Sukunet

LORE DRAGON

The Gladekeeper’s Call - Sukunet, the Wooden Warrior, part 1 (673 words)

Lyra was of Plague, but she was also a Night Warrior, pledged to defend Sornieth and teach others to do so. She was not interested in disease, rot and corruption, except in that fighting them, one became stronger. In that, she shared with all the others who had been sent by Plaguemother to serve her sister, the Gladekeeper, in her desperate need. She had been Called, like them, and answered.

But she was also a Fae, and a Mage, and keen to learn and apply all knowledge. To be one of the Called, was to learn from all breeds and flights, and all Beastkin too, and the myriad familiars. So among the Arcane, she of Plague carried their tome, and shadowed the legend Lenine and Gladekeeper’s joy, the Nature Mage Tok.

Lenine’s automata and Tok’s living defenses fascinated her, and she devised a plan to combine them. If she could give a dragon living armor, that could be another defense against the Shade, for those who had no other protection, distracting the hungry nothingness, protecting the dragon within.

It was when she found a hatchling, wandering abandoned in the Plaguelands, but seeming to be heading somewhere. The next moment, it had completely disappeared, leaving the mage confused and hunting curiously. Then it moved again, almost in front of her! It looked like one of the marionette familiars, creatures made solely of wild magic, in its wooden coloration. A Guardian in shape, obviously left unmolested by her ability to vanish by virtue of being completely still, looking like a mere clump of weathered wood.

“Little one, where go you hence, all alone?” She said gently, lighting soft as a butterfly before the one who was larger than she was.

“Someone is calling me,” the child said simply. “They are very sad, and they need me.”

Lyra was intrigued, and settled in to hear a story, for she could not help but ask. But before she could, a prickling in her senses signaled danger, and from underground a tangle of writhing rotting tentacles erupted, and the hatchling’s sudden stillness was no aid. The rotting things came for her, and the Warrior intervened, finding herself in a desperate fight. But there was within the writhing mess, something different. The tentacles themselves were being eaten, and were casting about seeking life to replenish what was being ripped from them. The Guardian and the Fae were the only life close, and still or not, were food.

“Can you fly?” The mage shouted behind her, and was rewarded by a scream, as the youngling fell off the cliff. The very one the mage had risen to, when she had been exploring from the Wind Realm.

She dove after the terrified Guardian, too small to grasp her, but utterly calm.

“Little one, we are going home! This is my place, the Reedcleft Ascent, where my clan resides! See, the Sentinel comes!”

A huge dragon form slid past, between the cliffs of the Ascent, and it seemed to the hatchling that many many eyes flashed before her own. And all were kind, and some were worried. She was enveloped in giant reddish claws, and felt more secure than she ever had.

“Welcome, Sukunet, to the clan of the Called. We are so glad you...dropped in.” It was almost a laugh, but behind it was the rumble of solemnity.

“How did you know that was my name?!” The little thing gasped. “I didn’t have a name yet!” The elder merely smiled.

“I have an idea, Ophanim!” Lyra said excitedly. “I know what my living armor will be!”

Ophanim’s many eyes gave a look of warning only to the Fae. He knew what would be.

“Be careful, for you too are young. Be kind.” He whispered, as they swooped into their place of secure rest. The young Guardian, like so many of them, would have a hard life. It was up to all of them, to make it beautiful and good as well.