Morning Dinner, Readying 20, 591 – How the Dragon Disciple Became the Minotaur’s Apprentice

King Stronghoen asks, “Are you a shaman like G’ruk? Do you have that kind of power?”

Drago shrugs his shoulders, “Not like G’ruk. He is very powerful. I don’t think I can kill him yet, at least not in an honest fight. My draconic powers only began to manifest recently. I am a fledgling sorcerer, yet I hold the hereditary right to become Chief Shaman among our people.” To demonstrate, Drago utters, “Jhetu sorch-manon!” as he points to the jug of wine to pour himself another drink with his Mage’s Hand.

King Stronghoen says, “How intriguing.” Then he also repeats the same arcane words and with a wave of his hand the jug floats away from Drago to refill his own mug. The jug then floats back down to the table. Drago notices for the first time that on his right hand he wears a gold ring with intricate traceries on it. It seems to glint in the blue light coming in from the skylights. “Yes, it is handy to have both arcane and martial might to keep one’s underlings in line. Now tell me, I know that G’ruk is looking for something here. I have tolerated it so far, but what or who is he looking for. Is he also looking for this dragon Kopep? Are you all related? I’ll tell you now that I don’t know of any dragon around here, but we certainly don’t want any poking around. I will be most displeased should any of you attract or arouse a dragon in my kingdom. Now tell me what G’ruk is really up to.”

Drago’s snout twitches. “No, Your Majest, we are not all related to Kopep. I am told I am the only one currently to show signs of his heritage in my blood. It is a rare bloodline. The others… they seek the sleeping Immortal King of Huvat Vex in their quest for hegemony of lizard kind over all others. That is why I was sent here by Chief Rahk to kill him. G’ruk’s quest for power has divided my people. I must find a way to reunite my people in peace. Of course, ratting them out may not be the best option to bring that about either.” Drago chuckles softly. “It would be better for me if you kept the true nature of their quest to yourself, my liege, at least for now.”

King Stronghoen chuckles and says, “And who would I want to tell? No, your intrigues and reptilian squabbles are your own business. Still, am I to understand that Chief Rahk does not wish G’ruk to find this Immortal King? Why not? It sounds like that would be a great thing for all of you… you… lizardfolk?”

Drago shrugs again and says, “Chief Rahk and the other village elders do not believe in the Immortal King. Furthermore, they believe it is best where possible to be on friendly terms with all sentient beings. G’ruk and the lizardfolk here think very differently. Chief Rahk sent me amongst the humans to build friendly relations, but unfortunately, my interactions with some of them gave me a foul taste for humanity’s values.” Drago points toward the female on the spit. “That is all they are good for. In this I have come around to share G’ruk’s views.”

“I see,” says King Stronghoen. “And yet, you say you do not seek the Immortal King but this dragon Kopep, and that you have come here to kill G’ruk and take over his tribe, or perhaps I should say faction of a tribe. So tell me, if I help you to become leader of the lizardfolk here, what would you do with them? Return to Chief Rahk who wishes to ally with the humans? Continue seeking this dragon, Kopep? Or would you yourself take up the quest for the Immortal King?”

Drago chuckles softly, nervously, “Perhaps a little of all three, my liege. Life in my village is rather dull and so much less dangerous than here.” Drago smiles toothily. “I am inclined to stick around and help you kill off the humans. The less humans, elves and dwarves in the world, the better we all are. I was not so interested in the Immortal King. My quest is and remains finding Kopep. But… my gut tells me that they may be one and the same. Whether I live or die, I am determined to find out whether I am indeed a prince of Huvat Vex.” Drago pauses, bows his head in offering and respect, “My life is yours if you wish, my liege.”

“Indeed,” says King Stronghoen. Finally, the roasted meat is served, and more wine is brought. The cows retreat with the calves to eat their own meal.

After they have had some time to enjoy the food and drink, King Stronghoen continues, “So Drago, your Shaman G’ruk was no so forthcoming about what he was doing here. This is the first I’ve heard of any Immortal King or any dragon. In fact, he did not even tell me that he was a renegade. You are very forthcoming for a lizardman, I think I would prefer to deal with one such as yourself. As you know, I also have some skill in sorcery. I think perhaps you should stay here and work with me for a time, until you are strong enough to challenge G’ruk. Then we can work together to get rid of him and put you in his place. We can become partners, I will rule over the Beast Men and you will rule over the Lizardfolk. Together we can bring this land to its knees. So tell me, what arcane power are you able to wield now? What do you have to work with to start?”

Drago’s nervousness passes and he smiles toothily, “Thank you, my liege, I like that plan.” Scratching his jaw in thought, he says, “This was the first thing I learned: kaŝvestu selfn!” as he visualizes himself to look exactly like King Stronghoen.

King Stronghoen’s eyes go wide and he bellows, “How dare you!” He lunges for Drago and catches him by the throat with both hands. Reflexively, Drago tries to break the minotaur king’s grip but realizes that he would have as much luck trying to break a large oak tree with his bare hands. King Stronghoen’s grip tightens and cuts off Drago’s breath, crushing his throat. “You… will… never… take… my… royal… countenance…again!” he snarls into Drago’s ear. “Do you understand?”

Drago realizes that he is seconds away from death. He gurgles as he nods his agreement.

“You are a very dangerous lizardman, Drago. Fortunately for you – a useful one as well.”

King Stronghoen takes another bite from the haunch of the unfortunate Deathwalker woman who has been served as their meal. He waits from Drago to recover. In fact, he even hands him some more wine. “Drink up. We are partners now. What else can you do? And don’t lie to me. I will be most unhappy if you lie.”

Drago thanks Stronghoen for the wine, and again as a lizard says, “My apologies, Your Majest. I did not mean to offend, only to show you my gifts that you may call upon as you please.” Drago takes another sip of wine to ease his aching throat, then adds, “I can also spit acid, detect magic, send messages a short distance, and disrupt undead.”

King Stronghoen mulls this over as they finish eating in silence. At last he says, “Yes, I can see that your magic may not be quite up to challenging G’ruk. But who knows? I have not heard of him using any kind of powerful or deadly magic so far. Still, best to be sure. Come with me.”

King Stronghoen takes Drago back out into the hall. They turn to the right to the door on the southwest side of the hall. Going in, Drago finds that it is a small office with another door facing the one they came in. Seated at the north end of the room is an old human, dressed much better than the other human slaves, going over a list and speaking with two gnolls. All three rise and bow as King Stronghoen comes in. He waves them off with a casual wave of his hand and takes Drago through the other door.

It opens up into a much larger room lined with shelves, barrels, and crates of assorted foodstuffs. There are urns and amphorae on the shelves. Six gnolls, and a dog brother in a long plush gray robe are in here playing dice around a table. They too stand at attention as King Stronghoen passes them, Drago in tow. King Stronghoen walks over to a cabinet on the west wall and shoves it aside to reveal a hallway. He reaches up to the mantle and presses a section of it. He then grabs an everburning lantern from a nearby shelf. He then leads Drago down the hall and to the right and then down a dark dismal stairway. As they descend it gets hotter and hotter. Though to Drago it is quiet comfortable, he realizes that any human going down into such burning darkness would probably wonder if they were descending into one of the hotter hells.

Halfway down, King Stronghoen stops and holds Drago back as well. He calls out in the Gnoll tongue, “Dead men tell no tales.” Then he continues on, assuming that Drago will follow.

Drago follows with growing excitement. While it might be the death of him, he realizes he is going deeper than any other lizardfolk has managed before this time. Drago mutters, “Magio rivelighu” as he follows Stronghoen and looks for any tell tale glows as he goes.

“You try my patience,” snarls King Stronghoen. “I did not give you permission to use any detection spells. You had better learn discretion and manners if you wish to serve me. I would also advise you against snooping around down here. It would be most unwise, and likely lethal.”

At the bottom of the stairs they emerge into a large half-circular room, about 40’ in radius with a straight wall to the right and the circular perimeter to the left. Halfway down the wall on the right is the entrance to another hall. The ceiling of the room is 30’ high and semicircular walls are decorated with wall paintings of sumptuous feasts and vast gardens. The walls have flaked and worn with age. There are a few ruined wood couches strewn about the room, and shattered marble slabs that were once tables. Drago guesses that it might once have been a great banquet hall. Against the north wall are six heavy ceramic urns that have avoided destruction. This is all revealed in the dim light of the lantern. It is very hot.

As they walk through the room, two shadowy figures stir at the shadowy edges of the lamplight. Drago sees that they are not couches but great beasts. The creatures have vaguely humanoid heads, the bodies of lions, and wings like those of a dragon. Their tails end in long, sharp spikes. They watch as King Stronghoen and Drago pass by, flicking their tails and licking their chops, but then settle down again and rest their heads once more beneath their paws.

The hall leading off from the banquet hall is a short one, only 10’ long and it opens up into a smaller square room with walls carved in bas-reliefs of men fighting beasts of all types. There are two doors: one straight ahead and one to the right. King Stronghoen crosses the vacant chamber, takes out a key, and then unlocks the door straight ahead of them.

On the other side of the door is another hall leading off to the left. The hall stretches on for some 40’ and ends at the top of a series of elegant box seats overlooking the southern perimeter of a large arena with a sandy floor some 70’ in diameter. Stands encircle the rest of the arena, interrupted only on the eastern side where there is the mouth of a tunnel. Exquisite tapestries and statuary depicting fantastic beasts and heroic warriors once decorated the box seats, but not there is only rubble and hanging rags. The high ceiling rises over 40’ at its zenith. A large crystal at the zenith illuminated the arena.

King Stronghoen takes Drago down to the arena floor and then heads over to the tunnel. The tunnel is 10’ wide and 30’ long, ending in a T-intersection. Spaced 10’ apart are three levers on each side of the tunnel before the intersection. There are doors at either end of the crossing tunnel that is only 30’ long. King Stronghoen turns to the door on the left and goes through into an area containing several large rooms that must once have been used to contain the animals that fought the gladiators in the arena. Everburning torches spaced out along the walls illuminate the area. King Stronghoen leads Drago past the cells, and in a couple of them he can hear the sounds of minotaurs murmuring and even what sounds like a calve lowing contentedly. None of the cell doors are closed. King Stronghoen shows Drago to an empty cell. It is furnished with a straw cot, a side table, and wooden chest.

“You can stay here for now.” King Stronghoen then shouts, “Thundahoof! Woofworth! Attend to me!”

A minotaur and a dog-brother quickly hustle down to Drago’s cell from another cell at the end of the hall.

“This is Drago,” King Stronghoen says to them. “He is an aspiring young sorcerer who is going to be working with me for a while. Make sure he doesn’t get into any trouble and that he’s comfortable during his stay here.”

King Stronghoen then addresses Drago, “If you need anything, you can ask my two servants in the cell at the end of the hall. This is Thundahoof,” King Stronghoen says indicating the minotaur. Thundahoof is a massive beast, only overshadowed by King Stronghoen himself. He is 8’ tall and easily weighs 800 or more pounds. Severe scarring mars his left flank. He holds a greataxe in his massive hands. He glares down at Drago and his nostrils flare.

“You see these scars?” asks the minotaur king. “They were made fighting lizardfolk before we came to an arrangement with G’ruk. Don’t try Thundahoof’s patience.”

Thundahoof stamps his hooves and snorts.

“This is Woofworth,” the minotaur king indicates the dog-brother in grey robes with a wand tucked in his belt. “He is a powerful sorcerer. Do not cross him either.”

Woofworth nods at Drago and says, “As His Majesty says, if you need anything come to us. Do not wander about on your own.”

“You may go,” says King Stronghoen. Thundahoof and Woofworth return to their cell at the end of the hall. “I will come for you after I attend to some other business, and we will work on your training in the arcane arts. Do not disturb the other residents here. Do not go wandering about. There will be no protection for you if you wander about, and I would be saddened if you lost your life down here because you could not sit still for just a few hours. Now be patient until I come for you.” King Stronghoen abruptly walks away, leaving Drago alone in his cell.

Drago leaves the door open, but sits down at the back of the cell against the wall facing the door. He mutters, “Oh crap. What have I gotten myself into now?” Then he tries to get some sleep, to heal his still aching throat.

Evening, Readying 19

Here Drago and his new comrades enjoy a sumptuous feast of dead Deathwalker. Yummy. Drago learns about the nature of magic amongst his people and a jaw dropping revelation about his destiny, if he lives so long.

That evening a great feast is had. Drago sees Trakoadon and some other warriors that Drago knows are sitting together speaking. Igusadon, Iguanosuth, Kopusuth and the others are sitting in another group. The rest of the lizardfolk are from different clans and so Drago does not recognize them.

Drago has met Trakoadon before (the first one he met) and the others, he knows by face but not name.

Drago looks around the room and breathes deep the delicious aroma of fresh meat. He walks over to Igusadon, Iguanosuth and Kopusuth and says, “Greetings great warriors. May I join you?”

As he sits, Drago is handed a spit of roasted Deathwalker. Lizardfolk females soon bring him a large banana leaf with rice and fish and some roots and spices. The lizardfolk diet is pretty simple however, and mostly carnivorous.

Igusadon says to him, “You well deserve this share of the meat. You did well out there. I am glad that more lizardfolk, such as you, are joining us everyday, awakening to our true destiny. Emissaries have even been sent out to other tribes, to gather all who will listen. Soon we will find the Immortal King and will have no need of those giggling fools the gnolls or their bone-headed master King Stronghoen. Then we will leave these caves and rule all under the sun once more.”

“Thank you, Igusadon, it’s always a pleasure to kill Deathwalkers,” replies Drago as he slurps on the meat. “May I ask how many lizardfolk have joined our glorious cause to find the Immortal King?”

Igusadon thinks a moment and then says, “We have maybe twelve hands of warriors,” by which he means 60, “though most of them are down below in Huvat Vex acting as mercenary guards for King Stronghoen. I have no doubt that you’ll eventually have to take your
turn down there as well.”

Drago grunts agreement, farts, and then says, “Good. I came to seek the Immortal King.” After a brief pause Drago adds, “So what kind of reptile do YOU think he is?” Leaning forward, “I believe he is a Copper Dragon. Any sign of dragons down there?”

Igusadon and the others are a bit taken aback by this. Then Kopusuth speaks up, “I am afraid you are thinking too small Drago. You are undoubtedly thinking of your illustrious ancestor, Kopep. He is no doubt an adult dragon by now, hundreds of years old. But the Immortal King we seek was the ruler of a lizardfolk empire thousands of years in the past. If Shaman G’ruk’s dreams are true, the Immortal King has found a way to sleep through the ages so that he can return to us when the stars are right. As it has been said by some human lore masters, ‘That is not dead which can eternal lie/and with strange eons even death may die.’”

Drago murmurs thoughtfully to himself, “Perhaps he is Kopep’s grandfather? Hmmm…” He seems to tune out for a moment, then focuses again on Igusadon’s words, “So the Immortal King is a giant lizardfolk? Or some ancestral lizard kind?” Drago stops, blushes and says, “Yes, I think too much.”

Kopusuth shrugs, “Shaman G’ruk has only told us that the Immortal King was the greatest of the lizardfolk in the time before the rise of the mammalian hordes. He was no dragon, but one of us. So yes, I suppose you could say he is a great ancestor.”

Drago belches, shrugs and replies, “Kopep lived amongst our people as one of us. He was not in the form of a dragon when he did so. He was lizardfolk.  He is one of us. He is my flesh and bones.” After a brief pause, Drago leans forward again, “Anyway, tribal lore says that Kopep came from around here somewhere, just like the Immortal King. Any signs of dragons down in Huvat  Vex?”

Kopusuth shakes his head in the negative, “No, we have seen no sign of any dragons. I think that is a good thing. They are very unpredictable and their ways are unfathomable.”

Drago nods his head, then after a moment says looking at Kopusuth, “On a different subject, I am curious about the nature of magic amongst our people. I wasn’t interested in such things when I lived with the Malarat, but now… well, things have changed.”

Kopusuth laughs and then says, “You are still among the Malarat – among the smart ones – and not the toadies who stayed to lick the behinds of the unscaled. But yes, I will gladly tell you of our magical traditions.”

Kopusuth then proceeds to tell Drago about how the shamans of the lizardfolk are not all the same. Some come by their power through dreams and natural talent. Shaman G’ruk is a shaman like this, able to draw upon both the divine and arcane powers of the multiverse. Others, like Drago, are born to arcane magic. Among the lizardfolk, this is usually due to dragons like Kopep coming to mate with lizardfolk females, though there are other heritages that are more sinister in nature, as devils and demons have sometimes come among them as well to corrupt them. Finally, there are those who gain their power solely through prayer to Semuanya the patron god of the lizardfolk; or, in Kopusuth’s own case, communion with the spirits of the natural world.

Drago laughs as well, “Thank you Shaman Kopusuth. Have you noticed any other copper spotted descendents among the ‘smart ones’ gathered in Thracia?”

Kopusuth says, “No, there are not. In fact, Drago, you are the only hatchling in this generation to show signs of Kopep’s legacy. If you continue to grow into your power then Shaman G’ruk will have no choice but to acknowledge you as his successor. It is the way of our people. Of course it is also the way of our people that you could challenge him at any time in a contest of either riddles or power, but I would not recommend that – at least not until such time as you have imbibed all our lore from Shaman G’ruk, plumbed the wisdom of the Malarat, and become certain of your own power. Even then, until you receive dreams from the Immortal King, you will not be able to lead us to our rightful destiny.”

Drago’s jaw drops open, speechless. He tries to speak but only stutters. Finally he composes himself and says simply, “Oh crap.”

Here ends volume 5 of “Against the Scarlet Sign.“

Readying 18, Drago meets with Shaman G’ruk

Beware! Mammalian player characters should not read further! Trespassers will be ripped to shreds and eaten by lizardfolk.

Without a word, Drago relinquishes his weapons and bandoleers, knowing he is not without tricks if things go awry. He continues to watch for tell tale copper markings. Trakoadon ushers him into the tent and then leaves. The tent is large, dark, and smells of death and disease. In a shadowy corner Shaman G’ruk sits, performing some kind of ablutions. After a moment he looks to Drago.

“They tell me you came with a human expedition. That Chief Rahk had formed an alliance with them against the Deathwalkers but that you left.” G’ruk pauses and then continues, “I went down Hool River once when I was a hatchling. There’s a place in the river… I can’t remember… Must have been a gardenia plantation at one time. All wild and overgrown now, but about five miles you’d think that heaven just fell on the earth in the form of  gardenias…” He trails off and then continues rambling again, “Have you ever considered any real freedoms? Freedoms – from the opinions of others… Even the opinions of yourself. They say why…, Drago, why did the elders want to remove me as tribal shaman?”

Drago bobs his head respectfully, “Greetings brother G’ruk. Yes, it is as you say. The tribal elders spoke of removing you as tribal shaman when you divided the tribe with talk of raising the Immortal King from his deep sleep in the hopes of killing all that is not scaley.”

G’ruk hisses in annoyance, “That is ‘Shaman G’ruk’ or ‘Elder G’ruk’ to you, little hatchling. Remember to show respect to your elders. So, do you think my methods are unsound?”

Bowing his head, Drago replies, “Once upon a time, Shaman G’ruk, I thought your methods extreme, but now… my time with mammals left a foul taste in my mouth.”

“Ah, so you have seen the error of your ways, or rather the ways of Chief Rahk and the elders. Tell me, did Chief Rahk send you simply to help the Keolanders fight the Deathwalkers or did he send you out here to find me? Are you an assassin?”

G’ruk moves a little out of the shadows, and Drago sees that he grown larger, bloated even. It is as though he has for some time been engorging himself on the flesh and blood of his enemies down here in the darkness by the underground river flowing beneath the lost city of the death god Thanatos.

“No, Elder G’ruk, I am no assassin,” replies Drago. “However, Chief Rahk asked me to keep an eye out for you to extend his invitation and welcome for you to return home with our kinsmen.”

Now that Drago can see G’ruk clearly, he looks for copper markings on his fat body. However he sees no sign of any copper scales on G’ruk.

G’ruk says, “Well then, I welcome you to our camp. I was told you brought supplies with you, potions of healing and things that can be used against the undead. That would be useful to us. I trust you will put those at the service of the tribe. Now, tell me, how many were in your expedition and where are the Keolanders now?”

“Of course, Elder Shaman, all that I have and all that I am intends to serve the King of the City of Eternal Light and our people. As for the expedition, there are only a handful of Keolanders in the southwest quadrant of the city. However they are expecting twenty dwarves as back up from Melkot to arrive this evening. While I cannot speak for the dwarves whom I have not yet met, amongst the Keolanders there is only one who is the enemy of all reptiles. His name is Indranil and he is their wretched half breed warlord. Cursed be his name for all eternity! As long as he lives, no reptile is safe. If he is dead, however, I can bring the others over to our side as allies. The others are all friends of the Malarat and will listen to me. They may be useful yet and they are my friends.”

G’ruk chortles a bit when Drago mentions the “City of Eternal Light” and then hisses when the dwarves are mentioned. He hisses even louder and thumps his tale in disgust when Drago talks of the rest of his former companions, aside from Indranil, as allies and friends.

“We have no friends or allies among non-reptilians. They will all betray us in the end. They know that either they or we must be the masters of this world! As for those hairy beasts the gnolls and their ‘City of Eternal Light’,” he sneers as he says this, “We are using them just as surely as they believe they are using us. But it is purely a temporary alliance of convencience.  The so-called King of the City of Eternal Light is actually the king of the descendants of beast-men slaves who served the humans ancestors of these Deathwalkers. They live in a vast cavern magically heated and illuminated far below us. But that cavern was originally known as Huvat Vex. It was the pinnacle of reptilian culture and arcane lore when lizardfolk ruled this world! Mark me, we will reclaim it as soon as we find and awaken the Immortal King. Until then, we will serve their King Stronghoen as hunters and guards. By doing so we gain access to Huvat Vex and relearn its secrets.

“Now, I am going to make this clear. I will not be rejoining Chief Rahk or the rest of Malarat except in triumph at the side of the Immortal King. There will be no alliances with any humans whatsoever for they are destined to once more take their rightful place as the slaves of the lizardfolk. If you are  sincere in joining our cause then you will go out now with our trackers and show them exactly where these former companions of yours are hiding. We cannot allow the Keolanders or their dwarven allies to establish themselves here. They must certainly be kept away from the entrance to these caverns. King Stronghoen will also have to be told about this. Will you lead us to their camp and prove your loyalty to our cause?”

Drago shrugs. “Oh, it sounded to me like the King of the City of Eternal Light was referring to our Immortal King. I see now that I was mistaken. It is to Kopep, the Immortal King, the true and rightful king of Thracia, to whom I owe my life and powers, both body and soul. The Keolanders strive to bring disharmony between Gnolls and Deathwalkers. We are better served by letting the mammals thin their herds above while we seek the Immortal King below. Their silly games will keep them occupied for some time. They are much too cautious to simply storm the Thracian underworld. We can kill them later if they get in our way.” Drago keeps a respectful tone of voice, but knows he is risking his life to save his friends.

(Fade out for flashback scene as Drago reflects):

Sedara says, “The Prince’s scribes have not been able to translate the tomes that you found in full. They seem to be written in a strange dialect of Ancient Suloise. From what they have translated, one is a detailed history of the founding of the city of Thracia by colonists who came from the Suel Imperium prior to the catastrophic war with the Baklunish Empire. Another discusses the rise of the cult of Thanatos in that city written by a priest of Thanatos. The third tome describes how the Suel Imperium experimented in creating slave-races out of beasts using sorcery and alchemy.

“The scribes made copies of certain passages that they thought might be of particular interest to you. I have them here.” Sedara produces a scroll that she unrolls on the table before her. The translated passages are in Keolandish, with the originals in Ancient Suloise copied above the translation. “This first passage is from the first tome relating the history of  Thracia.” Sedara proceeds to read from the scroll.

“In the year 2106 of the Suloise Dating [Scribe’s note: -3409 Common Year], the Warlord Thrax discovered a pass through the Hellfurnaces. [Scribe’s question: Could this have been what later came to be known as Slerotonin’s Passage?] Thrax discovered a fertile land inhabited by a people who called themselves the Flan as well as the usually benevolent demi-humans such as the elves, dwarves, halflings, and others, but also the malevolent orcs, goblinoids, and beastmen. The Flan are a strong people, bronze of hue, with dark hair and eyes. [Scribe’s note: the passage goes on to describe the Flan civilization at that time, which seems to have been more extensive than what is left today after the Great Migrations.]

“Thrax and his band finally settled at a small village nestled between a cliff face and the beginnings of a vast swamp. [Scribe’s note: the description seems to indicate the Hool Marshes and the Tors.] Within a few years the colonists under Warlord Thrax had turned the village into a walled city and had begun conquering the surrounding Flan city-states. From this remote and hidden base on the other side of the Hellfurnaces, Warlord Thrax no longer feared that his enemies back in the Suel Imperium would find him or interfere with his plans. He also did not need to fear that his plans would be interfered with by the neighboring Flan kingdoms until he was sure his band of adventurers and his small army of Suel warriors were ready to overcome any and all opposition to their ambitions. In time, he declared himself a king, King Thrax I and the kingdom of Thracia was born.

“The Thracian capital was in many respects anomalous among the early cities of humankind. It grew and thrived amidst dank wetland and fetid swamp. Their small parcels of farmland proved to be supernaturally abundant, even sufficient to support a teeming metropolis in time. Even after King Thrax and his heirs had conquered far lands with better climes, the Thracian rulers and people did not migrate from their home. Obviously this was the result of the favor of the gods for King Thrax and his fellow Suel colonists.

“The jealous Flan, however, whispered the slander that in ages past an immortal king of some pre-human empire had ruled from an underground city of ziggurats in a giant cavern. This city was called Huvat Vex and it was located beneath the site of the present city of Thracia. From Huvat Vex the Immortal King ruled the surface world, enslaving the Flan and subjecting them to atrocities that are still remembered in their tales and songs. They even whisper that the Immortal King may still be  immured in deep caverns awaiting a time to awaken and restore his rule. It was the residual magic of that ancient empire that was the real reason for the success of the Thracians, so whispered the Flan nations and those subject to the Thracians. Such old wives’ tales aside, the fact of Thracian dominance in the world is incontestable.”

At the mention of the Immortal King, Drago looks up and around at the others.

Sedara continues, “In time, the drive to conquer gradually gave way to the joys of civilization. Conquest brought wealth and then peace, and with these came architectural wonders, art, scholarship, and magic. Trade with the Suel Imperium thrived. In time, great monuments of marble and elaborate houses of stone were erected. Pottery, sculpture, and paintings are revered. Men travel from all over the continent to wonder at Thracia’s marvels and study in its halls of lore. Truly Thracia has come to rival the Suel Imperium itself in terms of its power and prestige. Thracia, by the grace of Zeus, is eternal!”

Sedara stops reading and says, “The scribe who worked on the first tome believes that this was written in an earlier period of the history of the city. He compiled these passages from the first and last sections of the tome so that we could learn of how Thracia was founded and the heights that it achieved as of the writing of that tome. Unfortunately, there are no more details about the Immortal King or Huvat Vex. I asked the scribe if the Flan still told such tales, but he said that these tomes were sealed away more than a millennia ago and were telling a tale of centuries or even a millennia before that. Even the Flan no longer remember these tales. The second tome tells a darker story. It was apparently written by a priest of Thanatos and it tells of the rise of his cult in Thracia.” She takes up the scroll and again reads.

“For the greater glory of the Dark One, I, Thanatophilis, set down this history of the worship of Thanatos, greatest and most final of all the gods. I write this so that all may come to know that Thanatos is our final destination who brings eternal undying peace to all those who accept his authority and are granted his favor. As even the gods may die, only Thanatos, who has mastery of death and therefore the secret of undoing death, can claim to be the greatest power of all.

“Since the days of King Thrax I, we Thracians have ever revered the ancient and powerful gods of our forebears such as Zeus who brings the lightning, Apollo whose music is the sunlight, and a broad and complex family of gods who swore allegiance to them on their thrones on Mount Olympus. [Scribe’s note: I have never heard of any such gods or of any such place as Mount Olympus. Neither has Paragon Muire or Father Cuthmond, though the latter allowed that sometimes gods or even clans of gods have tried to gain influence upon this world from other realms and have sometimes succeeded in establishing themselves here.] During the building of the Mons Zeus, a gargantuan temple that lifted itself up into the skies, the Thracians of old discovered a cavern beneath this great city. The cavern was found to be pulsating with arcane force, and it was then that we Thracians realized that it is the chthonian forces of the underworld that are meant to be the true source and indeed root of our power in this world and beyond. No longer then did we build our temples above ground. New altars rose up under the earth, built in caves scintillating with shadow and light.

“Thus we dug deeper, though slowly at first. Five hundred years after the initial exploration of the caves, an unusual  underground river and spring were discovered. On the banks of this river we built our greatest temples, ever closer to the Underworld where our blessed ones dwell in eternal splendor. We buried our most revered heroes and kings within these complexes. We became ever more aware of the primacy of death and the afterlife as we dug our crypts deeper and deeper. At first a small seed, our meditations on death eventually blossomed into the recognition that Thanatos is indeed the greatest of all the gods, the ruler of all the powers as terminus of them all.

“Thanatos was initially worshipped as the guide to the Underworld, appearing in his visage of death at the end of life and ushering the departed into the world below. Gradually we of Thracia realized that Zeus of the lightning and Apollo of the Lyre could not even compare to the majestic silence and dark grandeur of Thanatos. In time it was revealed to us that his true devotees would not be merely relegated after death to the land of shades. Rather, Thanatos would both indefinitely extend the lives of his true worshippers, deferring for a time their leave taking from this world, and after death they would be
ushered into palaces of gold. These palaces would be stocked with all the good things they had offered the cult of Thanatos and his priests in their mortal lifetimes, but multiplied a hundred or a thousand-fold. In addition, they would be served there for eternity by the souls of their wives and servants who had either proceeded or would follow them in death. Once these revelations were made clear, the nobility and the wealthy merchants flocked to Thanatos’ worship in droves.

“Unlike the niggardly worship of the past, these new devotees no longer held back the offering of lives. For the glory of Thanatos and to our own everlasting benefit we now offer up to him the lives of the conquered, of irredeemable criminals, of wives and slaves who follow their masters in death, and even infants. I must note that this latter is not the atrocity that other nations believe it to be, for these are unwanted children and instead of endangering the lives of the mothers by attempting to induce an abortion through herbs or the knife, we simply dedicate the newborn to Thanatos. We are a civilized people
after all. Thanatos protects his devotees and does not take from us what we would not freely give. He is a scourge only to our enemies and the undeserving, and for us and our posterity he grants death only as a final mercy and a balm to our suffering.

“Two hundred years after we Thracians discovered the river and built the second layer of temples, a spelunker discovered the majestic subterranean cavern wherein lay the ruins of an ancient city. His account was confirmed and within days King Argos II of House Agamenton himself made the journey downward to behold the wonders of the ancient city that came to be called Huvat Vex after the old tales of the Flan. The construction of a third layer of temples was begun, and the greatest of all would be the temple of Thanatos, now the deity of Argos himself. Beneath this hall Argos would create an entrance to Huvat Vex, from which he would henceforth rule, creating a perpetual paradise in the never-ending light.

Thus began the golden age of Thracia, an era of labor beneath the earth. But the needs of Argos’ grand vision could not be met by the legions of Flan slaves that we already possessed for hard labor and sacrifice to Thanatos. Consequently Argos’ armies turned to domesticating the barbarous races of beast men scattered about his kingdom, the minotaurs, the hyena-like gnolls, and a brutal race of canine warriors that came to be known as the dog-brothers.

“For all their lore, our scholars could make no sense of Huvat Vex. A bizarrely constructed and intact city within a mystical cavern had lain utterly abandoned for millennia, as if all of the residents had simply disappeared. No satisfying solution was found, and to quell the caviling sophists Argos II, guided by the wisdom of the Dark Patriarch of Thanatos, proclaimed the city a gift of the Underworld and a place of pleasure for those favored by the lord of death.”

Sedara looks up from the scroll and says, “The tome does not tell us any more about the history of Thracia or the worship of Thanatos beyond that point. Because this Thracian kingdom did not exist at the time of the Great Migrations, the scribes believe that Thracia’s rise and fall must have occurred a millennia ago at least. The third tome is more complicated, dealing with arcane and alchemical experiments to create slave races. Apparently these experiments were a dark inheritance of the Suel Imperium. The scribes believe that the beast men such as the gnolls, minotaurs, and dog-brothers may have been the results of these experiments who had either escaped or were let loose by the ancient Suel mages. We should have more of it translated by the time you have returned. In any case, as you know, these beast men still roam the world, especially in the Pomarj and other wild places. I would not be surprised if you were to find them in the vicinity of the ruins of Thracia.”

“Kopep!?” G’ruk laughs, a harsh croaking sound. “Oh no, the Immortal King is far older than Kopep. Kopep visited our tribe only a couple of hundred years ago, but the Immortal King ruled from Huvat Vex millennia ago. He is far greater than any mere dragon. I have dreamed of him, and if you are worthy so will you Drago! So will you!

“Now I agree we should let the humans fight each other. Yes, you are right, let them thin each other before we strike. But until then we must keep track of them, and they must be reported to King Stronghoen in Huvat Vex. Trakoadon!”

The lizardfolk warrior, who must have been standing just outside, enters the tent. “Yes, Shaman G’ruk!”

“Take this one and find him a tent. Leave his bandoleer here with me. I will keep it safe until his return. Send Igusadon, Iguanosuth, and Kopusuth to me. Once Drago has been found a place and given some refreshment, then he will return to the surface with Igusadon and the others and he will show them where this Keoland expedition is camped. From that point on, make sure that they are watched carefully. Drago may then return here and we will find other duties for him.”

G’ruk addresses Drago once more, “I am sure you will have no problem with this,” he bares his teeth at Drago in a lizardfolk grin to show that Drago’s feelings about this are no longer of any concern to G’ruk. “You are of an illustrious line, my good Drago. You may yet be the key to finding and awakening the Immortal King. Who knows, Drago, perhaps you will have an important part to play in the restoration of all lizardfolk to their rightful place as the rulers of this world. Go now, and show that you are worthy of our trust.”

Trakoadon then ushers Drago out of the tent.

Drago bobs his head in respect, “As you wish, Shaman G’ruk.” Drago does not wish to betray his friends, but he really wants to find the Immortal King to see if it is Kopep with his own eyes. Perhaps… if he can send them a secret message to abandon the wight house, they will be safe?

Readying 18, in the Wight House, City of Thracia

The following narrative is public knowledge for all player characters. You may read and enjoy without learning anything you should not know.

After Indranil gives instructions about the ambush they are planning, Drago salutes him and says, “Aye aye Sir! But I don’t need the Thracian armor. My spell will give that illusion just fine. Should I speak in Common?”

Adelina interrupts to ask, “Do we have to kill so many? Is there no way to take them alive? Please don’t misunderstand. I think it’s a good idea to capture one to learn from him, you’ve laid out a good plan for doing that, and I think we can pull it off. But I don’t like the killing.”

“Yes, Newt, there may be no way to avoid killing them,” responds Lorindel. “In our eyes, our mission is just, but so is theirs, in their eyes. There is no room for compromise. The Deathwalkers will not simply yield to our ways. Besides, we are no equipped to take prisoners. We simply don’t have the numbers to guard them safely. Besides, if it was reversed, the only reason they would take one of us alive is to torture,” concludes Lorindel.

Drago shrugs and says, “They are only human.”

“Drago!” Newt chastises, her tone a mixture of disappointment and disgust. “They’re people! And I, for one, don’t want to be like the Scarlet Brotherhood, brutal and cruel.”

Rain tries to hide a smile at Drago’s salute, finding it humorous.

Drago blinks, smiles and says, “Oh, you could never be like the Scarlet Brotherhood. The rest of us, however….”

“Do you… How can… But…” Agitated and unable, Newt crosses her arms and pouts, frustrated with her inability to finish her point. After a moment, she says quietly “Are we defending something, that we have to kill for? Who do you want to be?”

Drago cocks his head and ponders, “I am lizard. I kill to eat and survive. Are mammals so different?”

Rain takes Drago’s comments in stride, knowing he has no idea what it is to be human.

Indranil looks back and forth between Drago and Newt, opening and closing his mouth several times as if to say something. Then his mouth closes with an audible snap as his face clouds with wrath listening to Drago’s insults to human kind and allusions that this party is similar to the Scarlet Brotherhood. Aatu springs to his feet with a growl as Indranil draws his sword and before anyone can intervene has pushed Drago against the wall with his sword at his throat and says, “You have crossed the line for the last lizard-boy. I warned you before what would happen if you did this again. You are a worthless piece of shit, good for nothing amateur sorcerer, who has done nothing to aid this mission. I will no longer tolerate your antics. Leave now or face me in combat and die.”

Upon hearing this threat, Lorindel’s body tenses slightly. He looks over his brother’s face and realizes this is no idle comment.

When Indranil attacks Drago, Rain pushes herself quickly off the wall where she had been leaning, a dagger instantly appearing in her hand. She does nothing further but is wary none the less.

Snout to nose, Drago says simply to Indranil, “OK, I’ll leave.”

Lorindel’s focus switches to Drago. His sigh is nearly imperceptible and the slump in his shoulders barely visible.

Drago actually doesn’t mind leaving. He’s been looking for signs of G’ruk silently all along but to no avail. He thinks to himself, Now I will be free to find the other lizardfolk and heal relations between G’ruk and the tribe – and find the Immortal King, my ancestor Kopep the Copper Dragon, if I am not mistaken. I certainly understand G’ruk’s anti-mammal sentiments very well now. I have seen nothing but evil from the so-called “good” humans and half-elves.

“Be gone then and be warned. You will leave these parts and make no further attempt to enter this city or interfere with our mission. If we see you again in or around Thracia you will be shot on sight.”

“Brother, help me escort Drago out of the city to the jungle line.”

Lorindel says nothing, but walks over to Drago. He gives the lizardman a reassuring nod. “Just following orders. Your claws will be missed.”

Then turning to Indranil, he says, “Whenever you’re ready.”

Newt was going to respond to Drago’s comment, but after the surprise of Indranil’s reaction she holds her tongue. Newt hadn’t expected that at all! As Drago gathers his things, Newt goes over there and puts a hand on his shoulder. Such a difference between his hide and her human hand! “Drago, I’m sorry. I didn’t know that would happen. I wish you didn’t have to leave.” She pauses, sad at the parting and then says, “I wish you well as you go and I hope we get to finish our discussion some day.”

Drago grunts his agreement and then points to his head. When he feels the familiar feeling of her probe, he thinks, “Me too. For now, I’ve been dreaming of G’ruk. I go to find my tribe. But please keep this to yourself. I will look for your parents too. Always.” Drago smiles affectionately. “Rain will look after you. Oh, you can tell her, but only her.”

Newt nods but says nothing more.

Indranil and Lorindel then escort Drago, still wearing the gray wizard hat, to the jungle at the southern edge of the city.

Drago remains stoic and silent during this ordeal. Without looking back, he heads south into the jungle on all fours, leaping with joy to be alone in the swamps once again.

When Aramek finishes his nap, Drago walks up to him and asks, “Master Sorcerer, what might be the power word to disguise myself?”

Aramek gets a thoughtful look and says, “Master Drago, since you are only now discovering your powers, it will be necessary for us to have a more lengthy conversation at some point, but in the mean time, I will give you some simple invocations. It’s important that you learn to control them, which means meditation and resolution. To disguise oneself, say quietly but firmly to yourself: Iluziighu [iluziiĝu], which literally means to become an illusion.

"Thank you gracious Master." Wondering if it works, Drago repeats the magic word and wonders what might happen.

Drago appears as the tall blond haired blue eyed man that he appeared to be at the gate the day before.

Aramek smiles, and claps Drago on the shoulder. “Well done, sir, well done indeed! You do seem to have a natural aptitude for spellwork.”

Looking mostly at Adelina as he begins to speak, “Master Sorcerer, when we were all playing in the river by the outpost, another strange thing happened. Lady Newt here told me that somehow I sent her a message on the wind. I didn’t realize it and I didn’t even hear it, but when I got out of the river, Chief Rahk stopped me on the bank.”

Drago stops, takes a breath, and looks from one to another. “He told me that long ago a copper colored reptile lived with our people and he had hatchlings. Ever since then, his descendants occasionally and spontaneously are gifted with magic. He said the village elders believe my ancestor Kopep was a copper dragon.

“Master Sorcerer, what might be the power word for sending a message on the wind?”

“Keep in mind,” Aramek begins, “that this spell has limited distance, for you about 100′ and you must be able to point at the person you wish to communicate with. They will also be able to respond back to you.

“So, you will look at the targeted person, point your finger, err claw, at the person and then whisper: Sendu Mesaghon [Sendu Mesaĝon] — then you can begin your message. The ability, once you invoke it, will last about 10 minutes. For now you will only be able to target one person per spell, but as you learn, you’ll be able to send messages to more and more people simultaneously.”

Also, after Aramek teaches this spell to Drago they will notice that Newt has left the room. I am going to assume that the conversation actually takes longer than what is presented above and that she is gone at least 5 minutes. She slipped out shortly after Drago began explaining about sending a message to her.

In a playful mood, blond Drago points his human finger at a scrawny human at the far end of the barracks and whispers, “Sendu Mesaghon — Hey there big guy….”

As expected, the member of the Guard is quite startled and begins looking around.

It is then that Aramek and Drago notice that Newt is nowhere in sight.

“Newt… Where’s Newt? Can she get into much trouble in this palace? Who’s more at risk? She or everyone else,” blond Drago grunts. “Should we follow her?” he says to Aramek, voicing his own thoughts.

Aramek looks around and the smile forming as Drago startles the member of the Guard disappears instantly.

“We have no idea what evils may be hiding out here in the palace. After all the Brotherhood managed to send in assassins, which was the impetus for us to go into the swamp in the first place.

“Drago, we need to find her immediately. I suggest we split up so we can cover more ground. I’m not sure how long your disguise will last, but stay with it for now.”

“Aye, aye, sir,” Drago hisses in Draconic. Still, Drago puts the cloak on again but leaves his pretty human face exposed. “Meet you back here if not out there?”

Aramek nods to Drago, truns and leaves the barracks at a run.

Half startled, Drago jogs off in a different direction to look for the hatchling.

Aramek and Drago go their separate ways and search all around the courtyard but neither of them see her in the courtyard. Here’s the layout of the keep:

Aside from the palace and its various towers and wings, within the walls of the keep are the barracks for the town watch, as well as the paladins and knights who guard the keep itself; stables for the horses; granaries; and also sheds for the blacksmiths, bowyers, armor-smiths, weapon-smiths, carpenters, and other craftsmen. In the middle of it all is a large courtyard where the well is located and the parade grounds for the men-at-arms where they can drill and engage in weapons practice. Now that the sun is setting it is relatively calm and quiet. The servants are mainly in the kitchens preparing for supper and setting up the trestle tables and benches in the great hall.

Drago let’s loose with a long quiet slur at his ineptitude in Draconic. Since Newt cannot be found in the inner courtyard. He makes a loop around the the keep, but Drago makes sure he stays in the palace where he is “safe.”

When his spell expires, he quickly says “Iluziighu” to go back to blond Drago as he looks for the conniving hatchling.

Drago sees an open door to the palace – it is the servant’s entrance. He ducks inside and looks around to see if perhaps Newt was inside. He sees a few servants and asks if they have seen a young girl outfitted like a guardsman, but they just shake their heads and return to their business. Finally, Drago comes to the door to an inner courtyard. It is the Western Garden of the palace. He can see walkways winding among the flowerbeds and trees, and marble benches and statuary.

Drago looks inside and decides to have a look around. He does not call out but uses his senses to detect sound and smells. After a few moments he sees that no one else is there, but then he hears a rustling from off the path among the hollies there. Then the door to the garden slams shut, though there is no one in sight who could have done it. After a moment Drago, hears a soft sibilant voice saying to him, “I don’t recall seeing you here before. Who are you stranger?” Still there is no one and nothing in sight, except the magnolias and hollies.

Willing himself to look normal with his green scaly head exposed he says, “I am Drago, guest of the Prince and emissary of the lizard folk. Who are you, my new invisible friend?”

“Ah, one of the lizardfolk! You must be Drago. I was told about you. I too am a guest of the Prince. Actually, I am lending my services to the Heironeans. My name is Lady Sauraa.” The enchanting voice of this unseen lady seems to come from all around, but Drago still sees no one among the trees nor shrubs nor on the pathways.

“What do you think of these humans, Drago?”

Drago blinks at the voice around him, “They mean well, milady.”

From somewhere nearby, though still unseen, Lady Sauraa laughs. It is a sound that cheers Drago’s heart for some inexplicable reason. “Yes, they do mean well despite all appearances to the contrary. I hope you have better fortune than the last emissary who came here, Father Gar. Just remember that those who serve the Lion Throne do mean well, even if some of their methods at times seem overbearing or perhaps mistaken. There is much that you lizardfolk could learn from them, I think. There is more to this world than just nesting and bare survival. But you strike me as one who has already come to suspect that. You are no ordinary lizardfolk to change your appearance on a whim. But that is a riddle I will leave for myself to while away the days here. It has been good talking to you, Drago.”

The door to the garden suddenly opens again, as does another door on the far side. Drago feels a soft kiss on his forehead and feels a powerful presence moving away down the path, stirring the dust in its wake. Then the far door closes again, though the one near Drago stands open still.

When Drago leaves the garden and then the palace, he sees that Aramek has found Newt. They are over by the entrance to the keep.

“There you are, my little hatchling,” whispers Drago’s voice in Newt’s ear as she walks back across the courtyard with Aramek as the sun sets. She looks and sees Drago by the servant’s entrance to the palace, with his hood back over his face, out of which his snout is sticking and pointing a claw in her direction. He had been practicing what Aramek taught him and now seems to have control over his power to send messages.

“Yes, here I am,” Newt whispers back, “a hatchling that everyone still believes is ready to be snatched up and eaten.” Newt is remembering how Chief Rahk had described her to Sir Ragnbjorn some time ago. “No need to worry. I was never in danger and Sir Snoop sniffed me out quickly enough.”

“Sir Aramek, I suppose we should be off to supper?”

Fireseek 23

Once inside the foyer of the palace, Sir Jankin says, “The Prince asked me to have you all brought up to his solar for a debriefing.”

“Very well,” says Ragnbjorn, “but first there is something we need to get straightened out first.” He then steps over to Drago and says, “Drago, please remove your cloak.”

When Drago does so, they all see that once again he is a lizardfolk warrior.

Ragnbjorn asks, “Drago, we need to know what is going on with you before I can in good conscience bring you before Prince Prospero. How is it that you made yourself appear to be human?”

Drago respectfully hisses in Draconic, “I did no such thing.”

Ragnbjorn raises his eyebrow, “You didn’t? Well, you certainly appeared to be human when that guard pushed back your hood. Are you seriously claiming that was not your doing?”

Fingol: “You neither resisted the guard as pushed back your hood, nor showed surprise at his reaction. So you must have known or been a party to the deception. Explain it to us, evasiveness is not going to win you the trust you will need to continue as Newt’s self appointed bodyguard.”

Drago blinks and ponders. Finally he says in Draconic, “Sir Ragnbjorn, before we left on your ship, Chief Rahk told me that such is the way with sorcerers and adepts in my family. Their powers appear without aware and without control. At least at first. For myself, I have seen no evidence other than your reactions to me. It is very odd.”

Indranil has taken a step back, pushed his cloak away and placed his hand on his sword’s hilt. His eyes have narrowed and he is slipped into his hyper aware state of readiness.

Fingol holds his arm out between Indranil and Drago. “Peace cousin. Let’s continue to see the Prince. Meanwhile, we’ll have the guard show Drago to a room here in the keep where he can consider how it was we all saw what we saw. Afterall, if his powers are not under his control, he can scarcely expect to be brought before Prince Prospero.”

Ragnbjorn nods, “I agree Fingol. I did notice that the guard reached out rather quickly and Drago’s hands were too wrapped up in his cloak to stop him. I did notice, Drago, that you were a bit surprised that the guard was not surprised. So I do believe you when you say this was not of your conscious doing. Still, we must be careful.”

Ragnbjorn turns to Sir Jankin, “If you will, could you please take Drago as our guest to where he can have something to eat and drink until we have talked to the Prince and quarters have been assigned to him? I know the way to the Prince’s Solar.”

“As you will my lord,” Sir Jankin replies. To Drago, “If you would follow me this way, I’ll see if the kitchen staff can prepare something for you. I have never met one of your folk before and would be happy to keep you company for awhile. I am sure there is much you can teach me about the lizardfolk and the marshes.”

Indranil: “We cannot leave an untrained sorcerer alone in the Palace if we send to one of the guest quarters he needs to be kept under guard by a warded unit or escorted back to the Javan Queen to await our pleasure.”

“I am sure we will be fine, Sir Indranil,” says Jankin with a smile, “I am confident of my ability as a paladin of Heironeous to handle one lone sorcerer. There are also plenty of other knights and clerics about. But if you think my company is not sufficient for Drago, perhaps one of you can be spared from the meeting with the Prince?”

“Hmm,” Ragnbjorn considers, “Sir Lorindel, would you be good enough to keep Chief Rahk’s envoy company?”

“Of course, sir,” says Lorindel.

Indranil bows, “Good Sir Jankin, please excuse my caution. I do not question your capabilities only to note that whoever does guard him needs to be a paladin or cleric themselves skilled in detecting and warding from
magic. We have had recent dealings with evil clerics and sorcerers narrowly escaping with our lives against great odds and to return to Westkeep under martial law. It is uncertain times.”

“No need to apologize,” I would be feeling ill-at-ease as well if I returned from the field to find the city as it is. In fact, I cannot honestly say that I do feel at ease with the present conditions.”

Jankin turns to Drago, “It would be best for your own safety and our own peace of mind if you were escorted until you have been formally introduced to the Prince and the court.”

“I don’t suspect evil.” Fingol jumps in “Please don’t take Sir Indranil’s words as an inference. But to bring one with untrained power before the Prince is a risk that cannot be justified.

“I am sure you will enjoy your time with Drago. There is much to be admired in the Malarat.”

The ever quiet Drago, dizzy from the accusations and the ramifications, finally says in butchered Keolandish, “Please, please, I would be happy to join this kind human, Sir Jankin and our friend Sir Lorindel. I too would not trust me. I too do not trust me.” Then looking at Sir Jankin, “But I trust you. I will tell you all I know.”

Still not feeling terribly safe in this hell hole palace the humans call home, he dons his cape once more as a disguise and walks with Jankin and Lorindel.

As Drago walks away, he appears unusually talkative with Jankin and Lorindel, but the others can’t hear what he is saying over the din.

Switching to Common to more easily express himself and lowering his voice an octave so as not to be overheard, Drago begins, “For me, it all began near the end of our battle to take the ancestral mounds of my people away from Deathwalkers. The wight Relikez paralyzed me and then drained my energy. The hatchling Newt rescued me or surely I would not be with you today. Chief Rahk believes that I was able to cure myself because of my ancestors. Only two days ago, he told me that our village elders believe that I descend from a copper dragon who long ago lived amongst my people. He said there have been many adepts and sorcerers amongst Kopep’s descendants ever since.”

Drago went on and on, hardly pausing to breathe, thankful to express at last what has been bottled inside him these last few days. He told them about the message to Newt that, evidently, he sent on the wind and repeated that he has no knowledge of the magic when it occurs. He only sees the evidence in human words and their faces, which he still cannot read well.

Sir Jankin exclaims, “What a marvelous story! So you are supposedly descended from dragons, or a dragon anyway, and now you find yourself a sorcerer? Is this common among the lizardfolk?”

Drago replies, “No, it is not common among our kind, although adepts and sorcerers are honored for what they can contribute to the tribe.”

Drago, that is quite a revelation,” admits Lorindel. “I have no reason to doubt such an account, and as you quoted Chief Rahk some corroboration can be established.”

After a brief pause, Lorindel says, “I meant no disrespect by that, it’s just that Sir Indranil is very strict on security, understandably, in this detail.”

After walking a few steps in silence, Drago says, “But Chief Rahk is far from here. Can humans send messages on the wind as well?” If they could see his face, they would see a quizzical and curious look. The human world is so much more complicated than he imagined.

“Yes, there are many who have the means to send and recieve messages over long distances,” explains Lorindel. “Some use arcane and divine powers, while others utilize animals and other creatures to relay messages.”

Fingol and Indranil return to the lower hall where Jankin, Lorindel, and Drago are waiting for them. They overhear Drago and Lorindel talking as they come in.

Drago ponders this for a moment and a light goes on in his dimly lit mind and he says softly, “Perhaps a sorcerer can help me learn about myself?”

“I don’t see why not,” responds Lorindel.

Just then Fingol and Indranil return from their meeting with the Prince. Ragnbjorn is no longer with them.

WARNING, WARNING, WARNING! The source of Drago’s magick is revealed herein. Do not continue reading if you do not want to know! Leave now!

The lizard man Drago is awakening to the draconic powers of Kopep.

Drago’s Drakonik Kantrips

• Detect Magic (Magio Rivelighu!)
• Disrupt Undead (Disrompu Nemortajhon!)
• Mage’s Hand (Jhetu Sorch-manon!)
• Message (Sendu Mesaghon!)
• Unnerving Gaze (Nemaltrankviliganta Rigardas!)

Drago’s Dragon Powers

• Dragon Claws
• Disguise Self (Kaŝvestu Selfn!)
• Orb of Acid Lesser (Jhetu Malplian Acid-globon!)

Fireseek 21, Common Year 591 – Drakonik Revelations
As Drago follows Newt ashore he is intercepted by Chief Rahk. “Come, Drago, I wish to speak with you.”

“Yes, Chief Rahk, I was just thinking about speaking with you as well. Thank you,” Drago hisses with an appropriate submissive posture. “How can I help you?”

Chief Rahk takes Drago far away from the Javan Queen, to the other side of the ruins of Cypress Hill. He signals several warriors to take up guard position to ensure that they are not disturbed. Then, when he is certain no humans are about he turns to Drago and begins speaking in Draconic.

“Drago, I know that since you were a hatchling you have been restless. You have long felt the need to see what lies beyond our nests and hunting grounds. No, you need not deny it. We elders have long observed this and there is no shame in it, for we also know why you feel it. I will explain why in a moment.

“Now I need someone to go with these ape children for a time. They are valorous. Sir Ragnbjorn and his son and comrades at least have shown themselves to be trustworthy and steadfast allies. We need such allies for I fear that there are many more Deathwalkers out there – perhaps in this lost city of Thracia. And of course the Scarlet Brotherhood may return as well.

“Now you must understand Drago,” continues Chief Rahk, “That this is not an exile but a mission of great importance that I wish to give you. I want you to be our representative among the humans. I want you to go with them, help them find this lost city and learn all you can about what is going on out there. There is no shame in this. You are being sent away only for a time for the good of the tribe. But perhaps this is what you wanted isn’t it? This is your chance to go among them and see a bigger world. So go then with our blessing and for the good of the tribe. Learn all you can and do what you must to help them as long as it does not harm our tribe. Then return to us and we shall discuss all that you have seen and heard, and all that you and they have done.

“Now, before you say whether you will accept this or not, I wish to tell you something more. You may know that many shamans and acolytes and even sorcerers have come from your line, but only the elders know why this is. It was more than just the heroism of that hatchling Newt that saved you. I believe it was more than just luck that you were spared the fate of your comrade Vesk. I think it was the destiny that lies within your blood. For know this, Drago, in ages past our tribe was visited by a strange copper scaled warrior. Kopep was the name he gave us. Kopep stayed with us for a time and helped our tribe during a time of great need. He married, raised hatchlings, and yet never seemed to age. Then one day, he left us. From that time on his descendants have shown themselves to be possessed of a great affinity for magic, and many times their scales have turned copper as they have grown into their power. I believe the same may be happening to you. You have not seen it, but since the battle several of the scales on your back have turned from green to copper. It is the belief of the elders that this Kopep was in fact a dragon. He was perhaps a copper dragon, perhaps from the Tors or the Little Hills. It may be that your wanderlust and the changes that you may soon be undergoing are his legacy. The elders know from past experience with others of your line, as told in our secret tales that you will need time away from the routines of the tribe to explore the world and the power of your bloodline before you will be ready to settle down with us again and contribute your strength to the good of the tribe. So this is another reason why we wish to send you with the ape children.

“Now, Drago, will you leave our tribe for the good of the tribe? Will you undertake this mission and go with these ape children for a time?”

Drago is speechless for a moment at this revelation. He doesn’t know what to say. Then he finds his tongue as he bows deep, “It would be my honor, Chief Rahk, to serve the tribe in this way. I think the magic in my blood is beginning to come forth as well. The hatchling Newt just told me that I sent her a message from a distance, but I know not how I did so.”

Chief Rahk nods, “Ah, so it has already begun. I thank you for accepting this mission. The Malarat thank you. I will inform Sir Ragnbjorn and Sir Fingol that we wish you to join any expedition to this lost city that they seek.”