Spirit's Tale

         Another day. That is how it is everyday at the Tavern of Threshold. Morning was just coming up to the heavens, brightening the sky as a darkish blue sun was only popping its small head up from a nearby lake. The lake shimmered lightly with the dim suns light. The forest behind the tavern moved back and forth with the swift, cool morning breeze sending a few leaves to the ground. The forest looked as if it were dancing to the songs the birds sung every morning. The dew of the grass glowed like orbs among the plains in front of the tavern.
         Down the springy plains walked a man wearing white robes rustling down around his feet, soaking up bits of the morning dew in them like a sponge. He wore sandals, but that didn’t stop the remaining dew his robes didn’t soak up wet his feet. His hands hid, crossed in his robe sleeves. He had a rope belt around his waist, holding nothing at all, showing no point of it being there. The rope helped flatten his robes against his chest, showing his outlines were slightly muscular, with his back almost seen, along with the strange shaped tattoo on his spine. His smooth, twenty-three year old face held an expression that was expressionless, his silver hair bouncing down around his waist, also getting blown around him wrapping around his stomach. He had silver orb-like eyes, which looked about him as he slowly made his way toward the tavern.
         Up the wooden steps he walked, knocking lightly on the door, and then entering the common room. Left to right he looked, no one about. The owners were upstairs and asleep still. The robed man walked to the farthest corner to the right, away from the door. There in the dark corner sat a chair that looked to be frozen to the ground, for there was a shining block of frozen water surrounding the legs of the chair, adhering it down to the ground. Sitting down, the chair didn’t move from his weight, he crossed his legs, silent as death he was, silent like the room.
         He heard the words still, ringing in his ears; he saw shadows walk about the room as the people who were there that day…
         He came to reality when he heard a noise come from the staircase above, someone was awake. Footsteps were heard as he saw feet walk down the staircase. Draco, he knew right away with the silver cat ears and long silver hair like he had. The Murpau had his nightclothes on. He stopped at the fifth step, looking at the robed man with his hazel hues.
         “Been a while, young man,” said the robed one. A look of delight was on the fifteen year olds’ face as he jumped the rest of the steps and ran toward the robed man, but stopped a foot away from him.
         “Spirit,” Draco said, yawning slightly, his cat ears twitching from the moist morning air that was settling in the tavern. “You have been gone too long. We all missed you. Please return to us, Spirit.”
         Spirit shook his head, closing his eyes, then opening them as he spoke once more. “I can’t now, my friend. The Order of Forbidden Dragons is where I belong now, not with the Skye Dragons. Please understand that I do miss you all, but Drache and I got to watch over the Forbidden Dragons.”
         Draco looked down, disappointed.
         Thinking of a way to change the subject, he spoke in a light tone, “Has your mother given birth yet?”
         “She found out five months ago, remember?” Now it was Draco’s turn to change the subject back. “Spirit, why did you leave anyway?”
         “Do you not remember the day, child?” asked Spirit, an eyebrow brought up. The young boy shook his head. “Well, I will tell you, young Murpau. Sit down, sit down. But I don’t want to stay long, I fear to see Naltios and Meneluin to see me again after five months.”
         Draco nodded, delighted to get a story from an old friend. He sat down, crossing his legs and looking up with his hazel hues at Spirit, nodding to him, giving him the signal to begin.
         “It started here,” began Spirit, “In this very tavern. I remember…”

         The red sun finally set to sleep, and the black moon rose up into the brisk sky, talking to the dancing stars, though no one would ever see nor hear their moon, for not even the stars could outline the black moon upon the cool night sky. A soft breeze blew across the plains in front of the Tavern of Threshold, shifting the grass east. It was winter, and mighty cold it was for the young man in white robes. Spirit he was, his silver hair blowing about his waist. He shuffled his way up the wooden steps of the Tavern of Threshold in his light sandals. His silver orbs looking about him as he entered the tavern.
         There was a bounty-hunter and her prey that seemed to begin to fall in love with each other, something he would never understand as he kept telling himself, and two women down at the bar.
         What a sight it was to see the woman with golden brown hair behind the counter, wearing a greenish dress with brown eyes that shined at him when she looked at him and give a nod to him, as her usual greeting was. She kicked her shoeless feet as she sat on the counter. Her attention turned back to the woman she was talking to.

         That’s Meneluin, right? Asked Draco, interrupting the story, but quietly not to wake his aunt or uncle who was still asleep upstairs.
Correct, Spirit answered.

         He looked to the other woman wearing a heavy black cloak, who turned to him, seeing Meneluin nod toward him. She had dirty blonde hair that rested down upon her shoulders, her blue eyes beaming at him with a smile on her face.
         Spirit would have smiled back if he knew who this person was. He walked away to the far right corner, away from the door. In the corner was emptiness. He sighed, dragging a wooden chair with to the corner, placing himself on it, then b-ending over, looking at the chair legs.
         Quickly his body changed, scales covered his body, silver scales that shined from the light on the walls dancing along it. Silver wings sprouted from his back, a silver tail slivered out from beneath his robes, wagging in slight pain for being sat on. Spirit had only seconds to breathe his icy breath before the tavern fell apart from his growing size.
         Out came the cool breathe that froze the chair legs to the ground, and just when his silver hair was disappearing into his shaping skull, he was back to normal in his humanoid body. But his shadow that formed on the wall from the firelight of a nearby fireplace was not one of a human, but it was shaped as one of a dragon. The folding wings, the skull, the swishing tail, none of which looked like Spirit. No one noticed his changing; no one except the woman in the heavy black cloak, Mene (Short for Meneluin) had gone back in the kitchen for her own desire.
         The woman looked to be his age, but though he looked twenty three, he was hundreds of years away from it.
         The woman stood up off the barstool and, shifting her cloak in a comfortable position so her chest doesn’t seem misshapen and walked down slowly toward him, stopping right in front of him. Before Spirit knew it, he was embraced in a hug with this girl, being sure to hug her back out of politeness.
         “You owed me that hug,” she told him, standing straight up again, looking down upon Spirit, her blue eyes glistening. “May I sit with you?”
         Spirit made a quick nod, recovering from a hug from a person he didn’t know. She pulled down a nearby chair next to him and down the woman sat, the cloak shaping the bends in her body from neck to leg. She looked at him with a soft smile on her face.
         “Who are you?” asked Spirit with a brow raised, still slightly recovering from the shock.
         “It’s me, Drache,” she said, putting a hand on his left leg. He put his hand on hers, now returning her smile.
         “Drache… How is this possible? You said you were only… But your human form says differ.”
         “Yes, well, it is a gift. How do you like it?” she asked, standing up, throwing back her cloak for only him to see. Underneath was a golden skirt that was rather small for her and a small shirt that only covered from her shoulders to the bottom of her breast. She then closed up her cloak, a slight smile on her face as she sat back down next to him.
          “I see why you wear that cloak. You wear rather flashy clothes under there,” he told her.
         She blushed slightly red, her eyes shifting to the floor, slightly embarrassed with showing herself in her short clothing. “ It isn't my fault. When it happened... I didn't have a large set of clothes. Besides you didn’t answer me. How do you like my humanoid body?”
         Seeing her blush he chuckled slightly, a chuckle barely heard by most people. “Well, I think the guys would like it. I think it is great that you have gotten it for a gift, and the fact that you got a humanoid form. But does this mean that your dragon form will be taller? You were only eight feet tall the last time I saw.”
         She looked up, her face still red and got redder with his answer. She nodded for her answer to him. She looked into his eyes with a smile. “Yes, it will grow larger, close to your size, but it will be a month when it is fuller grown. Oh, and my birthday is next month. Funny combination, isn’t it?”
         He chuckled and then yawned. She yawned too, and Drache fell back in her chair, dozing off into a sleep, her head leaning on his shoulder. She sleep soundlessly, her hands in her lap, her hair rolling down the right side of her head down his chest and arm like a waterfall. Once more he yawned and he put his head lightly on hers, and fell asleep, lightly though. One loud noise and he would be up.

         You must really love her, said Draco.
Yes I do, Spirit replied. We are perfect for each other if you ask me. Do you have anyone you like? Some special girl?
         Let’s just get back to the story, replied Draco hastily, not wanting to answer his friends answer.

         Meneluin walked out from the kitchen, and turned to where Drache once sat, only to see her spot missing. She looked about, seeing the two asleep on each other. Both of their shadows were dragon shapes, one smaller, Drache’s, the other bigger, Spirit’s. She smiled a soft smile at the both, as she turned to the two other people here. Right has her brown eyes fell on them, they were out the door. She sighed, and walked around the bar onto a barstool.
         Once more the door was open, she thought it was one of the people that just left, but once she turned to see who it was, she smiled. In walked a cloaked elf with black hair that shined in the firelight. He too, had brown eyes that shined on looking at Mene. He hurried his pace up to her, not turning to see Spirit’s right hand wrap around Drache’s body. His leather shoes were quiet as he walked his way toward Mene and sat on a barstool next to her, tucking his black hair behind his elf ear.
         “Good evening, sister,” said the elf.
         Meneluin nodded, tucking her golden brown hair behind her left ear, revealing elfin ears. She smiled, happy to see her brother once more. “Hello, Naltios. How is your evening?”
         “Good, good,” was the elf’s answer, which was known as Naltios. “Rumil should be here soon. I saw him from below riding on his horse toward here.”
         And as if on cue, walked in a young man, about Meneluin’s age, with black brown hair that was short upon his head. He had hazel eyes that captured all in the tavern in them. He wore his chain mail and breast plate, the rest of his armor all in place on legs and arms. He had a sword that rested at his side in its sheath. He clanked his way down to the two at the bar, sitting down next to Meneluin, giving her a swift kiss on the lips. This was, of course, Rumil.
         They all exchanged soft greetings to each other as Meneluin warned them not to wake the two that were asleep. They talked on short matters quietly, few people entering the tavern and leaving it, taking no notice to the two asleep or the three at the bar. It wasn’t until Naltios broke the calm conversation with asking for a drink of Sepel.
         “No,” warned Rumil. “Remember what happened last time you drank that poison. You were a damned drunk. Don’t be an idiot.”
         “Don’t tell me what I can and can’t drink,” said Naltios sharply to Rumil, his eyes glaring like fire.
         “I am just telling you what happened last time you acted like a damn fool. It is a surprise Faith still loves your after that, she must be more of a idiot than you.”
         Naltios pulled a knife from within his cloak and held it to Rumil’s neck. He was furious. He didn’t like being made fun of and definitely didn’t like anyone make fun of his love, Faith and is willing to kill anyone who did. But then he felt a light hit on the back of his head. He turned his head to the person who hit him, pulling another knife toward the mans neck. Shock filled his face as he saw Spirit there; with Drache popping over is shoulder to see what was happening.
         “What do you think your doing?” Spirit asked softly, no fear trailed in his voice as he felt the cold of the blade on his neck. Drache was trying to get over the Spirit shoulder to move the knife away but Spirit’s hand held her back.
         “This doesn’t concern you, Spirit,” Naltios replied, his voice a little shaky from holding the knife up to Spirit’s throat.
         Naltios was about to move his knife from Spirit’s neck when he made the response, “You idiot. You dare put a knife to my throat?” But that just kept Naltios from taking down the knife. “You surprise me, Naltios. I thought better of you. You would actually hold a knife to your friends’ throats.”
         “Spirit… you don’t understand,” pleaded Naltios. “He… Rumil deserves to get what is coming.” His voice still a bit shaky.
         Rumil, in the time that Naltios was distracted, started to move the blade away from his own neck, only to have it placed back there when Naltios turned back to him.

         He really did act like a child, said Draco, remembering.
         It was an immature act he made, he told Draco, and one he will regret. It did break up the Skye Dragons a bit, didn’t it?

         Mene stepped around Rumil and up to her brother, tears coming from her eyes. “Please don’t kill either of them,” she pleaded, tears falling to the floor.
         “I won’t kill Spirit if he doesn’t get in the way anymore,” he told her trying to calm her, “but I will not spare Rumil for what he said about Faith.”
         Once more, Rumil tried to move the knife from his neck, but Naltios turned his head, eyes looking sharp on him, keeping the sword at place on the elf’s neck. Drache moved over to Mene who was now on the floor, crying. Drache pulled her away to a table and tried to comfort her.
         “Your being foolish, Naltios,” Spirit told him.
“Will you shut up!” he yelled back at Spirit, digging the knife into Spirit’s neck, cutting it. Blood dripped down his throat and onto his robes, staining parts of it red.
         Seeing the blood, Rumil pulled his own sword from his sheath and hit the knife near his neck out of Naltios’s hand. Naltios tucked his hand back as his knife was hit back and threw the knife held at Spirit’s neck into his other hand and parried off a swinging blow to the hip. In this time, Spirit was able to back away tend to his neck as he watched the two.
         “How dare you hurt Spirit!” Rumil rumbled. “He was just trying to help!”
         “Well he should not have tried to interfere!” Naltios yelled swings his knife at Rumil’s chest, only to be stopped by Rumil’s blade, the blunt side.
         “Rumil,” said Spirit, standing up. “Do not hurt him.”
         Rumil found it hard to listen to his friend, but he didn’t attack. He just had to parry Naltios’s attacks.
         Using all force, Naltios swing his knife, striking Rumil’s blade hard, shattering his knife, but knocking the sword out of Rumil’s hand.
         “The odds are even now,” whispered Rumil, only loud enough for Naltios to hear.
         “Less then you know,” replied Naltios as he held out his right hand and materializing out of thin air, a wooden staff as black as if it were burnt, with a even darker orb above it appeared in his hand.
         Shock appeared on Rumil’s face. He knew of what the staff could do from experiences before knew of the dangers of this staff.
         “Let’s see how you do against darkness!” Naltios yelled. Mene looked up to watch, though Drache kept trying to turn her gaze. A dark mist glided from the black orb. The mist touched Rumil’s arm just as Spirit, his white robes fluttering about him, jumped into the mist.
         Spirit yelled as the mist hit him at first, but the yell came down to a deep roar as the back of his robes riped two holes in them, both with silver wings growing out it seemed. The transformation didn't take long, just his nails became claws, his silver scaled wings, fully spread now at ten feet wide, grew out, and his skin had a silverish tent to it.
         Once more, a bellowing roar came out of the hybrid's mouth, and a white mist seemed to come out of his mouth, mixing with the black to make a grayish mist between the two. But, the wound in Spirit's neck was too much to take, and he soon closed his mouth, his wings flapping wildly, making him hover off the ground as the black mist consumed his body.
         During the time Drache started to run towards the floating body of her lover, but she was held fast by Rumil.
         "No, Drache," he cried, struggling to keep a hold on her. "If you go near him, you will get engulfed in the mist too."
         "I don't care," she cried, reaching out for her love. "I'm a black dragon anyway, I should be able to withstand it!" And, after giving it her all to break free of Rumil's grip, she just sank to her knees and watched threw tear filled eyes.
         The mist seeped into the pores of Spirit’s skin and into the cut on his neck. Once the mist cleared into Spirit’s body, a black aura hovered around his body, and his eyes went all black. Spirit’s body fell to the floor with a loud thud.
         Drache watched in horror as the person she loved fell to the floor. She broke from Rumil's grip, ran over to him, and, kneeling next to him, started shaking him, yelling for him to wake up.
         “See what you’ve done,” yelled Rumil, pointing at Naltios. Shocked at the happenings, Naltios gazed at Spirit’s body, then at Rumil, and lastly to his sister. He wanted to change everything that just happened, but all he could do is stare. It was to late to stop the mist in Spirit's body. Of course, he knew it would clear out, but some will stay in him for a long time, which could threaten Spirit's life in the future.
         Mene tried stepping toward her brother, but Rumil stepped between the two siblings, and his glare seemed to sink into Naltios' very soul. Afraid of what he has done, afraid of hurting another of his friends, he turned, and ran. He ran from the Tavern of the Threshold, he ran from his fears, and he ran from himself.

         “And as soon as the black aura left my body, Drache took me away,” Spirit muttered to Draco.
         The sun as risen high in the sky now, almost to midday’s point. Birds chirped loudly now outside the windows and the winds raised as well, blowing hard enough so that you could hear the forest trees brushing together in the distance.
         “And once I found out about this I shut down the Skye Dragons guild,” finished Draco. “I remember now. Why didn’t you come back earlier though? Why now?”
         “Well-” started Spirit. But he didn’t speak. Footsteps could be heard up above. He stood up and listened again for the footsteps, then whispered to Draco. “I have to go. Don’t tell anyone I was here. This is our secret.”
         Before Draco could say anything more, Spirit was out the door. Draco followed after him to the threshold and looked out the door. Spirit wasn’t seen anywhere in the plains in front of the tavern. But silver glistened along the grass, and as soon as he blink, they silver was gone.
         He sighed as Mene and Naltios walked down the stairs, both saying “Good morning” to their nephew. Draco walked over to Spirit’s chair, and looked down at the legs. A puddle resided there. Mene walked up behind Draco and embraced him, looking at the chair legs too.
         “What happened to the ice?” she asked, bewildered. “I thought dragons ice couldn’t be melted unless under thousands of degrees of heat.”
          Draco smiled. “He’s not coming back.”