”So Danheim finally did it…” mused Felix, as his small ship flew across the waves.
After several months of killing various monsters and beasts for the local Keelish colonists, he had accumulated enough money to buy himself a small boat, one which he could pilot. Using it, he moved from area to area, hunting down creatures as needed.
But when news of the war between the North and South reaches the far-flung Keelish outpost, he decided to leave. The populace knew him, but as a Valkorian, and one who didn’t help out for free either.
Remembering his promise to Draedan, Felix left. Sailing south, going from forsaken isle to sandy sailing, he eventually reached Allura once again. He had barely arrived when…
”You came back.”* It was not a question, merely a statement of fact.
”Yes. The locals were beginning to distrust me.”
”I hope you brought your swords, Venandi.”
Felix did not reply, but continued sailing, landing on a black, rocky shore. Mountains smoked in the distance, and the air smelled of sulfur and fumes of fire. The ground was hot, and here and there, pools of fire lay, hissing.
A dark shape rose from the mountain, which seemed diminished with its absence. The Dragon rose, and swooped down to land in front of Felix.
”You’ve grown, Dragon.”
Draedan examines Felix. ”Have a run in with my kin, warrior?”
”Yes.” Felix felt the rough hard ridge that was the gigantic scar running down his left eye.
A sudden force upon his mind, struck him down, his brain ringing like a hammer. His head swam, and spots swirled in front of him. The Dragon, intent on being free of his curse, was attempting to slay the Valkorian through mind control. Felix struggles back to his feet, and struck back, the force of his will hitting the Dragon.
A screaming shriek echoed from mountain to mountain. The beast contorted, writhing in pain, as his wings dissolved, turning to smoke, his hard scales falling apart into nothingness. The Dragon roared again and again, until at last his once proud jaws vanished, and Felix stopped on one knee, panting. He felt a surge going through him once again, a feeling of raw unbridled strength. His eyes grew blacker, and then returned to their brown color.
A tall figure, with menace in his wake and bearing two bright swords, left the island. Az-Zhal-Ghun would have to seek a new mount.