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Single MaltPIPER
Piper blinked up at Jack as he pulled out a sort of...alien device. Its glow illuminated Jack's face slightly, but the side facing Piper held no light. As Jack tapped his finger on it repeatedly, Piper closed in again on the foreign object, his snout pausing a hair's width from it. This time, its scents were a little more familiar. Some type of metal. More of that strange chemical scent the..."photo" had given off. There was a faint scent of something else - it reminded him of lightning. So strange.
When Jack turned his attention back to him, Piper backed up a step, though only to resume the appropriate conversing distance. He looked away, considering.
‘Someone is after you,’ he finally sent. ‘I think...Cheryl is involved somehow. Yet you are here and she is not.’ His tail twitched and his wings shuffled nervously.
That overwhelming surge of power from that telepathic link...he was unfamiliar, yet familiar with it. He did not know of magic like that, but he did know of someone who’d displayed that same magic. The person sitting right in front of him.
‘This place is not safe,’ he continued. ‘Something...powerful. Unfamiliar. Is nearby. You must convince Cheryl and we must leave fast.’ He hadn’t missed the way Jack looked after staring at the strange metal rectangle. The question of what he’d seen itched at Piper’s mind but he held it back. If it was important, Jack would tell him. And if he didn’t, there were more pressing matters to tend to.
Like getting away from whatever power-drunk beast that prowled in the village.
Sancho
The damn beast was still there. He'd done what it asked, and it was still there. The roof shivered, the distant beat of wings seeming to rattle the shabby wood. Sancho sat in his office, pressing a rag again his wound. It was hardly necessary at this point. The bleeding had stopped long ago. It still throbbed though, and Sancho cursed his luck, his grip tightening on the quill in his other hand.
He'd written the report as best as he could. It was good enough. He hoped. He prayed. There was nothing else he could do about the situation - it had all gone to meat as soon as he'd spotted the dragon descending from the night sky like the reaper of death himself. Even so, his client had a reputation for being erratic. If things didn't go his way...
Sancho shivered, dropping the quill to clamp a sweaty hand over his mouth. He didn't even want to begin to imagine what would happen if his client didn't take this well.
Movement shifted in the corner of his vision and he turned to glare at the cage in the corner.
'Awake, lizard? 'Bout flaming time you did your job.' He got up, grabbed a key from the edge of his table, and strode over to the small, metal cage. Disdain showed plainly on his features as he glared at the pipio cowering in it. Then he kicked the cage. The pipio scuttled to the back of the cage as the metal rattled and Sancho smirked in satisfaction. He knelt down, unlocking the cage.
'You know, that was really unnecessary.'
Sancho jerked at the new, unfamiliar voice and rose to his feet, twisting around as his hand reached for the sword at his hip. Standing in front of his desk was someone utterly plain. Draped in a commoner's cloak, a man with curly brown hair stared back at him, smiling pleasantly.
Now, Sancho was always happy to help a citizen. His night, however, had not been a very good one and between the damn beast hovering over his roof and the witch slaughtering people left and right, this particular surprise had him this close to losing his wits entirely.
'Who let you in here? Get out! I don't have time for-'
'Relax, will you?' The man raised his arm from the folds of his cloak, pulling back his sleeve in one swift movement. Black ink stood out against pale skin, a stark symbol resembling a circle with a C inside it. 'Trust me, that's all you want to do right now.'
Sancho paled. Could his night get any worse?
'Sancho. Come on, be reasonable,' laughed the man, dropping his arm back within his cloak. 'Swords don't need to be involved in this conversation.'
His hand was gripping his sword hilt, Sancho realised. Slowly, he let go.
'That's a good guard. Or is it Chief now? Man, kids grow so fast these days,' said the man, tutting.
'Who are you?' said Sancho again, ignoring the man's derisive comment. Picking a fight with him, if he really was an associate of his client, would not bode well for Sancho. At all. 'And how did you get in here without the lizard noticing you?'
'If I gave that away, everyone would be doing it, wouldn't they?' The man's gaze flicked down to the scroll on Sancho's desk. He reached out to take it. 'What do we have here?'
He'd only looked at it for mere seconds before his gaze returned to Sancho, staring at him above the scroll dangling from his hand.
'You really think he'll be okay with this?' He clucked his tongue. 'With your...well, I'm not sure if you can even call this a performance.' When Sancho tensed further and didn't respond, he let out another laugh. 'I'm kidding! He's an understanding man. You'll be fine.' Rolling up the scroll, he tucked it into his cloak.
'Is that all he sent you here for? To collect my report?' said Sancho.
'Yes and no.' The man strode towards him and Sancho flinched. It was unwarranted, however - the man stepped past him. Sancho watched as he knelt by the cage containing the pipio. The man opened the cage door, calm, and the pipio stepped forward obediently. A quick gesture with his fingers had the pipio crawling onto his arm. He stood up, turning to face Sancho as he idly stroked the pipio. Sancho tried his best to restrain himself, but he was certain his disgust showed anyway. Why anyone would bother being nice to those pygmies was anyone's guess. They were meant to be tools, nothing more.
'You asked me how I got in here without this little guy noticing?' He smiled, an utterly bland expression. Gazing down at the pipio with a fond expression, he continued, 'Word of advice, Sancho: in the sneaking business, you gotta relax. You're wound up tighter than a coiled snake.'
Sancho blinked at the sound of a snapping neck. The pipio lay still in the man's grip.
'See? Didn't even see it coming.' The man dropped the pipio, walking towards Sancho. The same bland smile had never left his face and Sancho flinched again when the man clapped a hand on his shoulder. 'See you soon, Sancho. You'd better not mess up again.'
The sentence was said in the same friendly breath, and yet Sancho felt a shiver of fear scurry up his spine. And so he was left standing there alone, a trembling hand to his neck, staring at the dead pipio on the floor.
The distant rumble of wings continued far above.
𝔖𝔬𝔪𝔢𝔴𝔥𝔢𝔯𝔢 𝔦𝔫 ℜ𝔞𝔯𝔢𝔠𝔨𝔢𝔩...
Even in the dead of night, the town didn't still. People moved in darkened alleys with only the light of a torch and peasants scuttled around looking for a quick meal. The torches at bar entrances remained lit and the distant sounds of raucuous laughter and occasional brawls carried through the night.
From up here, they all seemed so small. So insignificant.
'Lord Serrat?'
He did not look away from the window. 'Yes, serf?'
'There is a delivery for you.'
Serrat, dressed in a fine silk robe, turned away from the window and laid his eyes on the package in the serf's hands. It looked as ordinary as any other package - there was nothing of note about a hand-woven basket, after all. Serrat jerked his chin towards the mahogany desk at the end of the room, on his left.
'Place it there and leave.'
The serf did as was asked and she scuttled away. Serrat paid the insect no mind, his eyes set on the basket as he walked over behind the desk. Drawing it close with one hand, he tilted the basket upwards for inspection and upon spotting the familiar symbol printed at the bottom, he hummed in approval. With his other hand, he retrieved his knife from his belt with the other and sliced it through the lid. It was the only way to open it since the lid and the basket were woven together. He pried open the lid and upon seeing what was inside, he cracked a smile.
What a beautiful night.
𝔈𝔳𝔢𝔯𝔶𝔴𝔥𝔢𝔯𝔢
As far as the boundaries of Nihilo and even the rest of Terra, dragons stirred from their slumber, paused from their hunts, and looked far into the distance, in one single direction. Discussion arose between packs, hushed whispers or loud clamouring between minds, demanding to know what they'd just felt. The lone wolves murmured to themselves in varying shades of bewilderment. Florets, in forests and alpines alike, circled their young, reassuring them of nothing wrong - yet wary of what may come. Leodons prowling around volcanoes roared to the sky, challenging what strange magic had come to face them. Magis probed their surroundings with their magic, wondering what could be the cause of it all.
Stranger still were the moons tonight. A time when all three moons were together at once, something that hadn't happened in almost a century. Lunar heralds feasted on their light, their illusionary three pairs of wings flaring out, and Moonstones drew on the influx of energy from the night sky. Celestials and aeon wyverns continued wandering on their way, unaffected, all-knowing, and completely indifferent. Far in the desert, antareans scampered across the sands, unbothered. For them, the event was perhaps unexpected, but not unfamiliar. With them, mageia xenowyrms shifted in unrest, wondering what deed the humans had used the alignment of worlds for.
Somewhere in the skies, far beyond the clouds and brushing against Terra's ozone layer, a dragon filled with magic of unimaginable magnitudes snorted to itself, cackling at the fates of the small humans below. Still so archaic, still so young in their growth, and already they were sticking their hands into powers they could not begin to fathom. Just like hatchlings - except hatchlings knew better. This turn of events, this change, would be so very interesting to watch.
In the depths of a certain forest, a certain gathering of a certain dragon species was taking place.
'It was close, Tier One.' The speaker was one amongst the gathered blue siyat dragons. They stood in a neat, orderly line, all varying shades of brown with blue underbellies, crowns, and wing- and tailtips. The four siyat dragons standing before them were similar, except for their green highlights instead of blue. 'Tier Three felt it.'
'We all felt it, Tier Two. We don't need Tier Three to have pinpointed the strange magic's origin,' snapped a Tier One. Twin spots of vibrant green marked the area underneath his crown.
'Filaq,' murmured the Tier One on his right. 'You know where it came from.'
'Yes? We all do, Ruquies,' he growled, 'Sonarlis. You know I hate repeating myself.'
'Are we really not going to address one other particularly prominent issue that this presents?'
'No. It is only a coincidence, nothing more.'
'Our scout saw her heading towards the village. You cannot avoid this issue.'
He turned towards her, pulling his lips back into a snarl - albeit a small one, as he did not want to attract the attention of the Tier Twos discussing the matter with the other Tier Ones.
'I will do what is best for the clan', he hissed, 'and that includes avoiding the issue. For now. Because if I do not, my mind will be consumed by nothing but the want of tearing her to pieces.'
Ruquies only blinked back at him. Her green scales was of an odd shade, almost blue, but Filaq knew better than to use that as a reason to underestimate her.
'And if she is entangled with this strange magic? What will you do?' she said.
His snarl disappeared and he looked away. His ears, however, remained flat.
'Then I will tear answers out of her, and then kill her.' He connected back to the channel where the Tier Twos and Ones were still discussing.
'We will send out scouts,' he called out, his voice slicing through the clamour as smooth as a running stream. The siyats paused, all turning to look at him. 'We will find, and observe these sources of strange magic. If they are safe enough to bring in for further observation, we will bring them in. And if my fellow kin remembers one Cheryl Lusby...'
The name sent every dragon within hearing radius into snarls, their wings flaring out in agitation, their claws snaking out of their sheaths. Filaq didn't smile, as dragons were not known for imitating humans' many facial expressions, but he did send out a rumble of approval.
'If you find her with one of the sources of strange magic, do not hesitate to bring her in for justice.'
In the resounding roars and trumpets, loud to display their passion but low enough that the sounds did not break past their clan boundaries, there was nothing but agreement with his proposition.
CHERYL LUSBY
As Cheryl wandered past the marketplace, dark from unlit torches and cluttered with covered items, she glanced up at the night sky, raising an eyebrow at the three moons. The night had all gone to shit and she was practically dead on her feet, but despite everything, she couldn't deny it:
'What a beautiful night.'