One of the coolest commissions I've ever received.  MDsF went above and beyond on this piece. I highly recommend dropping him a watch. His work is excellent. Link to animated version
As always, Razia belongs to me.

Razia: A Vivarium Tale

Part Seven: Of Pirates and Patriarchy

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For the next leg of our journey, a wider knowledge of the world of Lorn is required. Much of Razia’s early life was contained to Deepmarch and the city-state of Shiza’s Peak. But her horizons expand, and larger forces bring their influences to bear.

In the center of the continent lies The Agglomerate of Cities. Often shortened to Agglom, or even Agg, TAoC stood as the strongest nation in the known world from shortly after its unification to the height of the Void Incursion. Spiremount served as the epicenter of the Void’s presence, and Agglom suffered the most rifts of any land. The war took a terrible toll, leaving entire districts of the three capitals gray husks.

Those of old blood still call it The Timberlands. Some believe this name comes from the fractured dynasty of timber wolves that ruled the nation for centuries. They trace their lineage back to Lonin the Large, who came down from the Moonlands and conquered much of the territory now held by Agglom. Others say it’s because of the massive deciduous forests that occupy much of its land. Whatever the case, both physically and politically the nation often found itself enflamed.

Lonin settled on the northern shores of Lake Seensenni with his tribe. He left a daughter and two sons in his passing, and each craved to carry on his legacy. The sons broke the clan with their followers, founding new settlements along the seemingly endless lake coast. Their feud grew with the generations, fracturing ever further until nearly a hundred wolf lords fought over scraps of lands. It took a far gentler touch to reunite them. With none of the three factions holding a clear advantage, they agreed to rule jointly, and split the role of capital across the three cities of the lake. Thus Trinity was born. It boasts the widest species diversity of any nation, though the main demographic are canines and vulpines. It’s unique in being the only nation to hold neither a major elf population nor Great Wyrm.

Directly south of Agglo lies its bitterest rival: Azula. A land of lush impenetrable jungles, orderly high-walled cities, and enough spice trade to rival the rest of the world combined. Lonin’s initial conquest carried all the way to the Gulf of Gahara and displaced many natives living there. The two nations have tussled over the verdant swath between the gulf and Shiza’s Peak ever since. Deer, rabbits, and other woodland creatures make up the bulk of its population.

Zakat Mori borders Azula’s Eastern fringes. In the early days, Tenebri and Lumati fought bitterly for every scrap of earth the other coveted. Zakat was the seat of dark magic’s might; a vast region of swamp cloaked in perpetual clouds. Lumati entered in a pact with Molari, raising the Stormbreak mountains and blasting the land in merciless magical brightness. The magic lingers to this day, a faint shimmering in the air marking the boundary of the land. The region became a vast desert of golden dunes, earning its new name: The Sea of Sunset. Its primary inhabitants now are snakes, lizards, and other species well acclimated to the constant dry heat.

East of Agglo and north of Zakat Mori sits a place especially near and dear to me: The Deepmarch. A seemingly endless expanse of foliage, both normal sized and otherwise. Extraordinarily virid, it would far outstrip The Agglomerate’s timber production if the bulk of its denizens didn’t have an almost holy regard for nature. Aside from elves, the largest demographic of the March are felines.

East of Agglom are the Roan Wastes, a vast nearly featureless prairie thinning to scrubland in the east beneath the shadow of the Pegasi peaks. It's a hard land, prone to long droughts broken by devastating storms. It yet sits unclaimed by what many consider civilization. Each attempt by Agglo to expand eastward is met with blood curdling howls and vicious raids. Bovines and equines call the Waste home, scattered across it in an ever-shifting dance of clans. It has little in the way of trade, though their warriors are prized for their immense strength and stamina. Many make pilgrimages out into the wider world, both to claim what wealth they may and to earn status for their return home.

West of Agglom sits Anemphos. It lies almost entirely separate from the wider continent, connected to its neighbor by a mountainous bridge barely 50 kilometers across. It remains as aloof geopolitically as it does physically, its only interaction being trade. Much of its landscape is mountainous, resulting in a cool arid climate ideal for a unique selection of crops. The high peaks’ constant wind proves the perfect habitat for the many species of avians making up the majority of its population. Its relative isolation left it the new power in the north once the dust of the Void settled, to the shared bitterness of the rest of the known world. With so much of Trinity's architecture destroyed or warped, Cumulus became the defacto cultural mecca.
North of Agglo sits Kaldurún: A land of frosty pines and perpetual shade. With the alliance of darkness and earth shattered during the elemental wars, Tenebri forged a new pact with the Waterwill, specifically her aspect of ice. Though inhospitable to many, it boasts a deceptively large population, much of it concentrated in the vast array of caverns snaking in and under the Verdenskrones.

Last of the great nations of Lorn are the Twelve Isles. The name is somewhat misleading, as well over a hundred bits of land make up the sprawling archipelago. Rather, the name comes from the twelve watchtowers placed on the largest outer islands. Each holds an enormous crystalline spire of unknown composition, Architect artifacts from the world's birth. A complex series of runes marks the face of each of them, their function inscrutable to any save the secretive order Sentinels who man them. They allow pinpoint aiming of the unstoppable lances of energy ejected from their tops. It's hypothesized that they pull raw piezoelectricity from the lenses themselves. If not used, once precisely each hour between dawn and dusk, they discharge their stored energy, sending 12 multicolored lances of light into space that can be seen across the face of the continent on a clear day.

Twelve Isles itself is a carefree tropical paradise, home to a plethora of species, both aquatic and land dwelling. As one of Undati's domains, it's blessed with incredibly still crystalline seas, all but removing the boundary between land and water.

Razia had interacted with elementals frequently, including a few blessed with enough Will for sapience. Rymsh was the first to share her thoughts directly, and it remained a constant foreign experience. His mind was just similar enough to a humanoid’s to highlight the differences. Each idea was as sharp and clear as the crystals he preferred to dwell in. He left no room for uncertainty or self-doubt. Presently, his sole focus was to make it to Highfurl in one piece after stopping in Fane. Fortunately he was receptive to her proposed detour.

Her mind shied back from the memories in terror, trying to shove them into the same fog that choked her early childhood. Despite the dread, she resolutely marched on. Some things simply had to be done.


The clearing was much as she remembered it. Spring had brought a fresh green growth to the high grass. The small river grumbled and splashed against its silty banks. Life moved on, oblivious of the carnage wrought a scant six months before. Indeed, there wasn't a single trace of the battle. She silently came to a stop in the spot Verden had lain.

Nothing. No bone or stain or scrap of cloth, only a lazily shimmering field of green. It was as if the best thing to ever happen to her had never existed at all. All the pain she'd carefully smothered flared up at once, stoked by the stinging thought.
The river burbled. The wind sighed. Razia cried.

Mourning was a rare thing for dragonkind. Proud, solitary, and often narcissistic, many never developed the emotional bonds needed to trigger it. For true pain, the vents to their gem sack opened as if preparing to expel elemental energy. Instead, the gem vibrated at a high frequency, mixing with their voice to form an unearthly keen. It was this haunting, warbling wail that rose over the fjord.

She couldn't say precisely how long she stood there. As it so often did in times of anguish, her body moved of its own accord.


She finished it with the last rays of sun.

It was rough. The proportions were slightly off, the clothing a hodgepodge of half-remembered outfits shaped from stone melted to putty, the face still needing work even after five attempts. He deserved more, so much more. More than she could ever offer in a hundred lifetimes. But it was hers.

She sculpted him facing the river. He stood firm and proud, one arm raised outstretched before him. She’d wanted to place something in it: Blade, scroll, harp, magic, wedding ring. None fully captured his being though. He was all those things and more.

His other arm was swept out behind him, as if reaching back for--

Her eyes stung fiercely again. Her hand slipped into his. Just enough heat lingered in the stone to make it feel lifelike. She could almost feel the malleability of flesh in the rough digits when she concentrated.

She lingered there for a moment, willing the lifelike stone to curl around her hand, for the figure she knew as well as her own to turn and hold her close and whisper everything was alright. But the rock remained still. The river rushed onwards, ever onwards, and there was no fighting its flow.

A heated claw etched an inscription in the memorial’s plaque in the neatest calligraphy she could manage.


Here lies Verden Feyn, the greatest man I ever knew. May he Shelter in harmony in Verari's forest for all eternity.


As with the rest of her offerings, it seemed lacking. He deserved the best words ever written by man or beast; a vast shrine and a thousand gilt-leaf scrolls heralding his life for all to read. But that wouldn't be what he wanted. He was an unobtrusive elf, far more content with the quiet, subtle beauty. A dappled glade. A statue in a grassy riverbend.

As a final gesture, she withdrew a pale shoot from her satchel. Its acquisition had added a full two days to their quest. She planted the budding bamboo just in front of Verden, as if fallen from his raised hand. They were well West of Cambium's reach, but by Their will, the tiny fragment of the demigod may yet blossom into a grove.

With a last misty look at the tiny monument, she resaddled her gear and trotted off into the night, leaving Verden's Crossing behind. Had she lingered a moment longer, she might’ve seen the swallowtail alight on his outstretched finger.


“I’m telling you, we’re well off,” Mart started angrily for what felt like the tenth time. “Ain’t none of this looks like last year.”

His father sighed obligingly from his seat on the wagon, also for what felt like the tenth time. "We came out the hills right by Tonn's Mill, didn't we?"

"Aye."

"And we passed that rock that looked like a horse’s arse not two hours back, right?" Martlin Senior continued with his same insufferable patience. His tone stirred unpleasant memories of being lectured as a child.

"Aye," Mart said again, his annoyance rising.

"Then this is surely the old Bridge Road here."

"Then where in Tenebri's balls is the bloody bridge?" Mart all but shouted, gesturing wildly at the chasm behind him. The gray stone of the far cliff seemed to leer at them, so close yet so unreachable, featureless save for a slight darkened patch directly across, almost like an old campfire. A weed-choked pair of wagon ruts were just visible beyond.

“Well now, I dunno. Maybe you scared it off.” Martlin Senior’s whiskers had long since begun to droop and gray with age, though his eyes remained as lively as ever.

A slight rustling came from the foliage, barely audible above the wind. A moment later, a red streak ripped from the treeline. It hurtled towards the chasm lip, warped low to the ground, and leapt. Mart had a single glimpse of a heavy traveling cloak and a determined, breathtaking reptilian face as the blur hung there, seeming to defy physics in its sail, before it landed clear of the far side and continued its harrying speed.

“Well, I suppose that’s one way to do it,” Martlin said after a shocked pause. A bit of twinkle crept back, and his weathered hand clapped heavy on Mart’s shoulder as he continued. “Think we could get old Beth to do that with a good run-up?”

Mart barely paid him any mind. The color and ferocious intensity of the strange passerby evoked harsh memories of the beast that had descended upon their village. Their farm on the outskirts had afforded them a firsthand view of its reign of fire and terror.


It was a pleasure to run. Green and brown blurred beneath her pounding feet. An endless shifting vista of countryside sifted past, offering fresh wonders each time she blinked. She raced the wind just as she had years ago across the crags of the Peak. Her bond with Rymsh seemed to restore some of that boundless energy of her of early childhood, and she took full advantage of it. The first week carried her to the outer fringes of the colossal forest, nearly a thousand klicks to the northwest.

She camped there in one of the last great trees, the slight bowl of the Roan Wastes clearing the horizon save for a thin green strip marking the border of Agglom. A line of watchtowers marched off into pinpricks, though only one bore a light at its top. Even from this distance many appeared damaged, likely during the Void incursion. The engineers and soldiers needed to maintain them had no doubt been called away to help with the new war.

She'd resolved to journey by night and sleep for the better part of the day while in Agglo, suspecting fire dragons might be slightly less than welcome currently.


Just as he'd feared, there'd been teeth behind the growls. Tw'iik willed his confoundingly short legs to still greater speeds in spite of how shaky they'd grown in the few minutes of careening through the underbrush. Some wild part of him thought he must look comical, his heavy pack all but lifting him off the ground each time it bounced off his back.

A howl came from the right. No, from the front. No, from both directions at once. He veered left just in time to feel a great mass of fur hurtle past.

His downfall was a fearful glance over his shoulder. The glowing gem of his staff seemed muted in the oppressive gloom, leaving little time to react to the things that loomed out of the night. By the time he saw the tree branch, it had taken him fully in the face. It stopped him in his tracks and sent him plopping hard on his back. He felt suddenly like a turtle as he floundered atop his pack, claws and tail failing to find ground.

The wolves began to emerge from the underbrush, all oily black fur and misshapen tooth-studded snarls. The faint purple taint of Void glowed in their eyes. They moved languidly, well-assured of their prey's helplessness.

Twiik tried desperately to call on Lumati's will. He silently begged his staff to do anything more than flicker weakly, but whatever control he had was lost beneath bone-chilling terror. His father's voice came unbidden, the steady highborn Zakat Mori tone sounding brutally sardonic.

It was then that Twiik came to terms with his string of reckless decisions. Having decided to push on through the night in hopes of finding some measure of decent accommodations, he found himself hopelessly lost in the Wailwoods of Timberland, surrounded on all sides by thoroughly unsavory beasts. Nasty place, woods. Far too green and cluttered. But such is the lot of the arrogant fool.

The jagged dripping maw stalked ever closer, until he could smell the stench of fetid meat on its breath. He resigned himself to his fate. The Psalm of Sunset sounded especially frail and squeaky in his panicked voice as he muttered it out.

A pair of jaws snapped beside his head close enough to graze his ear. He whimpered and closed his eyes, his prayers growing faster. He noticed through the lids that the light had begun to change, shifting from the white-gold of midday to a tangerine sunset hue. A delirious pang of anger shot through him. Of all the magic to still work…

But it was not his meager stick that illuminated the clearing. A tiny contained wildfire raced directly towards Twiik's little patch of ground at an alarming speed. His confusion only mounted as a large blade appeared beside the fire and neatly lopped off the head of his tormentor. The other four beasts uttered a strange discordant bark and tried to form a defensive circle around him. Up close the fire distinctly lit the crimson and pink palm it balanced over. It leapt into their midst, its companion blade deftly sliding around one of the canine's thrashing fangs and sinking deep into the space where shoulder met neck. A third howled fearfully as the fire arced to its fur. The creature burned far more easily than Twiik expected. Soon it was little more than an oddly shaped bonfire, careening wildly through the thicket and screaming a piercing scream.

The remaining two shared a quick look and bolted. The fireball hurled it's sword after them. It severed a few inches of the trailing beast's tail, earning another eerie wail and spurring it still faster.

The fire died, and Twiik started for what felt like the tenth time in as many minutes. Its departure revealed the form of a goddess: A ruby red dragon dressed in a slightly singed traveling cloak.

"Slow and sloppy," she muttered, walking over to retrieve her sword. "Should've gone for the--" her eyes fell on Twiik. "Oh, hello. Didn't realize those nasties were after a person."

She acknowledged me.
The dragon stooped over him. He expected a helping hand, but instead she grabbed him around the waist and gingerly set him on his feet. His indignance at being handled like a child was wholly offset by the thrill of contact.

His father's voice came maddeningly again. And so, by a combination of rescue syndrome and sheer attraction, Twiik found himself hopelessly smitten with his knight in scaly armor. What fresh foolishness would come of this new fixation remained to be seen.

The dragoness's claws hovered concernedly near his face. "Are you alright? Looks like they got you in the snout pretty hard."

"I. Um. Ah…" he stammered. His claws fidgeted and his knees drew bashfully together. His brain remained an embarrassed puddle that showed no interest in producing coherent thought.

The woman knelt beside him and lightly patted his head. "Don't worry. Take your time."

Over the course of his 20-odd years, Twiik had been beaten, burned, and nearly frozen to death. He’d fallen off a balcony, took a tumble down the longest staircase in the kingdom, and stubbed his toe on the mantle enough to worry one toe might be shorter. None of it had prepared him for the social agony of trying to wrestle his thoughts under control while a tall woman stared accommodatingly at him. Finally, the glimmer of an idea appeared in the puddle's murky depths. "Oh! Healing! I have healing!"

Remarkably some measure of resonance with Lumati had returned, and a familiar warmth spread from his staff's zirconia cap up through his arm where it tingled across his face and ear.

It took only a few minutes to heal the minor cuts, though the exertion left him drained and panting anew. Through it all, the dragon seemed genuinely impressed.

"Well, it looks like you have a few tricks up your sleeve," she said, rising to her feet. "I would recommend maybe sticking to daytime travels. The Void-touched have been getting bolder recently."

His motives for pushing on into the night suddenly felt shamefully inadequate; The question he was about to ask more shameful still. He steeled himself before blurting "Do you think you could… ah… that is… um… are you going north as well? I saw you come out of the trees from the south."

"Aye, for now at least. I've got business in Fane. I take it you're headed that way as well?"

He gulped and nodded.

The dragonesses's gaze went distant, as though listening for something. "One moment please."


Rymsh, are you going to throw a fit if I adopt this kobold?
Nope! I sensed one of my cousins of light when he healed. He might be a good source of knowledge on our bond. I can only relate so much on my end. The horse telling the rider how to ride, or something.
You're not worried he'll slow us down?
The spark wavered uncertainly beside Razia's head, seen only by her. I figured you'd just put him in your backpack.
Most strangers I've met aren't too keen on being carried like a baby, but I'll see what I can do. He is concerningly adorable, so he might be used to it. She glanced over her shoulder at the timid reptile. His scales were the rich golden-brown of salted caramel, tipped with swirling white at every visible extremity. He wore a set of sunset-red robes etched with white in what appeared to be Morien eld-script, with a large 7-rayed sun in the same color splashed across his chest. A similar shape capped his cute little scepter, a chunk of polished clear zirconia set in its center. She wondered idly how much of dragons' fascination with kobolds came from them resembling hatchlings their entire lives. I'd feel terrible just leaving him here after what happened. Plus he has healing magic, and you never know when that will come in handy. This was one of the easiest decisions we've ever made.

"If you'd like a travel companion, I'd be happy to stick with you at least to Fane. I'll be heading west all the way to Highfurl after that."

She had to stifle a giggle as the tiny priest all but jumped for joy. "Yes, that would be wonderful! That is, ah." He cleared his throat, sounding almost like a dove's coo. "I'm on my Final Trial, tasked with bringing light to the darkest places! I'm traveling all the way to Kaldurún to spread the Good Word." The intensity immediately faded from his expression as he finished the spiel. "But there's not really a time limit on it. I could probably take a detour. Highfurl is pretty close to Kaldurún, right?"

"Depends on what part of it you're trying to get to. It's a 7,000 kilometer-long strip of cold and death." She saw the kobold's fear and immediately regretted her words.

"The Deacon wasn't too specific, so I guess… whatever is closest?

"Then it's a sight closer than a southern Agglo border town, that's for sure." She extended a hand, utterly enveloping the claw he offered in turn. She could feel him trembling slightly. "Razia, by the way."

The kobold stared at his feet and murmured something that sounded vaguely like "Twig".

"Come again?"

"T… Tw'iik."

"You're probably going to have to write it out for me at some point. Must've cooked my ears at some point. Regardless, well met." She gave him a light squeeze and rose to gather her bearings. Even without Rymsh's flits, she could feel a slight pull on the wind. It sent her hair and scarf billowing northwest, knowing as well as she where her destiny lay.


Razia had always had a way of conveying her desires without uttering a word. She’d never honed the skill, nor even acknowledged it, yet it had grown increasingly more pronounced with the years. Whether by physical allure or force of personality, people always seemed to warp to her will by proximity alone. Tw’iik was no exception, timidly asking if it might be easier if she carried him within hours of setting out. By the time they reached the Fane, he was snoring happily by her ear, the tip of his snout just peeking from the flap of her pack. His own bag nestled beneath, and proved the greater burden of the two. It seemed at least twice the weight of the waspish kobold.

The Deepmarch rejected roads, allowing them only at its very heart where too many trampling feet would actively damage nature. The only other exception was the trade road forged between Cambium and The Peak forged as part of their accords, though the forest denizens avoided even that wherever possible. The simplest deer trails lasted scant days before shifting branches subtly discouraged them and underbrush grew to erase all traces. The power and superstition surrounding the phenomenon was enough to carry it into the southeast territories of Agglo. Fane, the only city of note in the region, marked the edge of it, such that it seemed to bloom abruptly out of the woods with no blemish of civilization surrounding it. Only an archer field of about a hundred paces separated its southern gate from the sycamores and pines, an array of rapidly fading wagon wheel ruts radiating from its heavy timbers.

She'd spent much of the journey through the Agglomerate considering how to enter. Rymsh was as insistent on the destination as he was vague on its purpose. So close to Pyrroth's warpath, the city remained under constant vigil. A dozen bobbing torches lit the stockade of massive sharpened logs.
Now would be a great time to tell me that whatever I’m doing here also includes an easy way into the city, Razia thought from her hiding spot at the forest edge.

Best I can do is a motivating speech on the importance of trial and hardship to a Paladin of Ivati!

You’re getting awfully sarcastic for a ball of energy.

She made a slow circuit of the city in what she hoped was a stealthy manner. She encountered another two gates marking the North and West sides of it respectively, each with a hard-packed earth road stretching off into the night. A few dozen dwellings huddled close to the walls, lightless and derelict, no doubt abandoned at the start of the war.

Her inner lenses flicked closed. The world turned a muted indigo, save for the bright red-white blooms of torches and the green blobs of patrolling guards. The stockade remained an impassive midnight. Its girth blocked any inkling of what lay on the far side.

You want to watch me do something incredibly stupid?

Without waiting for a response, she called upon Ivati’s Fire. Her magic reached a dozen slender tendrils through space. Warmth bloomed in her chest as, with a slight twitch, she snuffed every flame in a hundred-meter radius. The moment they died, she was on the move, a low shadow against the ground. She kept her heat vision up as long as she could in an effort to track the suddenly frantic movements of the guards above. As a hazy lump of a building loomed before her, she leapt. A quick blast of flame beneath her tallon carried her to its thatched gable. A second sent her skimming just above the nest of sharp crenelations. She hoped the flap of her cloak was lost into the burst of fearful shouting.

Hard cobbles rushed up to greet her. She fell into a roll upon contact and immediately crashed into a stack of chicken coops. The sleeping occupants were somewhat less than pleased by this development.

She sprang to her feet, silently swearing and trying to clear the sudden storm of feathers from her face. The disorienting cacophony slowed her, and by the time she’d found her bearings, lights were appearing in the surrounding buildings. Tw’iik stirred to life as well, though his squawks were lost among the poultry.

So this is how it ends. Done in by my favorite food. The bitterest of irony.

She kicked free of the coop that she inexplicably put her foot through and raced for a shadowed gap between two of the buildings. She paused in her hiding spot to take in the scene she’d left.

A warning bell rang across the city. It’s cry was taken up by others, sounding oddly small in the darkness. A handful of watchmen ushered a very frazzled looking fox in ornate armored robes onto the parapets and began gesturing chaotically. After a few confused seconds of staring and running his hand through his hair, he lifted a heavy-looking necklace which immediately began to glow. Either he wielded an element other than air or fire, or he masked their use extremely well. Either way, Razia took her cue and skulked deeper into the alley.

“I, uhh, seemed to have missed a few things,” Tw’iik whispered fearfully. “Is this Fane?”

“Aye. Had to make an executive decision on ingress.” The shouts from the wall were spreading to the streets below. Several sets of heavy boots pounded past the alley entrance. Rymsh, you do at least know where we’re going, right?

The elemental’s response sounded almost reverent. Surely you feel it too?

She closed her eyes in exasperation. She found that, in the darkness, she could indeed feel something; like the crackling warmth of a hearth fire. She tried to locate whatever currents the strange sensation rode and gradually settled on a direction.

With her hood up and tail tucked in close, she could pass for any other citizen of Fane. Unfortunately, either minimal night life existed in the city or some sort of curfew was in effect, as the streets seemed utterly deserted beyond the occasional trio of guards rushing about. She kept to the deepest shadows lining the earthen side streets, slinking from cart to post to stack of barrels. Her winding path gradually enticed her towards the city’s center.

Through a combination of stealth, clever light magic subterfuge from Tw’iik, and raw unadulterated luck, they reached the wrought iron gates of a regal-looking kirk. Though the structure itself rose straight and true, every detail from the masonry to the shrubberies evoked the wavy, dancing nature of flames.

“You there! What are you doing out and about?”

Razia’s gawping was shattered by the loud demanding intrusion of another gaggle of guards. She pivoted on her heel and printed the opposite direction. The high wall of the church grounds curved slightly with the road, and the instant her pursuers fell out of sight, she sprang high once more. A low clump of hydrangeas served as their hiding spot. She waited only the pounding of feet faded before returning her attention to the building.

A pedestal split the main path leading to the wide double doors, though its top sat bare. Similar signs of vandalism showed on the stonework and mosaic of brilliant-orange glass adoring the steepled face of the structure.

Seems fire in general isn’t too popular here right now.

The warmth felt stronger here, and it enticed her up the stairs to the miraculously unlocked doors. Their slow creek echoed in the cavernous space beyond.

Fire dragon pride took many forms. Many scorned Ivati, considering themselves to be all but gods in their own right. Others constructed elaborate shrines to her, choosing to flaunt their elevated status with the divine. Beyond that, plenty of kobolds and dravir possessed their own little ceremonies to The Firewill. Still, seeing the institutionalized religion built around her in all its glory inspired its own flavor of awe.

Despite the hour, candles burned in every nook of the huge rectangular hall. Hundreds upon hundreds of them, all looking as fresh as though someone had lit them seconds before, burning in every color imaginable. They cast every other feature of the room into stunning detail. The granite floor polished to a bright sheen by constant use; the long rows of pews facing the altar, another wall of ruby glass cast in the flitting form of The Firewill herself staring down from on high above it; the countless portraits and wood burnings lining the walls, depicting key notes in the Faith’s history.

Though the warmth had spread to a comforting blanket around her, she sensed her destination was not yet reached. She gingerly set Tw’iik on the ground and padded across the chamber, drawn ineluctably to a doorway set behind the altar. Down into the depths of the church she marched, public areas giving way to living quarters, and, eventually, to crypts.

She at last found what she sought on a low stone table at the very bottom of the church’s silent catacombs. It lay neatly on a scarlet spread, clearly ancient, yet polished to brilliance once more: A set of silver half plate chased in gold, complete with a matching shield and charcoal-gray chain mail. A broad heater shield leaned against the dais beside it.

She opened her mouth to chastise Rymsh for rousing an entire city to panic for fashion, but it died on her lips. She lifted a vambrace. There was a weight to it far beyond the physical. Its mass seemed to settle around her very soul.
Is this what it means to be a flame knight?

I don’t remember much of my last partner, but one thing he always said, ‘It’s the armor that holds my honor. More than the oaths, more than the magic, more than anything else’.

Eris’s plate had been burned with her body at her request. Still, Razia had trained with her sister enough to know the rough order of operations for donning it.

Tw’iik trying almost painfully hard to avert his gaze kept them both distracted. Razia was halfway through the operations when a figure appeared in the doorway. He appeared to be a Morian sphynx cat. The deep wrinkled texture of his skin made it impossible to tell where natural left off and age began. He wore robes vaguely reminiscent of Tw’iik’s, replacing orange for brilliant scarlet. He held one of the temple’s countless ever-burning candles, and for a moment he seemed intent on calling forth an inferno from it.

His face filled with an odd mix of emotion at the sight of her carmine scales. Fear? Reverence? Embarrassment? Finally he bowed his head. “I received a vision asking that I make ready our last surviving set of high plate, but I had no idea….”

Razia bowed in turn. “Thank you. This is strange for all of us.” The priest turned to leave. Before he crossed the threshold, she blurted, “We’re not all monsters, you know.”

“Our Lady chose you. That’s good enough for me.”


Their escape from Fane proved far easier than their entry. Dawn crept into the brightening sky by the time they left the church, though the shadows remained deep enough to hide her hooded face amidst the growing crowd of citizens bustling in the early morning. When the opportunity presented itself, she simply clambered on a roof and left the same way she entered.

The armor fit terrifyingly well, to the point where its added weight seemed to vanish entirely, and she easily cleared the wall again, scant meters from her initial crossing. Fresh shouts, a handful of arrows, and even what looked alarmly like a bolt of pure blackness followed her to the treeline.

Tw’iik gradually released his death grip around her neck as Fane disappeared behind them. His voice sounded oddly amplified by the shield affixed directly behind him. “That went way better than it should have! We could’ve been killed!”

“Have you considered the possibility that I’m just that good?” she replied with a wink.

“Well, I, um….”

“That was a joke.” She reached back to pat the kobold’s head. Her efforts were rewarded with a strangled cross between a squeak and a grumble.


The signs of civilization grew denser as the next two days progressed, and with them the signs of destruction. She’d received the gist of Pyrroth’s plan when the war began: Burn anything that offered the slightest hint of resistance to the ground as a warning to others, lightly occupy those who surrendered. Based on what remained, the Agglomerate seemed a stubborn bunch. Hints of pitched battles lingered in the burnt husks of every village they encountered, many still littered with picked-through remains. The forces of the Peak collected their dead save for the elementals, leaving piles of rubble and melted wax amidst the charred bones and steel of Agglo’s army.

The battlefields grew progressively older as they went, until new growth blotted out all but the bones of stone and metal. These oldest remnants of war were the largest, sometimes encompassing 50 kilometers or more of expended wildfire.

Nearly six years of this nonsense.

She smelled the char long before the gap in the trees drew into sight.

Were it not for tales heard in Cambium, she might have thought it was a river during their approach, so wide and uniform was the break. Inky, scorched earth stretched at least a quarter mile wide, perfectly straight and uniform, both ends stretching off like the walls of her mind. It seemed to split the entire world, as though someone had taken the globe and scrawled an inky line with a colossal quill.

A hollow wind rolled across the expanse, sending a cloud of soot billowing north.

Chiza Huwarazda: The Black Path. Its edges marked the full extension of Pyrroth’s wingspan where he glided low over the countryside. He cautorized the earth in his passing, and his forces maintained it both as a supply route and effective wedge between the two halves of the nation.

A quick appraisal via heat vision revealed a perfectly uniform dull yellow. Any deviation in heat or light would be unmissable to any who surveyed the path. What’s more, she detected the faint whispers of magic maintaining the ubiquitous heat, though she sensed no channeling nearby. A network of tiny filaments trickled southward. She wondered if the army had waystrations set up, or if the wyrm’s power somehow maintained the impossible spell from hundreds of kilometers away.

The inexorably lengthening scar had gained a plethora of myths and legends in its five years. However wild the tale, they all agreed on a single point: The Path was all but impossible to cross.

She dropped to her belly and wriggled through the underbrush right up to the brink of the path. A thick tree sat on the border, its eastern side clinging to life with sickly green leaves. Its western face was a smooth black pole, every branch extending over the path incinerated to dust.

Razia ever so slowly crept her hand out until her claw brushed the line. It bore a sharp, gritty texture like finely crushed glass. She called upon Ivati’s will and gingerly lowered the temperature on her scales’ surface until they blended with the Path. She did the same with the tip of her scarf, gradually wrapping her entire body in a lukewarm shroud. She concentrated hard on keeping the frail balance of temperature as she crept backward and extended it to Tw’iik and the rest of their belongings before suiting up.

She gathered herself at the forest edge, drew in a sharp breath, and launched into the hardest sprint of her life.

They made it all of a hundred meters before heavy wingbeats broke the silence. A crimson shape dropped from the clouds with terrifying speed. Fire licked at his parted lips.

Razia felt the fireball before she saw it. That telltale wump of sudden massive shifts in temperature and pressure rattled her bones just as a blinding orb exploded from blackened fangs. It curved through the air with an evil whistle, leaving no chance of predicting its path, let alone avoiding it.
She put every scrap of energy she possessed into a heat shield around Tw'iik and braced against the imminent impact.

The heat was a pleasant reminder of home. The explosion that drove the wind from her body and sent her tumbling through the air, not so much. She landed hard and rolled clumsily to her feet, disoriented, ears ringing.

Her attacker struck the ground with a heavy thud scant meters away. He stood a solid three meters at the shoulder in feral form and sported mottled orange diamond patterns running down both shoulders and flanks. The unfamiliar fire dragon's frenzied expression turned to confusion, then recognition, and finally horror. "Princess Razia?"

When did we start using northern nobility titles? "If I say yes, will you stop with the attacks?"

His head dipped. "Apologies. It's standard protocol." There was a long, awkward pause while Razia continued to try to regain her breath before, "What are you doing out here anyway?"

"Oh, just enjoying the sights. Yourself?"

She searched for a twinkle of mirth, but the dragon's expression remained stony, if somewhat embarrassed. "Would you mind coming with me back to camp? I'm sure there are a few who'd like to see you."

Camp. Pyrroth. She felt sudden overwhelming nausea. "I don't suppose I have a choice?"

Her interlocutor looked genuinely taken aback by her reluctance. "I think it would be easiest for both of us if you came along," he finally said.

She glanced over her shoulder at Glyphsinger's hilt, pondering if she could fend the man off. Her eyes slid past to Tw'iik, still carefully checking over his robes for burns. It told her all she needed. Dashing off might be feasible; Dashing off with a significantly more flammable compatriot weighing her down far less so. She sighed and hopped onto male's back. "Do what you must."

Either he knew of her condition or had no intention of waiting for her to manifest her own wings, for he made no comment on her clambering into the divot where neck and wings met. He simply launched skyward with the same vigorous force as his landing. Razia’s gear creaked with the sudden increase in gravity. Tw’iik’s shriek was all but lost to the winds.

The dragon kept low to the ground, sweeping a wedge of roiling black in his wake, barely dipping above the treeline, not that Razia cared about the view. Her thoughts bent ever inward, straying towards the burned hole that was Pyrroth yet never quite touching the subject, each pass adding a few more chips to the mound of ice pressing the walls of her stomach. She realized wryly that she’d never asked her ride’s name.

The minutes dragged on. The rushing wind and rhythmic thud of heavy wingbeats interdicted any hope of conversation, and Razia was left to her own increasingly sour cogitations. By the end of the 100 kilometer-odd ride, her knees were firmly pressed to her chest.

A handful of caravans and platoons padded their way up and down the black path. Their abundance hinted at the numbers that lay ahead, yet she was still awed by the sheer scope of the warcamp. Smog from ten thousand open flames hung heavy in the air. The countless tents, pickets and elemental pens stretched off into obscurity beneath it.

Despite its breadth, His presence was unmissable. Her gaze pulled towards it no matter how hard she tried to avert it. The colossal cocoon of sparks leered down over the camp, looking for all the world like some sort of perverse flower bud. She wished desperately not to see the monster that bloomed from it, but that chance had evaporated the instant she crossed the path.

The drake touched down at some sort of checkpoint and exchanged a few terse words with the two dravir manning it before gesturing for Razia to follow one of them. The four horizontal slivers of carnelian adorning the collar of his cuirass marked him as a grohban in the hastily organized military of the Peak; A middling officer in the mage’s division.

"Tw'iik," she whispered over her shoulder. "You might be better off waiting here. Pyrroth is both sadistic and wildly unpredictable."

He gave a timid, shaking nod and she lifted him out of the sack. She felt a pang of shame at dragging the poor boy into the viper's den.

The march through the organized chaos of the camp passed in a blur. The more she dreaded the impending meeting, the faster the minutes seemed to slip by. Faces melted past, some of them familiar. Many wore the same hard, manic expression, no doubt hungry for the final push after months trapped by snowfall. The rows of tents and pickets curved with the same shifting waviness of an open flame. Her guide kept up a steady stream of reverent babble on her good fortune in receiving an audience with the lord of flame himself throughout their navigating the massive camp. His words fell on distracted ears. She barely even caught the man’s name.

Then, she was there. The orange shroud fell away at her escort's touch, and she blinked in the sudden dimness.

Two sparks lingered; huge, distant, glaring down at her with the same contempt he'd shown for the past fifteen years. The head they burned in swung down, impossibly large, its mass of sweeping horns each capped with a glow like heated iron. Yet more fire licked behind the bars of his fangs as they split into a too-wide predatory grin. "Well, if it isn't my favorite little cripple, fallen out of the nest."

All the weight of emotion crashed down all at once at the familiar thunderous, mocking voice until she thought her knees would buckle. It left her even more dazed and winded than her earlier assailant's fireplace. The world spun sickeningly.

Fighting down her rising panic, she replied in what she hoped was a level tone. "Dad."

His sickening grin fissured yet wider in the granite of his face. "You're quite a long way from home, little drake. Either of them, for that matter. Did you finally grow tired of cavorting with those tree dwellers?"

She didn’t dignify the barb with an answer. How could she? Love and empathy were utterly alien concepts to him.

Pyrroth’s glistening orange tongue rolled out to slap against his upper snout.. She shuddered. She'd felt the bloated organ where none ever should, and its presence stirred phantom sensations.

She looked down with a start to find glyphsinger drawn and poised in her hand. It was, of course, an utterly pointless gesture; a toothpick before a God. Her instincts cared little for such logic though.

Pyrroth chuckled again. The deep, crushing rumble set her bones rattling in their sockets. "You've grown prickly in your sabbatical. Going to poke me like one of those little dogs in the woods?"

Her eyes widened.

His mirth continued, acting as a bass to his already painfully deep voice. "Yes, I see your every move. You are of fire, and you are of me. I expected you to go scurrying home after your little trip down the river, but it seems I raised you better than that."

Bile boiled up the back of her throat. She savagely suppressed the urge to retch and gathered what she hoped was a cool demeanor. She felt a spark of that wild, savage fervor that had overtaken her in the glade. Glyphsinger moved again, rising to point at the vile beast.

“You want so badly to throw yourself at me, I can see it plain on your face. Do it. Show me the tricks you learned crawling among the two-legged beasts. Prove you have something resembling a spine in that pretty little body. I’ll even summon a suitable punching bag if you’d like.”

In her mind Glyphslinger plunged into his gloating eye a hundred times over. Her body coiled like a spring, aching to make her dreams a reality, impossible as they were.

No. He’s just manipulating me as usual.

Slowly, agonizingly, Razia prodded the beast back into its cage. A wave of lethargy struck as she returned her blade to its sheath.

"I don’t have time for your games. Anything else?"

Pyrroth's eyes narrowed to slits. The glow capping each horn flared in bright anger. The heat rolling off the colossus sharpened until her eyes stung with their supernatural intensity. The surrounding tents, despite being heavily fireproofed, began to smoke and smolder. For a moment she thought he intended to attack regardless.

A dozen battleplans took shape only to be instantly discarded, utterly useless in the face of the wyrm.

After a tense pause, Pyrroth seemed to rein himself in. "No, I suppose not. I don't particularly care where you go. Just try to keep yourself in one piece."

Razia squinted in turn, trying to ascertain if this was another jab of some sort, or if, for the first time in memory, the wyrm was expressing some sort of positive emotion. She eventually settled on the former and silently walked off. She expected more parting taunts, but her father simply stared after her.

She gathered up Tw'iik on the camp outskirts. The adorable little scamp had once again attracted unwanted attention, this time from a pair of very hungry looking wyverns. A few witticisms at his expense sprang to mind, but they crashed against the wall of strange emotion left in the reunion's wake.


It was not until the camp was a distant smudge of smoke on the horizon that some degree of feeling returned.

“Sorry for dragging you into this nonsense,” she murmured. “I haven’t been particularly considerate to your--”

Rymsh buzzed a shrill warning. Without thinking, Razia flung herself prone.

Heat as she’d never felt before blossomed across her tail. The trees all around erupted with sudden conflagration in a broad, vicious line. If Tw’iik screamed, the sound was lost in the crackling popping foliage.

She rolled through the smoke, drawing her shield and blade in one fluid motion.

She found her assailant amidst the destruction readily enough. He marched almost leisurely forward, flames still dancing at his raised fingertips, the insignia of his office glinting in the flickering light: Duul, her guide through the warcamp. “You held the highest honor any could ever hope to achieve. You shared the company of the lord himself and all his infinite wisdom, and you scorned his hospitality.”

His raised arm swept to the side. Another arc of fire roared forth and hurtled towards her. Razia managed to raise her shield just as the blast hit. Her talons left long furrows in the earth from its passing. She winced as her scorched tail planted itself to keep her upright. It was barely a spark compared to the forces of nature she’d witnessed in The Peak, yet its intensity all but overwhelmed her.

Duul’s hand moved in a juggling motion. Six motes sprang to life one after the other and began to float in a slow, foreboding ring. “Your heresy will not, can not go unpunished.”

Razia hastily lowered her pack to the ground, wearily circling with the dravir. “Pyrroth made it pretty clear he wanted me alive, or are you as deaf as you are stupid?”

“Can a mistake like you really be called alive, when your very existence is a stain on The House? This is nothing more than burning out blight.”

Her eyes stung with rage as this stranger parroted the same phrases drilled into her over and and over for the past fifteen years. Every drop of apoplexy contained during her encounter with Pyrroth ripped forth all at once.

No more weakness.

Rymsh, give me all of it.

The surge of magic fueled the beast. It felt much like the fugue state felt six months ago, but in place of the righteous fury, there was delicious malice at its heart.

The first of Duul’s bolts launched at her chest, zipping and curving through the air in a dizzying arc.

Her veins flowed with divine heat. The tones of the dravir's spell became clear in all their detail. The lines, the force, the countermeasures.

She caught the bolt.

A savage smile at Duul's shock split her face. She crushed the mote of energy in her fist. Its flames licked up her arm. Higher and higher it crept, until it wreathed her entire body.

"I know your plight, little lizard. You're following what you think is a god, trying so desperately to earn his favor, chasing something you can never hope to touch and envying those who have. You remind me of myself, trying to find validation in someone else’s opinions."

The flames surged brighter and brighter, until her face fell fully into darkness, leaving only a pair of malicious emeralds and a rictus of pearls shining from the blackness. “Do you want to know what the difference is? My god loves me."

Duul faltered. Her vicious glee surged still higher upon seeing the terror mounting in his eyes.

She swept in low, her longsword all but parting the curling grass in its wake. She leapt sideways to avoid his second bolt, letting its small explosion propel her forward. She drew in a deep breath. Ivati’s blessing filled the role of her shattered gemheart, filling the air with merciless heat. A column of gold-laced flame erupted from her maw, forcing Duul into a hasty dodge mid-cast and sending his third shot veering wildly off-course. She took the fourth as a glancing blow to the shoulder, too close to dodge or block.

The fifth never left his claws, the limb flopping limp to the smoking earth. Glyphslinger took it cleanly just above the elbow, shearing through chain and scale and bone, the arc of its passing branded into Razia’s corneas.

Duul howled and staggered back. His remaining arm flung high, a wall of flame so hot that it seemed to gain physical weight exploding into the thin gap between them. Razia recoiled with a growl of her own. Her malevolence was far from sated. It had tasted blood and craved more.

Razia, this is wrong.

Despite Rymsh’s admonishment, the violence felt right. Losing herself to its whims provided a release she’d never before experienced. She drew every scrap of Ivati’s blessing she could hold, until her veins all but sang with the divine might.

She gathered herself behind her shield and launched into the roiling slab. It offered a moment of agonizing resistance before she punched through.

Duul waited for her on the far side. A wickedly curved short sword spun towards her exposed face. A flash of instinctive panic took her before she remembered. They’re outfitted to fight northerners, not dragons.

The blade stalled harmlessly against her scales, not so much as denting her depraved grin. Her fingers curled around the naked blade and pried it away with assured slowness. A casual kick sent him staggering back.

She charged after him before he could recover, Glyphslinger a blur of flames. She saw Pyrroth’s face in the dravir’s snarl, and she tried to shatter its wretched visage with each swipe. Blow after devastating blow rained down on the shortsword until its dented length at last slipped from deadened fingers, the body that wielded it falling heavily to the ground.

She was almost disgusted by the wave of disappointment she felt at seeing the focus adorning Duul’s neck. The crack splitting vertically marked the crystal as overdrawn, rendering her foe tragically helpless. The game couldn’t be done yet. She had so much rage left to rip from his bloodied hide.

Duul scrabbled and kicked backwards, his hand still gesturing wildly. A few flares spurted towards her. She didn’t even deign to wave them away. With a last anguished roar she leapt forward and plunged her blade into the man’s chest. The fire wreathing it spread downwards, inwards, until the dravir’s eyes and mouth erupted with the same cleansing fire.

Her malignity died with Duul. A sense of uncleanliness that had nothing to do with the soot and dirt settled over her until her scales crawled. The longer she looked at the corpse, the stronger it grew.

Razia… Rymsh’s tone mirrored her own mortification.

Before she could respond, Duul shifted. Lungs and throat that could no longer possibly function began to move. It wasn’t the manic tenor of the dravir that chuckled raspily at her. Instead, she heard the voice of her father. “Looks like you do have a spine after all.” Eyes lit with an orange glow met her mortified stare.

The full realization of her actions rocked her. She barely made it five steps before she vomited in the grass. The sounds of heaving failed to drown out the corpse’s laughter.