Tales From the Old World

Mathcat

These were all posted on the old site (hence the title). I won't be bringing all of my old stories over, but there were a couple I didn't want to lose.

Storyteller

Ekaira bowed low at the entrance to her room. Charm wouldn't care if she didn't, but the other two arcane dragons sprawled across her bed certainly would, as she knew from experience. They were so silvered with age as to closely resemble their rarer kindred, and had made it clear that they were far too old to have much patience for silly hairless apes like herself. Perhaps they weren't actually old enough to remember when the castle had been little more than sketches and a few tons of stone in a quarry somewhere, but they certainly gave that impression. Issues of attitude aside, they knew enough stories to be very useful for Ekaira's project.

Ekaira sat down on the floor, having learned from experience that traditional arcane dragon stories were immersive enough that she'd probably end up there anyway. Castle-born arcanes could communicate by gesture (Charm could manage a recognizable eye-roll despite not having eyes), augmented by varying degrees of telepathy (depending on the expertise and skill set of the individual arcane). This pair, though, communicated almost solely via telepathically-sent impressions - not pictures, not even the sound-pictures bats used, but something that her mind persisted in trying to fit images to. The effect for a sighted creature of seeing the world the way arcane dragons did was frequently disorienting, to put it mildly. Ekaira had needed the wastebasket one of the arcane dragons was now pointedly nudging her way on more than one occasion, and that was before taking into account the motion sickness initially brought about by stories involving flight. In the manner of dreams, the images her mind provided blurred and became distorted when examined too closely, so successfully experiencing the story meant trying not to look at any one object too closely.

Ekaira settled back and closed her eyes, the agreed-upon signal that she was ready to begin. At first, all she could see was the inside of her eyelids. Then, there was an impression of a large mass, one containing several smaller moving objects - several small peeping objects. Ekaira chuckled. "A story for hatchlings?" she said, not in the least offended. "That will be a pleasant change of pace."

Then, the nest was suddenly replaced by a vast void, too large for even magical senses to encompass. A wave of cold washed over Ekaira, leaving her shivering despite the warm summer day. Ekaira had always had an affinity for all things cold and dark, but the crushing despair and loneliness that accompanied the bitter chill hit all too close to home. Even knowing that it was all in her mind (and a youngling's story placed there by someone else, no less), she couldn't even open her eyes to dispel the illusion, and inwardly cursed her weakness.

Then, something nudged her hand, breaking the spell - Charm, of course. She'd nearly forgotten. Ekaira might be trapped in a world that was dying by inches (much as she was, which was fitting), but at least she wasn't alone. Ekaira let Charm nudge her notebook and pen aside as the arcane dragon settled herself in Ekaira's lap.

That distraction had given Ekaira the necessary distance she needed to continue, while the knowledge of Charm's support allowed her to relax. With Charm as an anchor, she was now in no danger of getting lost in the story. She could even appreciate the sensation of flight that had been drowned out before. Ekaira had flown many times, and several as a dragon, but she had never experienced amphitere form.

The void had now developed the sparkle of ice in places, which explained the sensation of cold. How a dragon more common to warmer climates had wound up so far from home had to be a story in itself, but not one it seemed she was going to get. By carefully examining the sparkles at the edge of her sight (they vanished, of course, when looked at directly), Ekaira could tell that the arcane dragon whose point of view she was experiencing was flying increasingly slowly. Fatigue mixed with the earlier cold and despair as icebergs and frigid water loomed ever closer.

Then, just when the story seemed certain to reach a sudden, frigid end, the arcane dragon cast one last desperate spell (Ekaira flinched when her mind interpreted that as a burst of bright light, though thankfully one that left no afterimages). Ekaira had to admire that act of defiance, even if it had done nothing more than knock loose a chunk of ice. The ice shattered as it struck the water, and the largest piece seemed to grow. Ekaira risked nausea to focus on this piece of ice, clearly significant, but could make out little until it stretched its head up to provide a roost for the exhausted dragon. Then, ice, iceberg drake (for the arcane creation could be nothing else), and arcane dragon all vanished.

Ekaira opened her eyes and stretched. "This hatchling humbly thanks you for the story," she told the arcane dragons. Whether true origin story or mere myth, she now had one more piece of arcane dragon culture to carry with her.

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Still on AO3 here - Forest of Mirrors, Dragon Cave, MagiStream, Jelle's Marble Runs, and original fiction.