I sing to you the tale of fire and ash. The tale of conquest and greed. From a land barren and sick came ships bearing those in need. To the scattered realm they were sent, five great generals with hosts and tents. Bring back that which is sought, beasts of scale, wings and fire to stem this nightmare draught. Two were drowned by the sea, their lives and light a tale of windless misery. One was lost beyond the seas, consumed by evils at hand. One returned with tales to tell of cities full of ghosts and castles that wail. Only one remains this day, long has he stayed away. Into the realm of promise he did ride, following the shadows of scale and hide.

~Minstrel Nora of the Voices

~

Rexicus was not a man that liked to wait. Yet the General stood within the foyer of the Magistrate of the Unknown staring at the depictions of the First Dragon Emperor ruling the lands of Dracnos on the back of the mighty black dragon, Fiomore. The mighty beast was painted in detail making the gagging, putrid miasma it spewed from scaled lips come to life. Rexicus stepped back from the painting and rubbed at his throat seeing the vial green miasma. It was as if the painting itself was leading him to wasting sickness though the bitter sweet taste of the Draft of Life still hung on his lips. He took up pacing, the steel scales fastened to his boots clinked dully as he worried the red carpet. His left hand clasped upon a hilt carved of dragon bone as the feel of formal leathers left him feeling vulnerable to attacks.

?Pacing ill suits you, General Ulteran.? Magistrate Lemoy spoke in a nasal wheeze. ?I trust you have something worth reporting if Seren allowed you to live five steps beyond your ship.? He held out his withered hand to Rexicus.

Rexicus ceased his pacing and stared at Lemoy. The Black Bishop always made him twist inside, as if staring at a corpse that should have laid down and died centuries ago. Nonetheless, he strode to the magistrate but refused to kiss his hand or the dragon?s blood ring. He eyed Lemoy warily.

?One of these days you may find yourself wearing Seren?s name as a noose, Magistrate. I have completed my surveys and have my reports ready for the Dragon Emperor to review. The lands bear promise for our people.? Rexicus said.

Lemoy tilted his head to the side to ponder the splendid Dragon General with the same care a buzzard made when selecting where best to thrust its beak. The wizened man seemed sinister bedecked in his black satin robes and heavy grey mantle; the grim keeper?s father would have looked more inviting had he been standing by Lemoy?s side.

?I shall review your reports, Ulteran. The Dragon Emperor is much too busy reviewing his dreams to be bothered by menial tasks as this. Though I should caution you about how your tongue moves within this city. Seren is fond of collecting tongues and it would be a pity to see you replaced due to a speech impediment. I am hearing wonderful news about Lieutenant Zim making great strides in his military career.? He cackled.

Rexicus maintained a stony face, a snarl being too kind for the old man. Tugging from a messenger bag hung over his right shoulder, four brass scroll tubes, sealed with his family?s crest. The scroll tubes were handed to Lemoy with a slight look of disgust finally touching Rexicus? lips.

?As you wish, Black Bishop, but I will seek an audience with the Dragon Emperor at the earliest convenience. A good day to you. Sands burn hot?? He said, the parting words brittle.

?? The nights freeze cold. I shall speak to the Dragon Emperors envoy. Do take care General Ulteran.? Lemoy said.

Rexicus whirled about and left the foyer to its master of shadows and research. Several of his personal guard fell in step behind him once he?d left the Tower of the Unknown. Lemoy watched the soldiers leave from a window high up in the tower. He turned his attentions back to the scroll tubes the Dragon General had left to him. The seals were cracked, one by one and Lemoy read the reports with relish. A gash of a smile touched his papery face. The Dragon General had done well.

~

Rega sat among the sumptuous fair of Fire Wine, brandied meats and a variety of desert fruits set upon tables of polished black dragon scales that shone like obsidian. Young maidens danced about the court, flitting in and out of doorways; they glided between couches feasting a variety of nobility. Each one showing their agility and good breeding, their curves subtly displayed through sand silks and glitter dust. Rega sipped from a dragon horn chalice, the bitter sweetness of the Draft of Life chasing away the heavy spices of rock quail he?d had a moment before. He watched his court with dull, grey eyes.

The merriment about him could not touch the laconic quagmire he sat within. Many of the maidens had danced for him and him alone, each hoping to court the Dragon Emperor to garner a family set for life. He found their youth, their curves and their lives pale and gray to his mind. He yearned for only one thing. Dragon scales glinting in the desert sun, the roar of mighty lungs and the thrum of power consumed from the still steaming blood. He sipped more from his chalice, an increasing thirst his body had, his mind slipping more and more from the desires of a young man to a miser grasping for the old ways.

He was not aware of the dancers being chased away, nor the looks of the nobles glancing from their conversations to the white marble dais, nor the old man in black bending to speak to him as he sat in a throne of Dragon Ivory.

?You?re majesty?? Wheezed a voice in Rega?s ears. ?We have found dragons!?

The wastes of the outlands near the wilderness of Rhy'Din was inhospitable to most who were foolish enough to get lost in them. It was downright murderous to those intent upon crossing the outlands to reach the shattered ruins of a forgotten city once host to life, death and rebirth as the throne of Chaos before its predestined decimation once more. The fact that Seren had lost ten of the twelve guides he'd bought with Silver Drakes seemed a minor loss as he and the remaining two guides set foot in city ruins of Mist Noire. The snarls within the eternal darkness shrouding the canyon to the city made the guides quiver in fear as they pulled back to stand in the light of day. Seren remained in the darkness and stared at the men with contempt.

"So a few snarls in the darkness unman you both? Continue to follow me and you'll be paid in Gold Dragoons. Now come along, I wish to see the ruins of this Oriculn Temple. I?ve paid good money for the whereabouts of my target and it would be bad form to let the informants life be for naught." He said with a tone that promised immediate pain for any refusal.

The guides looked to each other and one began to walk away, happy enough with his payment in Silver Drakes. He landed face first into the sands of the wasteland and gasped for air as a dragon bone dagger found his back and the toxin of the Fungal Scorpion found his nerve system. Seren looked at the last guide and gave a predatory smile as the man moved into the darkness with him.

"Now tell me why Mist Noire holds such fear for any guide in Rhy'Din?" Seren said. The assassin moved about the increasing darkness as if he had lived and breathed in a nocturnal setting.

The guide stumbled about as he tripped on the bones of dead ogres and knocked shins upon the cracked skulls of giants. "This has always been a cursed ruins, my master. The first city became the dwelling place of the undead once the priest of Oriculn showed his true intent. Then the great darkness moved in with its armies to be crushed by a heroine of flaming red hair."

Seren listened well, his footfalls deftly feeling ever dry bone that could snap and avoided them. So the money he'd spent on information about Mist Noire was adequately correct. "No one lives here now?"

A bone chilling wail clawed into the darkness and the guide dropped to his knees holding a relic of faith about his neck. A small tin chalice with a compass set into its mouth, the mark of Delnu, Goddess of Safe Passage and Guidance. Seren began to laugh seeing the man. He scoffed at the paltry symbol and reached into a pouch upon his belt.

"It is just a lich crying in the darkness. Stand up and don't bother with such a weak goddess. If this is really a cradle of Chaos, you need a stronger, darker power to help you." From his pouch he produced a black cross with a crucified dragon upon it. Both were carved from the horns of Fiomore, the child of Dralmak, Dragon God of Eternal Night. He held up the crucifix and spoke plainly. "Dralmak. He who eats the night, the stars, the moon and the sun, guide us in this darkness and subdue those here to your mighty hunger."

Around Seren and the guide the darkness began to thin and fade, the wails in the darkness quieted as the valley to Mist Noire bore witness to sunlight for the first time in two years. The guide gasped in amazement at the miracle Seren performed. He looked to his chalice relic with confused despair. Seren put the crucifix away and looked to the guide.

"You can debate on whether to doubt your faith or keep it later. We continue to move on."

~ ~ ~

Miphistis, a former cleric of Takhasis and now a free roaming scholar of the dark arts had found the tome of Lazares Tel Moreth moldering in the crypt of its long dead author. He'd seen many compilations of this book for sale, but they were rough summaries and theories. This tome was the pure word of the Necromancer that once was a Lich King and brought down low by the Ebony Knight. He raised his coper scaled head from the tome as the frequent wails of master less shades and lesser liches turned silent. He took up a balefire candle and ascended the treacherous remnants of the stairwell from the crypts to the now rubble strewn courtyard of the Oricun Temple. The tome was cradled to his chest in loving respect as he squinted his eyes against something that had returned to this cursed city; the blaze of sunlight speared the shadows and devoured them and the many restless souls as well.

His coppery eyes stared at the approach of a man in black leathers and one of the many greedy guides the realm of Rhy'Din had in abundance. The draconian contemplated the appearance of them here in Mist Noire. Not since the war that the Lupinossai had waged on the Ebony had any living being been foolish to step here except for him. He was close to darkness, appreciated it, and loved it. His once dabbling in good were weak, shallow and uprooted by the allure the darkness always held for him. His goddess was long ago sealed away in her realm, his clerical powers now dust and ruins, sending him to seek out new powers to invest in. Perhaps this chance meeting was a sign from Takhasis.

The guide leading Seren paused and pointed to a tumbled down mess of black granite and refused to go any closer. "There is your Oriculn Temple."

Seren surveyed the ruins and noted the creature emerging from the ruins to stare at them. It was draconic in appearance, stood like a man and was copper scaled and clothed in tattered burnt orange cloth. The creature seemed to clutch a moldy old book to his chest with a symbol carved upon it that Seren had seen often in Borathos; the mark of Necromancy. Seren regarded the draconian a long moment.

"Hail, stranger. Do you speak in common tongue?" He asked the creature.

Miphistus bore an amused look on his scaled snout. Humans were sometimes dull in the mind. "I indeed speak in common tongue. What are you doing in this cursed city, travelers?"

"I was sent on a mission to find a draconian named Miphistis Copperscale. Are you he, by any chance?" Seren asked. His hands did not stray from a matching set of dragon bone long knives strapped at his hips.

The subtle threat was not lost on Miphistis nor the scent and sight of dragon bone weaponry. This was a unique, if not a deadly stranger. "I am indeed Miphistis Copperscale. My name is little known in this realm and my goddess is not worshipped either. What would you have need for a powerless cleric?"

Seren grinned, hearing Miphistis. "That, Miphistis, is where you are wrong. You are a cleric but not powerless. Have you ever heard of Dralmak, Dragon God of Eternal Night?" He withdrew the crucifix from his belt pouch holding up the black dragon nailed to the cross.

Miphistis eyed the relic from a distance. He could feel the draw of power to it. An incessant need to feed and eat things it was set to eat. He clutched the tome a bit closer to his chest as he knew the relics symbolism. "So you speak on behalf of the Father of all Dark Dragons."

Seren gave a slight nod of his head. "So you are familiar with the mythos and pantheon of Dragon Gods. Were you not serving the Mother of All Dark Dragons, Tiamat?"

"Takhasis is the name she wore in my former realm, but yes. I was a cleric to her." Miphistis said.

"I never knew the Dragon Gods to be fond of Necromancy." Seren said, waving a hand to indicate the tome Miphistis clutched to his chest.

Miphistis snarled possessively and held onto the tome tighter. ?Dragon gods no longer exist in this realm, even though you bear the relic of one, what makes you claim that he exists here? This is a realm where gods are born, raised, beaten and die before their greatness is attained.?

?You stand in the light among a place always bathed in darkness. Do you require more proof?? Seren asked.

Miphist did indeed notice the light. It was possible the man had extinguished the darkness with a divine prayer, or perhaps a strong arcane spell. Then again the Chaos born darkness may have followed its own entropic destiny and finally dissolved. ?If you are what you say you are, a follower and perhaps a fellow cleric bearing that relic of Dralmak, then perform something only Father and Mother could do. Perform the passages of Soul Transition and create a Draconian before my eyes.?

Seren listened and a thin, slit of a smile appeared on his face. There was a heavy, unspoken ?And if you don?t? that hung between him and the draconian. He was no cleric, merely a tool but he would not lose the possible edge the assumption held for him. Raising the crucified dragon he spoke simply to his god. ?Dralmak, he who eats the night, the stars, the moon and the sun, a miracle is to be granted. Show to this doubting creature the power of your existence to rule over this world and to one day devour it all if we fail to serve thee. Grant us the miracle of Soul Transition and bring to us a Draconian to prove your power and mighty terror."

The guide looked around to see what would happen as the second miracle he?s to witness this day. The canyon grew very cold for a hot summer day, their breaths showing as men and draconian breathed with tense observation. It would seem, after several long minutes that nothing would come to pass. The guide looked disappointed, his faith in his goddess Delnu restored by a small measure. He then felt ill and clasped at his belly and gave a wail of agony. It had felt like something was gnawing away his insides and squeezing his heart in a vice. Seren and Miphistis both watched the man wail more and fall to his knees tearing at his clothes to bear his naked chest and abdomen. He was breathing raggedly and his skin turning ash gray as his eyes turned milky white.

Miphistis drew close to the guide, sniffing the air and tasting it with his tongue. He sense and taste a higher power at work here without taint that Necromancy left. He continued his watch, seeing the man?s expression go slack and vacant of any life. The man slumped onto his back, his knees popping wetly like a broken chicken joint. The chest of the man glowed sickly green as the soul of the man slithered into the bloating belly of the body. All was quiet for a few minutes as the belly swelled more then it ruptured forth, steaming in the unnatural coldness of the day. Nestled among gobbets of flesh and entrails was a dragon egg of gold with mottled patches of black upon it.

Miphistis gaped in true as the egg snapped open with a powerful crack and from it emerged an Aurak Draconian, its mottled black and gold scales gleaming in the sun. Seren watched the gruesome process and recorded each detail to pass on to the Black Bishop. The Aurak looked to Miphistis as its body rapidly aged to adulthood before their eyes. It hissed and chirped in draconic to Miphistis.

My Liege, command me, first born of your dark flock of brethren.

Miphistis looked to Seren with a new found appreciation of the man. ?What is your name stranger and how may I serve you and the Father who will eat all, Dralmak.? He bowed to Seren and took a knee.

?My name is of no importance to you, Miphistis, but the missives and the book that the Black Bishop bade me to give you should be followed with care and true faith. The Black Bishop speaks for Dralmak within the Nation of Borathos.? Seren produced from his backpack the oil skin wrapped package. ?I bid thee, read all that is within, instruct your new charge here and then meet me at the docks of Rhy?Din City in week from this day. You will travel to Borathos with me and receive your decree from the Black Bishop, himself.?

Miphistis rose and claimed the package from Seren. The assassin back away and was soon gone, lost among the rocks and returning shadows of the canyon. The draconian now looked upon the nude Aurak still kneeling before him. There was a lot to consider, much to read, lodging to be had and his servant to outfit and dress as well as himself. He looked to the sky and smiled. Darkness had smiled upon him once more.