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Into the Mists, II
That last long, fine stroke wasn't quite right, the leaves springing up from the crux of plant and stone twisting in some unseen breeze even sheltered by ruins as they were. Aden nearly gave up--he wasn't good at drawing, just passable, and the cuttings were probably enough. Something occurred to him, ears twitching, and he looked over at the aetherometer in the other corner of the room, then carefully brought it over such that he could see both at once.
"Here he is, here he is!" His ears flattened, and he looked over his shoulder in time to see a flash of white fur darting out of the door to the ruins. "Come on, kupo!"
Then a shadow covered the door, an all too familiar whoosh of air as all the dust outside kicked up. A dragon settled into the courtyard, awkwardly fitting its bulk between the walls, and lowered its head to the doorway. While Aden reached for his spear it huffed, carefully extricated its head from the doorway and looked aside, grumbling.
"What do you mean, doesn't look like much? Trust me, he's the meanest, baddest one I've met!" The moogle dipped into the doorway, waving his tiny paws wildly. "He can leap halfway from Zenith to Moghome in a single bound! I heard the Chief owes him money! He wrestled Darkscale! He nearly ripped my pom off!"
While the moogle huffed for breath, drifting back out of the doorway, the dragon turned its attention back to him--Aden averted his eyes, looking at the great scalekin's throat.
"What here rings true, son of man?"
Aden flinched as the sound washed over him, voice booming and bright in some archaic form of the language. "Nothing," he answered. The dragon had him cornered, the roof of this building fully intact. All it had to do was breathe.
"No!" The moogle wriggled in anger, a strange mockery of a dance. "He did almost rip my pom off!"
But even as he thought that, this dragon killing him would be so easy, he thought too of his first step--it would need to open its mouth to breathe. There would be a soft portion at the back of the palate, and he trusted his arm to stay true unto death--a quick, clean thrust up. If he was quick enough, perhaps he'd only lose his primary arm. Aden tensed, the metal haft of his spear squeaking at the pass of a gauntleted finger.
"Nothing." It made a sound something like a laugh. "Indeed! But you reek of the fallen shade's brood--you have known their fire, have you not? Are you not a hunter of dragons?"
Aden hesitated, needing a moment to unclench his jaw. "I am a hunter," he answered, "and I have fought dragons."
It grumbled straightening as much as it could, wings shifting. "You are one of the dragon knights, at least. You do the same strange tasks." He didn't correct the dragon. "I have need of your services. I will pay you as is custom of your people."
Aden straightened suddenly, hand still gripping his spear and eyes still down, but the tip of his tail twitched erratically. "You're--hiring me?"
"Yes."
"Um... for what?"
The dragon grumbled, head turning again. "One of my broodlings has taken up amongst those yet your enemy. I wish her returned to me."
The absurdity fully set in at the dragon's request, and Aden thought about pinching himself, but decided against making any sudden or strange movements. "Did she, uh, leave on her own?"
"Indeed. But she knows not what she does. Ours shall be the way of peace--not to chase weak snatches of warsongs past."
Swallowing thickly, Aden said, "I'm not sure I can, uh, talk a dragon down."
That laugh again, a great, whooping huff, and Aden thought he finally detected some vaguely feminine hint in the dragon's voice. "I wish not for you to talk, slayer of wyrms! I wish for you to kill them! Make a ruin of her companions as they have earned!"
"And if she fights me for it?"
The dragon reared back and roared, wings straining against the walls of the ruined courtyard. It shouted something in dragonspeak, then lowered it's head again. "Then leave her where she falls. I will mourn her as I knew her, not as what she became."
Again he hesitated, turning over the request in his mind--fight an indeterminate number of hostile dragons in the hopes it would convince her daughter to return. It was folly no matter what he did, and certain death for either himself or the broodling.
"I'll have to ask my commander for leave to do this," he answered, and hoped it was non-committal yet polite enough by dragon standards.
"Then I shall await you here on the morrow, dragon knight. I shall bring a sample of what I mean to pay you with as well, that you may know my word is true."
The dragon carefully squeezed its way back up out of the ruins, almost dainty in its effort to avoid damaging them further, and flew off, the moogle rushing behind. "Hey! Oh, kupo, what about my finder's fee?"
