordered. “Faster t' fly, 'nd you won't be slowing us down.”

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Sorry about being a day late. I've just been saving an alternate Earth from an alien invasion, and that's kept me kind of busy.

Chapter 1-2

For a moment, all was still. Garkhen was frozen, considering the arrow pointed at his snout. Almonihah was still, muscles taut as he held his bow drawn. Even Zakhin'Dakh did not move, unsure about just what his friend wanted with another dragon-person. 

 

Finally Garkhen spoke. “Because who I am is no more determined by the color of my scales than who you are,” he stated, calmly, his gaze focusing on the bronze half-dragon. 

 

Almonihah bared his teeth and growled, but said nothing. Forging ahead, Garkhen continued, “Because you do not know me, nor who I am, any more than I know you. To kill me would be cold-blooded murder.”

Zakhin'Dakh shifted, trying to look back at Almonihah, which threw off his aim. With another frustrated growl, the Ranger shook his head and slowly released the tension in his bow. He spoke to the griffon, who stepped back with an almost apologetic chirp.

Cautiously, Garkhen rose to his feet, looking sadly at his fellow half-dragon. He had only seen other half-dragons once, and this meeting simply confirmed to him how unique his species was. Though he would hardly say that a half-dwarf/half-blue dragon was of the same species as a half-human/half-bronze dragon, as this man seemed to be.

“I am called Garkhen ze'Darkhen'Sem'dor,” he stated once he was fully on his feet.

Almonihah snorted. “What kind 'f name's 'Guardian of Small Dragons'?”

“The only one I have ever known,” the Warder replied, calmly. He noticed the short frill on the half-bronze dragon's head was stiffly erect—perhaps a sign of his emotional state?

The griffon screeched with a worried tone, and Almonihah glanced down at Zakhin'Dakh's head. Garkhen thought he saw the head-frill relax just slightly. 

 

“Right,” the Ranger growled. “So what were you doing?”

“Traveling between villages,” Garkhen patiently explained. “It is my habit to visit the more distant hamlets periodically and see if there are any that need my help. While it has been fairly peaceful here since the war, yet there are still occasional troubles with Javni'Tolkhrah or other creatures.”

“Hmph.” Almonihah looked the half-blue dragon up and down, suspiciously. “So...”

Suddenly Zakhin'Dakh shrieked and stood fully upright, head turned towards some nearby underbrush. Almonihah's nostrils flared. 

 

“Speak 'f Javni'Tolkhrah...” he muttered, nocking an arrow again. 

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Almonihah's body language is hard to keep track of. Not only does he have all the regular human things, he also has his head-frill and his wings, which can be fairly expressive as well. 

Book 3, Chapter 1-1

Book Three

“Almonihah is... a very private man. Even after traveling with him for these years I feel I know little of him. And yet, for all this, we have become friends. Why? I think it is, that deep beneath the hardness he wears, beats a heart as dedicated to the defense of others as my own. I have seen the danger he has braved for the sake of a child, and I have seen his anger at those who would prey upon the innocent. For all that we follow different gods, yet are many of our goals the same.”

“Do I agree with his... attitude? I do not think it right for me to judge. Until these conversations, I did not know much of his history. I suspected rather quickly that he was... wounded, perhaps, is the best way to say it, but little more.”

“Zakhin'Dakh? He is quite the contrast, is he not? While I cannot understand his speech, yet his enthusiasm, his curiosity, his simple joy in life are clear. I would consider myself his friend, yes. He is certainly capable of such relationships.” --Garkhen

“Garkhen? S'pose I've gotten used t' him. Good t' have in a fight. Good person, too.” --Almonihah

Chapter 1: Unusual Alliance

“I would not say I believe in fate as such. That is to say, I do not believe our choices are made ahead of time for us, that we are simply actors following a script rather than writing our own lives. That does not mean, however, that I do not believe the gods take a hand in our lives. On the contrary, as a servant of Bahamut, I am certain that he directs my course at times. But my choices remain my own.” --Garkhen 

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Apologies for the late post. It's entirely the fault of Dungeon of the Endless.

And yes, Garkhen is much more talkative than Almonihah. If it's not clear, the Book 3 quotes are quotes Elque must have gotten from talking to each of them about the other.  

Chapter 16

Chapter 16: Unexpected Meetings

“Sometimes the greatest gifts of life are completely unexpected. At times, they may even seem trials when we first stumble across them. But I have found that, in time, such experiences often teach the greatest lessons. And it was from such an experience that I gained two of my greatest friends... though of course, it did not seem so at first.”

Garkhen returned to more settled lands, marveling at the gift he had been given. He had to use Silverflame twice while he traveled back, as more Javni'Tolkhrah attacked him as he walked the wilds back to the small villages in the foothills. The mace was truly remarkable—its silver flames burned the twisted creatures with holy wrath, inflicting terrible wounds even when his physical strikes caused little harm. 

 

He found things were much the same as he had left them when he reached the first village. The people were settling back down after the end of the civil war and all that had come with it. No one had reported trouble with Infernals or undead in the past weeks, and it seemed peace had finally returned to Ferdunan.

And so, without direction or purpose, Garkhen went to wandering, traveling wherever he felt he should. Sometimes when he arrived he soon found there was need for his strengths, but often not. He would have felt discouraged or impatient, but... one of the lessons he had learned was to not give place to such feelings. And so he wandered, and served where he could, and sought for what his purpose was to be.

It was not an easy life. He would often go long in between sources of money, and so had to spend frugally to be able to afford supplies for himself. Sometimes grateful villagers would give him meals or a place to sleep, and occasionally he would find hoarded treasures after slaying some beast that troubled them, but most of the time he had to stretch his resources to feed himself.

In time he developed a reputation, and Garkhen slowly found himself more welcome across the country. People would greet the 'armored dragon-man' with joy rather than fear when he came, and Garkhen was glad enough to be recognized. But as the years passed, he struggled more and more to find purpose and meaning in his life, for it seemed he was less and less needed.

The only constant source of danger were the Javni'Tolkhrah that regularly attacked him while he was in the wilds. The Warder learned that they seemed to harm few others, and indeed were rarely seen by any but himself. He felt there must be some meaning behind it... but could never seem to think of what it might be.

And then one day, as he was walking alone to a village he had not visited for the past two years, he heard something above him—the sound of wind ruffling great feathers. Garkhen started to turn, but had only a brief moment to see huge wings and flashing talons before he was knocked to the ground, pinned beneath a great weight.

When he could focus his vision, Garkhen found an arrowhead held close to his snout. Following the arrow back, he saw a fine bow pulled taught, held by... another half-dragon. This one was bronze-scaled and human-proportioned, and he was snarling at Garkhen.

“Give me one good reason I shouldn't kill you.”

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I think this chapter speaks for itself. :)

Chapter 15-4

He pondered what the next trial might be as he walked. Anger, fear... pain, perhaps? Doubt? He shrugged to himself. He would simply have to see.

Garkhen was rather surprised when he walked into a comfortably appointed room. Five chairs were arranged in a small circle. Four were occupied, and it did not take him long to see that each occupant was a representative of one of the goodly faiths—Mashano, Naishia, Kazoran, and Sephania. The human priest of Mashano waved Garkhen to the empty seat.

“Good, you're here! We've been waiting for you!”

Warily, Garkhen approached. What was the test here? “You have been waiting for me?”

“Indeed,” the dwarven priest of Kazoran rumbled. “Now we're all here, so we can begin.”

“Shall we start with unity, then?” The elven priest of Sephania asked. “We followers of Sephania are far more united than the humans with their god. They cannot even agree on what he wants.”

“And you can't agree on who your god is!” The human retorted. “Male, female, both, neither...”

“Hah! No match for the dwarves there,” the dwarven priest interjected. “We know perfectly well what Kazoran's like. I don't know why this fellow thinks Bahamut is so much better,” he waved at Garkhen.

Was this testing his anger again? Garkhen firmly controlled his temper and replied, “While there is certainly virtue in the teachings of Kazoran, I have found that Bahamut's teachings touch me more deeply.”

“So it's up to you to choose, then?” The dwarf replied, peering closely at Garkhen.

The young half-dragon was taken aback by the question, but then the priest of Naishia spoke, “But if it were not for Naishia, we would not have a place to have this discussion.”

“And if it were not for Mashano we would not have a common language in which to speak it!”

Perhaps he was to defend his faith? “Indeed, but were it not for Bahamut, Tiamat would long since have overrun all.”

The conversation continued in this vein for a time, each priest claiming the best for his or her own god.

Garkhen grew increasingly uncomfortable and defensive, as the others seemed to focus more and more on him. Still, he was proud at how well he was debating. Yet the discussion showed no sign of slowing.

Finally, Garkhen exclaimed, “Must we argue like this? Are not we all servants of goodly gods?”

The priest of Mashano smirked at him. “Perhaps, but don't you have to prove yours is the best?”

Suddenly it struck him. “Darkhen Ubrix...” Garkhen breathed, collapsing back in his seat.

The other priests all nodded, as if they understood, but Garkhen felt he should translate nonetheless. 

“Dragon-pride. That is the key here, is it not?”

The others all sat silently, waiting. Swallowing, Garkhen said, “No. No, I do not. While I stand firm for what I believe... I must also be humble. I should see the good in others without feeling it threatens me. I... must not succumb to the curse of pride.”

The others all nodded again, and then, one by one, they disappeared. Garkhen stood, and the chairs also vanished, leaving the way onwards clear once again. Yet he hesitated a moment. 

 

“Dragon-pride,” he murmured again. “The great curse of dragonkind. A heritage of my father that I must ever be wary of.”

After a few minutes of quiet reflection, he felt ready to continue.

Other tests followed, but none seemed to strike so deeply. Still Garkhen felt bone-weary when finally the passageway led to a small, well-lit chamber. Its only contents were an altar, on which lay an ornate silver mace. Gazing on it, the Warder knew all the tests were to prove the worth of one who would wield this weapon.

Hesitantly, he reached out and picked it up. It was fairly heavy, as a good mace should be, but well-balanced. Inspecting it, he saw its name etched into its haft.

“Silverflame.”

As he spoke the name, silver-colored flames burst from the head of the mace, wrapping it in fiery radiance. Garkhen gasped. Flaming weapons were far from rare, but the silver color seemed to suggest it was more than ordinary magical flame. 

 

After a few moments, the flame went out. Garkhen took his old mace and, after a moment's thought, tied it to his pack, then slipped Silverflame through the belt loop where it had been. It felt... right, there.

The Warder breathed a quiet prayer of thanks to Bahamut, then asked, “But what plans do you have for me that require such a weapon?”

No answer came, though for a moment Garkhen had the nagging feeling he had forgotten something. It was gone before he could properly grasp the thought, however. After a minute of quiet reflection, he turned to leave... and was surprised to see the canyon right in front of him. Turning back, he could see only a shallow, empty cave, with no sign of the many passages he had walked, much less the tests and the altar.

Shaking his head a bit, Garkhen turned again and walked out into the canyon. He did not quite know what he needed to do next, but... he would see what good he could do, and surely in so seeking Bahamut would lead him.

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So now Garkhen has his weapon. This is the end of this chapter, which means... it's almost time to revisit a scene from many moons ago from a different perspective!