One such being stood on the edge of that very cliff, and he was nauseated. Though one might be forced to wonder if he was sick because of the magic beneathe his feet and that in his blood, or because of the sight he beheld as he stared down the length of the cliff's edge.
He was a dragon. His scales were bright red, his form almost serpentine. His limbs were strong, but wiry and his four wings looked like they would slice through the very air. It was from these four Rorix had earned the name "Bladewing". He sat, or more accurately, lay, near the edge of the cliff with his forelimbs folded in front of him. As he surveyed the swath that had been cut out of his homeland and flooded with the raging currents, magic and (in his opinion) filth of the sea, one thought crossed his mind, "Pathetic."
He was one of the dragons who remembered how this land had once been, a haven of flame and stone. The volcanic range had been a bountiful nesting ground for his kind, but after the Phyrexian Invasion its might had waned. Teferi's foolhardy attempt to save the mana rig had invited a great flood into the resulting crater. The water from that sea had at first not phased Shiv's inhabitants, but over the years they had felt their home begin to calm. The fire in her heart had begin to die, the power of her mana was weakening and the spirits of her people were waning. If that wasn't bad enough, the return of the five primevals had drawn all of dragon kind from their homes only to be dissapointed by their prompt defeat at the hands of mere mortals. Many dragons returned to Shiv only to find it had already changed too much. Many ventured to different parts of the globe, Bogardan and some even as far as Keld. What few dragons remained had almost lost hope for their kind.
"What would that be old friend?" Rorix turned to the sound of wings flapping and saw an older dragon landing behind him. His scales were a darker shade than Rorix, more crimson than red, and some were even missing, replaced with discolored scar tissue, or seared together, marks of past battles. The biceps of both his wings and arms were well muscled, and his tail was like a long whip, ending in a triangular point. The dragon wore a harness-like mask, and armor plates over his back and shoulders; those on his back lined with wicked looking black spikes. These were the marks of a trained Dragon mage.
"Daga our land is dying. The humans don't care, the goblins and viashino left with the rig and most of our own are long gone."
"It is a sad state of affairs Rorix, but sitting here brooding over it won't help. If you wish to return glory to our once proud home you'll have to seek it elsewhere."
"Where?" Rorix sat up, snaking his neck and a large part of his upper body around so he could look right at his friend, "Where is a dragon from a dying land going to find glory? Where could I possibly go to renew my homeland?" Rorix bristled at the suggestion that he too should leave Shiv.
"Calm down. There are those who are easily impressed, those who seek only strength. If some of them were to see the strength of the children of Shiv, they may follow its ambassadors. It will not be an easy job, and people like that would be a poor start, but it's better than this," he waved a claw to indicate Rorix's slouching posture.
"Do you know where we could find these people?" Rorix sounded curious, but still agitated.
"I've heard a few travelers' rumors of what they call pit fighting, brutal tournaments of men and beasts."
Rorix rose up so that he was sitting back on his hind legs and tail, most of his serpentine form hunched forward so that his head was mere feet away from the mage's, his brow knit and a scowl on his maw, "Where?" he grinned deviously at his friend.
With one mighty flap of his wings Daga leaped into the air and began to rise, "A small island called Otaria, I managed to get directions along with the rumors."
Rorix's grin widened as he sprang into the air, flapping each pair of his wings in turn he quickly caught up to and overtook Daga, "You can only lead the way if you can stay ahead."
* * *
It was a long journey and Rorix had to continually slow down to let Daga catch up and keep them on track, but they made it to the island. They made one orbit around the large land mass before Rorix folded his wings, straightened his body and shot like an arrow for the large mountain range on the northwest side of the island. Daga tried to call out to his friend, but the other dragon's narrow frame hurtled groundward too fast. Not nearly as reckless, Daga folded his wings but kept them extended far enough to allow him to maeuver, and not break them at the shoulder when he stopped.
As Daga came closer to the ground he found Rorix surrounded my small green figures. His friend's body was twisted like a discarded length of rope and he feared Bladewing's recklessness had finally done him in. It wasn't until he saw that the green shapes were goblins trying to avoid his jaw and the occasional claw strike that Daga rethought his conclusion.
As the dragon mage landed next to his serpentine friend, the goblins began shouting to each other, but he took little notice. "How in the world did you survive that fall?"
Rorix grinned before he snapped at an aproaching goblin, "Barely," he smirked at his friend, "Gotcha!" The last statement was directed toward a goblin that had been aproaching him from the side and who was now held tightly in the dragon's claw.
"What do you call these mountains?"
"Let Grack go, Grack not mind you live here. Attack was squee's idea!" the goblins eyes seemed to plead with the dragon.
"Where is 'here?'"
The goblin stopped strugling and stared at Rorix, "Big lizard talks," awe filled his expression.
"And the little bug tries my patience. Where are we?!" Rorix roared at the little creature.
"Skirk ridge," the goblin cowered and shouted the words hoping to keep alive for a few more minutes, "This only edge of Pardic mountains, barbarians have more, don't eat Grack."
Rorix dropped the goblin who luckily (for him) landed on one of his comrades. "Come, Shiv doesn't need goblins repopulating it, I never could stand the things," Rorix took off again, this time keeping low over the mountain range, followed shortly by Daga.
It wasn't long before the two found structures that could have been human living places. Then they saw people, but Rorix didn't stop until he saw a huge arena, carved into the mountain. Both dragons swooped down on the clearing. As they grew closer they saw that it wasn't as clear as it had seemed. There were obstacles and walls placed around the arena which itself had areas of both high and low ground. A few humans were in the area and stopped what they were doing upon the giant reptiles' arival.
"This place was built for battle," Rorix observed as he slowly snaked his neck around to take in then entire arena. "What kind of people would carve something on this scale into a mountain, just to celebrate fighting?"
Before his companion could answer a voice cried out from below the two beasts, "We would." Rorix nearly doubled over his serpentine body to stare at the human before him. The man was thickly muscled, draped in a cloak that looked like some native fur and, strangest of all, he only had one arm. The other ended rather abruptly in what looked like very fresh scar tissue.
"The Ghitu escavated huge training grounds even before our lifetimes, there's no way to say how old this arena is. It may be from a harsher time."
"This is no arena...that is to say, it's not meant as one. We call it the Judgement, it's a test of young warriors. There was little carving involved in its creation and its barely three generations old."
"Human generations," Rorix cut in.
"Aye, Last I knew the dwarf who concieved it is still alive, but why do you two come to these mountains? If you seek a lair this place belongs to barbarians and the rest of the mountain has been claimed by the firecats and goblins, though they may not put up too much fight."
Rorix began to chuckle at the mention of goblins, but Daga was a little more personable. "We've come in hopes of reviving our homeland. To bring life and power--"
"And glory," Rorix interupted.
Daga only rolled his eyes in recognition of his friend's comment, "Back with us. We come from Shiv, and our land is dying."
The one-armed barbarian stood silent for some time. The dragons were unsure if he were a leader, or simply the spokesman for those gathered around. "Our land is facing a crisis of a different kind. Though it is as strong as ever, the whole of Otaria is being changed, twisted. You can feel it in the mana around us. If that weren't bad enough, the powers that control the rest of this continent threaten war upon each other. A friend of mine tried to bring the barbarian tribes together, to steady our people in the face of these coming threats. He was...unsuccessful."
The man had begun to sound more and more distant as he spoke, until he finally stopped and looked as if he were staring at nothing. He shook his head as he came back to earth. "If you want glory you need not go any farther than the pits. Men and beasts alike are pitted in blood sports, but enough success and the crowd will go crazy. As for your homeland, allow our people to weather the aproaching storm, and we may be able to help."
Daga gave a fangy grin at the statement and a small bow, "We will do anything in our power to aid your people if you would consider sending some of them home with us. There is much they may learn in Shiv and much they could teach there as well."
Rorix shook himself and spread his wings. "You will do anything in your power to help Daga. I am going to the pits. Perhaps if this land sees that Shiv has not yet rolled over and died we can get a greater variety amongst pilgrims willing to come home with us." Without waiting for an answer Rorix took off. He would find the pits eventually, Daga just hoped he didn't get into too much trouble outside of the arenas.
