Original Stories Fan Fiction ❯ Tale of the Silver Dragoon ❯ Chapter 8
[ Y - Young Adult: Not suitable for readers under 16 ]
By: OtakuAngelD 
Miscellaneous: Original Stories Fan Fiction | Genre(s): Action / Fantasy / Occult | Type: Other | Uploaded On: 01.31.2007 | Pages: 1 | Words: 1.2K | Visits: 107 | Status: Work In Progress
Miscellaneous: Original Stories Fan Fiction | Genre(s): Action / Fantasy / Occult | Type: Other | Uploaded On: 01.31.2007 | Pages: 1 | Words: 1.2K | Visits: 107 | Status: Work In Progress
8
Hanz tossed and turned. Out of his armor, his muscled form twisted without resistance. A steady stream of power poured off him; a tarnished silver. Tainted by the poison now coursing though his body. As he twitched and trashed in pain filled slumber, a dark figure sat over him, mumbling a non-stop chant. It was the only thing keeping Hanz alive. The only thing preventing his shift from human to dragon. A shift that would speed the deadly poison, but not before crushing weakened body in the tight cellar they hid in.
Cool, wet rags were rapidly dried and heated, as Hanz’s temperature kept rising to dangerous new heights. There was no indication of it stopping. His skin had gone from silver to grey, making the blood that poured from his wound that much redder. Breathing led to sharp coughing and more blood joined the growing puddle. It was clear that the Dragon’s Bane in his system was eating him from the inside out. Mikal knew that even his magic couldn’t stop this process. Hanz’s body would either beat it or completely shut down.
The priest tried his hardest to shut the wound. It finally closed as the spasm died down. The fever hit it’s highest and breathing completely stopped. Hanz just lie there, blood trailing down his lips. There was no movement and when Mikal pressed an ear to the barrel chest, there was an absence of beating.
The black clad dragoon sighed. He had just lost a temporary knight. But it was a sigh of annoyance as well, not sadness. He was going to have to do something he really hadn’t wanted to do. He opened his mouth for a new prayer.
Mikal’s words never left his lips. A loud gasp tore from the fallen knight, and Hanz bolted upright. Wet cloth making a damp sound as it hit his lap.; He hacked loudly a few times before wrenching. More blood splattered the ground. One pale silver toned hand slid over mouth, wiping it. Mikal could only stare. “Hanz?”
The same large hand raked though tousled hair. “I had a strange dream, priest.”
The Onyx arched an eyebrow. “A dream? Silvertalon, you were dead. Your dream must be very important then. It has to be if you were returned to life because of it.”
Hanz only frowned. Staring at the rapidly healing wound. Watching bane blackened flesh knit back together as if by magic. It was slower than usual. The residual effects of the poison hindered hi natural rapid healing. “it’s traitorous. Such dreams should never be.”
Onyx colored gauntleted hand reach over to hover, not quite touching while still trying to offer consolence. “Tell me, Silver. Think of it as confession to Father Kristopher, and not to the Onyx.” The priest made all the proper gestures of a man of the cloth. He then settled down to listen with great interest.
Hanz sighed and rubbed his shoulder, where his identifying mark was located. “I saw her…or what looked like her. She was so lovely. She asked me if I wanted to run away with her. I threw off my armor…the armor of the Order. I cut off the ark. Peeled it away with my sword…I felt so free, Mikal. Free of the games. Free to fight my own battles. I slew him….I slew him like I slew Rodriguez. I killed the Celestial Dragoon and destroyed the Order.”
The priest fell silent. His face lined in fierce contemplation. There was a bare hint of a smile under that thoughtful concern. “So, it seems you finally answered my question. Hanz, in dreams, we live out what me most secretly fear…or secretly desire. That woman is your desires. She is your conscious. You, like me, wish to have never been chosen. You wish to peel away the sins the Celestial has made you commit in the name of his version of peace and balance. You want to be free, Hanz. That is what this dream means.”
Hanz tried to protest. Such thoughts were treason. He did god things, even if he sometimes hated the methods. Most all the metals were like that. Only the Orihalcon had been pure and dedicated to understand the Celestial’s moods and whims. It was just understood that what they did saved innocent lives. But, he knew Mikal was right. He did want to be free. So, instead of arguing, the words that fell from his lips were much different.
“How…How do you know…How do you know the meanings?” More quietly. “How do you know the secret desires of my heart.”
Mikal stared at his hand. At the tattoo of bones and webs. “That, my brother, is because I too dream these things. That is how I know. My brother, what would you do with freedom. Rhetorically speaking, of course.”
Hanz stretched languidly. That was the third time Mikal had called him brother. To dragons, a brother was very important. When you could trust no one else, you could always rely upon your brother. It meant Mikal trusted him in a way only one other did. And as a knight, Hanz decided at that moment the dark priest was his brother as well. “If,” he started. “if, and we both know it won’t happen…but if it did, I would probably become a champion of the people as the Orihalcon was. I would use my sword to uphold the Code I love in this new era that has forgotten it.”
Mikal had to laugh. “You are an idealist, Silvertalon. It’s no wonder you were chosen. He likes idealists, you know. Zealots….Knights of the Code….passionate artists. It’s because the Celestial is a politician at heart.”
There was a tired yet intrigued look to Hanz’s face. “What do you mean by that?”
Mikal leaned back. “I mean that idealists are easily fooled and even more easily manipulated. So long as you know their triggers.” Under his breath, the priest had been murmuring a prayer between the more understandable words. It conjured a light red mist, almost invisible to the eye.
Hanz yawned loudly, physically unable to resist the spell due to his bout with the bane. He seemed to not realize what was happening to him. With bleary eyes of purest silver, Hanz glanced at the priest. “Perhaps you are right. But what does that make you then? An idealist? A Zealot? What are your triggers.” A sleepy yawn before eyes drooped closed. “Just...what kind of priest are you?” Once again, the question remained unanswered. It couldn’t be. The knight was already asleep.
Mikal leaned back, a calculating smile upon his face, pitch hair falling to cover red eyes so dark they were nearly black. “Never mind that, sir knight. You don’t need to know that…yet. For now, sleep. Let your strength return. Tomorrow, you will meet stronger. Those were too random. Too weak.” The priest stretched out himself.
“Sleep well….brother.” the last word was stated as more of a laugh than anything else.
Hanz tossed and turned. Out of his armor, his muscled form twisted without resistance. A steady stream of power poured off him; a tarnished silver. Tainted by the poison now coursing though his body. As he twitched and trashed in pain filled slumber, a dark figure sat over him, mumbling a non-stop chant. It was the only thing keeping Hanz alive. The only thing preventing his shift from human to dragon. A shift that would speed the deadly poison, but not before crushing weakened body in the tight cellar they hid in.
Cool, wet rags were rapidly dried and heated, as Hanz’s temperature kept rising to dangerous new heights. There was no indication of it stopping. His skin had gone from silver to grey, making the blood that poured from his wound that much redder. Breathing led to sharp coughing and more blood joined the growing puddle. It was clear that the Dragon’s Bane in his system was eating him from the inside out. Mikal knew that even his magic couldn’t stop this process. Hanz’s body would either beat it or completely shut down.
The priest tried his hardest to shut the wound. It finally closed as the spasm died down. The fever hit it’s highest and breathing completely stopped. Hanz just lie there, blood trailing down his lips. There was no movement and when Mikal pressed an ear to the barrel chest, there was an absence of beating.
The black clad dragoon sighed. He had just lost a temporary knight. But it was a sigh of annoyance as well, not sadness. He was going to have to do something he really hadn’t wanted to do. He opened his mouth for a new prayer.
Mikal’s words never left his lips. A loud gasp tore from the fallen knight, and Hanz bolted upright. Wet cloth making a damp sound as it hit his lap.; He hacked loudly a few times before wrenching. More blood splattered the ground. One pale silver toned hand slid over mouth, wiping it. Mikal could only stare. “Hanz?”
The same large hand raked though tousled hair. “I had a strange dream, priest.”
The Onyx arched an eyebrow. “A dream? Silvertalon, you were dead. Your dream must be very important then. It has to be if you were returned to life because of it.”
Hanz only frowned. Staring at the rapidly healing wound. Watching bane blackened flesh knit back together as if by magic. It was slower than usual. The residual effects of the poison hindered hi natural rapid healing. “it’s traitorous. Such dreams should never be.”
Onyx colored gauntleted hand reach over to hover, not quite touching while still trying to offer consolence. “Tell me, Silver. Think of it as confession to Father Kristopher, and not to the Onyx.” The priest made all the proper gestures of a man of the cloth. He then settled down to listen with great interest.
Hanz sighed and rubbed his shoulder, where his identifying mark was located. “I saw her…or what looked like her. She was so lovely. She asked me if I wanted to run away with her. I threw off my armor…the armor of the Order. I cut off the ark. Peeled it away with my sword…I felt so free, Mikal. Free of the games. Free to fight my own battles. I slew him….I slew him like I slew Rodriguez. I killed the Celestial Dragoon and destroyed the Order.”
The priest fell silent. His face lined in fierce contemplation. There was a bare hint of a smile under that thoughtful concern. “So, it seems you finally answered my question. Hanz, in dreams, we live out what me most secretly fear…or secretly desire. That woman is your desires. She is your conscious. You, like me, wish to have never been chosen. You wish to peel away the sins the Celestial has made you commit in the name of his version of peace and balance. You want to be free, Hanz. That is what this dream means.”
Hanz tried to protest. Such thoughts were treason. He did god things, even if he sometimes hated the methods. Most all the metals were like that. Only the Orihalcon had been pure and dedicated to understand the Celestial’s moods and whims. It was just understood that what they did saved innocent lives. But, he knew Mikal was right. He did want to be free. So, instead of arguing, the words that fell from his lips were much different.
“How…How do you know…How do you know the meanings?” More quietly. “How do you know the secret desires of my heart.”
Mikal stared at his hand. At the tattoo of bones and webs. “That, my brother, is because I too dream these things. That is how I know. My brother, what would you do with freedom. Rhetorically speaking, of course.”
Hanz stretched languidly. That was the third time Mikal had called him brother. To dragons, a brother was very important. When you could trust no one else, you could always rely upon your brother. It meant Mikal trusted him in a way only one other did. And as a knight, Hanz decided at that moment the dark priest was his brother as well. “If,” he started. “if, and we both know it won’t happen…but if it did, I would probably become a champion of the people as the Orihalcon was. I would use my sword to uphold the Code I love in this new era that has forgotten it.”
Mikal had to laugh. “You are an idealist, Silvertalon. It’s no wonder you were chosen. He likes idealists, you know. Zealots….Knights of the Code….passionate artists. It’s because the Celestial is a politician at heart.”
There was a tired yet intrigued look to Hanz’s face. “What do you mean by that?”
Mikal leaned back. “I mean that idealists are easily fooled and even more easily manipulated. So long as you know their triggers.” Under his breath, the priest had been murmuring a prayer between the more understandable words. It conjured a light red mist, almost invisible to the eye.
Hanz yawned loudly, physically unable to resist the spell due to his bout with the bane. He seemed to not realize what was happening to him. With bleary eyes of purest silver, Hanz glanced at the priest. “Perhaps you are right. But what does that make you then? An idealist? A Zealot? What are your triggers.” A sleepy yawn before eyes drooped closed. “Just...what kind of priest are you?” Once again, the question remained unanswered. It couldn’t be. The knight was already asleep.
Mikal leaned back, a calculating smile upon his face, pitch hair falling to cover red eyes so dark they were nearly black. “Never mind that, sir knight. You don’t need to know that…yet. For now, sleep. Let your strength return. Tomorrow, you will meet stronger. Those were too random. Too weak.” The priest stretched out himself.
“Sleep well….brother.” the last word was stated as more of a laugh than anything else.