Strange Pair of Travelers (3)
"I'm not entirely sure, but my gut feeling says... it's a Black Dragon."
"A Black Dragon...?"
That knocked the wind right out of me.
"What the hell are you talking about, Pelle? There's no such thing as a Black Dragon. That's just fairy-tale bullshit."
"Black Dragons exist. They're just so rarely sighted that people think they don't."
There aren't many types of dragons left in the world. The red and blue ones that brawled it out in Rosens last time—they're relatively common as dragons go. Crimson Dragons with their scarlet scales, white Dragons pure as snow, and golden Gold Dragons are far rarer. Sightings of them get their own entries in the records.
Then there are all the low-intelligence sub-species treated as mere monsters. But Black Dragons? Records of them are practically nonexistent. A few ancient scrolls mention them from ages ago, but they're dismissed as unreliable folklore. Most scholars figure it's more metaphor or symbolism than fact.
I'd never heard a damn thing about Black Dragons in my ten years as a hero. The capital's intelligence division tracks dragon locations on a map, and there was never a Black Dragon on it. A creature straight out of legend, polymorphed into human form and chowing down in my inn's dining hall...
Come to think of it, Hardo mentioned a Black Dragon sighting in Tousenne Viscountcy not long ago. But that turned out to be just a wyvern.
"You really think it's a dragon?"
"Yes."
Pelle's expression was rock-solid. She didn't look like she was lying. And she isn't the type to bullshit for no reason. Demons have a knack for sensing monsters and communing with them. She clocked Aterugar as a dragon the second she saw her. So if Pelle says it's a dragon... a Black Dragon?
"Don't let on, Pelle. Act normal."
"Got it."
"Francois, don't worry too much. I chatted with them a bit—they seem pretty decent."
Even as I said it, Lurtjog's face flashed in my mind. That psycho had seemed like a harmless young guy at first too.
I calmed Francois down and headed up to the third floor. Weird noises came from Aterugar's room as I approached.
"Oh my? Hello, Pippi. What brings you here...? Didn't you say today was your wife's birthday?"
"Heh heh heh. Sure is, but how can a man resist with you prancing around in front of me like that, Ateri?"
What the...? Sounded like Aterugar was role-playing some adulterous affair with that rabbit doll Pippi... or playing house? Hard to tell.
"Mind if I come in?"
"What the—?!"
A crash, then silence. I took that as a yes and opened the door. Aterugar lay propped on the bed, arms crossed, giving me a haughty glare.
"Coming to my room alone this late? I don't know what your game's about, but at least I'm sure that pathetic hero Bertrand Balder has some utterly repulsive sexual tastes..."
"Do Black Dragons exist?"
Aterugar clamped her mouth shut and eyed me suspiciously.
"Spill it. Are there really pitch-black lizards among your kind?"
"Why the sudden interest?"
"Yes or no. Start there."
She paused, then answered.
"Yes."
"For real? Not just legend bullshit?"
"Heh. Legends? They just hole up so tight no one knows about 'em. But yeah, they exist."
Shit, they really do. Pelle's instincts nailed it.
I dragged a chair over and sat close to the bed.
"Give me the details. What are they like?"
"Why do you even care? Suddenly into scaly types? Too bad—I'm not ripe yet..."
"There's someone downstairs I suspect is a Black Dragon."
"Bullshit..."
She didn't show it, but she looked shocked. She half-sat up, spitting sharply.
"What kinda insane crap is that, you worthless hack?! A Black Dragon polymorphed and crashing at an inn?!"
"Pelle says so. Demons can sense monsters, right?"
"That demon bitch said that...? Hmph... Then it really is a Black Dragon..."
"Talk. What are they?"
Aterugar twirled her long red twintails and spoke slowly.
"Curious what Black Dragons are, huh?"
"Yeah. Spill it quick. I need to know if it's a psycho so I can deal with it."
"Fair enough... Sigh. Black Dragons, huh...? Well..."
According to her, Black Dragons are real. But they've been mythologized because of their unique habits. Normal dragons are near-unstoppable monsters living wild and free, no interference between individuals. No parent-child bonds—hatchlings pop out and fend for themselves. That's why lunatics like Lurtjog could rampage without their own kind ripping them apart.
Black Dragons are different. Another name for them is Ancient Dragons—the oldest surviving bloodline. They take insane pride in their jet-black scales and cling to their traditions and customs. They form massive colonies in some hidden region, building their own isolated society with zero outside contact. Xenophobic as hell.
Their lifestyle mirrors humans: pair for life, raise hatchlings to adulthood with care. They even look after aging parents, support each other like a family unit.
"They call it a bloodline. Unique to them—it's the core of their society and lives."
"Bloodline. Like family."
"Kinda. But way bigger scope. Imagine every person in this city linked by blood. That's a bloodline."
"Got it."
"So a Black Dragon showing up here alone? Huge red flag."
Her face turned uncharacteristically serious. I got what she meant.
"These guys cut off from the world, huddled tight under their bloodline banner. One straying out? Either they did something so heinous they got exiled, or they're too fucked in the head to hack it there."
"Shit..."
In other words... a crazy dragon's checked in?
I don't know the full story yet, but based on this, it's dangerous as hell. If it snaps and reverts to true form on a whim, the inn's toast. Sure, I'd snap its neck too, but still.
Anyway.
"How strong are Black Dragons? Lurtjog level?"
"Lurtjog?"
She snorted, flames practically flickering from her nostrils in disbelief.
"Among dragons, they say you mix all colors and get black."
"Meaning?"
"Even if every existing dragon color banded together—one per hue—they couldn't take a single Black Dragon."
"Fuck me. How...?"
She went quiet, then continued.
"Never seen one myself, but adult Black Dragons are... different."
"How?"
"Six wings, three tails. Breath's an acid that melts anything."
"Total monster."
"And being the oldest line, they apparently handle basic magic. Not sure on details."
"Magic...?"
She clammed up. An eerie silence settled.
So: Black Dragons are powerhouse dragons. And solo in a human city? Not normal behavior. Key now is figuring if it's a threat or just some sane dragon with reasons to wander. From their chat, they're not leaving soon—planning the next leg, earning coin, sticking around awhile.
I don't want a ticking time bomb bunking here. Gotta probe if it's liable to blow at a poke.
I stayed seated, so Aterugar snapped.
"Argh! Enough questions! You're pissing me off! Busting in and ruining my meditation!"
"Meditation? Dragons must've agreed to call Pippi and Ateri's steamy affair 'meditation,' huh?"
"Gah! You psycho hero fuck! Get out! Scram!"
She hurled a pillow. I caught it easy and tossed it back. It smacked her face; she fumed like she might breath-fire right then.
Downstairs, the suspected Black Dragon and the woman were at it again over the map. Couldn't agree, apparently.
I hit the cellar, grabbed the strongest wine, and brought it to their table.
The man—prime Black Dragon suspect—looked up.
"What's this?"
I set the bottle down. He eyed it, a smile creeping across his lips.
"Strong stuff."
"Um, sorry, boss. We're kinda short on cash..."
The woman glanced awkwardly between the bottle and me.
"Nah, on the house. Travelers from afar—service."
"So... free?"
The man perked up, reaching for it. I grabbed a chair, sat beside them instead of answering.
"Looks like you haven't settled on your next stop. Mind if I help? No one knows Verabche Kingdom geography like me."
"Oh? Really?"
She clapped; he ignored me, yanking the cork with thumb and forefinger alone.
Strong as me at least...
"I'm the innkeeper, Bertrand Balder."
"Liana."
"Ergaduk. Call me Erga."
Liana and Erga. Introductions done, I asked Erga as he poured.
"Sir, forgive me, but may I ask one thing?"