The smell of smoke was overwhelming. The landscape surrounding them was a unfeeling monochrome, interrupted only in places by splotches of brown where earth or wood had failed to be scorched by the flames, and angry orange embers, eating away at what little remained.
The structures that had made up the little settlement that had been their temporary goal were reduced to charred ruins, with blackened mockeries of what had previously been the bones of the buildings of a peaceful hamlet.
Every step crunched as if Anders was walking on newly fallen snow, but the ashen gray that spread up before him was anything but a winter wonderland. There was no trace of the fields that had once surrounded the small village beyond the stone fences that in places had been erected to serve as separators between the fields. The crops were gone. The homes were reduced to ruin. The life that the village once possessed now long gone.
Slowly he made his path forwards, dreading what he’d find within the houses.
Perhaps there was hope that the residents had fled once the dragon had swooped in? After all, they could see where the plumes of fire had touched down, forming circles from which the fire then spread, outwards and onwards. He could see the gouges in the earth where the dragon had landed, leaving clear traces of its’ presence.
Perhaps the yellow-white he saw was not the bones of people, just the cattle that had been fettered, unable to escape what had to be a very visible attack?
No. Drawing closer, he saw that such hope was misplaced. What he saw had the typical domed shape of a skull, if deformed. Reaching down, touching it, the reason for the deformation became clear.
Pressure from within had made the skull crack outward, revealing the bone within.
Burned flesh still clung to the bones.
What had this poor soul done to deserve such a brutal end?
“Anders.” A heavy hand landed on his shoulder. Not able to respond, Anders merely turned his gaze towards the human.
“There’s nothing here.” Uther’s gaze was hard, but his voice was calm and level. “We need to move.”
Yes, they needed to move. The supplies had taken a significant hit when they fled the wildfire. There wasn’t enough to get them there and then back home again, a fact very clear to them all.
Well, not enough for those who needed to eat, at least.
And the situation was only going to grow more dire for every moment wasted.
Anders felt guilt. Glancing into the rubble that was left of one of the houses he saw more bodies. The bodies of adults and children. All killed. Murdered in a torrent of inescapable heat, lives snuffed away all too soon. And why? At the whims of an overgrown lizard?
And he couldn’t even bury them. He couldn’t give them a well-deserved final rest, more dignified than a tomb of coal and embers.
A cold, calculating part of him whispered that he could raise them, use them in the coming battle.
He could. But to raise the bodies of children? Or to separate the bodies of parents and children?
No, that felt… wrong, somehow.
This was all wrong.
At least he could take solace in the fact that he’d make the dragon pay.
Oh, he’d make the dragon pay.
The smell of it all stung bitterly in Gherg’s nose.
Fire. Burnt wood. The unmistakable tang of burnt skin and hair and burned flesh. It was a smell he knew well.
He didn’t need to look around to be able to tell that there were a lot of death around. A typical dragon attack.
The beast had swooped in, showering the place in fire before landing and finishing off any stragglers. He was crouched next to where the dragon’s claws had dug into the ground. He put his index finger into the gouge. He could barely touch the bottom with his knuckles resting on the surface. Full grown adult male. Likely around forty meters in length. Well fed. This wasn’t going to be an easy hunt.
Well, at least if he died against this thing, he’d be welcomed into the hall of heroes as a fuckin’ hero.
He chuckled for himself, and could almost feel how the gaze of the surrounding humans shifted to him.
“We’re in fer a heck of a foight, lads. This be a big un.”
With the tracks inspected, he shifted his gaze for a moment to the necromancer. The black-robed… person was standing with slumping shoulders, looking around the ruins. Gherg found himself wondering what was going on inside that jawless skull. And to be frank, he had no damn clue.
He got up, dusting off the ash from his knees.
“Well, ah think we’re done ‘ere, ye?”
Shiny-pants nodded solemnly. For a man surrounded by death and destruction, he seemed to be coping surprisingly well. It had taken Gherg a long time and plenty of dead friends to reach that level of composure.
Uther had been here once before. This village had been bustling then, and had been more than happy to part with several sacks of flour to help feed one of their previous campaigns.
They had been simple folk. Three elven families, two human. Simple folk. He had liked them. Now they were dead. The fields barren. Cattle wasting away where they had fallen.
It was all such a damn shame. Such a waste of love, life and joy. He walked down the length of the caravan, inspecting their dwindling food supply.
He had hoped the village had been spared the fire due to its’ location, a fair ways away from the border of the forest that made up much of the land they now controlled.
Instead, he had found its’ origin.
His joints ached with the need to punch something. To take out his rage on frustration with an explosion of action.
Save it for the dragon. He told himself.
Remember this feeling, save it for the dragon.
Deep breath. In. Out. Focus.
“Wrap it up, people! We’re moving immediately!”
There are half-hearted complaints from warriors that had seated themselves to rest from the hard march to the village, though Uther made the educated guess that they weren’t all too sad about leaving this place behind before the smell of burning death managed to cling on to everything, just like the ash was already doing.
Within a hour, they were beyond the borders of where the fire had spread, and now with the smoke behind them, they could finally see the mountains beyond the plain, where sweeping grasslands gave way to the great mountains.
As they first saw the mountains, they looked blue, as if solid water had been shaped into great stones rising out of the ground. But as they drew closer, the blue slowly, over the course of days, gave way to gray and green and white.
It was well over a month after leaving Ashenvale that they finally arrived at their destination.
A rocky valley where only the hardiest of evergreens were still flourishing.
“Alright, lads an’ lasses. Ah want the ballistae up on that there cliffside up there. Grab some branches an’ cover it all. We donnae want the beastie to know it’s a trap. An’ dragons have good vision, so make it look good!”
Gherg was pleased to see that if nothing else, the humans knew how to take orders. And just a moment after the thought had finished its’ course through his mind did he realise the perverse context of that idea.
“Right. Ahm keepin tha to meself.” He muttered quietly under his breath.
“Did you say something?” Uther asked him, looking down to see Gherg in the eyes.
“Nay, laddie. T’was nothin’. Now if ye’d be so kind, ah need some carryin’ help over here.”
Uther nodded, and motioned another of the humans not currently hauling ballistae uphill over to help.
“Ah need this barrel over here, in cover. An’ then this here case. Careful! It’ fragile!”
Uther had stumbled on a stray rock as the barrel was hoisted off the carriage, but Gherg had been able to catch it before the precious container touched the ground.
His fingers protesting, he helped the two humans to carry the heavy thing over to a crevice in the side of the cliff, where they gently placed this most vital of tools.
Although after the initial catch, Gherg’s lesser height rendered his assistance less than optimal.
“There. Now, where do you want the case?” The not-Uther human asked. Gherg really should learn their names.
“Over here, lad.” He walked over to another crevice. “Way awae. Ah’d rather keep it outta the flames.”
The man nodded. “Sir Uther?”
Uther looked over to the man. “…Yeah, coming.”
After the case had been lifted off from its’ resting place, Gherg knelt down beside it, unlatching it and opening it.
“…what’s all that?” The humans were standing behind him, looking over his shoulders. Gherg put down the lid of the case, leaning it on the ground.
“Alright, lads. This here,” he lifts up a jar from within the case “is a jar a’ Deerwort. Y’all are gonn wipe this under yer arms an’ around yer neck. Smells like shyte, but the dragon’s not gonn get yer scent. An’ tha beastie isnae going tae see a buncha’ deer as a threat. An this,” He picks up a clear bottle of light-yellow liquid “is the key tae this trap. This, is piss.”
Gherg laughed as he saw the confused faces of the two humans.
“It’s dragon piss. This bottle has the piss o’ a female in heat. Makes huntin’ the males way easier. Cannae resist it. Come like flies tae honey.”
“and what are you going to do with it?”
“Splash meself with it.”