Darkflame

“There weren’t always dragons in the valley. At least not that the people of Ash Chasm knew of. It wasn’t until two generations ago, that the caverns were discovered deep in the earth. And the dragons were disturbed from their decades of slumber.”

The old crone coughed in the smoke from the fire as the children gazed at her, their eyes glimmering hungrily in the pale white firelight.

"They had no way of knowing just how much their lives would change that day, or their world as a whole. The beasts emerged with a fury that would not be satisfied until the whole world burned. And so it did. The sky filled with monsters and the world turned to ash as the dragons swept across the lands. Many men lost their lives attempting to kill the dragons. And many succeeded. By the time the last few dragons remained, it was too late to save life as they had known it.” Her voice croaked but her face started to grow more animated as she spoke. The tight grey bun on the top of her head wiggled every time she looked around at the children, feathery wisps fluttered around her weathered face.

“The seasons used to be mild, tolerable for the average person to survive through. Though not everyone lived long enough to see the seasons fully change more that twice, many barely lived to see night become day. But the fire and smoke made the climate shift, and the summers became too scorching and winters too merciless. In order for humanity to continue, we had to adapt. So they built our sky cities high in the atmosphere, and those who could not afford to take to the skies learned to live in the caverns left by the dragons.”

“Did you ever live in the skies, Grandma?” One child blurted out and another child smacked him lightly, telling him to hush.

The old woman nodded once, and leaned closer to whisper loudly. “Don't tell anyone, but I traveled the skies as a pirate." The children shied away, shouting in disbelief.

"There's no way!" One boy yelled. The others giggled to each other nervously.

The old woman sat back, tucking her hands smugly in her sleeves. "It's true. But I was born to a village that readied the caverns for the town nearby.”

The children gawked at her. “Wait go back! Tell us more about the dragons!” A few of the children shimmied closer.

“After the bloodshed, only one dragon remained. The Matriarch. She was clever and elusive, some thought she was thousands of years old. She would raze entire cities, and one day she vanished into thin air. No one saw any trace of her for nearly two generations, and so assumed that she had died off as the last of her kind.”

“Until the people of Ash Chasm returned to the caverns to prepare for wintering underground. They noticed a new tunnel had formed, and began to investigate. One unlucky soul found a vast cavern that seemed to glow with an eerie blue light. No one knew what it meant, until it was too late. The last dragon was disturbed from her slumber, and with her was another. The dragon had a daughter and the two decimated the village, leaving no survivors. No one knew what had happened until years later, when the Matriarch grew hungry and began her path of destruction.”

The old woman’s face stilled, the memories lurking below the surface like a leech in murky water.

“Many prophecies were born, but there was one seer that held a reputation across the lands. When the mother dragon woke up, this old seer had a vision. She foresaw an Ash Chasm warrior with golden eyes wielding a power that could overthrow the beasts. She saw another who shared a soul with the last of the dragon kind, who would end the bloodshed forever. She saw blue flames, and cities falling from the sky. She saw a fleet of shadows and demons ravaging the long winter night, and the dawn of a new era.” The old woman’s eyes grew more distant as she spoke. In her mind, the details were more vivd. The piercing glare of the golden eyes, the heat of dragon-fire against her skin, lightning illuminating a crew of men coated in black, the thick scar left by heartbreak and the first rays of sunlight after an eternity of night.

“A prophecy? Did they kill off the dragons then?” A little girl blurted out, clutching her hands to her chest.

The old crone snapped out of her revery with a soft smile. “Do you want me to tell the story or not? I won't go spoiling it by telling the end first.”

The children clapped enthusiastically as the little girl blushed in embarrassment. The old woman drew her hands from the sleeves of her cloak and pulled out a dragon scale. She held the scale up for them to see. Its black surface reflected the firelight like an oil slick, the colors prismatic and hard to focus on as they shifted. The children gasped in awe at the scale, no bigger than many of their hands. Her old eyes sparked as she marveled at it.

“Her name was Darkflame, the daughter of the Matriarch. She was the last of her kind.”

The old woman's face morphed into the face of a raven-like creature, staring down at the deck of and airship from the upper sails of the main mast. Wind howled around the strange creature, lightning illuminating its hunched form as the sails groaned against the storm. High up in winter night skies, they floated through the clouds and mist.

It cocked its head, beads rattling as a mane of feathers, long hair and leather straps whipped in the wind. The blue flame engines that held the galleon aloft flickered softly as the boat coasted, its crew sleeping below deck despite the storm. Only a single watchman sat on deck beside a fire wavering within a barrel. Picking at his fingernails with his dagger, he chewed loudly on a piece of jerky as he shimmied deeper into the lumpy cloak around his shoulders.

The shadow watched from the sails, gripping the slippery tethers in the gales. It dexterously slid down a rope, landing soundlessly on the railing across the deck from the guard. He didn't notice, immersed in chewing at a nail. Perched on the rail, the creature waited, then slipped silently in through the hatch to the lower deck. The guard glanced around, shrugged and went back to his task.

Within the hold, bulging hammocks snored and grumbled in their dreams. The raven-beast wove deftly through them. On the far wall, it found an open door leading to darkness. With a glance around, it vanished through the door into the next chamber.

It scratched at its waist, rummaging before if pulled out a small pearlescent bottle from a pouch. A soft blue light flickered to life in a human palm, extending from the shadowy form of the creature. A pair of beady eyes stared blankly back at the raven-beast in the pitch dark, the light glimmered in them like a distant star. The hand raised the light to reveal gaping mouth, yellowed tusks bared. The mouth belonged to a lifeless boar, hung by its feet from the ceiling.

The light swelled slightly, casting a glow further into the chamber. Gold and jewels sparkled back at the creature, heaps of wrapped foods stacked nearly to the ceiling. With a pat to the boar's snout, the light extinguished and the hunched creature melted back into the darkness.

In the swirling fog over the sleeping galleon, a smaller ship loomed; blacker than the space between stars with three masts to sprint effortlessly through the stormy skies. The vessel resembled a cross between a viking long-ship and a Fuchuan, long and slender with an upper deck at the rear. An intricately carved dragon head arched at the stern, mouth agape in a vicious roar. In the cities across the skies, this ship was known to be an omen of death. It hunted vessels for any and all means of goods, sometimes it seemed just for hell of it. Some had even gone so far as to depict the crew as vengeful demons in the skins of men, appearing as shadowy as their vessel.

On board the shadow black ship, a crew of men sharpened their knives. Their captain focused a spyglass down at the galleon from the upper deck. Through the glass, a faint blue light flickered from the sleeping vessel below. Two long pulses.. The captain smirked and gazed over his men with one golden eye, one murky white with blindness. A grotesque scar blazed from his hairline down through the center of his right eye and ended at the corner of his mouth, distorting his grin. The skin to the right of the scar was in shambles, extending over his ear into his scalp. A burn that seemingly never healed.

"We've got a signal,” He turned as his men looked up to him, their faces painted black so only the whites of their eyes floated in the darkness. "See to it that no one survives.” They made a habit of looking into his good eye, on the side of him that was still the countenance of a handsome young man. His long white hair whipped in the wind, and he stood out like a ghost against the darkness enveloping him.

A massive dark-skinned man stepped up beside the captain on the upper deck. The pale complexion of the captain held a stark contrast beside the black paint on the warrior's skin.

"Vigo, don't let her mess around for too long." The captain lowered his voice, Vigo glanced over at him.

“Yes, Lord Tekla.” Vigo set two axes on his shoulders and marched down the stairs. The captain's eye gazed heavily after him, lost in thought. He could always depend on Sega to stir up trouble. With a sigh he turned to the helm.