E. D. Jones (he/him), author and weirdmaster of Write Sinister

@sinister42.bsky.social

4050 Followers 12955 Following

Weird fiction, fantasy, and horror writer, and occasional dragon, living in interesting times. SFWA Associate member. https://writesinister.substack.com/

“Look, citizens. I’m truly sorry I have to do this. You deserve better. You deserve freedom. But right now, we have to pull together. We lost…so many good people on that battlefield. So many promising young minds. The city is quiet when it should be full of the laughter of young people just stepping out into the world, filling the taverns, sowing their oats, getting started with family and business and just…living their lives. Instead they lie unburied in the field outside the Draconic city-state.” The mayor paused and looked down at his podium. When he began again, his voice trembled. He cleared his throat. “I can imagine the hurt, the horror, the hate you feel in your bones right now, because I feel it too. But…I can’t, we can’t let it destroy us. Which it will if we go after the dragons again. Now, one more thing. You might be thinking, what about the Confederation? Surely they’ll come to our rescue. Don’t count on it. The Confederation has told us to evacuate the city. The Confederation doesn’t believe in the dream of Twin Oaks. But there are fifty thousand of us here, and I’m not about to turn us all into refugees, lose everything we’ve built here, together, in the shadow of the Dragonlands. So this is what we have to do instead.” With that, the mayor pulled out a scroll and read it aloud. “Pursuant to the emergency powers granted to me by our city charter, I hereby declare a civil emergency, dissolve the council, and declare martial law. Freedom of speech and assembly are suspended, and the city guard is hereby empowered to assume policing powers in conjunction with local police.” The mayor banged a gavel on his podium and said, “Go home, stay safe, report any suspicious activity – any suspicious activity – to the guard. If you do not, you might be held as a co-conspirator. Meeting adjourned.” The city council members stood as one and left the meeting chamber without a word. Geoff just sat there, stunned. Martial law. He’d never heard of …
Rax put a hand on Fenrick’s shoulder, tentatively, and squeezed. “Apology accepted, Fen. And I’m…I’m really fucking sorry your friend died. I can’t believe he did that. Just willingly gave up his life…I don’t know if I have that kind of courage.” “Thaxar was always…just…brave as hell. Never backed away from a fight when a fight was needed. I—” Fenrick broke off, water in his eyes. “Hey,” Rax said softly, seeing the truth in Fenrick’s eyes. “You two…” “Yeah,” Fenrick said, his voice trembling. “Ages ago, when we were too young to know what any of it meant. But yeah.” Rax pulled Fenrick into a hug, and Fenrick broke. Rax held him through the trembling sobs, until the cobalt drake’s breathing evened out. Rax pulled back and looked into Fenrick’s eyes. “You ok?” Fenrick nodded, sniffling. Rax pulled a crumpled napkin out of his pocket and dabbed at Fenrick’s eyes with it. “I will be, Rax. I’m…gods I’m so sorry about what I said to you on the pass.” “It’s ok, Fen. Kind of a cool line, actually. ‘Fly right when the wind’s wrong.’ Gonna hold onto that one.”
“The Confederation has housing and jobs for all of our citizens then?” The mayor spat. This wasn’t the first time he’d heard this excuse. Jacques gave the mayor a thin smile. “Obviously there’s just not an appetite for a larger war against the dragons. If we want to fight them, we’ll have to do it on our own.” “What was the vote?” “There hasn’t been a vote yet,” Jacques said. “But it’s pretty clear that at least nine of the Twelve Provinces will vote against sending aid to us.” “So the only yes votes would be our region, Greater Sylvan, and Frostwind?” Jacques said, “Stonewarden’s regional council is deadlocked. I spoke with our delegate just today, and he says the cities in the North tend to agree that Twin Oaks should be abandoned or relocated away from the dragons.” “For the love of any God that might have ever existed,” Mayor Pendergrass spat. “Is there nothing we can do? They’d just let humans be roasted alive by dragonfire?”
Rax sighed. This cobalt-scaled bastard wasn’t giving him eyes at all, but Rax’s eyes couldn’t stop undressing him. “Would you just get over here?” Rax startled. The cobalt Draconic had fully turned to him now and stared directly into Rax’s eyes. Rax panicked and coughed into his ale, then flailed for a moment before he remembered how to speak. “Uh. Sorry. Didn’t realize—” “That you were staring at me like I’m on the damn menu? C’mon, red.” The cobalt Draconic patted the stool next to him and smirked. “O…ok,” Rax said. “Sorry. Ok.” Rax scooted down to the proffered stool and said, “Hi,” and his voice cracked like a whelp after his first molt. “Hi,” the blue drake said, and toasted Rax with his own ale.
They were fucking dragons. Ancient fucking beasts of legend, descended from the wyrms that blacked out the sky with their wings. But those humans had had weapons that just…tore through them like paper. Sure, Rax had burned one of the humans to cinders, but the other two… Two years hence, and Rax still had nightmares, what ifs, going over and over it in his mind, how he could have stopped them, defeated them, turned them into ash on the road. But the ambush had been so sudden and so complete that by the time Rax knew what was happening, Dex and Torr had already collapsed, imbued arrows bristling from their chests and heads, and Rax himself had been hit a half a dozen times. Frankly, it had been a miracle that Rax had survived the attack at all, that he’d managed to get off a single searing breath that had taken down one of the raiders. But then one of the others had hit Rax with a lightning arrow, and he’d fallen, twitching, to the earth. All three of them – Rax, Dex, and Torr – had been wearing armor. But the human weapons had been specially imbued to cut through Draconic chainmail. Which was why, when Rax recovered, he’d dedicated his life to the forge, to protecting dragonkind from human weapons, human magic.
Tarron roused himself, amber eyes blinking awake, yawning and stretching. Rax enjoyed the show. Tarron had the kind of physique that spoke of an active childhood and adolescence, but an adulthood that had other priorities. Defined musculature, sure, but lithe, lean, lanky even. “Hey there,” Rax said. “Sleep ok?” Tarron looked at Rax for a minute, and Rax felt Tarron’s eyes roaming the way his hands and mouth had done last night, focusing in on all the right places. “Yeah,” Tarron said. “You?” “Like a whelp in his mother’s arms.” Tarron slid out of bed and started wrestling himself back into his clothes. “Not so fast, blue. Want to enjoy the view a little bit longer. Come sit. Have coffee. You got somewhere you need to be?” “I mean, work.” “Fuck work. I told you. Come work for me.” “I can’t just quit. Plus, uh, isn’t there something weird about working for someone…and…fucking them?” Rax grinned. “So you’re saying you want to do more of that then?” Tarron slid his huge clawed feet into worn leather fan-toed boots, wrestled his trousers up and around his tail, buttoning them, front and back, and said, “Yeah. Yeah I do.”
Rax saw Fenrick below him as he flew through an improvised obstacle course. Which was idiotic, since he mostly flew above any possible obstacles other than clouds. “But every flight requires take-off and landing,” Fenrick had pointed out. “Yeah, yeah.” And so Rax had agreed to this humiliating exercise. He dove, a second too late, and missed the crate. Again. “Shit.” “Closer this time,” Fenrick called. “Use light and shadow to gauge distance.” “You use light and shadow to gauge distance,” Rax retorted, and nearly slammed into the wall of the barracks house, veering away just in time and landing hard. “Fuck,” Rax spat, righting himself with Fenrick’s assistance. “This’ll take time,” Fenrick said. “Take it easy on yourself.”
Fenrick’s curiosity about Rax’s scars brought the nightmares back for a few days, but Rax wasn’t about to tell Fenrick that. No need to put that burden on him. Still, images of his brother Dex, and his nephew Torr, still a youngling at the time, just getting into that awkward phase, kept flashing through Rax’s mind. The mountain pass. The raiders. They’d been heading to a nearby lake for a fishing trip. Dex had lost his wife to a wasting disease the year prior, and Rax wanted to give him and Torr a nice vacation to distract them. Rax continued hammering his latest saber, but reflected in the metal he saw those human bastards, and he imagined every time he struck the blade he instead struck flesh. Imagined the blood and teeth loosing from those faces with every blow. But then he saw Dex and Torr, lying on the pass, eyes glassy, blood still steaming on the dirt path, as Rax tried to crawl to them, his own body broken and slashed, weak, the pain unbearable, as the human raiders just laughed and left them there. They were fucking dragons. Ancient fucking beasts of legend, descended from the wyrms that blacked out the sky with their wings. But those humans had had weapons that just…tore through them like paper. Sure, Rax had burned one of the humans to cinders, but the other two…
Rax’s story broke something free in Fenrick, the pure vulnerability and pain in Rax’s voice and face as he told it shining a bright light on Fenrick’s own trauma, which suddenly felt so much smaller. Almost a cliché, really. Being cheated on by your best friend? What was he, in a tawdry romance novel? If so, he had to hope he’d found the guy who’d help him get through the trauma of it and find the other side. Because right now, no matter how, perhaps, unoriginal Fenrick’s experience had been, it had still happened to him, and it still hurt. And so yes, he’d agreed to “open a door.” He had no idea what that meant. He knew Rax didn’t either. But that was ok. The truth was, as he’d told Rax the first night they’d met, Rax was a “damn fine piece of dragon meat,” and Fenrick was absolutely not retroactively humiliated that he’d used that line. And Rax seemed like a genuinely nice guy to boot. Too early to tell. Therion. Too early to tell.
Tarron had seen the scars on Rax’s belly, of course, but he hadn’t asked. Hadn’t felt they were his business. After all, they both had scars. Secrets. Things they hadn’t told each other yet. Two months just wasn’t enough time to peel all the layers back. “Just wish we could keep ‘em out, you know?” Rax said. “Humans?” “Yeah. Should be able to choose my customers.” “You don’t want that right.” “I know,” Rax said, shaking his head. “I do but I don’t. Obviously.” “We don’t want to be like Caldera’s Heart. That place is just festering with hate and anger and draconic supremacist bullshit. But that’s really the only other way we could go. Hire some scalehead security, only let dragonkin in, buy off enough public officials to look the other way. Otherwise, we take all comers.”
“Make it quick, human. I’m busy.” “What our histories tell us is that the dragons started it. I mean, of course our history says that, right? Doesn’t mean it’s true. But our stories tell of dragons flying out of the skies and burning villages just to steal the gold out of burned corpses’ hands. Terrorizing our fields, our farmlands.” “Yes,” Rax said. “The great wyrms did attack human settlements. But that was after you started sending marauders to kill us. Our stories start with you attacking us. And they continue that way. For thousands of years. Any attack from our side was self-defense.” Henry nodded. “This is what I’m talking about. This kind of disconnect. There has to be a truth in the middle somewhere. Some way to bridge that divide.” Rax laughed a frozen dagger at Henry. “See, the problem is that our side found that already. Me. Me and my kin. Draconics. The wyrms built us out of their own genes and a little bit of dragon magic with the exact purpose of serving as a bridge to the human world. A tenth the size, a tenth the strength, walking on two legs, looking more human than dragonkin. You know what happened to the first draconic ambassadors sent to the human villages to parley? You burned them at the stake.”
The horn sounded just after dawn. Fenrick kissed Rax, and then the two had to separate. Fenrick flew to meet with the rest of the air corps, a squadron of drakes who’d trained in combat flying, practicing complex maneuvers both offensive and defensive. Their job would be to harry the humans, wear down any arcane bubbles or other defenses the humans might have against dragonfire – then burn the hell out of the bastards. All while avoiding getting hit by imbued armor-piercing poison arrows and crossbow bolts. Rax had outfitted them all with counter-charmed armor that should deflect anything the humans could throw at it, but there was still no reason to take unnecessary risks. They’d spent the last few days practicing dive rolls and evasive maneuvers against live archers on the ground with blunted arrows that still hurt if they hit. Fenrick had managed to avoid getting hit, but a few of the other drakes sported angry bruises where arrows had hit true. Rax, on the other hand, had been assigned a spot on the parapets with the other guards to repel any escalade from the humans, to disable human siege weapons, to do whatever it took to stop the humans breaching the outer wall. Fenrick prayed to the old gods and the new for victory, and for that victory to come at as small a cost as possible. On both sides.
Tarron sensed something in Rax’s disdain for the humans. More than the usual draconic distrust of the creatures. Something personal. He hadn’t pressed, because it felt like a wound that Rax wanted to keep closed. “Stop staring, blue,” Rax said. “If you want to know, just ask.” “I just…what’s your history with humans? Gotta be something.” Rax gave Tarron a look that spoke of something deep and broken. “Years back. Me, young and in love. My boyfriend, hot and stupid. We went out alone to watch the sunset. Cliché as all get out, I know. But we did. Human raiding party, just a bunch of drunken idiots with swords. Swarmed us like ants. Gutted him, left me bleeding out on the rocks. I had to leave him there. Barely made it to a healer in time.” “Holy shit, Rax,” Tarron said. “Holy shit.” He hugged Rax, hard, feeling the ruby draconic trembling with the memory of it. “So you’ll excuse me if I don’t rush to parley with this creature.” “Understood. Completely. Gods…Rax. I’m so sorry.” Tarron had seen the scars on Rax’s belly, of course, but he hadn’t asked. Hadn’t felt they were his business.
And then he told Fenrick the whole story. Every detail. And he didn’t even feel the tears rolling down his face until Fenrick gently took his finger and ran it up Rax’s cheek and it came back wet. “If I’d had just a second more warning, I could have…” Rax smacked the table, startling nearby patrons, smoke puffing from his nose, his tail lashing behind him, almost knocking over a chair. Fenrick grabbed Rax’s hand and squeezed it, and Rax looked at him, and something about Fenrick’s eyes started to calm him down. “Sorry,” Rax said, taking several controlled breaths, wiping his eyes. “It’s—" “I know,” Fenrick said, his voice soft. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean—you didn’t have to tell me if it was too hard.” “You asked.” Fenrick paused for a moment and finished his beer, then said, “When I was with the Guard, we disrupted human ambushes like that all the time. Couldn’t get ‘em all though. And every time we did, those skinbags had new toys, and we had to improvise. I don’t understand how those tiny little things are so fucking—” Fenrick broke off, his face dark.
“They’re bound by law to do that much, although it’s a good start they’re obeying it,” Barret said. The man sat backwards in a chair, because of course he did, and his huge red beard extended almost to his sparkling blue eyes. If he’d been a foot shorter, he might be mistaken for a dwarf. “And none of their patrons would say anything to you because the draconics want trouble about as much as they want us in their world. Ignoring you’s part of keeping themselves safe. Who else had an experience last night?” A waifish girl, Trina Dawnshadow, stood and said, “Well, I tried to hit a tavern over in the Redscale quarter, but I didn’t even make it into the neighborhood before I just…I got a weird feeling and left. Like too many eyes on me.” “Yeah,” Barret said. “Redscale’s a pretty well protected draconic enclave. Humans wouldn’t be welcome there, though you have every right to walk through the place with your head held high. It’s whether you walk out the other side cooked or raw that’s the real question.” “It seems like the Scale & Flame’s one of only a few draconic taverns in the city in mixed areas,” said a third kid, this one named Nate, a nervous wreck with a habit of biting his nails down to the quick.
“My name is Rax, of clan Stonefire.” Henry put out a fleshy pink hand. Rax sighed, a curl of smoke coming out of one nostril, and then enveloped that tiny hand in his own claw before releasing a moment later. “Nice to meet you, Rax.” Rax grunted. “Say your piece, human.” “Right,” the human began. “So, and I know how this sounds. Believe me. But…I guess. I want to learn about you. Your culture. Your history. Your side of the divide. I’m here to listen more than I’m here to talk. Nothing but respect, ok? I know almost nothing of draconic history, but I know neither of us has the full story.” Rax’s eyes flashed fire. “Where do you want to start? With the first humans who felled a wyrm for flying? Or should we skip to the marauders who murdered my lover and left me for dead?” Henry reeled back. “Oh my gods…I’m so sorry.” Rax just looked at the creature, thinking about how easy it would be to just pluck that head right off of that weak little neck. Just twist and pull. Simple. “Well?” Rax said instead. “I mean. Shit. I could tell what I know of our history. If you’d be willing to listen.” Rax saw three empty tankards and an elf waving a wine glass. He left the human and attended to his other patrons before coming back. “Make it quick, human. I’m busy.” “What our histories tell us is that the dragons started it. I mean, of course our history says that, right? Doesn’t mean it’s true. But our stories tell of dragons flying out of the skies and burning villages just to steal the gold out of burned corpses’ hands. Terrorizing our fields, our farmlands.”
But there was nothing else for it but to try again. At least once more. He couldn’t give up after one night. That would be ridiculous. Humans and draconics. Talking like equals. The dream of Henry’s little band of activists. How the hell were they going to get there? And that was the operative question of the next afternoon’s meeting. Four humans, bright eyed and no-tailed, sitting in the cramped apartment of their ostensible leader, a man named Barret Ressick. A part-time adjunct professor that they’d all studied under at university, who’d filled their heads with this idea of human-draconic diplomacy. The impossible dream. Henry reported his experience of the prior evening. “They let me in, they served me, but I’m honestly surprised I didn’t get hassled more by the other patrons. And neither the blue one nor the red one let me get a word in, other than ordering my ale.” “They’re bound by law to do that much, although it’s a good start they’re obeying it,” Barret said. The man sat backwards in a chair, because of course he did, and his huge red beard extended almost to his sparkling blue eyes. If he’d been a foot shorter, he might be mistaken for a dwarf. “And none of their patrons would say anything to you because the draconics want trouble about as much as they want us in their world. Ignoring you’s part of keeping themselves safe. Who else had an experience last night?”
“Sometimes I think we should just start the war and have it out,” Rax said. “Our dear wise council sees it differently,” Fenrick said. “Besides, war with Twin Oaks risks war with the larger human Confederation, such as it is, and I’m honestly not sure we’d win against that many of the fleshy bastards.” “I know. The city won’t vote for war, and they won’t vote for councilors who speak for war. And even though I just said what I said, I…don’t really want war either.” Fenrick nodded. “Nobody does. That’s the thing. So the status quo stands.” Rax finished his own beer, then started to stand, saying, “Another round?” Fenrick nodded, then motioned for Rax to sit back down. “You got the last one.” Rax sat, and Fenrick went to the bar to get two more ales. Rax felt those memories start to fold back into the deepest parts of himself, a place they could stay quiet and only bother him in his nightmares. Fenrick returned and placed a second ale in front of Rax, then bent down and kissed him. Rax flailed a little in surprise, but then he kissed Fenrick back, one hand instinctively moving to Fenrick’s cheek, caressing the scales there, as the kiss deepened. Fenrick broke away, sat across from Rax, and said, “Alright. No guarantees, no expectations. But…I will…open a door.” Rax smiled and said, “I’ll uh, walk through it?” “Smooth as always, red.”
Chapter 3 – Persistence Pays? So here Henry was again, outside of the Scale & Flame. He took a deep breath and opened the door, the jingling bell announcing to everyone in the tavern that the human had returned to a place he shouldn’t have even gone into once. The cobalt draconic behind the bar stopped wiping a tankard and walked away to talk to another patron, a female dwarf in sparkling chain mail. Her beard was magnificent. Henry walked in and sat down at the same stool he’d taken last night. He felt eyes, turned and saw a party of emerald draconics literally sneering at him, actual smoke coming out of a couple of nostrils. He waved pathetically at them with a stupid little smile on his face. They laughed and looked away. “Welcome back, human,” The cobalt draconic said. Henry jumped a little and then took a breath. “Hi,” he said. “Uh, ale?” The cobalt poured him one and placed it on the bar. “This is really good ale,” he said. “Where’s it from?” “Brewed in the Dragonlands,” Cobalt said. He walked away to serve another customer. Alright. Progress. Got him to answer a question. That’s something. Henry watched as the ruby-scaled draconic approached the cobalt bartender, and the two talked softly about something for a moment, the ruby brushing the cobalt’s arm with his own, then leaning in and kissing the cobalt before breaking away and mixing a few cocktails. More than friends. Check. Still not sure that helps.
“Sorry,” Rax said. “I just…I know you said…fucking hells why is this so hard?” Fenrick said, “Relax, red. I’m just me here.” “I know,” Rax said. “It’s just…I dunno. I want…I want…” Rax flailed. “You want the more I said you shouldn’t expect,” Fenrick said. “Even though I told you why.” “Yeah,” Rax said. “Exactly that.” Fenrick looked at him, eyes golden and shimmering in the flickering oil lamps of the tavern. “Tell me about your scars,” Fenrick said. Rax blinked, thought about it, and nodded. He swallowed a large mawful of ale, then took a breath. “My brother…and my nephew. Killed by human raiders. Left me for dead on the mountain,” he began. And then he told Fenrick the whole story. Every detail. And he didn’t even feel the tears rolling down his face until Fenrick gently took his finger and ran it up Rax’s cheek and it came back wet. “If I’d had just a second more warning, I could have…” Rax smacked the table, startling nearby patrons, smoke puffing from his nose, his tail lashing behind him, almost knocking over a chair.
Someone large, with breath like a kiln, stood behind Henry. He turned and squeaked as a red-scaled draconic stared down at him with the kind of look Henry reserved for the flies that buzzed him while he tried to eat dinner. This draconic wore a leather apron and held two empty tankards in one massive clawed hand. He had a prominent scar on his face that bisected his eye and ran down his cheek, though the eye looked unaffected. “What…brings you here?” The red draconic’s voice was all forge steel and fire, and his breath felt like standing too close to a caldera. “Uh,” Henry started. A good start. “I’m here to…talk? To you?” “A human. Wants to talk to me. Why?” “Because I know…gods, how do I even start this. Look, your species and my species…we have a history, right? Centuries of hostility. We—” The red draconic rolled his eyes so hard he bowled a strike right in the center of Henry’s soul, and then just walked away. “Right,” Henry said to himself. “Good.”
The next morning. Rax awoke, dawn light filtering in through the rough curtains over the dormer window. Snoring next to him. Oh. He stayed, did he? Rax turned his head and saw Tarron lying there, his back scales shimmering indigo and cerulean as the light hit them, the cobalt’s tail draped loosely across Rax’s back, warm, present, there. Tarron had proved himself an eager if inexperienced lover, though in the end Rax would grade his performance above average. Whether there was anything between them other than a one-night exchange of lust and fluids remained to be seen. Rax stood, naked, his own tail swishing behind him in a lazy rhythm, and walked to his small kitchen, where he tied on a leather apron, stacked wood and blew fire into the stove to light it, and then set water boiling for coffee.
9. Rax Consciousness returned with a screaming headache and throbbing pain on the left side of his head. Something had happened to his left eye. He couldn’t open it. He tried to raise himself up, his vision still blurry and halved. “Hey,” a voice said, and Rax felt a cool pillow against his back, helping him sit. A waterskin was thrust into his hand, and he drank, grateful. “Am I—” He croaked. “Alive? Yes,” said the voice. Rax saw the wizened face of a pale-scaled drake wearing medical scrubs. “But I’m afraid your left eye is…gone, Rax. I’m sorry.” “Gone?” Rax repeated. “You took a direct hit from an imbued axe that cut through your helmet like paper. It’s a miracle you’re alive at all.” “Gods…” Rax breathed. “How did I…” “Fenrick,” the medic said. “Saved you.” “Fenrick? Is he here?” The man’s face darkened. “Fenrick took an imbued poisoned bolt to the leg, Rax. We’re doing what we can, but…” The medic shook his head. “Oh Gods…” Rax whispered. He couldn’t lose Fenrick. Not after just getting him back. Not now.
Rax’s story broke something free in Fenrick, the pure vulnerability and pain in Rax’s voice and face as he told it shining a bright light on Fenrick’s own trauma, which suddenly felt so much smaller. Almost a cliché, really. Being cheated on by your best friend? What was he, in a tawdry romance novel? If so, he had to hope he’d found the guy who’d help him get through the trauma of it and find the other side. Because right now, no matter how, perhaps, unoriginal Fenrick’s experience had been, it had still happened to him, and it still hurt. And so yes, he’d agreed to “open a door.” He had no idea what that meant. He knew Rax didn’t either. But that was ok. The truth was, as he’d told Rax the first night they’d met, Rax was a “damn fine piece of dragon meat,” and Fenrick was absolutely not retroactively humiliated that he’d used that line. And Rax seemed like a genuinely nice guy to boot. Too early to tell. Therion. Too early to tell. Still, he looked at Rax across the table, and he wanted to know more about the red drake, those ruby scales almost iridescent, subtle shades of orange flickering to rose as the oil lamps danced around them.
Rax stood across the forge working on a rune-imbued saber, the magic glowing a dull red as the drake wove it, his movements delicate, precise. From what Fenrick could see, this was a counter-charm that would cut through warded armor. The humans had been getting bold on the mountain passes lately, so drakes needed all the protection they could make. Especially when the humans wielded weapons designed to slice through non-imbued Draconic armor (and dragonscale) as easily as air. Some drakes had even reported arcane bubbles protecting human raiders from direct dragonfire hits, which was not a good sign. Which was why, today, Fenrick worked on a new design, something he’d come up with while studying the sacred texts in the archives. A long-sleeved chain shirt and full chain pants, each woven with a unique combination of runes and castings that Fenrick hoped would stop even the most powerful human weapons. The metal crackled with untamed energies as he worked, making Fenrick’s claws tingle even through the thick gloves. The helmet, greaves, and sabatons would come later, all forged with pliable but strong scalesteel, a precise mix of iron and rare elements mined in the southern mountains. In a fair fight, drakes would crisp the tiny humans like bacon. But the humans were wily, crafty little bastards, and their centuries-long war with dragonkind had led to an arms race that the drakes simply had to win.
So they’d talked, but not much, and they’d fucked, quite a lot for two nights. But they still didn’t know each other very well. And Rax wanted to fix that. With a proper date. Right after Tarron’s first day as an apprentice bartender. Rax taught Tarron a few basic drinks at first, and Tarron practiced them until he could make them without spilling a drop. Which took less time than Rax expected. A good sign. And Tarron was a dab hand at pouring a perfect pint, getting the head just right. Which wasn’t the only head he was good at getting just right. Tarron served a few customers, learning how to carry four pints at once, stacking cocktail glasses in a precarious tower, even tossed in a dragonfire flourish with his breath on one drink, earning applause from a red-scaled drakaina wearing a stunning black evening dress. He winked at her, and she smirked and mimed fanning herself. And Rax got…jealous? What? Ok. That was new. And fast. And stupid. Obviously it was fine if Tarron put on a show of flirting with the patrons. Obviously that was part of the game. And Rax had as much of a claim on Tarron as anyone here. He’d known the cobalt draconic for all of a halfweek, so he could just…get over himself.
Chapter 4 – A Dragon Walks Into A Dragon Bar Two months earlier, although in draconic terms a mere flash of time. Rax Stonefire, the ruby-scaled bartender of the Scale & Flame, watched as the last of his patrons drained their drinks and prepared to head out into the night. Then Rax saw…him. A cobalt draconic drowning something in his third ale. Didn’t look existential, cosmic, life-shattering. Nobody had died. Hadn’t just been dumped. That wasn’t it. Rax could read these things. So what was it? The cobalt drake’s tail twitched with a listless rhythm, telling Rax only that the cobalt was likely just bored or lonely. Rax’s eyes focused on the cobalt’s sleeveless tunic, on the curve of muscle in his arms, on the glimmer of amber in those downturned eyes. Hmm. So Rax broke one of his rules. He walked on over there with a fresh ale and placed it in front of the cobalt, who blinked up at him. “Oh I didn’t—” Cobalt began. “Shh. This one’s on the house if you’ll tell me what you’re drowning in it.” “Oh,” Cobalt said with a soft chuckle. “Nothing…really. Just…hate my job.” “What’s your job?” “Oh Gods, do you really want to know? I’m a clerk at a solicitor’s office. Paperwork. So much…paperwork. I just…I can’t do it anymore.” “That sounds interminable,” Rax said, leaning in. “You ever considered changing it up?” “To what?” Cobalt asked. “I’m just…I have no idea. Gotta pay the bills, right?” “I could use an apprentice,” Rax said, breaking a second of his rules. “Huh?” “You learn the ropes here. I pay you a fair wage. What do you say?”
Fenrick, and most dragons, knew that one day soon there’d be a full-scale war. Fenrick looked over and caught Rax’s eye, and the red drake looked away just as quickly. He thought about just going on over there and talking to the guy, but what would he say? Thanks for sucking me off last night, let’s do it again sometime? Instead, Fenrick focused on his work, weaving the careful, complex magic into the armor and watching the glow of it as the weave tapped into the secret energies at the heart of everything, manipulating them as easily as hammering steel. But at the end of his shift, Fenrick found himself approaching Rax’s station, his eyes tracking the red drake’s careful work as Rax put the finishing touches on a wicked saber. “Nice,” Fenrick said. Rax looked over and smiled. “I hope so. This took a little doing – the weave required five separate patterns of aetheric knots, and I just have to hope I got them all right.” “I’m sure you did. It looks like it’d split a human in half just by pointing it at them.” “That’s kind of the idea – in addition to being a blade, it blasts energy waves to disrupt the electrical fields in a human brain, basically turning them into meat before they hit the ground. But if that doesn’t work, it’s still a pretty damn good sword.” Fenrick hefted it, the weight finely balanced, the dragonsteel perfectly forged, shimmering with energy that crackled in colors no human eye could see.
And Edwin had a feeling. A gut feeling. That this had been a deliberate provocation by the dragons to bait the humans into a war. But why? After all this time, so many centuries of cold hostility, why the sudden appetite for hot war? Edwin stared out of his office window at the city below, so many people there, innocents, who’d be caught in the crossfire of any war. Nobody wanted war. But maybe now the city needed it. In ten minutes, Edwin had a classified meeting with his advisors to draw up war plans, because he knew how a vote would eventually go. The good news was that the city’s technomancers had been working hard to design armor and weaponry that actually stood a chance against the scaly bastards. The arcane bubbles, imperfect as they were, gave them a shot at surviving direct firebreath blasts, and lightning arrows and imbued poison-tipped crossbows could slice through Draconic armor and scales with ease. Combined with the finest plate and chain mail that the city’s blacksmiths could forge, the humans might just have a shot at…not being immediately incinerated by the dragons. Winning a war against the dragons? Edwin shook his head. He really didn’t think that would be possible, even with their advanced technomancy. And the Confederation…he doubted he’d be able to count on any help from them.
"You have to act as if it were possible to radically transform the world, and you have to do it all the time." -Angela Davis
THE YELLOW SIGN
Reddit screenshot. Post is about being dissatisfied with the book Project Hail Mary. My response is "You are most welcome to your opinion," and it has a -2 rating. Apparently just saying "you're welcome to your opinion" is something to downvote. Huh.
A hooded cult member, wearing gloves, carefully opened the top of the insulated cylinder, releasing a thick white vapor. Two other cult members then helped the first lift the cylinder, and the cult leader gestured for them to proceed. The cult members upended the cylinder over the tub, eliciting an anguished scream that cut off abruptly as the vapor and liquid completely submerged the sacrifice. Violent bubbling roiled the surface, and the thick vapor boiled over the top, billowing over the pulpit and snaking between the cult leader’s feet. “Quench the fires of this one’s depravity, Cold One,” the cult leader chanted. After a few minutes of rapid boiling, the shadow of the body writhing and contorting, all vapor and liquid evaporated from the tub. The sacrifice’s body lay still on the bottom of the tub, limbs and torso twisted in agony, a scream frozen on her face, eyes like cracked mirrors. The cult leader then took a large onyx mallet from the side of the table and, without hesitation, swung it down at the sacrifice’s frozen body. A horrible noise. I struggled not to look away. The onyx mallet made contact, and both the body and the tub exploded into shards, raining body parts and frozen viscera down onto the pulpit.
Small black fuzzy dog
creepy skeleton lady from Scary Stories to Tell In the Dark