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So, first off, I'm obssessed with Supernatural. Secondly, I have quite an...interesting mind. Combining my favorite show with my imagination, I came up with my own OC--Serenity O'Leary (see the journal entry named after her for the full story on her). And, of course, every hero or heroine needs a villan...and every villian needs henchmen. So, along came uber-vampire Cane Tempest, and his lackey, the dragon Drayl'eich. Please to enjoy this short story on how the vamp and his demon first met.
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Drayl’eich had been lying comfortably in Hell for the last three hundred years or so, and he was content with the life he lived. Hell was to a dragon what Heaven was to a God-fearing human being: Paradise. In the Underworld, Drayl’eich was free to breathe fire and torment the souls of the damned, even encouraged to do so, and no one was especially upset if he snacked on the occasional sinner. In all honesty, Satan saw Drayl’eich as a…well, a Godsend. The brute was fierce and mean and very, very good at frightening the damned into submission, and Drayl’eich was glad to be of service. When he wasn’t being terrifying, the dragon was napping on a magma-warmed slab of rock, his contented breathing not unlike the purr of a kitten. Life after death was being very good to Drayl’eich, and the dragon felt he’d deserved it: he had been murdered, after all, and his murderer later sainted.
Life could be so cruel.
It was during one of his many long naps that Drayl’eich first felt the tug, a sense that someone, somewhere, needed him, and was calling to him from beyond the gates of Hell. The dragon had lifted his head lazily, still in a just-woken stupor, and blinked a few times before yawning and rising. He wanted to sleep, but the call could not be ignored, so he took to the acrid air of the Underworld and soared upward, past molten rock and repentant sinners and the Hell Hounds returning with another catch, then shot out into the light of a full moon and set down on the boot-shaped land that was Italy, before anyone knew it would be called that. Drayl’eich paused to survey his surroundings, snorting at the rural villages and sleeping humans, before taking flight again and continuing towards the source of the call.
Soon, his leathery wings brought him to Florence, the heart of the Renaissance, and Drayl’eich found that he rather liked the city. Everything was still alight and busy, despite the late hour, as humans exchanged knowledge and enjoyed each other’s company in the moonlight. The dragon grinned, a terrifying look on the beast but one of pleasure just the same, and carried on his way, at last touching down before the source of the call.
The source, he was saddened to find, was a mere man, about six and a half feet tall with silvery-gray hair and icy eyes tinted pink with the beginnings of bloodlust. The man was a vampire, Drayl’eich knew, even if he only had a loose grasp on the concept, undead yet unable to die by normal means, but that didn’t exactly make him exciting. The dragon immediately found himself wishing he had stayed home and slept.
“The first time I try summoning a demon, and I get this,” the man said, sounding pleased, as he took in Drayl’eich: the dragon was about twenty feet tall, with slick, jet black scales and wings the same shade, and bright scarlet eyes. Later, the dragon would find his eye color would change with his master’s thirst, glowing bright when he neglected hunting and becoming a muted pink when he was sated, but for now, no allegiances had been sworn and no oaths promised, so he was his own dragon, and he wasn’t sure he liked the insolent tone the man used.
Is that what I am? Drayl’eich replied silently, as telepathy was the only way he could ever communicate with anyone other than another dragon. And here I thought I was merely a dead dragon.
“Oh, you are,” the man replied, and grinned, showing off long, unnatural fangs. “But, I think, we can help each other.”
Oh? Drayl’eich eyed the man. Is that so?
“Yes. You see, we swear to honor an eternal alliance, and we both win. You are free to move between Hell and Earth at will, and I call on you when I am in need of your services.”
And how do you know all of this, human?
“I have had good teachers.” The man drew forth a dagger from his long robes, and smiled up into the dragon’s eyes. “Do we have an agreement?”
I’m not sure, Drayl’eich replied. It sounds too much like indentured servitude for my taste.
“Certainly not, my friend,” the man said, and even without his superhuman charms, which had no effect on the demon-monster, Drayl’eich felt himself being persuaded. The idea was tempting. “We will be friends. You will have your freedom, and I don’t foresee needing you more than a few times within the coming millennia, barring cataclysmic catastrophes or elaborate plots for revenge. You are the winner in all this, I assure you.”
Drayl’eich considered a moment more, then allowed, We have an accord. What happens now?
“We make it official.” The man drew the dagger’s short blade across his hand, crimson blood springing forth on his milky white palm. He held it out to the dragon and said, “We exchange blood to bind us forever.”
Drayl’eich nodded, lowering himself to the man’s eye level, and allowed the man to make a small cut in his tender neck. The man held his palm against the fresh wound, and it burned where their bloods mixed, but the sensation subsided, and neither felt especially different, and the whole thing had seemed melodramatic and over-the-top to the dragon. He studied his new master and asked, What’s your name?
“I am Ciro Tuomo,” the man replied, and bowed his head.
And I am Drayl’eich, the dragon replied, and bowed his head as well, with a bit more respect than he’d given the man upon their first meeting. Though they’d rarely call each other by name from then on, Drayl’eich was one of the few to know the man’s true name, and to continue to call him Ciro even as the centuries wore on and Ciro Tuomo of Florence steadily morphed into Cane Tempest of London. The change of identities was necessary, but dragons are stubborn creatures of habit, and Drayl’eich refused to change his ways just because his master did.
The man laughed lightly. “And here I thought dragons didn’t exist.”
Oh, we’re just as real as vampires, Drayl’eich replied, grinning again. You say I’m allowed to leave Hell as I please under this new arrangement?
Ciro nodded. “That’s correct. You must come to me when I call, but otherwise, you’re free.”
Free? Drayl’eich’s eyes widened. He hadn’t been truly free since he was a tiny hatchling, living on a high mountaintop, far away from the reaches of humankind. Then I thank you, Ciro, for liberating me.
“And I thank you for agreeing to aid me,” the man replied cordially, smiling. “But, now, with that done, I must return to my people.”
Of course. Good night, Ciro.
“Good night, Drayl’eich.”
The dragon stayed in his place, stock still, watching the man walk back towards the center of town, and then turned his eyes to the open skies and stared up at the stars in wonderment. He had nothing holding him back now, no Hounds on his tail to drag him back to the Underworld, no master in need of his services, and even gravity itself could not hold him for long. Drayl’eich gave a low growl of utter satisfaction, and then kicked off from the ground and shot up into the night sky, roaring his pleasure to the heavens. He had a new friend, a new job, and this new freedom. Hell had been nice for awhile, and it would always be home, just as his cave had been for years before the run-in with that George fellow, but he was free to explore and adventure until Ciro called out to him, and he intended to make the best of it.
 OuEstLaCraie · Sat Jul 26, 2008 @ 03:53am · 0 Comments |
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