Legend of Ransera

Glade 13, 123

The northern coast of Ailos lay as far distant from Dawn Peak as one could go without crossing the sea; but although mortal eyes could not make out the mountains from this distance, the golden halo of their power was still visible as the sky darkened. The light and the twin prisms of water and wind combined to encircle much of the horizon, leaving a liminal luminescence which seemed, from above the clouds, almost to cover the whole island. Perhaps it was with this very sigil that the ancient god-queens of the isle had Scrivened the protections which had enwrapped Ailos centuries after their demise? Perhaps it was just a mirage.

Even from the skies, it had been easy enough to spot the stretch of beach which Imogen Ward had described. It was a long and rocky shoreline, fine to look at but inappropriate for any sort of port activity. The sea had worn away the coast here, leaving spires of raw sedimentary rock jutting skyward in strange shapes. The elder witch had used the positions of mountains for reference; as Norani recalled, she tended to travel as an albatross, well below the clouds. From that vantage, it was little trouble to zero in on the couple miles of shoreline the witch had worked her rite upon.

After some time, she even located the precise spot. On a little plateau overlooking the sea, Norani found a small stone monument which was obviously artificial, though its edges and contours were long worn by wind and rain. The inscription had become faded, but someone had recently taken a sharp chisel to it--or perhaps not a chisel--and restored some of the words.

If no on'uv io oeiong uvnough, vonaho vonao ie foi?

The beach where Deravecia had slept for unknown centuries was empty now, lacking any obvious signs of the dragon. That was odd, in and of itself. Though the greens of Drathera took pains to avoid disturbing the people around and about them, the lairs of dragonkind were usually charged and changed by the vast energies of their dragoncraft. For an old wyrm to have sat here for so long and made no impression... it was as if her spirit had been completely absent.

Almost absent, anyway.

Norani's supernal senses alerted her to a slight imbalance in the weft and weave of the local elements, a burgeoning of metallic aether. Perhaps half a mile down the beach from the weathered marker, there was a section of tidal pools, and in those pools lay... iron. Iron scales, to be precise. Hundreds of them, shed infrequently by the brooding dragon, but too heavy for ordinary tidal pressure to pull out to sea. These had been trapped by time and tide, left to rust beneath a thin film of seawater.

As soon as Norani found this, the last trace of the dragon's long slumber, the spirits spoke to her:

"Windwalker," burbled the voices of the tide, unbothered and endlessly content, "Come further down; there are many forgotten things stranger and more wonderful than iron. Long and long I gave her my gift, but still she did not stay for ever."

"Windwalker." grumbled the spirit of the sand, almost too faint to be heard, "You have just missed her; she was here only a moment ago. But the earth no longer knows her, for she has fled to the elden bowers of the sun."

"Windwalker, Windwalker." said the spirit of iron, "You walk a dangerous path. Deravaecia has risen, but her heart beats to the whispers of the rust. You have heard the words, the cruel and secret song. Iron is the child of murder and dominion, and she dwells in the palace of the one who was once her master. If you go there, you may die."

"Wheeeeeeeeeeee!" said the spirit of the breeze, which hadn't been paying much attention to any of this.

In her heart, Norani could feel it. Though the elements were warning her, but they were not concealing anything; Deravaecia had flown south and east, closer to the center of Ailos, seeking some part of history, of her former life, to connect with.

As Norani soared over the island of Ailos, leaving the temple and Imogen behind her, she thought on this task she had taken on. She needed to find this woman, this dragon, and convince her to come to Imogen's aid. She truly had no idea how she would go about it, but she would have to see it through. Imogen needed her, and she needed Imogen. Witches of a feather live long together, probably.

When Norani spotted the rocky beach that Imogen had described, she angled down toward it. But she also remembered the words she'd been given, the patience she'd cultivated, the lessons learned in the darkness. She took a circuitous course around the beach from on high, calling to the winds and the sands and the waters, letting them know that she was here now. She felt their responses, warmly welcoming the elementalist as she scrutinized the beach from above. It didn't appear to be dangerous to her untrained eyes and there was certainly no dragons slumbering upon it.

She flew down and alighted upon the stones.

She walked around for a while, getting a feel for the lay of the land and pouring her aether into her surroundings. She felt something odd, strange shapes inflicted upon a stone, shapes that were not caused by nature, not caused by the spirits that tend to the elements. A hop, skip, and a jump aided by wind brought her to the little monument.

"If no one is strong enough, who was it for?" Norani spoke this aloud, chewing on the statement carved into this monument. Her nose wiggled as she stared at the monument, and then she spoke to the stone it was carved from, asking about its state. It grumped, unhappy in its condition, but would wait for it to erode. It would be more content if the metal would wear off, it kept attracting spirits that were confused upon their arrival.

Norani cocked her head, confused. Metal? She didn't see any metal here. It was such a rare resource in Ecith, she'd only seen it a handful of times. She called to Crumble, and the chubby little earthen elemental arrived with a chirrup. "Do you notice any metal in this stone?"

It walked up to the stone, looking at it, dancing around it, before sniffing at the engravings. Then it stepped back and nodded eagerly. Norani pulled some aether from the spirit, enmeshing them into her nose. She could smell the stone now. But there was something else there too. Faint, but there nonetheless. A deeper sniff, and she knew, or rather she knew via her connection with Crumble, that it was iron.

She then called to the winds, throwing this scent out to them as bait and had them seek more for her. It wasn't long until more of the scent wafted toward her, and she thanked the winds for being so helpful. And so, her and Crumble made their way down the beach, to a pool tainted reddish brown by the rust she could smell. Scales. Iron scales.

This must be from her.

And then the spirits spoke, always eager to help her. As the seas spoke, Norani responded, "I will come, I ask that you wait for me. I must flow this way for now." And the spirits understood. As the sands spoke, Norani responded, "Thank you. May you rest well." She could feel the tiredness of a beach constantly being eroded. But she knew these sands would form something greater, eons from now. And they would wait patiently and endure this until then.

As Iron spoke, listened carefully. She did not know metal yet, had not learned its ways. It was an unknown element to her but she wished to understand. A warning given, a location given. She thanked Iron. Then she offered it some of her aether, "Might you join me? Help me to better understand the ways of iron. I am still growing and iron is foreign to me." She remembered the pain in her friends when she snatched away by the darkness, and she was hesitant to bring spirits into more danger because of it.

Crumble clunkered up her form and perched on her shoulder. "Rocks strong."

"We can be stronger, together. Maybe no one needs to die this day."

After she received Iron's answer, she took off, flying in the way told to her. As she went, she whipped the winds of the islands into a mild frenzy, stirring up as much scent as possible, and calling for them to bring more of the iron smell toward her. And as she traveled, dismissed the winds coming from abandoned Imperial vehicles, dismissed those from a smithy near the temple, and continued to parse away the trails until only one remained in the direction she was going. It was strong, it was fresh.

She was flying toward an unknown danger, but she was not flying into combat. She was not here to harm, but to convince. But still, it wouldn't do to get herself killed. So as she went, she Synergized with the winds she so often flew with, and started down toward what looked to be a long forgotten set of ruins overgrown by the jungles. And the Orkhan of wind slipped through the canopy with ease, still a ways from the ruins, and alighted upon the loamy soil. At the very least, if a big piece of a metal came her way, she was nothing but wind and it would pass right through her.

She looked over at Crumble who was floating nearby, gumming at the bark of a tree. She might have to deflect attacks from him though. And so, the team started toward the ruins, hoping that this Deravaecia might be amenable to listening.

To Norani's surprise, perhaps, the spirit of iron was slow to respond.

The element of metal was a curious one. She'd sensed it before, of course, especially in Imogen's many weapons, but this was the first time it had felt so singularly present. It was more obstinate than Earth, in some ways, less yielding than the stone and more apt to take an opposing stance to anything which appeared... but that was all on the surface. Norani could feel, in the heart of the iron, that it yearned for shape, for heat, for a guiding hand.

"Save them both, Windwalker." Iron replied, slowly, "Save the dragon and the witch, and I will walk with you where you must go."

There was no more conversation. Metal could be shaped to any form, like water, but only if the conditions were right- otherwise, it would not bend to all the winds of the world put together. Anything else was wasted time and breath.


The trail of Iron took Norani for many miles. For all that it was called the isle of dawn, AIlos was more like a small continent unto itself, with mountains and vales, heavily-forested in the same too-small jungle growth as had covered the shores of Southern Ecith. Even in the form of a swift gale, the young orkhan girl was abroad for hours before she found the place she'd been seeking.

This ruin was quite remote- sequestered in a small vale on the northern side of Ailos, weeks of travel by foot from the old Dawnmartyr temple which was the isle's main reference. The surviving foundations were stone carved out of the mountains and sheathed in marble, much of which had been eaten away by the years. It was not quite large enough to be a city, but would have made a stupendously huge village by modern standards, and the entire affair was built as a series of terraced circles, descending onto what must once have been a spectacular artificial lake surrounding a marble building.



Although the buildings were in total disrepair, the system of canals between them was still surprisingly beautiful, if algae-filled.

Historians and Librarians in Drathera said that Ailos had once been a great hub of civilization; not industry, in the way of the lands to the distant north, or even of the old Boundless Empire of the Hytori, but a place of solemn reverence, with majestic temples celebrating the sun and the dawn. Much of those had been lost even before the Graveplague came and the Dawnmartyrs were given free reign of the isle, and the followers of Light had never been so numerous that they could truly settle the entire place.

The Imperium's invasion, however, had spanned a great swath of the land, even those places only lightly-defended by Arcas' followers. The invading forces had done fantastic damage to the crumbling remains of Ysadre's empire, and many of the ruins on Ailos bore the brunt of both time and Imperial cannonades. Here, however, the detritus of invasion had been dragged out of the ruined city and piled on the periphery with surprising violence- the furrows in the soil where various bits of abandoned ordinance and even entire vehicles had been dragged out were still fresh.



In the center of the ruined temple-village was the artificial lake, and that remained a spectacular sight. The marble on it was mostly intact, and though the lake was now clouded with mud and plant growths, the water had an unusual luster which seemed to tug at Norani's spirit. This had been a holy place, once, no doubt about it.



Now, though?

Although Norani could not see the dragon from here, there was no doubt that Deravaecia was in that temple building. Even miles away, the young elementalist could sense the overwhelming dragoncraft of her presence. The elementals accompanying Norani grew increasingly unsettled as they approached, the very air and clouds becoming increasingly wary.

For all of her life, Norani had known about dragons. Greens and reds and faery dragons and other flights all coexisted in Drathera, and made a great playground of Northern Ecith, and they were largely considered a good omen by the orkhan- distant cousins whose very presence made the world brighter and more energetic, something to celebrate. But those were the flights of dragons who loved mortals, who were most fascinated by and supportive of their brief-lived kin.

Iron dragons were different. They were a threat. Not in the sense of a large animal or stinging insect, which inspire a nebulous fear of pain, but one very specific threat:

Do as I say, or I will kill you.

This was the aura which had so unsettled a Primal that it had decided not to return to Ailos. Deravaecia's presence was just that threat, felt in the very fabric of existence, loud and powerful enough to envelop a space of miles.

And it was this threat which Norani felt now, looking into that ancient city. The iron dragon hadn't seen her, maybe didn't even know she was there yet, but her threat hung in the air like a physical force. She had come here to be alone, not to be disturbed. And if Norani chose to disturb her anyway...?

Do as I say, or I will kill you.

In the ruins of the old retreat, Deravaecia stood in Orkhan guise and gazed into the lake. In a way, it was cowardice. She'd spent centuries inside her own mind, apart from the world, and having been abruptly torn back to reality, the first thing she did was try to escape it anew.

Still, she couldn't help it. By the time she'd gone to sleep up north this place had already been all but abandoned, its purpose fled with the death of her queen, but it had still been a brutal shock to see the once-glorious buildings in shambles, the holy lake defiled and flooding. To take a few months to grieve for such a profound loss...

It was amongst such sad nostalgia, however, that something else from the distant past reached her. Something much less welcome. A smell.

Her nose twitched. She blinked, looking up from the water and into the ruins beyond.

"...Achaka?"

The Windwalker had felt the dragon's presence long before she had even reached her current position, well outside the range of the ruins. She could smell it upon the winds, she could feel it in the soil beneath her bare feat, the water in the air tasted of metal. All of the elements here were a bit unnerved by the overwhelming presence of on such as She, one who could wield an element that was not so common here, and do so with a power unrivaled for millennia.

Nature preferred to have balance, and Dragons could most certainly tip the scales, to or from that equilibrium.

A metal dragon, iron nonetheless, was a formidable force. They were rare to visit or live in Drathera, often solitary creatures, if the stories were to be believed. And Norani could now feel, in the bones, that formidable was a polite term. This spirit, this energy over the world felt indomitable. She took a deep breath, breathing in the iron touched air, holding it within her lungs, despite being made of wind, and breathing was not necessary. She was not here to dominate, not here to defeat.

She was here to learn, to listen, and to speak on behalf of a dear friend.

But she needed time to think, to plan, to listen to herself and to this dreadful aura. And so, just as she had with the mountain of Drathera, Norani decided to grow still, to feel the world around her, and to let it in. She dropped her Synergy, closing her eyes as she crossed her legs, hovering there in the sticky air of the jungle. Crumble climbed up into her nap, making a noise somewhat akin to a cat's purr, but if that purr was gravelly and froglike.

She pushed through her fear of this aura. It spoke of death and disobedience. And she let it wash through her, resonating with the metals in her blood, in her bones, the little bits of metal that was in all life, often unseen and unnoticed. Do as I say, or I will kill you. Norani knew that there must be a sadness behind those words. She'd met enough people, veterans and survivors of the war, that were haunted not only by those they failed to save, but by those they'd killed. Several of her parents had fought in the war, and all carried specters with them. And they did not hide those lessons from their children.

Still, Norani did not know what it felt like to kill a person, and she hoped she never would.

A flash of a memory, of her staring at Juno with those black, bottomless eyes ripped her from her meditation.

She sighed. Could she kill the Unknown if the time came for it? It was alive, just as she was alive, just as Crumble was, just as the soil and the air and the sun above were alive. Did it deserve to die? Did she deserve to carry the weight of its death? Was that an honor or a failure?

Do as I say, or I will kill you.

Norani summoned one of the more courageous winds around here, and gave it a message, to carry as close as it could to the dragoness.... No. She shook her head, she didn't want to cause needless harm, even if to "just a wind". She blinked back into her wind Synergy form and spoke the words, placing them within a piece of herself and sent the wind racing toward the center of this oppressive aura.

"I seek to do as you say, if I only knew what that were. I come seeking an exchange of words and of wisdom. I am Norani Windwalker and I await your answer, Deravaecia."

As the wind of herself traveled, Norani and Crumble floated up above the tree line, making themselves obvious and known to the world around them, maintaining their meditative posture, facing the ruins, watching and waiting.

The solitary dragon's quiet inquiry to nothing was answered moments later, by a rush of air and aether. Deravaecia had learned her arts in the old days, before Semblers had come to prominence--in fact, she still associated the art with the smug devils of the deep wastes--so she perceived the unseen world by feeling and scent. To her sensitive nose, Norani's answer came in a sudden wash of smells, most alien, some familiar.

It was the smell of Orkhan, to be sure, but young. Achaka's essence was there, but on the fringes only; he was not personally present. The dragon was surprised to find herself relieved. For all that she hadn't yet found a reason to live, she realized that she did not want to die. And she couldn't imagine any other reason the old man would come.

The other scents presented a heady bouquet- sadness, loneliness, inner turmoil, and the scent of elementals, strong as any such confluence of elemental power she'd tasted since before the Sundering. She sorted through the tatters of Norani's aura with one part of her mind, while the rest listened to the message conveyed upon the wind.

"Words and wisdom..."

The girl knew her name, which meant either Achaka had sent her there, or she'd gotten it from Imogen. Neither of them people she particularly wanted to speak with. It was tempting to say no. One roar and this Norani would get the message, no doubt about that. She'd been wise enough to send a polite message before approaching, she'd certainly take Deravaecia's meaning.

But-

Well, what was she waiting here for, if not for this? The old mistress of these ruins wasn't coming back, not if she waited here for ten thousand years. If she wanted solitude, she could always go north, to one of the uninhabited sea islands- or maybe south and east, back to the ancient lands of her youth. No, she wanted something here yet, if she could only work it out. Besides, there was something intriguing about this Norani's scent. Something dark and warm and terrible mixed with those smells of fear and despair, emotions to which her breed was naturally drawn.

The Iron dragon raised her voice, using her dragoncraft to increase it until it could be heard easily throughout the entire vale. It was a cold voice, and halting from disuse, but there was nothing but iron confidence behind it. "Approach, Windwalker. But take heed how you importune."



When Norani did near, she found the dragon still in Orkhan form, standing on the weathered stone landing leading into the flooded ruin. Deravaecia was enormous, the size of a dragonborn Ecithian, and her skin was unusually pale and leathery, studded with telltale metallic scales. The dragon didn't bother to turn to track Norani's approach, relying upon senses other than sight- instead, she kept her eyes focused on the water.

If the elementalist got close enough, the dragon would speak again, proffering some explanation.

"Once, this pool reflected all things from above. Not in detail- it was useless for planning any campaign. Each time I approached, it rankled in my heart to see the useless artistry of it. Yet... now the magic has long faded, and I find myself sore afflicted by the loss. How queer." Deravaecia exhaled a long breath, with unnatural force even for her frame, causing ripples throughout the water for a hundred meters in all direction, then turned to face Norani.

"State your business, then."