Fall, 1372

“Fire!”

The cries echoed throughout the night, quickly joined by animalistic screams and the deep ominous rumbling of thermal energy. There was conflagration, there was destruction, and there was death. Flames were everywhere; flickering flares and smoke and the smell of brimstone and burning wood and burning metal and burning flesh. The Drunken Wolf was aflame, the roof already caving in through the second floor, incandescence dancing out of all the windows. Other buildings were also burning: wattle and daub houses simply crumpled and shriveled away in the dry heat. It was as though the underworld had opened up.

Townsfolk were running everywhere. Some lucky enough to be further away had managed to pack a few meager belongings, one or two of them with enough time to store an ox cart. However most people were intelligent enough to try to simply flee for safety from the firestorm. Who knew how many were already dead. There were bodies scattered across the streets: piles of charred remains, barely in the shape of humans, stacked atop one another like kindling. Others that appeared to have not a mark upon them: the inferno had simply consumed all the air around these folks and suffocated them.

And in the center of it all, soaring firmly through a cyclone of black, red and orange, was the dragon, systematically burning down everything it saw.

It was the nightmare that Logan had feared for more than fifty years.

Meratezatgh was burning Stanton to the ground.

***

Logan had been notified of the Miscabbard’s march into the Wilds ten days before and had thought nothing of it; who knows what ceremonies the cultists do. Things grew far more worrisome after he heard about the three days of smoke rising from Mount Rubinox. He knew Mera's mate had been ill, and he knew that the Stanton Guardian had been distracted during their last expedition rooting out the Walkerites, lacking focus on their mission and flying back home the instant they finished the patrol. He regretted not letting Mera go and warning the irredentists off by himself.

Then came the news that six surviving Miscabbards had fled back to town and had been captured and imprisoned by Clemintine and Lawson. While Logan went to interrogate them at the gaol, he noticed that had Paul had quickly made himself scarce. The cultists were tight-lipped as always, but something had happened. They were disheveled and they were bloody and they were in shock. Logan told the deputies to keep the cultists locked up, both for their safety and for the safety of the town, at least until news of what had happened with the other two dozen cultists could be determined.

Logan had returned to his home disturbed, as well as tired and wary after six days in the field. After a brief break, the forester decided, he would check up on Mera. Logan gave a quick kiss to Sonia working on resolving property disputes between the Cullens and Mayers, took a bath, had a quiet dinner from the pork and vegetable stew cooking over the hearth.

And then in an instant his world turned upside down.

The forester was just putting a final spoonful of soup into his mouth when he heard yelling and the pounding of hooves on the ground. Aware of the potential dangers derived from that sound, the forester picked up his awlpike and ran out the door, prepared for a fight, only to see Rabia riding in full gallop towards his homestead.

“Logan! For heaven’s sake!” The blacksmith gasped out.

“What is it? What’s going on?”

“Disaster! Death!”

“What?”

“Our guardian has turned against us!”

Logan stood stunned. Sonia had run out behind him, but she stopped, and braced herself against the wall.

“Mera is destroying Stanton!”

"Our people." Sonia whispered.

Paul dropped his rake.

“This shouldn’t have-!” He gasped before realizing it, quickly shutting his mouth. Paul’s father however immediately caught the comment. Logan ran over and caught his son by the shoulder, glaring like only a father could.

“What did you do Paul?”

Logan's son was flustered, stammering.

“I…I…I…didn’t know! It was all s…s…supposed to-”

“Why is Mera destroying the town? Why is my dragon turning on us?”

“It…it….wa… was supposed to have all worked so perfectly…”

Logan had run out of patience, grabbing Paul and angrily shaking him.

“WHAT DID YOU DO?”

“I…I…told the Miscabbards where the guardian's cave was located.” A stream of words flowed out of Paul’s mouth, little of it Logan heard. “Stanton didn’t value me! It alienated me all these years and didn’t ask for my loyalty, I deserve-”

Logan threw him Paul on the ground and began running to the barn.

“Logan-!” Sonia called out.

The forester ignored his wife, threw his saddle onto Brecas, and swung up, immediately jabbing the butt of his awlpike into the horse's flank. With a whine Logan's courser took off.
Still in shock, Paul had only half risen from the ground when Logan galloped back past him.

“Flee, son! Get as far away as possible! Get supplies from your mother! I am still your father, and I will try to quash the dragon’s anger!”

“I-”

“Mera will try to kill you!”

“But-”

“Go!”

Logan drove his horse on like the very underworld was trying to catch him, digging his spurs deep into Breca’s flank, driving his mount to die, all to get to Stanton as quickly as he could. He vaguely thought he remembered that Rabia was behind him, trying his best to catch up to the forester atop the the blacksmith's already exhausted horse. Not that Logan noticed; he was in a haze, and the passage of time and space had become a blur. Only one salient fact was on his mind:

He had failed everyone.

***

Brecas gave out at the gates of the town. The hunter set off immediately, leaping from his broken horse, only to come across a wall of flames consuming the town. A few minutes of desperate searching led to a discovery of a charred building that was at least accessible. Logan emptied his canteen on his scarf, wrapped it around his head, and ran in.

Stanton was almost completely on fire. The hunter wandered through the now mostly-empty streets in a trance, barely avoiding the wreckage and bodies and the inferno burning in every direction. To his front the Dancing Wolf was finally collapsing completely. Death lay everywhere. The forester didn’t care. He felt like dying himself.

The hunter recalled a similar scene fifty-four years ago. This was like his childhood; this was like the dragon attack that had set him on a vendetta against the creatures of the wilds for a decade.

This was the nightmare of the world repeating itself.

Subconsciously, the hunter worked his way West. There was only one place that Logan could think of heading to. The Miscabbards were the source of this. The imprisoned cultists would be the source of information as to what happened. Perhaps they could serve as bargaining chips in exchange for the rest of the-

That train of thought died as Logan came upon the burning sheriff's office. A figure black as charcoal lay in front. The forester feared to check, but finally he looked.

Lawson was dead. Logan could barely make out his features.

He was too late.

The forester made a quick prayer for the deputy and ran to the back. The gaol was a charred ruin, the heavy metallic door simply torn from its hinges. More bodies lay scattered about, but Logan only noticed the one macabre tapestry specially arranged for him.

The cultists were dead. Mera had made sure of it. While most of the dragon’s victims were burned to death, he had reserved special tortures for the Miscabbard prisoners. They had literally been torn apart limb from limb. The cultists’ heads were stacked on an otherwise untouched barrel, their tongues torn out. Logan paused upon looking at the six red organs, neatly arranged in a line in front of the head like fat slugs.

The forester briefly thought about the finesse with which the dragon managed to remove those appendages.

Meratezatgh had tortured out information from the cultists. The dragon knew what had happened-and he wanted Logan to know that he knew.

Logan staggered out of that ruin to see the dragon descending from the heavens like some avenging angel of death, throwing sheets of flame in all directions. It roared in fury.

There was no objective, no purpose, save pure destruction. To the forester it seemed like the dragon was lashing out like a caged beast; only an animalistic anger remained.

The hunter had to end this, one way or another.

A seventy-year old forester wielding a six-foot awlpike seemed a pitiful weapon against the dragon's rage. Still he had to at least try.

Well perhaps begging for mercy may help.

“Meratezatgh!”

Logan didn't think the dragon could hear, but it did cease its attack.

“Stop! I implore you as a friend and brethren, stop this massacre!”

The dragon swung ferociously down at Logan, his body still caked red with the blood of his mate, eyes burning with fire and voice as freezing and grating and ice. “Why?”

“I know Paul violated the agreement. It was my son’s fault and my son’s only. Don’t kill these good people.”

"Kharriana died because of Paul's stupidity."

Oh heavens. The forester was stunned into silence. There would be no coming back from this. Oh heavens-

"I'm sorry."

"HE KILLED MY MATE, LOGAN!" The dragon roared.

"I'm sorry. I really am. Please-"

“Give me Paul.”

“He is my son, Mera.”

“Your son deserves to die!”

Logan hoped Paul was riding to safety somewhere.

“I can’t let you do that. Kill me instead.”

“I have no quarrel with you, old friend…” The last two worlds grating and venomous. Logan saw the decades of camaraderie and friendship disappear in an instant, leaving the same monstrous creature that he had first encountered fifty years ago.

Though he staggered, the old forester stood his ground. He shook his head.

“No. This is my responsibility and my responsibility alone. Paul’s wrong to you cannot be righted, but he is my son and I love him. I did not raise my son as well as I should have. I have failed in my objective of bringing peace between Stanton and the Wilderness. If anyone else needs to die tonight, it should be me.”

Logan’s voice was hoarse, now barely above a whisper, in Draconic:

*Please Mera, I am begging you.*

*Fine!*

Mera inhaled, smoke coming out of his nostrils. Flames sprouted from deep in the dragon’s throat.

Logan fell to his knees and shut his eyes as he felt the heat shimmer around him. He hoped Sonia would understand.

He hoped Paul would be smart enough to find safety.

He hoped it was quick.

The dragon suddenly swung away, threw his head violently to one side, as an angry torrent of flame erupted from its mouth. The flames fell upon a row of houses, the buildings instantly curling up and disintegrating by the force and heat of the flames. The straw, timbers, glass and even metal seemed to be consumed by the seemingly incessant flow of destruction. And then the dragon finally stopped, leaving but fire and ash dancing all around them.

Logan was still alive.

He opened his eyes. He looked up.

The dragon had turned away. “No.” It began pacing slowly, heaving with emotion. “Though you are indeed guilty, you are the one human I still can trust.”

Meratezatgh soared down and collapsed onto the ground, its great head drooped with sadness. A few brave souls appeared, staring fearfully at the agent of so much death and destruction. Rabia, completely out of breath, ran up to support Logan up. The forester brushed the blacksmith away.

“I will spare Stanton’s people in exchange for your cooperation.” Mera finally muttered.

Logan found that he had been holding his breath for the last minute. He made himself breathe again.

*Thank you Meratezatgh*

The dragon looked up with all the pain of a beaten dog.

“Help me Logan, help me find those murderers. Help me gain my vengeance against those who destroyed my family, and I will spare yours.”

Logan nodded.

“I will do this for you. Not to save Stanton, but for all the times you’ve helped me and for the pain I have caused.”

Massive Attack-Safe From Harm

Amazing work by vinrage check his stuff out!

Original: https://www.furaffinity.net/view/32092979/