“True. Does that same draconic iconography and association hold when considering House Rogarvia in current times…acknowledging the Vanishing?”
“I don’t know. Maybe he felt guilty that he wasn’t able to track down the beast that killed her? Or maybe he just thought it would win him some credit when he goes to meet Pharasma. But I was just a kid, I wasn’t thinking like that back then.”
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“I do not think that the missing house is behind this. Of course not. They’re gone. I would think that one can draw a line, a weak one to be frank, between that Flauros incident in the past and House Rogarvia on how someone would come to learn of Flauros in the present day…especially since…” He holds his tongue.
“Well, there was their crest,” says the older guard. “But I doubt they had the same army working with them that Choral did — I mean, you’d think the River Kingdoms would be ours, wouldn’t you?”
“Maybe the dragons demanded too much in payment,” suggests the younger guard.
“Maybe. They are dragons.”
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“…Mm.”
“He. Might’ve.”
My throat is dry.
I nod, and squeak out some vague thanks.
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Both guards look confused.
Drakor began to pace. He locked his hands firmly behind his back, where they couldn’t do rebellious things like reach for a weapon in the presence of allies.
His unease grew.
She gives you a bit of a strange look, but returns to planting.
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“I am going to propose a theory, and we’re going to beat the shit out of that theory to see if it holds any merit. Does that make sense?”
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“I’m intrigued to see what you come up with,” says the older guard.
(I am going to. Go make dinner. So it might be a bit before I respond again)
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“What kind of dragons?” Drakor asked, voice even and monotone.
He stopped pacing.
There’s no… silver bullet. But I. Feel that there will never be.
I think. He might’ve. Been better a year or so ago. And. Before. But now he’s…
I start to begin my trek back to Hazel Ford.
“It would be reasonable to assume the individual desperate. Demon Lords extol a heavy toll, so one must be at their wits end to want to work with them.” He pauses.
“Flauros, in particular, is a strange choice of demon lord. Flauros is associated with many things destructive. I’ll put a pin in that.”
“Consider the war down south.” He thinks of the woman he spoke to last night. It is painful to consider. “Khavortorov’s involved. Many have been driven from there homes, often due to the pressure of the military. Forced to give up much as they run for their lives. Who wouldn’t be bitter? Who wouldn’t want more power to enact a revenge?”
“But it’s not enough to suggest who and why. How is the sticking point. How did someone learn of Flauros. It’s a flimsy line I draw between the Flauros event of the past and dragons now, but…” He sighs.
He begins telling a story. “Driven from the lands formerly held by House Rogarvia over a conflict started by House Khavortorov, our suspect has lost everything. House Khavortorov has shown an unwillingness to care. Flauros is not especially well known, but in the lands of Rogarvia, they had heard of him. Perhaps enough to know how dangerous it was to ask a demon lord for anything. But that doesn’t matter, because our suspect has nothing left. Perhaps they want to burn everything? Or perhaps they want the power to go and take their home back? Regardless of their reasons, they have resolved to do what they have done.”
He is somewhat winded by the emotion involved in this.
“It’s an absurd thing. Oh it is.”
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“Choral’s allies?” says the older Watchman. “Red dragons. Strong enough to burn armies alive, if the legends are true.”
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“Quite plausible,” says the older watchman. “Perhaps we should investigate the newcomers to the city.”
(…Wanderer, Rika, neither of you gets the sense that he is expressing his genuine beliefs.)
The younger watchman looks confused about that, but doesn’t actually say anything to object.