The mouths of dragons lack much of the articulation that we humanoids take for granted. Unsurprisingly, this affects their language, limiting the phonemes they can naturally produce. True, dragons can use their magic to help speak our languages, but many find it beneath them to do so. Thus, a working understanding of their language is vital to surviving interactions with them.
As previously mentioned, dragons are limited in the sounds they can naturally produce. Thus, draconic is a language where a small number of phonemes are modified by length, pitch, and volume. Volume is the most unusual of these, and bears special consideration.
Draconic statements often begin with a meaningless phrase used to set a volume of reference, as the meaning is based on increases and decreases of volume rather than any objective volume level. Speakers who are familiar with each other’s speaking patterns may forgo this reference phrase with increasing frequency, as they have no need for it.
However, should you meet a dragon who forgoes this reference phrase the first time you speak with them, beware. You have met a dragon with a sizable enough ego they expect you to be intimately familiar with them before even meeting them, and an egotistical dragon is a dangerous dragon, indeed!
In your travels, you come across a town deep inland, flanked by a mountain range and a forest. Oddly, though, the town is absolutely littered with seashells. They’re part of the clothing, part of jewelry, worked into silverware and furniture, part of the architecture and signs. But you’re weeks from the ocean, and these shells could never have come from the nearby river.
That evening, at the inn, you inquire as to the source of the seashells. Eventually, you convince somebody to tell you: for years, a seafaring woman would visit as often as she could, coming to see friends and lovers. She would bring the shells with her to trade, and as gifts. She came so frequently and for so long that they’re as much a part of the town as the forest, or the buildings.
You ask when she will come back and are met with a shameful glance to the forest. “She walked into the forest after being slighted some months ago and hasn’t been back.” That’s the last thing the person you’re talking to has to say on the matter.
As your retire to your room, you hear a song echoing through town. Despite its quiet, distant tones, you’d almost swear your room was shaking from the sound. As the song continues, the shaking grows more violent until you finally jump out of bed to investigate. None too soon, as all the shells in the room shatter suddenly, a swarm of locusts pouring out of them and clouding the air. In a panic, you push into the hallway outside and find clouds of insects congealing in the air and heading up to the mountain. Now outside, through the buzzing of the unwelcome pests, you hear the song more clearly.
Echoing down the face of the mountain is a strange, frantic warsong. And it’s a duet. You smell the scene of ocean water and moldy undergrowth mingling together, and it dawns on you that the town is in danger.
A night of debauchery like any other, excess beyond that imagined by even the most festive kings.
And why not? You’ve defeated a great evil! Saved the world! It’s time to celebrate being alive!
…okay, so maybe you weren’t the hero, but why not celebrate in their name, anyway?
Now, the people organizing the celebration, gods bless them, knew that celebrating in town would be downright destructive. Even in your addled mind, you’re inclined to agree, given somebody just knocked down a tree.
It’s a little odd, the strange mixture of privacy and openness on a night of such open excess, but the thick blanket of leaves and pine needles keeps people from hurting themselves when they fall over, and there’s plenty of free water to fight off the inevitable hangover, so who are you to complain?
Suddenly, somebody stands up and demands attention. Before a bunch of angry drunks tear them apart, they call for a toast to the legendary hero! The fifth in the past hour, but who’s counting?
Everybody cheers, and just as they turn to their drinks, the river behind the speaker rears up and swallows them. The river is roaring… literally roaring the name of the hero, in anger.
With apologies to Lin-Manuel Miranda and the Hamilton fandom, have another story I wrote for another Renowned Explorers: International Society weekly challenge. This week’s theme was Fix The World, and as will probably be obvious from the story my most successful run this week was a Victor/Phillipe/Maria run. I found inspiration in Victor’s crew story revealing his military past, but also how he interacts with Maria’s crew story... interesting stuff. So sign me up!
Anyway I 100% recommend this game. It’s 50% off for the rest of the Steam sale. If you like procedural generated adventures, turn based tactics games, or FTL-likes then this game is probably for you.
Phillipe kneeled at the bank of the stream, turning the jeweled rapier over in his hands. He had come here intending to to wash the blood from the blade, but suddenly couldn’t bring himself to do so. Staring at the stains on the otherwise perfect steel, he was overcome with the sudden sense that doing so would be disrespectful, somehow. Lost in thought, he hadn’t noticed the hand on his shoulder until its owner spoke.
“Phillipe, you cannot do this to yourself, no?” He glanced up and saw the face of his good friend, Maria. She made no effort to hide her sorrow, dropping her normally composed grace for pure honesty. Her eyes were red, as red as his likely were. Somehow, it was comforting. Phillipe just shook his head and glanced back down at the sword.
“We failed him, Maria. I failed him. I’m a doctor, and here I am… clean hands.” He held them up for emphasis. “I didn’t even try to help him!” Maria put her finger to his lips to stop him. It was a gesture she used frequently when trying to get her way, but it lacked its usual sensuality.
“Phillipe, you and I both know what he told us. He wanted your knife, and for us to escape and survive.” Gingerly, she reached down and took the rapier in one hand and pulled the doctor to his feet with the other. “Believe me when I say that this is what he would have wanted.”
“What iare you talking about, woman? I know what he said, but there’s no way he truly wanted us to leave him to die!” Furious, he snatched back the rapier so quickly that, had he been attacking with that speed, Maria would have had no chance to defend against it. “And we both know what he said about his experience in the war. He no longer wished to fight, and we left him behind to do just that!”
“Phillipe, my dear, just because you never wanted to fight again does not mean Victor felt the same.” She sighed and turned away, her emotions threatening to well up once more. “He and I spoke more than you may be aware…”
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Sitting as they were, so close to each other, felt odd indeed. Maria typically reserved this sort of intimacy for those she was involved with while for Victor it was reserved for his wife. And, true, his burgeoning feelings for Maria should have made things more awkward, yet there they were, reclining and in each other’s arms. In fact, discussing his feelings for Maria had done quite a bit to keep them in check, and while the intimacy was comforting there was nothing improper in it anymore.
“Victor,” Maria sighed, settling deeper into the comfort of the embrace, “why is it you arranged such a dangerous expedition? It seems to me you would be the last person to want to adventure in such a manner?” Though she couldn’t see, Victor raised his eyebrow in confusion.
“What do you mean? Am I less adventurous than others, mon ami?”
“No, no. I simply meant that… given your experience fighting, and your wife waiting for you at home, you would have many good reasons never to leave!” Victor chuckled, and took a few seconds to compose his thoughts. It was, to tell the truth, something he’d thought on many times.
“Well, Maria,” he began with a sigh, “I would say that it is for those very reasons that I must leave home. I have seen what hate this world contains all too well, and that hatred is only more extreme when exacerbated by the bonds of nationality. And there are yet many tyrants in the world… it was not so long ago that my French forefathers assisted the American colonies in overthrowing their British rule, and even more recently that those same colonies fought over slavery.”
“And that is enough to take you back into the fray, and from your wife’s arms? I do not believe you are that selfless, Victor Signac!” He shifted slightly, suddenly uncomfortable under both Maria’s weight and her scrutiny.
“Perhaps not… ultimately, I made this decision for my children.” Maria sat up, surprised, and stared back at the Frenchman. “Surprised? Do not forget that I am 37, Maria.” Victor smiled, but it faded quickly. “No, my children are the ones I explore for… I want to make the world better for them. Whether by fostering international cooperation, or by stopping tyrants in their tracks, I want to leave for my children a much better world than the one I inherited.” Maria smiled and leaned forward to kiss VIctor on the cheek.
“Victor, perhaps I was wrong! You are nothing short of a gentleman that any young man, your sons being no exception, should be happy to emulate!”
“And you, Maria? What brought you from home?” Slightly alarmed at the sudden change in subject, Maria couldn’t help but giggle.
“Victor, perhaps that should be a discussion for another time… I assure you that my answer is nowhere near as interesting as yours” Victor shrugged, and placed his arm around Maria as she sat back into the embrace.
“As you wish, Maria… though we shall discuss your motivations before too long.It doesn’t do to have you knowing so much about both myself and Phillipe, but leave us in the dark!”
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The three explorers dove behind the fallen tree, hoping they were quick enough to avoid detection. All three needed the chance to catch their breath, and in the meantime Phillipe took the chance to peek out behind them,
“I don’t see Boris, he’s likely lost our trail.”
“Yes, but we have to ask how long that will last for… we are fighting an enemy who is, quite frankly, superior to us in every way. He is stronger and faster as a wolf, and can track us by scenet. He will no doubt find us, and given we have seemingly no hope of negotiating with him… I fear this is only prolonging our death…” Maria sat back, her face in her hands.
“How cruel the Devil is, to create such a beast!” Out of the corner of his eye, Victor saw Maria reach for a necklace. At first, he thought she was reaching for her rosary, but when she pulled out a locket to look at the picture contained inside, he felt a pang of guilt. He was the one who had lead them here, and because of his decisions they were now stuck in this hopeless situation.
“He passed by,” Phillipe whispered as he ducked back behind the tree. “From nine to three o’clock, perhaps thirty meters out. He seemed to be seeking our scent, as you suggested, Victor.” Maria closed the locket and dropped in back against her breast. Phillipe, for whatever reason, fiddled with his leg through his pants. A mystery for another time, God willing. As Victor felt the weight of his rapier in his hand, as the thought of his children threatened to sink his heart, he become painfully aware of what he needed to do.
“Please, mes amies,” he said quietly as he placed the rapier in Phillipe’s hand. “Give me your knife, Phillipe, and then the two of you run on my signal.” Phillipe looked ready to argue, but Victor simply took the knife from his side. “This is not up for debate. Run and live to continue our work. Make the world a better place.” He turned to Maria, gripping the dagger tight enough that his knuckles turned white. “Please bring my rapier to my eldest son, and let them all know what I trie to do for them.”
The others said nothing, though they dearly wanted to stop him. There was something in Victor’s tone of voice that told them arguing would be pointless. So they stayed silent as Victor turned to stare out from the tree, and then did nothing but turn and run as their leader charged at the demonic werewolf. They ran until they reached camp, and still they said nothing.
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“I’m still not convinced, Maria.” The young woman simply sighed.
“You don’t have to be, Phillipe. Not yet. But with time… I’m sure you’ll agree with me.” And again, the two said nothing. They simply sat at the bank of the river, holding each other tight.
Okay so because I’m currently obsessed with Renowned Explorers: International Society and the weekly challenges give such a good source of inspiration, have a story for my most recent successful expedition:
A young botanist sat, quietly watching her campfire out of one eye while doing her best to sketch accurate drawings of the plants she and her companions had encountered so far in their journey. Her attention divided, the drawing was nowhere near as good as she would have liked it. After a brief consideration she sighed, tore the page from her journal, and tossed it into the fire. The leaves had been all wrong, not to mention that she had crowded the flower’s petals far too closely together.
Taking a break, she glanced around at the jungle surrounding her. Nothing. Hatice and Kiwi were still hunting, it seemed. At this rate, it almost seemed like she’d be eating alone tonight, but she knew Kiwi would never pass up a meal. She placed another few pieces of wood on the fire and turned her back on it; there wasn’t really a need to watch it that closely, honestly, and it gave better illumination for her next attempt at drawing the plant. With her newly undivided attention, she managed to get through three complete sketches before she heard the approach of her companions.
“Welcome back,” she said simply, putting the finishing touches on her fourth sketch before looking up to smile at the others. Kiwi had already sat down and was cleaning their kill, moving her knife with such extreme skill and precision that Emilia wondered, not for the first time, how dangerous an enemy she would be if they ever came to blows. Hatice had kneeled down to check on the broth that Emilia had started, but returned the smile.
“Sorry we took so long, Em. As it turns out, some of the pirates brought along some very… persistent pooches.” She proudly held up a few collars, each of them amazingly ornate and a few ordained with gold or small jewels. “But hey, who can turn down a chance for a little more profit?”
“The… the dogs are okay, right?”
“No,” Kiwi spat, under her breath.
“Of course they are, Em.” Emilia looked back and forth between the two of them. Kiwi wasn’t paying her any mind, typical really, but Hatice just shook her head. “Would I lie to you?” Emilia breathed a sigh of relief.
“No, you’re right. Sorry I doubted you, Hatice.” With a slight chuckle, Hatice stood up and shook her head.
“Well, the veggies are probably going to be a little overcooked by the time we get the meat done, but it certainly tastes good. Well done.” Emilia blushed.
“Really, it’s nothing. You know I’m just happy to contribute, since I certainly can’t help with hunting.”
“Well it certainly is appreciated. I still feel kind of bad that we leave you behind by yourself for such long periods of time, with nobody for company or for protection should those pirates come along.”
“She doesn’t need company. She draws in that stupid book of hers.” Hatice and Emilia both turned to look at Kiwi, who had just finished cleaning the meat and was finishing cutting it up for the stew. Nobody said anything for a few moments, and Emilia gradually shrank into herself, feeling all too conscious of staring that wasn’t coming from eyes that weren’t there. It took a few seconds, but Hatice noticed and made her way over to her and put her arm around her shoulder. Emilia couldn’t help but hear the jingling of the collars that Hatice was, no doubt, still playing with in her other hand.
“Come on, you know Kiwi doesn’t mean anything by it. Right, Kiwi?”
“Nope,” she said simply. “Just speaking my mind.” Again, a few awkward seconds passed as Emilia looked back and forth between the two. Again, Hatice’s disarming smile calmed her nerves. Satisfied, Hatice sat back down, examining her latest gains a bit more closely and Emilia returned to her own seat. After a few moments, she returned to her sketches, though she took frequent stops and great care to make sure that nobody was watching her too closely.
Eventually, the stew was ready to eat. They took out some admittedly stale bread (the better to soak up the broth, Hatice insisted) and ate in relative silence. It wasn’t uncomfortable by itself, but the lingering tension from earlier still had Emilia somewhat on edge. So, when Hatice asked what she had been drawing, she couldn’t help but be a bit worried. It was such a personal subject, after all, her very reason for exploring! Then again, she could explain what she was doing without explaining why, couldn’t she? But Kiwi had already said she thought the book itself was stupid, to say nothing of the drawings themselves… not mention-
“Do you always blush when you think?” Hatice asked, breaking Emilia from her thoughts. “It’s okay if you don’t want to share, Em,” she said, smiling. Somehow, though, Emilia wasn’t convinced this time.
“Well, uh… if you really want to know… I’m drawing the plants we come across. There’s not much information about plants in this part of the world, so it’s my way of helping everybody learn about what’s out here!” To everybody’s surprise, Kiwi put down her bowl of stew (unfinished!) and looked directly at Emilia.
“So you’re helping people appreciate what’s out here, then?”
“Well, I mean, there’s more to it than just appreciation, but yes. But with these plants, we could find new foods, seasonings, medi-”
“Gotta say, Em, that’s a pretty cool goal. Maybe your book’s not that stupid.” Once again, Kiwi had left Emilia speechless, at least for a moment. Emboldened by the unexpected support, however, Emilia kept talking.
“Of course there’s merit to all of these plants, but my real goal is one specific plants that’s supposed to be somewhere out here in the Caribbean. Only one person has found it so far, but their briefest experiences with it indicate it’s bioluminescent, a potent painkiller, more calming than tobacco when smoked, an excellent spice, and… well, nothing short of beautiful to behold.” Emilia had become so excited, she was just short of babbling. Hatice was amused by how worked up she was getting, but neither of them noticed the subtle shift in Kiwi’s expression and body language. “If I could find this plant, I’d be the most famous botanist of this century! Perhaps of all time! To say nothing of what could happen if we managed to cultivate it for private use back East!”
“So you don’t give a crap about nature itself is what you’re saying?” That gave Emilia pause, if not for what Kiwi had said then the tone of her voice. There was… hate, in it? That couldn’t be, could it? Such a quick change in demeanor… “You just wanna be rich and famous, am I right?” Emilia jumped to her feet and closed the distance between her and Kiwi, uncharacteristically furious.
“Kiwi, don’t be ridiculous! If I didn’t care about nature, would I have become a botanist? Would I have joined this expedition?” Kiwi stood up, halting Emilia in her tracks. Her hand was distressingly close to her dagger.
“Well, it sounds to me like you just wanna get rich and famous off of that damn plant! I only joined in the first place because I knew Hatice care about nature, and I THOUGHT you would, too! Why else would I put up with you losers? But here you are, trying to exploit it all to get rich!” Kiwi flourished her dagger, more out of anger than out of any intention to make a point, but Emilia still staggered back a few steps in surprise.
“Kiwi, I…”
“Calm down, Kiwi. Did you think we’d be putting this much money and effort into this expedition just to explore the world for its own sake? Did you seriously not want anything out of this whole endeavor?” Emilia glanced over at Hatice and noticed that she was playing ominously with her bow. What was happening to the group?
“No, but... “ Kiwi floundered. It’s not as though she hadn’t collected a few pieces of treasure herself, pocketed a few jewels they’d come across. Though, thinking back, she had always taken them from people rather than from nature...
“Then sit down, and calm down. If Em really means to cultivate the plant, that shows a great deal of respect for it, don’t you think? And if you can grow it in England, people won’t need to take it from its home here in the Caribbean, which means we can preserve the wilderness here the way it looks currently.” Another few tense, silent seconds. Emilia could practically feel her heart trying to beat its way out of her chest, and Kiwi looked downright furious, but Hatice seemed disturbingly undisturbed.
“Forget it. You have no clue what you’re talking about.” Kiwi turned and bolted into the jungle, without hardly hesitation. With the immediate threat gone, Emilia sunk to the ground, suddenly feeling exhausted.
“She’s going to get herself hurt out there,” Hatice spat, chasing after her a few steps before deciding the endeavor would be useless. She planted her bow in the soft ground they had chosen for their campsite and turned instead to face away from her captain.
“Hey, Em, don’t take what she says to heart, okay? I’ve known Kiwi for a while, now, and she’s nothing if not… dramatic.” Emilia shook her head.
“But we didn’t have any problems in the Isles, or in London preparing for either of our expeditions… this is all my fault, isn’t it?” Emilia stared off into the jungle, where Kiwi had run off. A few of the branches were still shaking with the aftermath of her quick and violent escape.
“Seriously, Em, don’t worry about it. She wouldn’t react this violently if she didn’t feel close to us. She’s a pretty guarded person… though I wish she’d not be so headstrong and impulsive, if you ask me.” Without any suitable response, Emilia stayed quiet. She heard Kiwi take out the dog collars once more, heard them jingle in her hand. “Hey, why not tell me about that plant you’re looking for? The boo-loominissing one?”
So since I’m apparently in a huge RWBY mood right now, have a short not-quite-drabble I wrote in anticipation for the finale regarding Blake and Yang immediately after… well, episode 11. Season 3 spoilers, obviously, especially for episode 11.
Yang Xiao Long was no slouch when it came to taking punishment, but this pain was unlike any she had ever felt. The comforting support of her Aura was nowhere to be found. The rage and power that normally filled her when she was hurt was draining away, leaving an empty void that quickly filled with pure agony. Even her adrenaline had abandoned her, leaving her unable to even lift her head to see why her arm was hurting so much.
All she had now with pain. That, and the uneven, jerky motion of Blake carrying her away from the fight and that swordsman. Blake had been stabbed… somewhere. The chest, maybe? Her stomach? Everything after hearing Blake’s cry of pain was kind of a blur, the details slipping away. Her arm throbbed again, and though the pain made her try to curl into a ball all she could do was clench her muscles.
Desperate to distract herself from the unbearable agony, she focused on Blake instead. Her skin was cold and sweaty, and she winced in pain with every other step she took. Her breathing was quick paced and staccato. Despite this, she held onto Yang with what felt like all of her strength.
“Blake…” she croaked out, trying to shift her weight to be less unwieldy. Blake, to her credit, didn’t falter at the sudden surprise.
“Shh… you’ll be ok, Yang. I’ll find help for you…” Blake took a quick, deep, shuddering breath. Trying to fight through the pain, Yang figured. Ridiculous. Blake had been stabbed and she still insisted on dealing with things on her own.
“No, Blake…” It took several painful seconds for Yang to catch her breath and continued her thought. “I can help. Don’t… don’t take this on alone… not again.” Silence. Nothing but Blake’s increasingly difficult movement and the draining emptiness. After a few moments without a response, Yang began to shift her weight again, to break from Blake’s grip. “I can walk… you don’t have to carry me…”
“Yang, I… I don’t think you understand…” Blake’s voice sounded dangerously close to breaking, proving to Yang that she had decided to shoulder too much, the weight of it all threatening to crush her. That thought, and the pain in the voice of her beautiful friend, began to banish the crushing emptiness inside her. Yang looked up from Blake’s shoulder, where she had been held tight like a baby, and the two locked eyes. With a sudden surge of strength, Yang reached up to caress Blake’s cheek, and everything made sense. With its source now painfully obvious, the impossible sense of emptiness returned and sapped away any lingering strength Yang had kept hidden. The last thing she saw was Blake’s face contorting into an inhuman shape of sorrow and guilt, and with that sight the emptiness swallowed her into unconsciousness.
Blake Belladonna quietly carried her teammate through the night. She had no idea what had transpired with the others while she has been fighting Adam, and therefore no idea where they would end up, but it was all she could do to begin repaying all Yang had done for her, to begin to replace what Yang had lost because of her. It was all she could do for her friend.
N'yk-ala was scared. He was alone. He was hungry. Exiled from his clan in the mountains, he had run faster than he had ever run in his life to get out of his previous territory before Draconic Mercy ran out. Before his family would hunt him down. Before he would be executed.
He was tired. Exhausted. His running had brought him to a Tall settlement. Clan wisdom said to avoid these at all costs, but he wasn't part of the clan anymore. The towering buildings cast dark shadows and his coppery scaled blended in with the dirt moderately well. He was small. So long as he stuck to the shade and dirt, he could remain unseen.
It was night. Starving, he had been watching a Tall with a stand full of food. He'd been giving it to other Talls throughout the day, and N'yk-ala had been waiting. Waiting for Talls to go away, to stop watching. The Food Tall was talking with another Tall who was dressed like a Shaman, in long, flowing robes. No other Talls seemed to be around.
He was brave. He snuck out of the shadows and to the stand. It was too tall to simply take the food, so he scrambled up the side to the top. He grabbed as much fruit as he thought he could carry quietly, secured it, and dropped to the ground.
He had misjudged. He landed safely, but dropped an apple. It landed with a quiet thud, but in his mind it was as loud as a thunderclap. Dropping the other goods in his panic, he bolted. The Talls started shouting in their language that he didn't understand.
He ran. He completely forgot the good and his hunger. All that was on his mind was running and not getting caught. He knew a Tall solider was chasing him, to punish him, so he ran. His hunger and his exhaustion caught up to him, however. With the last bit of his energy, he dove into the shadows and hoped the Talls passed him by.
He was found. The Tall was covered in leather armor and carried a weapon. N'yk-ala knew he would die the moment the Tall grabbed him. Lifted by his neck, he struggled weakly but surrendered quickly. He simply lacked the energy to defend himself. The Shaman Tall rushed up with the Food Tall and the three talked in their strange language.
He was spared. The Shaman Tall pointed to the ground and the warrior let go. N'yk-ala fell unceremoniously and cautiously looked up from his prone position. The Shaman Tall handed a leather pouch to each of the other Talls, and then the two left. He glanced down at N'yk-ala and began speaking in his own language. N'yk-ala stayed only because he couldn't bring himself to move. After some time, the Shaman Tall briefly spoke in a language N'yk-ala understood, but he suddenly became very sleepy and couldn't remember what had been said.
He was asleep. And then he wasn't. But he was still very hungry and how he was uncomfortable, as though he had slept on rocks. He was sitting on a large wooden floor in a strange room. It was full of young Talls, dressed like the Shaman Tall had been. They were all listening to the Shaman Tall speak in their language.
He was confused. Was he going to be sacrificed to their god? Eaten? He tried to scurry away, but found himself physically unable to move outside of a small square of area. There was no actual barrier stopping him, he simply could not set foot outside some invisible line. Frustrated with how his life had turned out, he sat down and accepted his fate. Even if there was a way out, he was too hungry to seek it. This was his punishment, no doubt, for breaking the ancient laws.
He was being watched. The Shaman Tall had noticed that he was awake and began gesturing towards him. With an air of finality he ceased talking and sat down behind the table. The young Apprentice Talls stared at their desks, moving bird feathers back and forth. Now and then they would look up, either at him or just past him.
He was curious. What else would they be looking at? He turned and saw a small, thin stone suspended in the air by wooden legs. It was covered in symbols... symbols he recognized. He had found them carved into the walls in the mountain, far past where his people inhabited these days for fear of what lived there. He had taught themselves to read them. He had learned what they represented. He had been banished because of them.
He analyzed. It was simple, really. The runes represented a spell for putting others to sleep. The energies, the motions, the words... they were all there. There were notes for a affecting a target like him; he was, of course, a different race than the Talls, and magic worked most easily on one of the same race as the caster. There were adjustments needed to fully affect somebody of a different race. Working backwards, N'yk-ala worked out how to affect the Talls. He worked out how to cast the spell. But should he? Would that just anger his captors? He was near death, he had nothing to lose.
He cast the spell. Channeled the energies into the Apprentice Talls, willing them to fall asleep. There was a whirring noise behind him as several of the Talls slumped forward, asleep. The Shaman Tall looked up and spoke with the young ones. He got angry, and one of the Apprentice Talls pointed to N'yk-ala.
He chose wrong. The Shaman Tall had brought him here to be a test subject for a sleep spell, but now he had earned the Tall's anger and would be killed.
The Shaman spoke. "Did you cast the spell?" He in N'yk-ala's language, and he spoke with curiosity more than anything.
"Yes, I cast the spell," N'yk-ala replied. He thought that honesty would be his best bet at staying alive. Perhaps not the best plan, but better than no plan.
"Interesting. How did you cast it?" N'yk-ala explained that he had read the spell off the board, and said nothing more. "Yes, very interesting. I thought your kind had lost the power of magic."
"We stole it from the dragons and they stole it back. They cursed us. But I found writings from the Before Time. Studied them. I was banished for breaking our laws, my family was afraid I would bring back the wrath of the dragons." The Shaman Tall nodded and looked out at the young Talls. He was deep in thought.
"You have a skill that would be remarkable even in a humanoid," the Shaman said. "For you, though, it is even more remarkable." N'yk-ala shrunk away, made painfully aware of the position his people held in the grand scheme of the world. Of course is was more remarkable coming from one of his people; the Talls considered them worthless. "You, young kobold," the Shaman Tall continued," are a prodigy. What is your name?"
N'yk-ala stared. He was utterly confused by the situation he found himself in. The Tall didn't want to kill him, had even saved him. Now he wanted his name? "N'yk-ala," he answered after a few moments.
The Shaman Tall smiled. "Well, N'yk-ala, how would you like to be my student?"
