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Race: Draconian

Bloodline Powers: Improved Strength+, Rending, Firebreath+

Greater Mysteries: Fire (Noble) 6, Wind (Noble) 4, Sound (Advanced) 2

Lesser Mysteries: Heat 4, Oxygen 4, Embers 4, Pressure 4, Current/Flow 4

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Wind blew down the mountainside, carrying the chill bite of ice and snow. There were still patches of grass and moss between the rocks that lined the winding path that Samazzar, Takkla, and the kobold huntresses plodded along.

Samazzar held up a hand to stop the column, taking a deep breath and tasting the wind both with his nose and mind. After a second he switched to heat, scanning the distance for the isolated pockets of warmth in the barren fields of moss, ferns, and stone.

“There’s movement ahead,” he said quietly, pointing at a slight angle up the slope. “It’s far enough away that I can’t quite make out the details, but there are also enough heat traces that I can be sure that the movement is coming from a living being.”

Wessla squinted her eyes, following the direction of Samazzar’s finger as she sought what he was pointing at in vain. Finally, she let out a sigh of frustration.

“You’ve hunted before, haven’t you Samazzar?”

He smiled at the question, gently touching the wind around their group to make sure that nothing could sneak up on them.

“I got my start trapping cave rats,” he replied, a wave of nostalgia washing over him. “Since then, I’ve moved on to bigger prey. It’s been a while since I’ve actually hunted for food. Most of my expeditions since then have been for powerful beings with draconic bloodlines.”

“Oh?” Wessla asked. “I know Takkla said that you and her mate were born kobolds, but she didn’t really talk about the process that the three of you followed to evolve.”

“That was mostly because I wanted you to have a good impression of the little dragon,” Takkla chimed in. “So far you’ve seen his idealistic and optimistic side. You haven’t had a chance to experience his outright insanity when it comes to taking down larger monsters.”

“Takkla is just a bit grumpy,” Samazzar said dismissively. “Bloodline evolution by definition involves finding creatures stronger than yourself that carry the same bloodline. From there it is a matter of slaying the monster and tempering its heart’s blood with alchemical reagents so that your body can absorb it without your organs melting. The fights are difficult, but most of the time, with proper planning and preparation, they have gone off with only minor complications.”

“Minor complications?” Takkla questioned incredulously. “Proper planning? Wessla, don’t listen to him. Samazzar is both skilled and powerful, but he didn’t become that way by sitting on his claws. He won’t turn down a chance to improve his magic or blood, no matter the risk.”

“And it’s always worked out,” Samazzar replied. “Just like I said it would. You’re all concerns and worries Takkla. You have to remember that you are a dragon. There’s no need to overthink things, sometimes you just need to spread your wings and soar.”

“You see,” Takkla implored Wessla, aggrieved. “This is what it’s always like. He’s right. Things have always worked out. Still, despite his capability, Samazzar is reckless to a fault. That’s why he needs people like us around him. To tell him when his ideas are aggressive and destined to fail.”

“I probably won’t listen though,” Samazzar responded cheerfully. “If I have my mind set on something, it means I will succeed. If I stopped to second guess myself, that would give doubt a chance to settle into my heart. That is the root of failure.”

Another kobold, middle-aged and the only one with a staff rather than javelins or a net, began to chuckle. A second or two passed with the rest of the huntresses looking at her in confusion, and her mirth transformed into a full belly laugh.

“This is a young man that understands magic!” She said happily. “The mysteries do not give power freely. They demand risk and sacrifice. If you pause and weigh your options, that will only give you another chance to second guess yourself and stumble. I think I understand how you’ve managed to become a magus at such a young age.”

Samazzar smiled back, ignoring Takkla’s dissatisfied pout.

“Camsat is it?” He asked, drawing a nod from the kobold practitioner. “We talked briefly at the gathering. You’re the shaman for the Green Cliff tribe right? It was my understanding that you are a senior student in the mystery of animals?”

“As well as reptiles and mammals,” she agreed. “I usually help the huntresses track their game, but I have nowhere near your range. I can perform limited modifications on animals with my mystery. So long as it doesn’t have a mind of its own, I can fiddle with it. Usually my magic is useful for increasing the size of game animals once the huntresses bring it down, but I’m eager to see what I can manage once our tribes begin herding.”

“That certainly sounds like a useful skill,” Samazzar replied thoughtfully, “One of my main goals with a goat herd is the production of milk and cheese, with your-”

He stopped cocking his head.

In the distance the wind swirled around a number of squat furry shapes on the mountainside. Most of them were on what appeared to be a cliff face, huddled together on a narrow strip of rock that could barely be classified as a ledge. Crouched in the snow, just to the side of the rock face was a much larger creature.

Samazzar closed his eyes, verifying every one of the animals’ presences with the mystery of heat before he finally spoke up, abandoning his interrupted thoughts.

“I’ve found the goats, but there is a complication.”

“Isn’t there always a complication?” Takkla asked, sighing dramatically. “Are they all in a monster encampment? Are they secretly unheard of ancient monsters controlled by an unknowable hive mind? Maybe they are all stuck in a pit that is slowly filling with water so that we only have a limited time to rescue them.”

“I hate to spoil the surprise,” Samazzar replied, “but it’s all much more mundane than that. The goats are trapped on a cliff face by a mountain lion.”

The huntresses all froze as one, but he brushed past the sudden increase in tension.

“The mountain lion can’t reach them, but it doesn’t look like the goats can escape. In all likelihood, Takkla and I will have to fly and retrieve them from the cliff after I handle the mountain lion, and I am worried about my ability to capture a goat while flying. Killing them would be easy, but taking a heavy, squirming mammal captive while moving full speed doesn’t sound like the sort of skill I excel at.”

“How exactly are you planning on handling the mountain lion?” Wessla questioned. “I know that you are bigger and stronger than any kobold here, but the only correct reaction to a mountain lion is to run, and even then as soon as it catches your scent, it is usually a death sentence. Hiding is futile. The only survivors of mountain lion attacks are from groups of huntresses. If three or four went out, maybe one would return.”

“The mountain lions are a large part of the reason our tribe was willing to migrate away from Green Cliff to join your city without a fight,” she continued. “Takkla is strong and we are willing to follow her, but the lowlands where your people live is like a dream compared to the rocks and snow of the high mountains.”

Samazzar shrugged.

“Honestly, my plan was just to kill it.”

“What?” Wessla practically squeaked. “I just said that the only solution to the mountain lions is to run away. They’re relentless predators with fangs and claws that can score the very rocks of the cliffs themselves. Fighting one is beyond foolish.”

“I warned you,” Takkla replied with a dismissive snort. “Calling something foolish won’t stop Samazzar. He’s a fool. It’s just that his reckless actions usually work out for the best.”

“Usually?” Wessla pressed. Behind her the rest of the huntresses were huddling together, gripping their weapons tight. “What does ‘usually’ mean?”

“He did get the three of us enslaved that one time,” Takkla responded impishly. “I don’t really consider that to be a success.”

“We were fine,” Samazzar said dismissively, his eyes distant as he tracked the situation on the cliff face. “No one got hurt, we killed everyone in the tribe that enslaved us, and we managed to steal everything of value that they possessed. Really, it was only a temporary hiccup. A minor inconvenience.”

“Mino- nevermind.” Wessla cut herself off with a decisive shake of her head. “Look, we need to run as soon as possible. Once the lion has our scent it will be too late. If we leave now, our group can sneak back into the mountains tomorrow looking for goats, but if we don’t act quickly enough there won’t be a tomorrow to worry about.”

A smile slid across Samazzar’s face.

“Too late, it has abandoned the goats and it’s creeping toward us right now.”

Wessla groaned.

“Nets in the front rank,” she snapped. “Javelins in the rear. If we can slow its movements at the outset, the spears might be able to hit it. With any luck, the lion will retreat once it’s injured and our group can escape.”

Samazzar slipped off the jacket he had been wearing, folding it and placing it on the ground. A second later he removed his hip satchel, settling it atop the folded clothing. He hopped up and down a couple of times, swinging his arms back and forth as he began limbering up for combat.

“Don’t worry,” Samazzar said cheerfully. “There won’t be any need for your huntresses to fight. I will handle the lion myself while Takkla takes one of their nets and some rope. I expect that the goats will try to escape now that the cat has chosen some other prey, making them prime candidates for Takkla to catch them from the air.”

Wessla fixed her gaze on Takkla, asking her an unspoken question. The draconian’s reply was a shrug and a helpless smile. She extended a hand toward the huntresses, and after a moment of silence, Wessla nodded, triggering one of the kobolds to hand a net over to Takkla.

“The goats are moving,” Samazzar noted. “They aren’t moving quickly yet, but as soon as they see that the coast is clear, I expect that they will break into a gallop. If you’re going to catch them, I’d suggest you do it now.”

Takkla extended her wings, flapping them once as she took off into chilly air. Samazzar smiled once, turning his attention toward what looked like a patch of snow some two hundred paces away. Only the most careful of inspections would reveal that the smear of white was moving slowly toward the reptiles.

“Take a couple of steps back,” Samazzar said absently. “I wish to fight the lion on my own. If your people are so afraid of the big cats, now is a perfect time to show that I can handle them. We will work together and someday your tribe shall be able to handle the mountain’s threats with the same ease I display today.”

“He’s insane,” Wessla muttered, urging her group to scurry ten or so paces away from Samazzar. “I agreed to join the tribe of an abject madman.”

Samazzar dropped into a half crouch, clawed hands held a little over a shoulder’s width apart as he touched the magic of his bloodline, willing the power to enter his claws. They blurred slightly, sharpening beyond a razor’s edge as he waited for the predator’s approach.

The wind flowed down the mountain, ruffling its fur before brushing past the mountain lion. One hundred paces. Samazzar could practically feel its muscles as the big cat tensed them, prepared to spring into motion at any moment.

He started walking toward it, closing the distance at a steady, unworried clip. It padded forward, stomach low to the ground as it hid amidst the rocks and snow.

Fifty paces. The mountain lion wasn’t moving anymore, rather it was crouched behind a rock, waiting to pounce on the approaching draconian. From this distance, Samazzar could feel the pulsing heat of its heart beat increasing in anticipation.

It launched itself into the air, a blur of motion that blended perfectly into its surroundings.

Samazzar could only tell its location through his magical senses, but that wasn’t an impediment. By now, the wind and heat were like second nature, as much a part of him as his eyes or sense of smell.

The cat was moving fast, but it wasn’t faster than the wind. Samazzar willed the air under it to gust upward, altering its trajectory so that the mountain lion’s lunge carried it well over his head.

He thrust his arm upward, claws digging into the animal’s underside and cutting through its fur and muscle like it was snow on a summer day.

It landed on the rocks behind him, a splash of blood on stone the only visible sign of its presence. Now that Samazzar was looking at the creature, he finally had a chance to assess it, and the smile on his face only widened.

The big cat was almost totally invisible. Other than where the blood pumped from the hole in its stomach, its fur changed color seamlessly to match the landscape. It might not be draconic, but Samazzar recognized bloodline magic when he saw it.

He exhaled, a stream of fire exiting his mouth and curling almost immediately into a half dozen balls that hovered in front of him. The cat crouched cautiously, growling slightly as the spheres of flame arranged themselves into a hexagon.

Samazzar waved a hand, and the fire streaked forward like a meteor shower. The draconian sprinted in its wake, tracking the lion’s movements as it turned and tried to escape.

The fire swerved through the air, easily outpacing the monster and surrounding it before Samazzar amplified it. For a second, the hillside erupted into a pillar of flame.

When the second sun disappeared, Samazzar leapt into its wake, his magic shielding his feet from the searing rock. The mountain lion was still alive, its camouflaged fur burnt off to expose twisted and charred muscle.

His claws struck together, one latching on to the animal’s shoulder while the other ripped through skin and flesh to shatter ribs. The mountain lion screamed, body thrashing in pain as Samazzar dragged his hands downward, severing tendon and scoring bone.

Weakly, it lashed out with one of its back paws, forcing Samazzar to jerk his body backward. He spread his wings, flapping them once and amplifying the power of wind to launch himself into the air.

Two seconds later, he touched down some ten paces away, safely out of the narrow zone of half molten rock.

The mountain lion tried to stand up, unable to put any weight on its wounded leg. It made it one pained, shuffling step before its body gave out, sending it crumbling back to the barren rock.

Without saying anything, Samazzar increased the heat and the rock began to glow red beneath it. The lion twitched. Its breath was coming in short gasps as it struggled with its injuries and scorching air.

“By the mysteries,” Camsat remarked with a low whistle as she walked up to him. “That isn’t a mountain lion, it’s a phantom lion. They’re about half again as big as a normal mountain lion and invisible. Most kobolds don’t even know they exist because phantom lions rarely leave survivors.”

“Well,” Samazzar said easily, “I think we’re all going to survive this encounter. I’m mostly wondering what I can use its body for. If it has the ability to hide its presence it has a bloodline, and a bloodline means that there is something in its corpse that can be used in alchemy. The question is only what part and what I can use it for.”

She hummed slightly to herself, tapping her muzzle with a claw. Finally Camsat smiled at him.

“Apparently, this is another use for the mystery of animals,” she replied. “I can feel magic gathering around its eyes, tongue and blood. It’s a strange sensation. The rest of the lion feels normal and natural, but there are some parts that are out of place, like they are somehow more real than the rest of the animal.”

“A useful skill,” Samazzar responded, walking over to the animal and dropping to one knee next to it. It shifted slightly away from him, unable to escape.

He reached forward, slitting its throat with his claws and mercifully ending its struggles. Samazzar stood, looking up a second before the flap of Takkla’s wings could be heard.

The rest of the huntresses approached the battle site as Takkla landed next to them, net and rope gone. He walked over to his sibling, nodding to acknowledge her as the huntresses shot him looks of wary respect.

“Did you manage to capture the goats?” Samazzar asked, motioning with his head up the mountainside in the direction she had just arrived from.

“Yes,” Takkla replied. “They tried to run off just like you predicted, but they weren’t able to get that far. I managed to net all five of them and tie their legs. It should be pretty easy for us to grab them and carry them back to the camp.”

“Union City,” Samazzar corrected her. “It might not be much of a city yet, but we need to get in the habit of calling it by its proper name.”

“Right,” she said skeptically. “More importantly, I made it pretty far up the side of the mountain while tracking the goats down. At the edge of my perception, I felt something strange on the wind. There was a peak that was lashed and battered by storms. Not a cloud in the sky, but that particular summit looked like it was being lashed by a hurricane. I’m not sure exactly what was going on, but it was clear that the mysteries were at work.”

“Lonely Peak,” Wessla chimed in. “None of the huntresses have actually visited it, but if you hunt the area, it’s impossible to miss. The storm there never abates. It is lashed by icy driving wind that will strip scale from flesh. The only question for anyone foolish enough to scale it is whether they will freeze to death before the wind itself shreds their body, leaving nothing but smoothly polished bones.”

“Interesting,” Samazzar replied. “That sounds like the sort of place I’ll want to visit the next time we come up here to capture more goats.”

“More?” Wessla asked.

“Of course,” Samazzar said cheerfully. “It’s hard to have a proper herd with only five goats. We have a busy couple of months in front of us.”