Sepyt recovered, and announcing he was feeling his age, he stumbled through the door of the tavern, with Souriin following him closely behind. I have always claimed that the priests abuse their god-given powers but nobody ever listens to me. Sepyt muttered some words and straightened as the spell took effect
He chuckled as he spoke, “I do not think that Rotan had this in mind when she granted me the power to resist poison this morning.”
He looked at Souriin thoughtfully as he sat down on the steps.
“My dear boy, I have been like an uncle to you ever since you came to stay in town as a boy. I love you even though you sometimes try to be far too clever for your own good – and too self-absorbed to care about an old man’s health. Since when did you know about Beloni and your father?”
“I didn’t until now”, said Souriin smiling grimly. He lowered himself next to the priest and sat down looking at the stars. (May I just say at this point in time, that there is definitely something foreign in that man’s demeanour, as if he could not stand relaxing for more than a breath’s worth. Plus, I believe that people should dress befitting their station – and he definitely does not. A man that owns a clothing industry should know that brown colours are out this year).
“He betrayed my mother,” he whispered harshly, “and he never had the guts to tell me”.
A couple of whispered phrases and another amphora of wine appeared in Sepyt’s hands. He handed it to Souriin while staring intently at him.
“Are you through feeling sorry for yourself yet?” he asked, smiling. “As I’ve told you before, the world does not revolve around you. Beloni met Garulithis before he met your mother.”
“Sepyt, you seem to know a lot more than you let on,” said Souriin, now concentrating on Sepyt’s eyes. But, as usual, nothing could be read from there except benevolence.
After another long quaff, (how in the name of all the gods does the old man hold his breath so long?) Sepyt muttered, “Perhaps it is time that you know more of the history of your family”.
“I am more concerned about now than…” Souriin started, looking irritated.
Sepyt interrupted, as if he didn’t hear, “Your family did not always live here. In fact, you only migrated so far south two generations ago.” He made himself more comfortable. (I could see an old, experienced speaker here – I think we all underestimate the old manipulator…). You could see the interest spark in Souriin’s eyes. I could not help myself. I giggled where I stood in the shadows. I froze instantly, cold sweat trickling down my spine. After a while, I noticed that it was only my acute senses that heard the noise. I hate that. Back to the story.
“…small fort in fact, which lay on the coast of the Dragon Tail point. As the books tell, in times of the great Berlyn the Great, your family did a great favour to the Dragons, which were a lot more abundant in those times. So great was the favour that a powerful silver swore to watch over your family as long as she lived…”

Sepyt spoke softer and softer until Souriin had to lean over to hear what was said. A soft snore issued forth from his mouth. Souriin fairly beat the air in frustration, his ceremonial sleeves making wing beat noises in the air. (Looking closer, I could see that Sepyt’s body was too tense to be asleep. The old walrus was fairly quaking from laughter – he was playing the moment). With a mutter, he seemed to wake, “Now where… ah yes – Beloni… Did you know that your family once prided itself on its prowess with all weapons?”
Souriin fairly snorted with laughter.
“No, ‘tis true,” retorted Sepyt, “all along the coast, the students would gather at Serpent’s Hold, and plead entrance to train. The force at the fort, although not great, was superbly trained and equipped. As the generations passed, Beloni’s presence was increasingly felt. The family changed until their proud heritage nearly disappeared – more and more young men refused their training and became preoccupied with sorcery. The keep became secluded, and people spoke in whispers of the strange green lights that could be seen there. It was about this time that they took on the name Draco-penalli, meaning “Dragon-wrought”, which later changed to Draco. Hey, my boy, this is thirsty work – hand me a flagon. Bless you.”
Souriin was now gnawing at his nails now, absorbing it all as quickly as he could. He was going whiter by the minute. He got up quickly and fairly ran to get the drink.

Sepyt turned in my direction, and laughed, “You had better move that foot into the shadows or he’ll see you”.
Although he was staring in my direction, I was fairly certain he could not see me. I moved the foot that was not behind the barrel, and he winked at me! He turned towards the city and we both awaited Souriin in silence. I nearly screamed as Souriin materialised out of the shadows not three meters from me. I bit my tongue and nearly screamed again. How did Sepyt know?
“Ah, there you are, my boy” he said without turning. Obviously Souriin was more used to this.
“As I was saying,” he muttered after another deep swallow, “it was around 2008, and Beloni had not been seen for three generations now - time obviously does not mean much to a dragon. She had been teaching the sorcerous arts to the Draco family now for about six generations, and it was a different reputation they held now. It was during this time that Dorias Draco, later known in friendly circles as “The Scorcher” decided that those given power should use it in dominance of others. What followed was a massacre – the people – used to freedom – refused to be cowed. The resistance, in form of a delegation was led by a local smith, Franson Trollarm. They met in the village square, declaring their right to speak. The delegation of mages led by Dorias heard them out, and promptly turned the market square into a conflagration, trying to make this into a lesson. Unfortunately, or fortunately, Franson was one of the first priests of Artafor in the region. Not only did he not die with the rest, but emerged from the fires like an avenging angel with flames on his wings and promptly proceeded to kill the rank of the very surprised and still mages. They soon recovered and killed him, but not until he pronounced a dark curse on your lineage. Tut, tut, I know you want to know about it, but all in good time. Now sit still.”

It is at this time that I decided to move elsewhere. I had been cramped and I could no longer feel my legs. I must have missed about a minute of the conversation.
“…can be deadly when aroused. Soon the mages found themselves protecting their own keep as the hordes of people with banners of Franson as their guide descended on the walls. So it was that your family, in the face of defeat, decided on the most evil act. They decided to take their lives in a ritual that would destroy all of the besieging hordes. As the winds started howling, energies crackled between the minarets of the keep, and a vortex opened to a different place, driving all those that looked upon it insane. The storm of energies started decimating all who stood in its path.
Sepyt went quiet, his eyes as far away, as if he saw the events with the eyes of memory. I could hear myself breathe.
“It was then that Beloni arrived, summoned directly by Artafor as soon as Franson died. She screamed, and it is said that the hurt in her voice was heard in the hearts of all those that fought. The evening was lit like the day as she fought her erstwhile charges for possession of the vortices, and while they fought, the vortices multiplied, as something tried to cross into our world. Using dragon-magic, Beloni sacrificed a part of her being, and with a final burst of power that blinded all those that looked, she closed the portal. The detonation of the forces rushing into the place of the vortices detonated the wall and partially destroyed the keep.”
Sepyt spoke quickly now, sweat poring from him in rivulets, every emotion written across his face.

“There was a moment of silence, and a cry went up from the villagers. Soon this was taken up by others and instead of fleeing, anyone who could even stand rushed howling at the keep. It was as if the very air was charged with hatred. The masses did not cease their destruction until two stones did not stand together.”
Suddenly, Sepyt arched and lifted his clenched fists to his eyes and cried, “My Lady, the visions - they are too much!”
It was minutes before Sepyt spoke again, his shaking subsiding slowly, “It must be important for Lady Rotan to send me these dreams, but she sometimes forgets how fragile her subjects are”.
I quickly made the sign of Rotan, hoping that she would not strike the area near Sepyt. That sounded awfully close to blasphemy, but then again who am I to know.

After quaffing some more ale (how many does this make it now?) Sepyt continued. “Rumours abounded that a strange accented, silver-haired, beautiful woman with a small boy and a wounded man passed through the area, but with the celebrations of victory, and the mourning of the dead, people left them alone. And so, your family passed south as it passed out of history. Beloni, through the centuries took on the human form more and more, until she felt more comfortable in it than any other. She also slowly gained something that she had not expected – human emotions. She now cared personally for each of her charges, and grieved with each of their deaths, while time did not touch her. The curse manifested itself through time: no more than two Draco-kin would exist per generation. While the family could die, it could no longer spread to dominate ever again. While this in itself was terrible, it had an unexpected side effect. Every child was born with a strong magical potential, an uncanny intellect, and an almost unbearable urge to learn magic.”
“But Sepyt”, started Souriin, but was roughly interrupted again. Sepyt’s words came out almost in a flood.
“Beloni tended to all of your forefathers, visiting them every couple of years. But it was in your father, Garulithis that she found a man that epitomised everything she loved in humanity. He was kind, understanding, and had an innate flair and aptitude for magic coupled with responsibility of power rarely seen. She fell in love, as did he, never knowing what she was. Out of their love was born Athalar.”

It must be said that I stumbled and hit myself on the shin with the spade that was lying next to the barrel. Souriin must have been more shocked than I, because he heard neither the noise nor my yelp of pain. He just sat there silently, while Sepyt rushed ahead.
“You must understand what burdens Athalar has lived with. He has known for quite a while that he is not like the rest of us. While he seems to be physically identical to us, he is driven by urges and hungers that are quite foreign to us. Dragons are much more solitary and predatory than we. Plus, they have hundreds of years to come to grips with their nature. Athalar has had none of this.”
“What about my mother?” Souriin’s whisper sounded strained.
“After the birth of Athalar, Beloni realised that he would mature much faster than normal children, and that he would be a lot different from his fellow humans. This ate at her reasoning, until panicked, she could no longer take it. She put your father to sleep, erased all incidences of her and the baby from his mind and flew with the babe, thinking only to protect him. It was only after he was married and you were born, that Garulithis unwove the web of magic from his mind. It nearly drove him crazy with grief. He sought Athalar out with the rest of us, but by that time, Athalar, now fifteen was bitter, angry and already on the path of the dark arts. Beloni appeared, and we left the three to talk. When Garulithis emerged, he was ashen in colour, and would not talk about any of it.”
“The rest I know.” interrupted Souriin, “He told me this, and the rest before he died.”

Souriin stood up slowly, and a grimace played across his lips “Thank Rotan for her aid for me Sepyt. It was most… educational.”
“You can do it yourself…” started the priest, now looking his full age.
“You know I cannot, nor wish to “, snapped Souriin. “There is something else. Garulithis’ dying wish was that we get along and accept each other as brothers. I just hope that I can after tonight.”
Souriin got up quickly and disappeared.
“May Rotan guide your hand…” whispered Sepyt, before getting up and stumbling along the road.
I must have stood in the same position for at least another ten minutes sorting things carefully in my mind.
Why would Sepyt let me, a mere archivist in the library, listen to this? What happened to the family in the North (if Beloni was charged in protecting them all)? Where is Athalar, and what is he up to? How will this affect Lord Draco? I hate stories that leave more questions than answers.