CoD x DnD 1
Bright and warm rays of the sun bathed the green and lush grass, high enough to go up to a normal man’s knee, the very tips of the plants swaying gently in the wind, bowing left and right but never breaking. In the midst of the field of grass sat upon a stone, a man clad in skins of animals, leather and fabric, decadent but still with a simple elegance that most men and women of money desired but never had achieved. Much of his upper body was exposed, the skin soaking up the sun eagerly, a few silvery lines spread across the darker, silken skin.
He was idly watching the lake at the bottom of the hill he sat on, his eyes lazily roving over the figure of 5 humanoids as they dragged the carcass of a red salamander out of the shallows and onto the land, the blood spilled turning the luscious grass and herbs into brown and darkened things, burned.
The wind eagerly brushed around his ears, whispering sweet words caught from in between the adventurers into his ears. He tilts his head, a soft smile growing on his lips even as the glint in his warm eyes darkens to something sharp.
He reaches down towards his satchel, slender finger grabbing onto a small booklet of soft cloth and paper, holding it up towards his face.The booklet looks like it was made by an amateur, pages of different make and sizes and quality sticking inside the thick leather bounds. The book falls open easily, nearly eagerly, as soft glowing magic runs through the man's hands and fingers, leaving traces of illumination on the booklet.
The page shown is made from thick cloth like paper, more than 10 gold worth per single, simple page. The details depicted around the sides and edges are sinfully colored in blue and red, crowns and animals dancing along the borders. And in the middle of the page is a very detailed portrait of a regal looking man in tailored clothes, the emblem of a gryphon proudly sitting on his shoulder. Mutton chops, a furrowed brow, a stern tilt to his lips, the portrait looked eerily similar to the real person.
A magic laced finger strokes along the border of the page and then pokes against where the heart would be in a real person. Magic and Aether leaching into the page, the colors intensifying. Until finally the eyes blink, coming alight with an otherworldly glow as they focus and move, finally finding the man's own eyes. The stern tilt to the lips changes, the picture seemingly coming to life but not.
“My liege.” the man speaks, tilting his head slightly towards the portrait. “Gaz’al. You took your time to report.” The voice falling from the portrait is thin but still filled with strength and emotions. “Excuse my tardiness, but I waited until the beast was slain. My help was not needed though.” “So the reports were wrong? It was a beast and not what we expected?”
Gaz’al nods, eyes wandering back towards the lake, where the salamander carcass is now being opened, spilling even more of its liquid fire blood onto the green earth below. The ground will be stained for years to come. He shakes his head, collecting himself. "Yes, my liege." There was a disturbance in the flow of the Aether, but the spring itself was not tainted. It was only a wounded salamander, probably hurt by other beasts, that had fallen onto the Island and had sought shelter at the magic spring. The island is not in danger, the flow of the aether and magic is still smooth and calm. The harvest may be a bit smaller this year but after a year at the latest everything will be back to normal.”
The man in the portrait nods, his body shifting as if the man himself was rocking back and forth on his feet. “Perfect. Consider this the end of this mission. I will send you off to support our artificer friend though, Soap seemed to have found something if his latest reports were true.” Gaz’al chuckles, nodding slightly. “Yes, my liege Price. I will be gone before the sun sets.” He sighs before chuckling again. “Seems my days of simple quiet are gone now, where Soap is, explosions are not far off.”
The man in the portrait, Price, nods solemnly, though an amused smile dances over his lips. "True. That man never learned the definition of stealth. Be careful, Gaz’al. The rats are moving.” The magic ebbs and dims in the painting, the connection broken now, some of the colors flaking away with the wind.
Gaz’al slowly packs away the book, coming to his feet silently and without disturbing the grass around him. He checks himself and grins, his form starting to flow like liquid. And then, with a loud cry, a desert falcon lifts off from the stone, wings beating lazily as the wind seems to carry the bird on its own and off the island into the air and aether.
Hope you enjoyed this as much as I did. Even if it is just a little peak into this world and work.
