AuthorPalt
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A Gamer's Guide 345
🕑 Added 2025-01-14 11:00:06 +0000 UTCOnce the bowl is returned to him, and once the handkerchief is returned to me, things pass in a far more relaxed manner. While he eats properly, we talk about all manner of topics, most notably about what Earth is like—something his books are unable to tell him. Strangely enough, out of all the subjects he could possibly have taken an interest in, the one that he found most engaging was the sheer geology of our world.
As I explained to him, with all the grace of a true amateur, Earth is almost fully explored. We have maps showing the depth of our seas, the spread of our populations, the name of every single town, city and village, and modes of transportation to bring us anywhere within only a day or so. Beyond that, although I could hardly explain it well, he found our forms of government fascinating. Politics isn’t really my strong suit, so I couldn’t explain why democracy was good and fascism was bad, but he seemed to enjoy listening to it anyways.
I only had to pause for a few minutes to reply to a message Rice had sent me asking where I was. Once I had explained my situation, she informed me that Holly had—in no kind words—pointed out where our sleeping quarters were; that being on the second floor, in the same room I woke up this morning. I promised that I’d be there before it was too late, but that was probably not a very good promise to make, as I ended up staying with Lett fairly late into the evening.
At some point, to cover up for my lack of knowledge about Earth’s history and such, I was able to convince him to tell me more about Purgatory’s history, something he was adequately invested in.
“—And so, in the year thirty-one B.E., Garath the Pesticide and Ferruem of the Lakes began to plan what would eventually come to be known as the Great Extermination, wherein around a third of the world’s goblin population and over ninety percent of all dragons were killed…”
At this moment, Lett has a total of three books in his lap, all of them open to specific pages, though he’s paging between them with the skill of someone who has clearly read all of them at least five times. One of them is showing a well-drawn, highly realistic image of a five-horned dragon soaring in the sky, burning a city below it, while the other two write about the daily lives of some random people. I rub my chin at it all. “And… why did they do this again?”
“Oh, that’s…” Lett makes a grab for the book with the dragon picture in it and begins turning through the pages with impressive dexterity. “It was by all accounts an inevitability, however, according to the memoirs of Garath the Pesticide…” Once he’s found a very specific page, he begins reading it aloud, saying, “‘Then, upon hills of smoke, of dust, I come—there, below me, a child of green skin, of large eyes. In size of fingernail, I thread upon it. And to my armies, I spoke, green and lower splat upon my hand: Feast! Take of them! They, our fathers, our mothers, have committed treason upon us—their children! Lowborn of the low, rising on wings of feather; of free drake, tetherless. Reject your wombs! Reject them—and with claw of forge, undo this goblin’s world!’”
Even with the boost from the all-tongue skill, that was still next to incomprehensible. “He certainly has a way of speaking,” I say.
“Garath was an illiterate mess and a poor leader,” Lett says warmly, thumbing through the pages of his memoir. “To make a pathetic dragon even more pitiable, he didn’t even write this memoir himself—rather, halfway through the Extermination, he kidnapped an exalted but unnamed scholar to do it for him. This might not have been too terrible of a decision, as it led to his life story being told with far greater effort than his own speeches were.”
“If his speeches sucked,” I ask, trying not to show my own confusion, “how did he manage to raise such a huge army? I’ve met a number of dragons, and I can’t imagine them raising for anything.”
“Not anymore, no,” Lett explains. “In the first year following the Extermination, the remaining dragons and goblin kingdoms signed a treaty, protecting goblinkind from dragons, and the reverse. Because of that treaty, if a modern day Garath tried to have a redo of the Extermination, not only would he be forced to face the entirety of the world, but also the rest of dragonkind. Then again, it is a rather tentative peace between us, so who knows?”
“That’s not worrying in the least,” I say.
“Either way, as for Garath… He was hardly the main leader of the two. That title would fall on Ferruem of the Lakes. Although his original rise was far less flashy than that of Garath, and his size likewise, his cunning tactics and diplomatic skill allowed him to gather what would eventually become the main force behind the Extermination. The only reason Garath is the most remembered of the two is due to the fact that he was vain enough to have a memoir created.”
“That’s pretty stupid,” I comment, very cleverly.
Either not caring or not hearing me, Lett continues. “Then again, his end was rather grandiose as well. Befitting his personality, he refused the peace treaty signed by Ferruem, choosing instead to gather the remaining sane and living dragons to commit a final senseless and idiotic war—this time facing not only the rest of dragonkind, but likewise the armies of goblinkind and the last giant!”
“...Giant?”
“Yes, giant, I think his name was…” Lett excitedly pages through the books, finally finding it. “—Harm! Yes, the last giant Harm, alongside an army of humans and dragons alike, faced the final dragons. Honestly, compared to the battle of Freehome and the slaughter of Perrennia, this one isn’t too impressive. By this point, all of the dragons were over 30 years of age, and many had lost limbs or wings in the course of the Extermination, meaning that it was more or less, well…” He grins sadistically. “—An extermination!”
“How ironic.”
“Regardless, that isn’t to say that there weren’t casualties on the other end. In Garath’s memoirs, the scholar—who was present at the battle for what is described as ‘personal curiosity’—recounts that…” Lett squints down at the page he’s got up. “...The way he writes it is very odd, but in short, he believed that, had Garath not transformed, then the battle would have been a simple matter. A number of the dragons of Garath’s side had already begun surrendering, so his ascending was nothing but a desperate attempt to avoid the ultimate loss.”
Considering the way Lett’s grinning while putting down this Garath guy, I genuinely can’t tell if he likes him or not. “So, he transformed into a four-winged dragon?”
“Precisely—one of the most powerful four-winged dragons hitherto seen. The strength of his breath was described as hot enough to melt the sand of the dunes below them into sheer glass. Personally, though, I believe this to be an exaggeration, as if this were truly the case, I doubt the scholar would have survived to tell the tale.”
“Creative liberties must be taken,” I say with a shrug.
“Indubitably,” he says, unironically. I’m too shocked to say anything else, so he quickly continues, saying, “Nevertheless, threatened by such overwhelming power, the opposing army had no choice but to use a ritual in the name of the Goddess of Fire. As far as I’ve seen, the specifics of this ritual were never written down—perhaps to avoid replication—but whatever it did, it caused all opposing dragons to be turned to ash, while the members of the goblin army—including the last giant—were given the honor of eternal life, though in Her continuous service. At least, that’s how the scholar writes it.” He takes a deep breath. “However! How could he write that everything was turned to ash, and then not include himself in that number?! If all members of the battlefield were turned to ash, then that should include him as well! Ignoring all other glaring faults with the narrative given to us by this anonymous scholar, this is clearly the greatest oversight.”
“So, um…” I say, rubbing my chin. “How do we know any of it is true, then?”
“That’s…” He smiles sheepishly, straightening out his covers, which he had almost thrown clean off. “Simply put, the results of this battle are correct. In the Desert Desert, the Black Desert remains. There, the last giant remains. Even the ashes, perpetually raining, are easily explained by this. If not by the grace of a God, then how would the ash fall endlessly?”
“In other words…” I say, gathering my thoughts, “the accuracy of the memoirs are… mixed at best?”
“Something of that sort,” Lett says. “Regardless, it remains one of my favourite novels. It is seldom one is allowed an unfiltered view into what life was like, over a thousand years ago. And the mystery of Garath, whether he succumbed to the spell, or somehow survived it, buried beneath the black dunes… It has a sort of mysticism to it, does it not?”
“I suppose,” I say. “But even if he survived the battle, by now, he should be well dead, right?”
“Not necessarily,” Lett says, like any true ghost story teller. “Four-winged dragons have been known to survive for hundreds of years. Dragons have no need to eat, drink or sleep, but four-winged dragons are even further beyond this, in that even their organs have become superfluous. Without a heart needing to beat or lungs needing to breathe, they can remain in mortality for far longer than should be necessary, only dying at the hands of a former or dragon-killer.”
That sounds disturbingly relatable. “You’re telling me that this Garath guy could still be out there?”
“Maybe,” Lett says, smirking knowingly. “Who’s to say? By the grace of the Gods, anything is possible.”
“That’s bullshit,” I say, trying to mentally classify four-winged dragons as zombies rather than ghosts. “Death is death.”
“Normally, I would agree, however…”
Knock knock knock.
We turn to the door as one.
“Lett?” someone—Glyph, I think—calls from beyond the door. “It’s bedtime, please try not to sit up too late.”
I turn to Lett. “Um, will do,” he shouts back at her. After a moment or so, she walks away, leaving us alone once more. He looks back at me, despondent beyond measure. Only moments ago, he was as excited as any kid I’d seen, and now… “Are you leaving, mister?”
I smile at him. “I am. I’m guessing you have your bedtime for a reason.”
He gently closes the books in his lap, handing them to me. I, in turn, carry them over to the bookshelf, returning them to their places. Before I put the dragon memoirs back in, I let my gaze linger on the cover. Someone has spent a lot of time and effort in drawing this picture of a four-winged dragon. If this is what he looked like, then I sure as heck don’t want to meet him. The five horns do look really baller, though, I can’t disagree with that. I’m not sure if I’ve ever seen a dragon with an odd number of horns, now that I think about it… Guess he won’t be able to wear any hats, huh?
I slide the book into the bookshelf and return my attention to Lett. Did he always look so small in that bed?
Before I leave, I walk up to him and take a seat on the edge of the bed.
For a moment, he can’t muster any words. Then, finally, he says, “Will you return in the morrow?”
“I will.”
“And you will tell your tale in the garden, as you did today?”
"Absolutely."
“And… you will make sure I don’t get gross stuff in my soup?”
“I’ll ensure it personally. Heck, if Holly still trusts you to make your own choices, maybe I’ll even get to bring you the food myself?”
He smiles. “I would like that, mister.”
“You don’t have to call me that, you know.”
“But it’s to show I respect you,” he says meekly.
“Sure, but saying my name shows familiarity—and I’d like better to have you as a friend than as… Whatever a mister is.”
“Really? Then…” His brows knit together.
“Kitty,” I say, smiling. “That’s my name. Kitty.”
“What does it mean?”
“You aren’t familiar with the animal?”
“It’s an animal?”
I whistle. And here I thought that cats were just an upper class thing or something. “Yes, it’s this furry little thing with long ears and tail, and claws and sharp teeth. They’re actually called cats, but the affectionate nickname for them is kitty. Like, kitty-cat.”
“Is that so?” Humming, he looks me over, up and down, before breaking out into a smile. “Kitty—it suits you well!”
“I’m glad to hear it,” I say, standing up from his bed. “I’ll be going now. I hope you sleep well, Lett!”
“You too, Mister Kitty!”
Waving, I leave him to himself, closing the door behind me.
Then, I head for the bedroom Rice is in, and prepare myself for the time to come.
A time that would pass far quicker than I could ever have anticipated.
Comments
Nogardnoir
Typo: "the last giant Harm, alongside an army of humans and dragons alike, faced the final dragons." It's goblins. :p
