Open Chronicles Strip the Dragonbones [open to Noct Yaegir and whomever]

[Carr Ledrose]

The silver dragon's corpse, none too fresh, stretched across five wagons. Oxen had sufficed to get the dragon through the forest, from small Ashdell by the lake up into the hills. But for the final approach to Crobhear Keep, Carr and the other guards hauled on ropes, working alongside the oxen.

For all that the carcass had been bled and gutted into barrels - which rode in standalone wagons much more easily - a grown dragon was still a staggering cargo. Heart hammering, growling imprecations, Carr dug in his boots and surged forward, and the others on the rope came along.

Messengers, he knew, had gone on ahead: King Adalric Merlon was bringing a dragon corpse for mutual benefit, and it was not a request.

 

[Sigrith]

From the west appeared two silhouettes at the precipice of the hill. The day was waning and night would soon approach - to be transporting such valuable and aromatic cargo would only draw scavengers, and not just the vultures. A Yaegir rode astride his horse with a direwolf traveling alongside, equal in size to the mount. King Merlon's message had drawn the hunters from their Keep, knowing such a rare commodity could not be missed for all its many uses across the various strongholds of the Noct Yaegir.

Though why there seemed to be such urgency to the request had come across as... odd.

The direwolf's eyes widened at the sight, nose busy in the air as it drank in the stench of the steadily rotting carcass.

"Why bring the entire thing?" Uhtred, her young apprentice, gave the direwolf a look of puzzled concern, "would it not be easier to bring only the useful materials and burn the rest?"

Darkstride's maw remained tense as she watched the caravan and its labored movement, "It is a strange gift..." replied the direwolf, who knew oddness deep within her core. No matter how far removed she now was from her natural self, she would not so easily be removed of the strange and weird that went hand-in-hand with being a witch.

"You need dragonfire to burn a dragon," she informed, "normal fire won't work," or so she thought she knew. "Go, find the caravan's leader. They will not make it to the Keep before nightfall."

"Aye," Uhtred nodded and nudged his horse forward down the decline of the hill, "hail! I am Uhtred of Crobhear. Who is in charge of this shipment?"

 

[Carr Ledrose]

The wagons and their crews rested at a bend, hesitant to challenge the latest hill. Carr drained half his wineskin at a pull and paced, unwilling to sit down and cramp up. Keep moving, he told himself.

Two figures were on the hillcrest: a huge wolf and a horse's rider. The latter came down calling. Carr drank again and wiped his mouth. The strong wine stung his beat-up hands.

"I'm chief of guards," he said. "Carr Ledrose."

He didn't much look it. For this work he'd stripped down to trousers and a vest, and his great-tusk helmet of course.

"You're with the hunter keep? Here to help pull?"

Sigrith

 

[Sigrith]

The wolf remained at the crest of the hill, watching and listening.

Uhtred lifted a hand to scratch at his head, "Ah heh heh..." his eyes skated along the bulk of their wagons and the exhaustion on the faces of those presently pulling. How long had they been at this?

"I am with the Keep-" the young man glanced back toward the wolf with uncertainty. Monsters he could deal with, people on the other hand...

"You'll not make it there before dark. It's at least another half day travel unburdened. I recommend you set up camp for the evening and rest your men. Myself and my associate can keep the night watch."

 

[Carr Ledrose]

Carr had lasted this long as a man-at-arms for hire by, inter alia, never taking people at face value. He eyed the sunset behind the mountains, and his exhausted men and oxen, and the young rider, and the wolf. In theory the convoy could keep on to midnight or longer, but half his men would walk if he pushed them that hard in the hills. They'd done well enough to prove their quality.

"You have a hunter's claw coin?" he said, meaning the alchemical silver medallion that would establish Uhtred as legitimate. They were close to the keep, but still.

Pending that, he'd get the convoy circled up. Connecting the ends of the dragon's corpse would make a decent camp. There was plenty of good firewood around and plenty of still-half-decent meat. (They'd cut last night's dinner from the dragon too.)

Sigrith

 

[Sigrith]

"Ehhh..." Uhtred offered a grimacing frown in return, "not - not yet. I'm just an apprentice. Yaegir Darkstride has one, though, she's my mentor." He lifted a hand to his lips and loosed a shrill whistle into the air. The wolf melded into the shadow of the hillside as she descended to join him and after a moment of clarification, and assurance that the wolf was, indeed, a full Yaegir and not a threat, approached the unknown Chief of Guards. He'd find hanging on a collar around her neck the Yaegir pendant in question, which presently hummed in vibration in the presence of the dragon carcass.

Darkstride thought she had seen a lot of curious things in her not terribly long life, but making an encampment out of a dragon corpse about topped the list.

When all was settled with the camp, Uhtred began his first patrol on horse while Darkstride joined the Chief at the fire. The pendant persisted in its humming. This was going to be a long night.

"This is an unusual offering," the direwolf admitted to the man, "does your Kingdom not have use for its remains? No mages or apothecaries to claim materials?"

 

[Carr Ledrose]

"King took his share," Call told the wolf. "Some tooth and scale and roasted the heart for his court."

He'd decided that he was too sore to spend much worry on the strangeness of talking with a wolf. Truth be told, he had his own strangenesses. The convoy workers and the other guards gave him as a wide a berth most nights as they gave the wolf now.

"The way I heard it, your society's a power on Ashdell's flank, in its way. He'd like to shore that up and learn what can be learned. And his blood mage daughter had too keen an eye for it; he wanted it gone."

Call patted a bag on his belt.

"There's a letter, but that's the size of it. Does that go to you?"

As in, can wolves read?

Sigrith

 

[Sigrith]

Pity, the heart was good eating. At least the King left the liver. Although, Darkstride thought as she panned her mismatched gaze toward the area of the corpse where one might've started digging for it, there was some doubt on its continued quality.

"The Noct Yaegir make no alliances," she informed the man, "goes against the creed. But they rarely make enemies - we are of no use in territories where we cannot pass."

It was best to remain neutral, so that the Yaegir could better serve Arethil as a whole. Pandering to Kingdoms and Empires rarely worked out for such entities.

She looked to the bag he patted, "I hold no authority in the Keep other than directing the whelps. You want the Warden for that. If you prefer, you can give the letter to my pupil and he can ensure it gets delivered."

"What of the King's blood daughter? Is she a sorceress?"

 

[Carr Ledrose]

Since Uhtred was out on horseback, Carr decided to hand the letter off when second watch began. He could stay awake that long. This had been a tough day but he'd had far worse.

"That's the rumour," he told the wolf. "Mireille Merlon — she married off years back to some prince away off in Lazular, in the Empire lands. The story is she fell in with giant lizards and their gods, and all her magic is human sacrifice. War magic. They say."

The guards were turning a good fire to a great one and roasting suspect meat. Burning it, even. Carr claimed some on his knife and ate. Dragon tasted like no meat he'd had.

"Your society — you've got sorcerers who can make use of this, yes? Or apothecaries? Or is this all going to be dragon-tooth spears and dragon-hide armour?"

Sigrith

 

[Sigrith]

Someone had tossed a hank of meat her way in much the same way they might a tracking hound, but with a bit more apprehension. Darkstride sniffed at it, finding the smell to be quite foreign. She'd not partaken in dragon meat before but there was no time like the present. Using a paw to hold it in place, she ripped a chunk off and swallowed it whole.

Wolves weren't much for taste as much as they were for filling their bellies, which wasn't terribly different from a tundra witch subsisting on anything and everything they could. They rarely ate for flavor. Survival was all.

"Dragon hide armor is nothing to sniff at," she said with a snort, "but yes, every Keep has an Apothecary in residence and many Yaegir are also mages. Crobhear's Warden is also a skilled alchemist. There will be plenty of use for dragon remains."

She surmised a good portion of it would end up at Stillwater Keep. Darkstride was much less familiar with its Warden, but rumor had it he was deeply invested in experimentation with exotic materials.

"The King is right to send this away, then. Blood magic and soul sorceries are dangerous, though I know little of the Gods worshipped in the far west, the Gods of the deep north are quite brutal and their blessings more akin to a curse."

 

[Molgar Thrash]

“Are you certain we’re headed the right way?” Molgar asked his yellow scaled Kobold companion.

“Trust me, the scent of dragon flesh is not something you’ll soon forget.” Teeks replied as he lead the way to the latest rumor on the horizon. A dozen carts of Dragon remains, headed to Crobhear Keep. One drunkard described three dozen Noct Yaegir as the slayers, another said it was four, yet another said there no Yaegir at all and it was an elaborate attempt at bribery. There was just enough recency and confusion that Molgar had an opportunity to be first bard on the ground. To find the right story, write the good song, and bring a legend to Arethil.

“Teeks, I’m afraid you were right.” He said as he began to smell something rather distinct. “Though it’s not altogether unpleasant.” He thought aloud.

“They’re cooking it.” Teeks replied. “I’d probably smell pretty similar roasted.”

“You know Teeks, you didn’t have to come with me for this one.” Molgar responded.

“I know.” Teeks responded. “But it’ll be a hell of a song right?”

“Who goes there?” A third voice broke through and Molgar and Teeks found themselves greeted with the business end of a pike from a small collection of guards.

“I am Molgar. This is Teeks. We are bards seeking story and song of the dozen carts of dragon being hauled across these lands.” Molgar looked over and found the carts. “Though it seems their number was quite exaggerated in my reports.”

 

[Carr Ledrose]

There will be plenty of use for dragon remains."

and their blessings more akin to a curse."

Carr chewed on that and washed it down with small beer, the convoy's drinking ration. Someone got the wolf a pot of it.

"I've ducked the gods' attention until now. But nothing rages them like-" He gestured at the encircling dragon corpse. "-offended dignity. There's talk we've cursed ourselves by taking this work. Does your crew know curses? Does that claw-coin protect you?" Up close, he had his doubts that the twisted working on the silver medallion was a claw after all, but that was the common name where he'd travelled. Well, half a claw and half a flame rising from a moon, maybe.

“Who goes there?” A third voice broke through and Molgar and Teeks found themselves greeted with the business end of a pike from a small collection of guards.

“I am Molgar. This is Teeks. We are bards seeking story and song of the dozen carts of dragon being hauled across these lands.” Molgar looked over and found the carts. “Though it seems their number was quite exaggerated in my reports.”

The guards were half hired men and half Ashdellers, all tired from hauling, irritable, but anxious for a decent rest.

Carr looked out through the entrance, where the end of the dragon's tail dangled from a wagon. He squinted into evening gloom at the two bards. "Let them in!" he called, hefting his tankard. "Sing for their supper!"

 

[Sigrith]

Talk of curses hit close to home and the wolf flattened her ears, leaning to sniff at the swill in the pot and taking a few sample laps. She sneezed and curled her nose at the tingle. Been a while since she'd partaken in drink, too.

"The pendant's protection is passive at best. Were I who I once was, I may have been able to help you with a curse. I can only offer advice, guidance." She hadn't yet taken the moniker of crone among her old witch coven in the north, so offering wisdom was beyond both her years and her paygrade.

And not all men liked taking advice from women, let alone a wolf.

Taking the break of conversation during the arrival of the Bard and his accomplice, Darkstride gulped down the rest of her dragon meat and drained the pot of beer half-again. She watched Molgar curiously from her spot at the fire. It was sometimes said that Bards were simply Witches without the bite. A song would be quite a treat.

 

[Molgar Thrash]

While the guards were perhaps suspicious of the Orc-Kobold pair they were not brave, stupid, or energetic enough to question orders. The pair took their horses and tied them off, Molgar pulling off a guitar, with Teeks pulling out a fiddle.

"Is that Carr Ledros?" Molgar asked to Teeks under his breath.

"No, it's Ledros Caur." Teeks replied, giving the orc a fanged smile but receiving a scowl in return.

"Pig Tusk on his hip?" Teeks asked, and Molgar wrinkled his eyebrows. A bit on the nose, but he nodded. The two took a moment to play a few notes, tune their instruments, and began in earnest.

“To Castle Cregsbend
Rode a fighter one fine day
Gathered mercs around him
Had an Alchemist to sway
No one dared to stop his business
No one dared to make a slip
The fighter there among them
Had a Pig Tusk on his his
Pig tusk on his hip."

"It was late into the evening
When he came to royal court
He came up from the south side
Slowly looking all around him
'There's an Orcband loose and running'
Came the whisper from his lips
'And he's here to stop them with
with the pig tusk on his hip'
Pig tusk on his hip."

"By the town there roamed an orc band
Lead by One Eye Grucht Lazog
Many men had tried to slay him
And that many elves were dead
He was vicious and killers
Though a youth of thirty four
And the notches on his ax blade
numbered one and nineteen more
One and nineteen more"

"Now the fighter got to talking
Made it plain to folks around him
He was a Mimicry Warrior
Wouldn't bee too long in town
He came to last a siege
Strike the orcs dead
And he said it didn't matter
He was after castle peace
after castle peace"

"Wasn't long before the story
was relayed to Gruct Lazog
But the Orclord didn't worry
Men that tried before were dead
Twenty town had tried to last him
Twenty towns had burnt to a crisp
Twenty one would be Cregsbend
With the pig tusk on the merc
Pig tusk on the merc."

"The dusk came so quickly
It was time for them to stall
It was twenty past the hour
when the orcs attacked the wall
Folks were boarding up the windows
Everybody held their breath
They knew the homes around them
Were about to meet their end
About to meet their end.”

“Grucht was forty feet beneath them when they stopped to make their play
And the courage of the fighter is still talked about today
Grucht Lazog had not burnt stone before a tusk has breached his chest
As the fighter there was deadly with the pig tusk on his hip
Pig tusk on his hip.”

“It was over in the evening and the folks had gathered round
There surrounding walls left bodies of the orca upon the ground
Oh they might have gone on living
But they made one fatal slip
When they tried to best the fighter with pig tusk on his hip
Pig tusk on his hip
Pig tusk! Pig tusk!
When they tried to best the fighter with pig tusk on his hip
Pig tusk on his hip.”

Carr Ledrose
Sigrith

 

[Carr Ledrose]

"The pendant's protection is passive at best. Were I who I once was, I may have been able to help you with a curse. I can only offer advice, guidance."

"Who were..."

Carr trailed off, tankard half-raised, as the bards' song began to occupy more of his attention than bards' songs normally did. Gratification and embarrassment both prodded at him, but bleak memory more than anything. Cregsbend had been a rough one. He found himself scratching at one of the huge boar tusks that flanked his helmet. They were his own tusks, torn free in battle while transformed.

The song wound down and some of the convoy workers -- those who'd heard stories, maybe -- were watching for Carr's reaction. He fished out some coins from his belt pouches and tossed them to Molgar Thrash.

"Someone get them a drink."

 

[Sigrith]

Uhtred was going to be so mad that he missed this, was Darkstride's first thought as the song came to a finish.

Unfamiliar with the event of Cregsbend, she'd no knowledge of the truth presented within the song. Still, by power of deduction at the very least and the way the men around them all seemed to wait on bated breath for their Chief to give his judgement, she had to guess he was the man of the hour.

That explained the tusks.

"Someone get them a drink."

A rumble sounded from deep inside the direwolf's chest that rose with a bristling along her neck and split her maw open in a hearty laugh. It had been a long time since anything had amused and entertained quite so much as this bard and his song.

"That was very good!" Darkstride could not grin in this form, but her fang-filled maw peeled back all the same, "You must join us, Bard, and bring your songs to Crobhear. Gods know that place could use some lightening up."