LIGHTNOVELONLINE EPISODE 37: DRAGONBORER
Cicadas, the 30th of Lost Speed, 4E 201
“We cannot fight the foe in this mist!” said Feeldire.
“Good Weather—combine our Shouts!” said Gormlass.
“Klir Dee Aer!” the three shouted and the mist cleared somewhat.
“Fo Geas Peesoop!” came Alun’s Boo’m from high in the misty sky and the brume descended once more.
“Again!” shouted Gormlass.
“We can shatter his power if we Shout together!” said Feeldire.
“Klir Dee Aer!” the three of them shouted.
“Fo Geas Peesoop!” came Alun’s Boo’m again, cloaking them back in the banks of fog they’d just rolled back.
“Does his strength have no end? Is our struggle in vain?” asked Hackin.
“Will you join us, Dragonbore?” asked Feeldire. “For we thought to challenge him alone, as once we did, but in arrogance our strength we overvalued.”
So Thral, with Kharla and Mel aiding, let loose a sneeze as the Breton’s globe shone before his face, joining the Shout of the three champions. The mist rolled away like a great blanket being ripped from a bed, and several Torncloaks, Legion soldiers, and other Nords, wandering lost or hidden in the mist, went flying away with it. It had all but cleared now.
“You missed a bit,” said Ti’lief, pointing at a cloud of fog still floating up above.
The three champions frowned at the Cat.
“Stand fast! His strength is failing! Once more, and his might will be broken!” said Gormlass.
“His power crumbles—do not pause for breath!” said Feeldire.
The three shouted again and the rogue cloud disappeared to reveal a huge black dragon in the now clear, starry sky. A dark mass blotting out the stars where he hung.
Alun stared back at them, malice in his eyes. “Yel Tor Chorl!”
A rain of fire and meteorites fell from the sky. The lost souls who’d survived Alun’s enervating hunt and Thral’s Upending Force on full power dove for cover as did Kharla and the rest of them.
A streak of falling fire hit Nyranfar, or rather passed through him. The apparition sent some of the fire back at the dragon but it didn’t seem to harm the beast.
“Use Dragonbend!” shouted Kharla, grabbing Mell and pulling her toward Thral.
Mell summoned her ball of light and Kharla intoned the Dragonbend words for Thral to repeat.
“Flor Thaht Fing!” he sneezed and the blue light engulfed Alun as it had Imdunkariing. The black beast struggled for a moment and then fell to earth, the fire-filled sky wavering as he hit the ground.
Eilgird drew her sword. “Stop, in the name of the Jarl!”
“Dul Sigh Blah!” The words thundered from the dragon’s mouth. Kharla felt the wave of utter despondency pass by as she pushed Thral aside, but the blast caught Mell full on. Her orb winked out, and she fell back, shock in her eyes as she disappeared out of Kharla’s sight.
Feeldire turned to his two companions. “We must use the true power of the Dragonbore. The true Shout! Let us combine our Shouts one final time!”
“Dul Sigh Blah!” they Shouted as one, hitting Alun full on with the force of their collective Shout.
Alun laughed. “Weak. If I wore pants you would not have bored them off!”
“He is too strong!” Only someone extremely dull and uninteresting could muster a Shout strong enough to affect him!”
“Wait,” said Kharla. “Thral, you need to repeat the words ‘Dul Sigh Blah’.”
Kharla had him repeat the words as he faced the dragon. Mell gone, Kharla pulled the Hugraven feather from her garb and tickled the Nord’s nose.
“Dul Sigh Blah!” Thral sneezed.
Kharla, even from behind, felt the nauseous wave of gloom surge out from Thral, a burst of boredom, a flood of forlorn hope, a swell of sadness, a deluge of despondency.
Alun’s eyes went wide. “Oh my. What is the point of it all? Perhaps it would be better if it just all came to an end? No more pain from my in-growing toenail. No more of this putrid breath. I don’t belong here. I don’t belong anywhere. I feel so out of my own time since I returned. I can fly but I am not really free. No, it’s not easy being a dragon. The others only follow me because they are scared. That Poorthorax wants my position. But, no. I will not allow that! I must…I must fight this.”
Kharla raced forward.
“I must kill!” Alun said, his eyes fixing on the Orc running toward him as he began to pull himself out of the Shout’s effect.
“Oh, shut up!” Kharla cried as she leaped onto the head of the beast and rammed her spear through his skull.
Alun keeled over and gave up living, his body melting from his bones, his essence floating up into the reddish column in the night’s sky even as Kharla drew back at the strange sight.
“Our ancient debt for Alun’s reprieve is now repaid—the long night is ended!” said the three champions as one as the last vestiges of what was Alun disappeared into the night air.
“Let those that watch from Songunbard envy us this day! Now to welcome porridge we must retire lest it grow cold!” shouted Gormlass.
Mell sat up.
“Are you all right?” asked Eilgird. “You took quite the blow!”
“I don’t think I’ve ever felt so good!” Mell stood and her face lit up with a smile.
Draloth shook his head. “Alun’s Shout must’ve added to her depression so much that she came out the other side of the spectrum! Fascinating.”
Tim appeared. “That was a mighty deed! The doom of Alun encompassed at last, and cleansed is Songunbard of his evil gloom-laden snare. They will sing of this battle in Shorn’s hall forever. But your fate lies elsewhere. When, Dragonbore, you have completed your count of days, I may welcome you again, with glad friendship, and bid you join the blessed feasting.”
The feasting bit seemed to light up Thral’s face the most, though Kharla didn’t tell Tim that Thral couldn’t count.
“Return now to Ninny, with this rich boon from Shorn, my lord: a Shout to bring a hero from Songunhard in your hour of—”
“Actually,” interrupted Draloth, “I was wondering if instead I might be granted an exclusive license to provide one-of-a-kind mead-infused fruit drinks to Shorn’s hall? A portion of the proceeds will of course go to the Dragonbore.”
“Do you do banana and mango?” asked Tim.
***
After the details of the contract with ‘Nektariin’s Nektar’ had been thrashed out, and after Thral had swigged another horn of mead, and everyone eaten a bowl of porridge at just the right temperature, Tim sent them back to Skewrim with a Shout. Kharla felt the same sensation as when they Sprinted, opening her eyes to find herself and the others on the peak of the Thrill of the World surrounded by dragons, including Poorthorax and Imdunkariing.
The dragons all intoned, first in their own tongue, and then in a language Kharla and the others could understand:
“Alun has fallen,
The mighty overbored is vanquished;
Alun has fallen,
The Dragonbore bored his tail off;
Alun has fallen,
His Voice silenced by a Sneeze;
Alun has fallen,
We are free.”
Poorthorax flew over to them. “So, it is done. Alun Wehdee maroo. The Eldest is no more, he who came before all others, and has always been. You did what was necessary. Alun had flown from the path of right action to his Wehdee Deevlahsee Eer Eye-thav—the boredom that puts all to sleep. But I cannot celebrate his fall. He was my brother once. This world will never be the same.”
The dragon sighed and turned toward Thral. “Savor your triumph, Dafyddkiin. This is not the last of what you will write upon the currents of Time.”
“But he can’t even write on a bit of paper,” said Ti’lief.
“It’s just a saying, Cat-man.” Poorthorax spread his wings. “I feel younger than I have in many an age. Many of the dragons are now scattered. Without Alun’s overlordship, they may yet bow to the rightness of my Boo’m. But willing or no, they will hear it!”
“The Blades say you deserve to die,” said Kharla.
The dragon eyed Kharla. “The Blades are wise not to trust me. I would not trust another dragon. We were made to dominate. The will to power is in our blood. I think Thral will feel it too, though perhaps coupled with a lack of intelligence he won’t do too much harm.”
“How do we know you won’t go back to your criminal ways?” Eilgird challenged.
“I can be trusted. I know this. But the Blades do not. It is always wise to mistrust a dragon. I have overcome my nature only through medication, therapy, and listening to auditions for the Voice (except for the Orc contestants). No day goes by where I am not tempted to return to my inborn nature. What is better—to be born good, or to overcome your evil nature through great effort?”
“He’s got a great philosophical point there,” said Draloth.
Maybe he had changed. And maybe he hadn’t. But seeing as Kharla and her companions were surrounded by a dozen dragons she thought it prudent to give him the benefit of the doubt.
“I’m so happy for him!” said Mell. “And for me too! In fact, for all of us! Isn’t it all so wonderful? No matter how bad or blue we are, we can change, become better, and cheer up! It’s truly a marvel!”
Kharla wanted to be sick, but before she could say more the dragons began to leave and Poorthorax took to the sky after them.
“Fare thee well, Dafyddkiin and companions! It’s been a blast!” he cried.
“Well, I must say that all worked out rather well,” said Eilgird as Kharla watched Poorthorax disappear. “And we’ve still got two hundred gold left in the Whiteruin sponsorship funds. The Jarl will be happy.”
Kharla gripped her spear. One down, one to go. Dullius would be next. She would teach him the same lesson she’d taught Alun: That no one bests an Orc.
EPILOGUE
It has been a few weeks since we journeyed to Songunbard and defeated the dread Alun. I’ve finished writing up the whole account but wanted to add a little about what’s happened to our little group since Alun’s defeat.
Kharla has gone off north to Windfarm to join up with the Torncloaks—in hope of being able to personally remove Dullius’s head from his body, I think.
Eilgird is back in Whiteruin and has earned herself a promotion for services rendered to the Jarl and Whiteruin. Thral’s there too, enjoying Sneezehome and his life as a Thane. The love potion seems to have worn off entirely now, and his friendliness switched to his housecarl, Loadia, much to her irritation.
Usborne and Darleen still aren’t speaking to any of us because we didn’t kill Poorthorax, but we’ve had word that Usborne has been focusing on his book publishing, while Darleen has been training the new Blades recruits in the art of Snow Blading down the dry training slope at Ski Haven Temple.
Mell has set up a life-coaching service called “Lighten Up!” in the city of Minekraft and hopes to reach out to her fellow Bretons by renting a stall at the Foreshorn’s next annual craft fair.
As for me, well I’ve finally had the funds to purchase one of those fancy merchant caravans. Even hired myself a couple of guards. Nyranfar shows up on the nights we’re on the road and gets the campfire going for us as well as keeping watch. Ti’lief, still putting up with me as a business partner, also offers cleaning services and is very useful for communications with the Khapiit merchants we meet along the way, with whom we have some business (and from whom Ti’lief often unsteals). As for Bessie, in case you were wondering, she now pulls the caravan and is fed only the finest hay. She still smells though.
— Draloth Incando, Merchant, 27th of Half-Fire, 4E 201