02 ❂ Draco

[absentconstellation]

[ Spam ]

[ The Cat can be found in any place which is comfortable, warm, or both, napping. Especially places where there is sun. He has no trouble navigating through doors or programming the enclosure. Occasionally he may even be found in the dining hall, with his plate of chopped meat and bowl of water. ]

Comments

Magic fire, ft. dragons and gods, cw: fire, animal death

[absentconstellation]

You trail a short few feet behind the armored woman, who is rushing to pin up her shoulder length brown hair so that it won’t hang out of her helmet. You inspect her armor with senses both magical and visual, and are disturbed to find that although she has not forgotten anything, her armor is in poor condition. She hasn’t had a chance to get new, caught up in the very center of the war as she is. This is where the streams of fate combine, and hers is strong here.

You can only pray that she will survive this battle. She may be a chosen of the Gods, but the Gods forbid his interference. It is reasonable insofar as none of them could see more than a few seconds ahead in this twisted, muddy time. It is still infuriating, when you have spent the last ten years with the woman, raising her as much as her father did through the years until she was made a full knight. She was inspiring to watch, pure poetry with a sword. You’re sure Great Mithros, patron of warriors, would agree. You’ve seen as many battles as he has, and most of them from closer up.

Shadow? Where are you? The woman’s mind-voice is far more nervous than you like. You trot to wind between her legs before leaping up into the cup set into her blue roan warhorse’s saddle. Your mind-voice is steady, comforting. You’ve had centuries to practice it.

I am right here. Now come along. My Lord is calling you. He grows quite impatient. Your whiskers twitch happily as you find the commander of her squad in your mind. This will help calm the lady knight, you think. She always does better when she has people to take care of. He has started pulling the hairs from his mustache again.

The woman grimaces. She has been trying to break him of the unhealthy habit, but it is hard for a woman to make her superiors see sense. Depending how this battle goes, it may be harder or easier for women in the future. You hope that it is easier. You hope that the humans win over the Ysandir. Humans are so much more interesting, so much more mortal.

You don’t like it that the knight and her commander argue. She leaves him in anger, and she may not get the chance to be friendly with him again. But you say nothing that might cause her concern. She takes your word very seriously, and she needs to focus on this battle. You won’t let her think that the Gods intend her to die here. They don’t, as far as you can tell.

The steed is grim as he carries his master into battle. You don’t speak to him, either. He knows what he is doing, and cares for your charge almost as much as you do. The knight directs her squad, and in the blink of an eye all is chaos. Magic of all colors dash through the air, and you rise to your feet so that you might react more quickly. Mostly your mind is set on any magic that intends harm to your charge. You bat away several balls of fire in shades of green and blue. If there’s a good opportunity, you think, you’ll find the mages responsible and give them a few good scratches. It is natural that they would target the obvious squad leader, but you like it no better for the knowledge.

There is a terrible scream from the horse, and the lady shouts a command. You leap to the ground, where you might be able to help rather than simply be thrown about like a ragdoll. Your heart twists as you see what has caused the roan so much distress. He rears, and you can see the silver fire racing from his skin to his heart. The horse will die, that much you know. There is nothing you can do about it. You have the power to heal, to stop this marvelous creature from dying. You are simply not permitted. It breaks your heart.

The lady knight understands what is happening only when you quietly speak her name into her mind. She grits her teeth, and for a moment looks as though she might keep fighting to calm the horse anyway. Then she swings herself off of the dying animal’s saddle. She has no time to mourn her old friend. He falls first to his knees, then to his side.

Go, you tell her. I will see to him. You shield yourself, so that you are untouchable by all forms of magic, and walk to place a black paw on the horse’s cheek. He lives yet, though clearly afraid and in pain.

Your work is done here. I will take care of her. You wait until the gelding concedes, and then you settle him gently into sleep. Death follows quickly. You turn to find your ward.

She has found the leader of the Ysandir army. She knows who he is, though none of her fellows realize. They do not expect so important an individual to be here in the front lines. The Ysandir knows that this battle is the turning point, just as you do. She has come to ensure their victory against the “lowly mortals”. She does not believe she can be bested.

You watch the lady knight carefully. She will need all of her attention focused on this fight, and you intend to clear the area so that she may have just that. You roar with the voice of a lion and the volume of a dragon. That frightens most of the fighters away from you. Those that it doesn’t learn quickly just how far a cat’s claws can stretch past armor and chainmail.

It’s a dragon that almost ruins everything. You had not heard that the enemy was bringing dragons to this battle, and assumed that those present were those who sided with the mortals. That was a dire mistake. Dragons can travel quickly when they want to. Clearly the reinforcements have come.

I do not have time for you, Cat. The voice of the dragon, a bloody crimson with war rage, is booming in your mind. The ancient creature knows that you will not let him interfere if you can help it. Small you may be, but with some creativity there is much you can do without truly interfering.

A pity. I don’t believe you do. Your mind-voice is flippant, and the dragon lets out a furious roar. Then he activates a spell that makes your hair stand on end.

The meteor, building itself of fire and molten metal from the Divine Realms, will kill both women fighting behind him. That won’t do. Even the Great Gods must agree, this battle was between humans and Ysandir. The dragon kind had no right to interfere in so vital a moment. You spread your legs to keep yourself steady, back arched, ready to attack. The great blast comes racing to the Earth, casting not a shadow but an eerie, apocalyptic light over the battlefield. You wait until just the right moment, then each into the air and snatch it up like a ball of yarn.

You see nothing else now. The Divine magic of the thing is a complication, and you know that this will hurt. As you grab at the ball of fire it shrinks, fitting itself to the reality that you have forced upon it. It fights you, and you have no choice but to wrestle it to the ground. You hear your lady knight shout behind you, but don’t turn to see her. You must finish this thing. If you do not have another chance to say goodbye, at least you will have done this much for her.

You finally beat the meteor down to an almost manageable size. Now you bite into it, delivering the killing blow. It explodes in your mouth, and you know both that you have won and that you will die. You swallow the rest of the fire before it can spread any, and look up. The knight is kneeling down in front of you, helmet off, sweat making bits of hair stick to her forehead. She is crying. For a moment you are overcome with despair and pride. She has won. The humans will survive. She will live, at least one more day, if no more than that. You couldn’t ask for more, but you do anyway. Just a little more time, to say goodbye.

You know that you can’t.

Magic burns from your stomach out to your paws, nose, the tip of your tail. Pain blinds you as much as magic fire does. You don’t even have the chance to warn your knight not to get too close, lest she be burned. Your mortal body falls, and your true self is in darkness.

When you are capable of sight again, you are greeted by a kind face. The Great Mother is beautiful as ever, skin limestone white, eyes a shining emerald, long cascades of wavy black hair and full red lips. It always pleases you to see her smile like this, losing all the lines of worry that have plagued her of late. She gently pets your head, saying nothing. You purr.

“That was foolish.” Both you and the Goddess turn to glare at great Mithros. He stands in shining gold armor, arms crossed, handsome face twisted in a frown. He is the opposite of his sister, skin dark as black onyx, short hair white-blonde, eyes a fiercely burning amber. Even his lips are the opposite of hers, all but invisible against his skin. They were made to be mirrors in every way, and so you understand that he is cold when she is warm. They both care for you, but the Goddess loves cats as Mithros loves hounds.

“You might be grateful. The mortals will win this war.” You have nothing to fear from Gods, and so you speak plainly to them. The Goddess settles you with a hand on your head.

Mithros only stares at you with those bright eyes of his, then nods.

“The war is not won yet, but the tide has turned. You were right to intervene.” You knew he would agree. The Gods and the dragons have never gotten along – not even Mithros can tell a dragon what to do, and once they get an idea into their minds they do not stop. Dragons are a stubborn lot, ill disposed to diplomacy. Mithros, God of Order, has no end of complaints against them.

“You did well, small one. Now you should rest. We both know how it drains you, being forced between the Realms in this way.” The Goddess shoots another glare at Mithros. He turns his chin up at her, but ultimately gives under the force of her disapproval.

“True enough. Will you stay with us? Or return to your star kin?”

You close your eyes, soothed as the Goddess begins petting you again, absently.

“I will stay.”