Thread: The Dragon of the Blue Moon

Chapter One 18 years ago The sun rose over the crags to the east, the firey red light illuminating the broken teeth of the earth like a grinning maw after ripping into vulnerable flesh, the bloody sunlight dripping down it's gruesome fangs. Still barely peeking above the horizon behind them, the pointed mountains cast shadows upon the spacious field, some still dark with the shades of evening clinging to them. From the south an army assembled and approached the middle of the field at a steady trot. Having only arrived in Leads Hill a week before, the generals of the army were confident of their victory against the men of Roland today, the other army only having arrived here yesterday. The men of Sorbold raced across the field, screaming their battle cries like one large growl across the miles of endless pasture in the striped shadows of the Crags. Their skin was a darker, muddy shade than that of the people of Roland, all of them with darker hair and eyes, their faces and armor more severe with the different warrior societies among their military men. They were an honorable and war-like society with tribal communities all joined together under the Supreme Ruler and Emperor, Anborn the Great. It had been Anborn's great grandfather who had been a chieftain of the Bloody River tribe, who had conquered the lands of the other tribes bringing them all together under one ruler in hopes of crushing their fairer skinned enemies in the north. No longer was Sorbold a collection of warring tribes in the mountains of the south, but a united nation with enough strength to challenge the kingdom of Roland. As they made their way across the field, weapons bared and shaken in angry fists, the Sorbold army neared an especially dark shadow that seemed to defy the growing light. It wasn't until too late that the men realized that it was not a shadow but the earth had been tainted itself, a long strip about 15 feet wide of blackened earth. As soon as the first booted foot touched upon the ebony dirt, the men fell, all who touched it consumed by black crumpling and screaming as their bodies turned to dark ash. But the frenzy of battle had overtaken all of them and the men behind climbed over the stone-like bodies of their brethren, eventually creating a wide bridge across the spell-turned ground. What the men of Sorbold would only realize later once they'd had a chance to regroup and collect their forces after the battle today, was that Roland's soldiers had been here the week prior and had set the trap for the other side to fall into. While they were disoriented and struggling to climb over the hill of stone bodies, on the opposite side of the hill Roland soldiers were still advancing, their metal plated armor glistening as the golden yellow sun stretched herself above the crags. As they grew closer, the men of Sorbold could see at the lead of the opposing army, which was just as fierce as their own, a lone man walked a mile ahead of them. Not older than 23, the slender man was obviously a soldier, his feet moving with the grace of a lion stalking it's prey. Nearing the darker skinned warriors, they could all feel a jolt in their hearts as their pulses quickened and a palpable hum filled the air. Still yelling their battle cries, they felt fear when they could finally see the man's features and the smile of pure delight crossing his face. With only a half a mile left separating them, he drew out of his easy saunter smoothly, his body tensing and his speed increasing as he ran, weaponless, towards the charging men. The first men who came within reach of him fell in a spray of blood, their bodies rent open and tossed aside with an effortless swipe of his hand. Death was not signaled by the screams of the fallen, but rather by the absence of any noise other than his insane laughter as he tore into flesh with his bare hands, pulling bodies apart like he was merely pulling a blanket from them. The pulse of power residing deep within his chest grew like a blossoming white rose and his reach extended. Without even touching them, several men back in the crowd fell apart as he ripped the flesh from the bodies of the current men engaging him in battle. Swathes of the crowd around him several feet deep into their forces fell around him as if spontaneously exploding from the inside out.The last thing the Sorbold army saw before they were consumed by his hungry fingers, was the mask of pure ecstatic insanity upon his laughing face. With the sun high in the sky in early morn, the Roland army returned to the camp on the other side of the hill. Among them, an unarmored man walked with the sleepy sway of one in a haze. As the men split up to go about their ways, tending to wounds and cleaning armor and weapons to get ready for the next charge, the man wandered to a secluded place in the shade of a tent and flopped down in hastily made chair, his body sagging into it with an almost pleasured lounge. From head to toe he was drenched in blood, his clothes soaking in it and not an ounce of it his own. His face was streaked with gore and held an almost drugged and placid expression, his eyes wandering back over the delightful death he'd poured from his fingertips this day. The white beast within him, curled around his heart with it's shining alabaster tail, hugging close to him with a sigh of contentment. It had been a good day and more than half of the deaths of the Sorbold army had been done with his help. Nicholas smirked and laughed breathlessly as in his minds eye he relived an especially brutal moment, feeling that electric current of power surging through his arms again, the memory filling him with a warm euphoria. Sunlight flashed into his tent brightening over his closed eyelids as he felt the presence of another enter the room. He didn't need to open his eyes before the white dragon within him told him who it was. Hello, Tristan... he drawled out in a slightly smoky voice, his throat having grown tight and sensitive from all the uproarious hilarity he'd expressed this morning. And it's not even noon yet. No singing at the after party, I guess, the white dragon thought and Nicholas chuckled lightly at it. Tristan Steward, the prince and heir to the throne, was no more than 4 years older than the blood-covered man before him, and although they'd shared many drinks and relaxed conversation together, Tristan held an almost reverent amount of respect for the soldier. He'd been the one to find Nicholas, buried in the large port city of Nemosyne, drinking himself to death and playing music in the taverns for food and lodging. After going overseas to recruit more soldiers for Roland's cause, he'd stopped in the city for the night and encountered The Dragon for the first time. Nicholas had been completely wasted, beyond even sitting up right, and his ribald songs were starting to come out off tune. The annoyed locals, fishermen and seamen, had grown fed up with it and sought to toss the man out on his ass. The drink did not seem to have any effect on the man's ability to fight and he'd effortlessly pummeled all 11 men, even with 5 or 6 engaging him at one time. Looking back now, Tristan realized it had been an uneven fight, but not in the way of Nicholas being outnumbered. And it wasn't until later, after convincing him to join his army and traveling back to the capital city, did Tristan realize the true extent of the man's power. Seeing him like this, battle-worn like he'd just finished having really great sex, still sent a shiver up his spine. How'd it go this morning? tristan asked, folding his arms in a relaxed posture with an amused smile coming to his face. Mostly, he was asking for a report on the damage of both sides, but he also knew that by asking, Nicholas would no doubt give him more. He loved to talk about the battles. Thankfully, his robust excitement for talk of war and battle was contagious. Dawn was beautiful, like always, was the purred response. If not for his lips moving, he would have looked like he was sleeping, his head tipped back and his eyes closed. The first 300 fell in the trap I set and the next 500 or so died before they could utter a prayer. At one point, it rained blood... His voice trailed off with a whisper of wonder, his eyes closed and obviously visualizing the scene again. Really? Tristan asked with a hint of curious interest in his voice before his tone grew a bit resigned. Did you throw soldiers into the air and split them apart again? It was what had happened the last four or five times Tristan had seen it rain blood while Nicholas was on the battlefield. The seated man's head snapped up and his eyes opened to squint through the drying blood and a proud smirk spread across his lips. Tristan shook his head and glanced away for a moment, his voice amused when he spoke but with a hint of genuine disgust. That's really gross. I've been on the field with you when you've done that and I feel really bad for the man who got a mouthful of entrails when he happened to look up like I did that one time. Nah, you like it, Nicholas said smugly as he laid his head back again. Don't lie. Tristan, even as well-bred as he was cracked a lopsided grin and shook his head before leaving the tent. EDIT Added The next 7 days were a repeat of the first - although the Sorboldian soldiers had come in on the night of the first day and set up impromptu bridges across the blackened earth and would likely be wary of shadows on the field from that point on - with Nicholas leading the charges sometimes 4 or 6 times in a day, returning to camp looking like he'd been dipped in a vat of blood. By the 8th day, the Sorbolds retreated from Leads Hill, returning south towards the mountain country. It had been the Sorboldian Emperor's opinion that Leads Hill should have been a simple battle, one that he would continue to provide men for but which would not be his main focus. Leads Hill provided a geographical advantage if they took it, but it was not his primary concern. Mostly, it was an attempt to divide Roland's forces while his main troops marched on the Stoneshell keep. After his chieftains kept requesting more and more men for Leads Hill, The Emperor, Anborn, had decided to cut his losses and leave that Black Hole alone. He couldn't afford to play games demanding dominance over something that would only give him a minor advantage. So, a battle that would have taken 3 - 6 weeks was more than halved by the efforts of Nicholas. As soon as they were certain the Sorbolds had fled and were not coming back for another round, Roland's men marched home victorious. The men sharing the ranks with the man who had decimated the playing field were more than happy to share the glory with him, despite the supernatural power he possessed. If we continue on like this, the war will be over in a month! a soldier by the name of Christian said. The small group sat around a campfire in a glade where they'd stopped for the night on their way back to the capital city. Other tents and campfires spread out through the open woods, all fires within sight of each other through the trees. As it is, I'm going home to see my wife and children a lot sooner than she will have expected. She might not even believe I've been in battle! Just show her your scars and she'll not only fall over herself to tend to your every need, but she'll also feel guilty for doubting you, Nicholas said before drinking down the rest of the stew from his tin bowl. Yeah. Right. Thanks to you, I'm not sure any of us really have anything worse than a scratch, A burly soldier nicknamed Blister murmured with a laugh. That's right for one length of that battle on the last day, I found myself about 15 - 20 feet from your shoulder. Seemed like every other man I went up against suddenly exploded in a burst of blood in my face, a blonde soldier with a bit of scruff on his chin said with a wry grin. Not that I'm complaining. At the time, with the chinks in the armor under my arm digging into me and the sun beating down on us making me feel like a chicken in a pot, I was more than happy to accept the help. None of the men asked how it was done, offering uneasy smiles and laughter to help lighten the mood of what they were actually dealing with. Nobody wanted to be ungrateful, but more than that, Nicholas was not a man to be scorned. So, he took the anxious praise for what it was, not minding the sideways glances and even basking in the attention. He was a nobody from a small farming village in the deeper hills of Roland. The war meant next to nothing to him and here he was stealing the show. Don't worry. You'll all get another chance to be stabbed, maimed and relieved of your limbs when we face the forces marching on Stoneshell keep, Tristan said with a humored nod. There will be way too many angles for Nick to cover on his own. From across the fire the two men's eyes met and Nick flashed him a haughty smile. Was that a challenge? After that, the men broke down into telling stories about the women they'd left behind and the women they'd had. Once again, Nicholas became the center attention in the conversation, but the other men did not mind and even seemed more at ease with him. The guy had a gift for telling an erotic tale.