Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

A shop, humble yet massive in size, sits beside a pool of mirror-like water. This shop, far too large to belong to a mortal man, is run by a dragon of truly awe-inspiring beauty and sultry charm that would bring even an emperor to his knees. Usually, she spends her time mixing the various toxins secreted by her spines, endlessly perfecting and experimenting with the venom to create tonics most mortal men would die for. 

While mixing her newest concoction, the Baneful Loong is approached by an apothecary of nervous disposition. His rich silk robe has been humbled by the stains of his travels and his body is leaden with the weight of the pack on his shoulders. But, despite his exhaustion, the apothecary’s eyes are alight with eagerness. He introduces himself as a novice and wishes to learn the techniques of the finest apothecary known in the mortal realm, which just so happens to be the legendary loong before him. 

Amused, the dragon agrees to tutor the mortal, for teaching is a pastime enjoyed by many of her kind. Of course, the loong must first test the aptitude of this apothecary before she formally takes him under her wing, lest the mortal prove to be little more than a waste of her time.

So, after the dragon invites the mortal man into her abode, she instructs him to sit at a table so large the apothecary must stand to see over the wood surface. After serving the man some tea brewed to a perfection, the Baneful Loong fetches a test for her would-be apprentice to complete. It's a simple exercise really, one that any apothecary with even a hint of talent would be able to solve, and consists of two jues filled with a dark liquid. 

These cups, the loong explains, are filled with a potent poison, and a single drop could kill even the mightiest of men. One of the cups, however, had a slightly more diluted venom, specifically fashioned by the loong for the purpose of this test. All the apothecary must do to succeed is to find out which poison is diluted using whatever resources the Baneful Loong has at her disposal. Being an apothecary herself, the dragon has a wide range of tools in her shop, which her mortal guest immediately uses to fulfill the task laid out before him

At first, the apothecary believed the test to be a simple one, for in his village he had handled many toxins and poisons. But within a few moments he realized the difficulty of the presented challenge, for never before had he seen such venom before. Not at all discouraged by this hiccup but instead excited at the prospect of such an invigorating, the mortal man dove into all manner of tests in an attempt to determine which of the jues contained the diluted poison. 

For many hours did the man experiment and study, and all the while did the Baneful Loong watch with a pleasant smirk. She offered the apothecary tea and even advice every now and then, which the mortal man accepted with gusto. Despite his obvious amateurism, the loong found herself delighted by the joy her student displayed as he worked on the task before him. 

Eventually, after the sun had sunk beneath the horizon and the moon had shown its baleful gaze, the apothecary stopped his experiments. He was confused beyond measure, for despite all his testing, he could not determine which of the poisons was diluted, for they were all virtually identical. Disappointed, he admitted to the loong that he failed her test. 

The Baneful Loong laughed at that, much to the surprise of the apothecary, and took the cups. She stated, plainly and simply, that the test was unsolvable from the start, for there was no diluted venom; in fact, there was no venom at all, for the jues had simply been filled with wine. The true purpose of the test was to see the various techniques the apothecary had learned and to determine his talent in the alchemical arts; clearly he was no fool, and his desire to succeed was an admirable trait. 

The mortal should have been angered by this blatant trickery, but instead, he joined the Baneful Loong in her laugh. Such a fool he had been, but what fun it had been! The tools he had used, and the loong’s shop, were of such high quality compared to his village, and it had been a joy to use them to their full advantage.

With the test concluded and the dragon satisfied with what she had seen, the mortal man officially became the loong’s disciple. While he had much to learn under the tutelage of the Baneful Loong, the apothecary proved to be a wonderful student. And so, together, the pair worked in their humble shop beside that mirror-like pond, and when the moon rose, they would sip wine together under the glare of a pale moon. 

Chapter Text

Gossip passed on swift wings in Murkholm’s grand hall, where nobles of painted lips and powdered cheeks traded words like precious gold. Every lavish hallway and room was filled with these chattering aristocats, each one eager for the arrival of some very important guests. 

Said guests arrived in the gloomy hall just as the moon began its pale ascent into the sky. The nobles crowded around windows and doors, eager to take a look at this potential new trade liaison or offerer of coin. But they saw no grand carriage, no line of servants heeding to the beck and call of a fancy duchy. They saw two figures; one covered in a great coat, his face obscured by a wide hat, and the other impossibly tall, wreathed in malice and sadistic pleasure in equal amounts. 

A host of servants opened the grand hall’s doors, and the pair entered, their footsteps unerringly perfect as they glided forward. Several nobles and maids watched with wide eyes as the guests flowed past, staring at that man with his great coat and the woman of impossible height. Not one soul said a word, and when the pair passed, the nobles of the hall fell into a choir of fearful whispers.

Soon after, the cloaked figures arrived at a room most luxurious, where several particularly ostentatious figures of authority crowded around a table. These were the heads of Murkholm, ranging from the most powerful merchant family to the leader of the city himself. They watched, fear hidden behind easy smiles, as the pair settled down to discuss business. 

What sort of business were they at the hall for? A Simple thing, really. The pair had sent a letter some days ago expressing a desire to open up new trade routes through Murkholm while offering the city many treasures found rarely in Westora. Naturally, the ever-greedy hands that held said city on a leash were eager for more gold, and so, the heads of the city decided to hear these strangers out. 

“Welcome to our fair city, friends from afar”, the ruler of Murkholm announced, his voice easy and smooth as brandy. “I hope the journey was enjoyable?” 

“Oh, was it ever”, the shrouded woman answered. “Such a lovely city you have, and the delicacies in the countryside, my word!” 

“I’m glad, glad beyond words,” the ruler replied. He straightened the pompous collar around his neck and glanced at his cohorts. “Now, you both seem like people of business first and pleasure second, so if it isn’t too much, we here at Murkholm would love to discuss that trade proposition you sent word of.” 

“But of course,” the woman purred. She motioned to her still-silent cohort. Withdrawing a letter from the depths of his coat, the man held the parcel for the briefest of tantalizing moments before sliding it across the table. Not wanting to appear too eager, the city's ruler gingerly picked up the letter and peeled it open.

There was silence, then a nervous chuckle.

“Ah, most honoured guest,” the ruler chuffed. “This appears to be a uh… blank piece of paper. With uh… what appears to be some mild staining. Not at all what I was expecting.” 

“And what were you expecting, most gracious host?”

“Well, a trade agreement, perhaps some form of… contract? Y-you are the ones who contacted me about the trade agreement, correct?”

“Indeed,” the woman said, her husky voice so full of mirth it practically drowned the room in it. “But there’s been an ever so slight change in my plans, you see.” 

With teeth that glimmered like knives, the woman stood up to tower over the nobles seated around her. She peered at the confused and angered faces of those who surrounded her, a sadistic gleam alight in her crimson eyes. 

“See, I was thinking, and I realized that a trade with this… meagre little city in the swamps would hardly net me much. After all, there are so many other port towns with better shipments than… whatever it is you people produce here. But, the location, my word! It's absolutely perfect for one of my… tastes!”

Silently, the woman began to stalk around the table, and with each step her form began to change. Feminine curves grew, legs lengthened, flaps of crimson skin sprouted underneath unnaturally long arms, and a saber-tooth jaw sprouted from the shadows. In mere moments, the guest revealed its true, white and red form to the slack-jawed nobles.

It was a Vampyr Dragon, and it was hungry from long travels. 

“Now then, ruler of Murkholm,” the beast growled, low yet sensually. “This place, terribly drab it may be, is quite isolated from the rest of Westroa and its pesky inquisitorial forces. So, my associate and I have decided to settle down here, at least for a little while. Surely there’s no problem with that, little ruler?”

“A-as if I’d let you take refuge in my city, you miserable creature of hellish nights!” the ruler roared; or rather, whispered, as his throat had begun to close in absent-minded fear. 

“Ah, I so love it when I have to pry what I want out of another’s hands”, the dragon purred. Gently, the beast slid a solitary claw over the ruler’s shoulder, tracing the contours of his bone, feeling the harsh pounding of his pulse. She tutted when her claw reached the hapless man’s neck. 

“My word, your heartbeat is pounding like a drum,” the dragon huffed. “Don’t you know how unhealthy that is?” 

Before the ruler could spit out more half-hearted shows of bravado, the Vampyr jabbed her claw into the man’s neck. The surrounding nobles gasped in terror, watching as the ruler struggled and choked. Fresh blood squirted from the newly made wound, covering the dragon’s hand in beautiful sanguine fluid.

A smile of purest delight gracing her bestial face, the dragon withdrew her talon and allowed the poor husk of what had once been Murkholm’s ruler slump, face-first, onto the table. The Vampyr chuckled, a sound both sensual and animalistic in nature, before licking the copious blood coating her hand with an unusually long tongue. 

“Mortals,” the new ruler of Murkholm chuffed once her hand was thoroughly clean. “So hilariously fragile, yet so delightfully sweet to the palette.” 

Baleful red eyes turned to the surviving nobles, who flinched at that terrible, sinister gaze. Something heavy weighed on their collective hearts, some presence that prevented them from fleeing, despite the terror pounding in their hearts and fragile minds. 

“No need to fear, my most beloved guests,” the Vampyr said, the glow in her eyes increasing until it became a crimson spotlight. “There’s no point in murder without motivation, and I assure you, I have no reason to lay a claw on a single one of your fat little necks, not when you have so many uses left…”

With a push of utmost disrespect, the dragon shoved her former host out of his chair and allowing him to clatter to the richly decorated carpet. Then, with far more exaggeration required, the Vampyr slid into the vacant seat, which struggled to contain her comparatively massive form. 

“We’ll need some new chairs soon,” the beast muttered. She turned to the quivering man to her right, a plump specimen with far too many jewels adorning his frame, and raised a single claw in his direction. 

“Judging by that appalling display of wealth, you must be the head of commerce in this fine city, yes?” 

“Y-yes,” the man blubbered, all pretenses of finely-tuned nobility long since evaporated.

“So that means it should be no problem for you to procure me a chair better suited for one such as myself?” 

“I b-belive so.” 

The Vampyre held up a talon and tutted.

“Belief is not a currency I take kindly to, my dear. Can you, or can you not, find me some more suitable furniture?” 

“Y-yes, yes!” the head of commerce squealed. “It will be done in short order, mistress!” 

“Mistress?” the Vampyre chuckled. “You hear that, Salvador? I get to be called mistress by someone other than you!” 

The brooding figure, who had uttered nary a word, gave a raspy, phlegm-filled laugh before falling back into silence. Some of the nobles had clearly forgotten the man was even there, for they nearly leapt from their seats at the sudden, grating noise emanating from his hidden mouth. 

“You’ll have to forgive my associate,” the dragon said. “He’s served for me for many years, but he’s never been one for public speaking. It is a domain not everyone can excel at, after all.” 

“But me?” the Vampyr continued, her scarlet glare growing in intensity in the dimness of the room. Slowly, the fear lodged deep in the hearts of the surrounding humans began to fade, a subtle sensation that some hapless farm animal may feel just before being led to the slaughter. “There is no domain I do not excel at, and tonight, a new one is added to my repertoire.” 

“For Murkholm is mine, forevermore.” 

Chapter Text

The jungles of the Bravelands were awash with a symphony both serene and terribly bizarre as hidden beasts went about their day. Such noises were an unwelcome ambiance to the trio of men that marched their way through corridors of thick trees and vine-chocked footpaths. With eyes wide and rifles clutched firmly against their chest, the small group, an exploratory group from across the sea, eager to plunder the forest for its natural wealth, was clearly beginning to doubt their choice of profession.

One of the men, a ruddy-nosed fellow whose tan uniform had turned brown from sweat, kept a shaky eye on the surrounding trees. Every bird call, every footstep of some hidden beast, and every unwelcome chirp of an insect was met with a yelp. The man’s companions, no less scared but far more in control of their nerves, berated their blubbering compatriot. 

The man did not care for his companion’s words, however. He kept on muttering, claiming that something, or perhaps someone, was watching him. Annoyed, the man’s marginally more stable friends called him paranoid, delusional, and possibly even touched by some disease of the jungle. 

After a few more minutes of insults, the blubbering explorer quieted, and the expedition continued on its way in relative silence. A few hundred feet of grinding jungle traversal passed, with the choir of the forest continuing in full force, before some sort of commotion exploded from behind the party. 

Wheeling around with guns in hand, the men could only stare in abject terror as they realized their third member was no longer with them. All that remained was a snapped rifle, a splattering of blood on a nearby palm frond, and the mocking laughter of the jungle herself.

Terrified, the larger of the two remaining men began to fire wildly into the surrounding trees, sending chunks and splinters of bark raining down. His companion attempted to hoist the weapon from the panicked man’s hands, but gained only a broken nose as the butt of the rifle slammed into him. 

Crashing into the earth, the wounded explorer managed only to fling a single curse at his mad companion before a blur of purest green and blue descended from the broken canopy. In the blink of an eye, the explorer was grabbed, slammed into a nearby tree, and then swiftly dragged into the foliage in a spray of crimson aftermath. 

Horror and animal instinct seize the last remaining man in a vice hold. Blood still pouring from his nose, the explorer flees into the forest, smashing apart ferns and colliding with the many jagged trees barring his path. Somewhere along the way, he dropped his rifle, but the man cared little; he just had to escape, and a weapon was no good if the assailant was all but invisible to the mortal eye.

Eventually, the surviving explorer finds himself in a hollow, bare save for the mahogany surrounding him and the few loose stones clustered around his feet. Now lost and blinded by the pain of his mangled nose, the man turns in desperate circles in a futile bid to find an escape route. Before he can, however, a shadow descends from on high, cloaking the bright blue sky above in a desolate omen. 

The shadow did not aim for the explorer, however; rather, it swept past him in a blur of verdant feathers and landed gracefully on a nearby branch. Seated upon its perch, the survivor was able to finally behold the beast that had slain two of his countrymen, and rather than righteous fury or animalistic terror, the man found himself confounded by the beauty of the thing before him. 

With a shapely, feminine frame and ample assets, the beast was shockingly humanoid, at least from a glance. However, the massive wings, serpentine head crowned with a shocking array of feathers and razor-sharp talons lightly flecked with crimson, showed the reality of the monster.

A dragon, and a Huntress at that. 

Paralyzed by a conflicting storm of emotions, the explorer could do nothing but watch as the Huntress glared down at him, her enormous talons scraping great gouges in the branch she sat upon. For several moments did this stand-still continue, the harsh blue of the dragon’s eyes meeting the dull brown of the man. Eventually, the silence grew too much, and in an overflow of purest rage, the man drew an antique pistol from his waistband, shouted an obscenity, and fired. 

The shot was perfect, despite the tremor in the explorer’s hand, and the bullet flew straight toward the dragon’s serpentine skull. But, just before the lead ball impacted, the Huntress turned ever so slightly and avoided certain death with an ease that bordered on disrespectful. 

Laughing shrilly, the dragon berated the explorer in a voice he recognized, for the beast of the jungle was using his own voice. The monster really had been watching them the whole time, watching and waiting for the perfect moment to strike. And now, all but defeated, the surviving explorer could do nothing else but sink to his knees and watch as the master of the jungle lunged forward with claws extended. 

… 

Hours later, when the blue sky had darkened and the sun began to dip below the horizon, the Huntress Dragon returned to the ruined temple she called her lair. High above the cliffs, there was no way a mere mortal could ever reach it without extensive preparation and luck bordering on impossible. It was in this lair that all manner of riches resided, from stolen weaponry to jewels of finest emerald. And, as the Huntress made her way to the soft bed of vegetation that made up her bed, she decided to include a few more pieces to her magnificent horde.

 It was only fair to the three Westoran fools, after all, to rest beside the treasure they had died searching for, and their skulls looked lovely framed by the beautiful green of well-honed gemstones… 

Chapter Text

I stood at the mouth of the caldera and peered down at the slumbering form of a destroyer. 

A Volcano dragon. Huge, coated in plates black as a scorched home and lined with glowing veins of magma. I could see no eyes, but I could see a head, massive and shaped like a furnace. A smell of coal drifted from the sleeping beast, a scent that was not nearly as unpleasant as the sulphur-lined plains I had to cross to reach my destination. 

I gripped the spiral-tipped partisan that had been my companion for five years now and made my descent into the boiling caldera. The magma had fled long ago and had been replaced with crystal-clear water, which bubbled and steamed as it came in contact with the Volcano dragon’s skin. Doubt entered my heart as I saw just how thick that skin really was. How would I pierce it with just a partisan? Even the finest cannons of the Westorian army would do little more than tickle the impregnable hide. 

Surely there must be a weakness. Every living creature had one. But as I drew closer to the dragon, now no more than fifty feet away from me, I could see nothing, not even a crack in that stony flesh. 

Fine. If there was no weakness in the beast, then I would make a weakness.

With fury in my heart I flew forward and drove the drill-like point of my partisan into the dragon. Sparks flew and my weapon skittered across the skin, doing little more than leave a tiny scrape on the plates. I struck again, and again, smashing my weapon down with a force that would pierce even a knight’s breastplate.

Nothing. After ten minutes of back-breaking strikes, I could make nothing more than a shallow scrape in that natural armor. I fell back into the warm waters that pooled at my feet and sighed in terrible defeat. What a shameful performance that was, what a pitiable story of revenge it would turn out to be…

“Have you finished? A shame; I was enjoying the scratch.” 

I leapt to my feet, or rather clumsily struggled to my feet, and looked around for  the source of that voice. Honeyed, smooth, and teasing; it was the voice of a woman with far too much experience and far too much time. Did someone follow me? Another dragon hunter, come to claim my righteous kill? 

“I do appreciate when my guests look me in the eye when I talk to them,” the voice said again. I looked around again and realized, with a strange sort of embarrassment, who was talking. 

The dragon had awoken. It had risen partially from the shallow pool, its enormous head resting comfortably on a crooked elbow and its tan belly now turned to face me. To my surprise, the beast’s figure was impossibly curvaceous, a fertile form that no human woman would ever be able to replicate; primarily because the dragon was well over fifty feet in height, should she stand up fully. I found that a blush had crept into my face, hidden beneath my helm, and I did my best to direct my attention at the beast’s face rather than her bodice. 

“I am no guest of yours, animal,” I snarled. “I am here to slay you, and drape your hide across my chest to show the people of these lands that the magma you spill will threaten them no longer.” 

“You're a dragon hunter?” the beast asked, her head tilted like a curious hound. “ I thought your arrogant order died out centuries ago.” 

“I do not belong to any… order. I am my own hunter, of the Tiodian village you burnt down!” 

“ When did this village of yours burn down, little hunter?” 

“What, have you already forgotten your vile deed? It was four years ago, you arrogant…” 

My tirade was halted with a huff and a held hand of the dragon. 

“I think your accusations need some refining, hunter. I have been asleep for ten years, uninterrupted, in this caldera, which as I’m sure you can tell, is not a particularly active place. So tell me, how exactly did I burn this village down when I’ve lacked the consciousness to do so? Also, where is Tiodian village? There hasn’t been a civilization around this place since before I moved here.” 

“What are you talking about? I saw ruins a plenty on my march to this place.” 

“Westorian outposts turned to ash by the formerly active volcano that used to be my bath. Didn’t you notice the architecture?” 

“Do I look like an architect?”

“You look like an angry brat, if I’m to be honest,” the dragon chortled, an oddly feminine sound for such a massive creature. “But again I ask; where is Tiodian village?” 

“ 3 miles south, bordering the ocean.” 

“3 miles… By the Mother, you do realize there are three active volcanoes three miles south?”

“So?”

“So, no dragon burnt your hamlet down. A mountain did; an unfeeling mountain that occasionally bursts with magma and erupts. Your revenge should be directed toward that rubble of rocks, not me.” 

“Lies, spoken to get out of justice.”

“Lies?” the dragon laughed again. “My dear, I have no reason to lie, for that is the domain of the mortal and weak. If I wanted to torment you I could do so just fine with my magma, and if I wanted to defeat you I could do so with an errant flick of the claw, no?”

The volcanic beast drew nearer, her furnace-like face at once compassionate and stern. 

“I am truly sorry for the destruction of your village, young hunter. This land is a cruel one, and surviving here means surviving all the awful things nature can bring to bear. But tell me, what would you accomplish by killing me? The volcanoes will still erupt, the waves would still crush homes, and death would still claim the lives of a hundred a year.” 

I glared at the dragon and said nothing. Whatever fury that had simmered and welled in my chest had all but vanished, replaced by a sense of frustrating uncertainty. I had learned that dragons were harbingers of doom and devastation, destroyers of all that mortals hold dear. But then, why was I alive? Surely a dragon would have no qualms over such an the death of an insignificant nothing like myself. Likewise, the volcano that had destroyed my town was a mere mile away, while this caldera was far enough away that any magma would have long since cooled by the time it reached my home. 

“That spear of yours, and those ideas,” the volcano dragon began. “I will assume that they are not your own? Another gifted  them to you?” 

“A… Westorian. A teacher, he said that the dragon scourge of our island would one day

melt us into memories and that we should kill them before us. He taught me how to kill dragons” 

“A fool who taught you wrong,” the beast snarled and billowed smoke from her maw. “I am familiar with their kind; an old order of older men obsessed with the superiority of your species. They propagate their methods to young minds like your own, spreading falsehoods of our destruction like some sort of virus.” 

“If he wanted to propagate his methods, why teach me wrong?” 

“I do not know nor do I care. What I do care about, however, is the fact that there is a mad Westorian running about these islands converting people so that he may one day drown me in the bodies of his brain-washed pupils. Although judging by the fact you have lowered your spear, you are clearly not as brain-washed as I had feared.” 

“He didn’t teach me for very long,” I sneered. “Only a few months.” 

“After the destruction of your village?”

“Yes.” 

“Parasitic worm,” the dragon snarled. “He was waiting for the volcano to erupt to make it easier for his story to take root.” 

The Volcano dragon went silent then. Eyes like miniature suns flickered and I watched, still terribly confused by this whole endeavor. I was no longer possessed by that foolish obsession that had gripped me for these past months, however; that had been blown away by the soothing and shockingly rational song of the dragon before me. 

“I would like to offer you a proposition,” the dragon said after a good while. She looked down at me, a warm gaze that snared my attention wholly. “ I can see you are confused, scared, and quite possibly lonely. I do not like seeing mortals in such a state. So I will give you something most men could never imagine.”

“And what is that?”

“Companionship. I have been alone too, for many years while I slumbered. I think it would be good for me to pass on some of the teachings I had hoarded, allow you to form your own opinions rather than let some doddering old tool force his mind onto yours. You do not have to accept, of course; you are free to leave whenever you’d like. But it will be weeks before you find civilization, and who knows if that bastard has eyes on you.” 

The dragon raised her arm and gestured at the caldera. I never noticed how much life had taken root there, how much verdant richness drank from the fertile waters. It was an oasis, and for the first time in many months I was struck by a feeling of awe.

“This can be your new Tiodian.” 

“You… mean that?” 

“I am a dragon, my sweet. We do not lie, even if it would help us out of a sticky situation.” 

“Do I have to tell you now?”

“Of course not,” the dragon chuckled. She shifted her enormous mass so she once again submerged herself into the caldera’s waters. “But I do ask one thing.” 

“And that is?”

“Rest”, the beast said, patting the smooth, plush expanse of her thigh. “I assure you, I can provide a great deal more comfort than an empty sleeping bag in a sulfur field.” 

A blush came over me once again as I glanced at the dragon’s exposed legs. They looked comfortable, and I hadn’t had a good night’s sleep in… I don’t even remember. Clearly this dragon was no threat, she had made that part obvious. But still, to trust a creature that you thought, up until a few moments prior, was an enemy? That would be absurd!Then again, taking revenge against a mountain was even more absurd, and I had been doing that for months…

“I accept your offer for rest,” I said after a few more moments of deliberation. I splashed through the knee high water, taking comfort in the warmth that soaked through my pants, and plopped myself on the dragon’s thigh. It was scarily snug and I found my eyelids already growing heavy. 

“Smart boy,” the Volcano dragon purred. She shifted her enormous size slightly, giving me extra room to lay out and stretch my legs. It had been a long day, a very long day. 

“When you awaken,” the dragon continued as I drifted off to sleep. “We will have much to talk about. Until then, sleep. Dream of a better life, and soon, I hope, I can offer you said life. But until then…” 

The dragon grinned, fiery maw sparking and flaring like the core of a star. 

“Have a good night, young hunter.”