In a Time of Disorder

It is true: I earn my living but, believe me, it is only an accident.
Nothing that I do entitles me to eat my fill.
By chance I was spared. (If my luck leaves me I am lost.)
- Bertolt Brecht (1939)

The main characters of the story:
Gotzone Eskarne– A Dragonling is confronted with a story.
"Bakarne" – An elder woman reports from far away.
Alaia Eskarne – The magic-user leaves a heavy legacy behind.
Draka Rumag di Alaia – Her soul slowly turns the colour of her scales.
Rasegen "Reggy" Tenths – Fallen from grace, he now looks for revenge.
Zr'zoz/Erlea Eskarne – A lonely Drow searching for her goal in life.

998 Third Age

Smoke was in the air, like a heavy blanket. Thick and dark it took any room for breathing and any way of orientation. And there was this intense smell...

A smell much like burned flesh!

The little Dragonling quickly looked up in surprise, shock even, at the changed environment.

A moment ago Gotzone has been sleeping sound and deep, now she found herself in this surreal post-apocalyptic scenario.

The dust particles forced their way behind her scaly lips, tickling at first in her mouth, then scratching her throat from within, making her cough heavily.

Between coughs, the young girl brought unmentionable curses out of her mouth, spoken in an old, dark language.

That was when the smoke around her vanished.

It didn't go slowly away, sinking to the ground or rather fast, blown away by the wind, but it just vanished. From one moment to another.

Instead of there was a bright light, soon to be replaced by a sleepy-blurry vision of a forest. High, dark trees, spending long shadows along them. In some distance, between branches, glistening in the few lights from the sky above, spider webs.

"Mo-", Gotzone gasped for air, intuitively asking for her mother to protect her, but then she stopped herself in mid-word and continued with another, more indifferent voice "-rbid pleasures of the abyss, what was that."

"GOTZONE!"

That was what she expected to hear next, that or a "NO!", followed by a lecture about good behaviour and eventually how much she is loved, nonetheless, by mo...that woman, that was her mother somehow, strange as she was to the child.

Gotzone KNEW it is her mother, she looked for her daughter's well-being, cared much for her, with all this love. The red-haired Dragonling coughing angrily at that word. Such weak traits!

Then again her mother could also be strict when calling her back on their moralistic good way.

Good!

Ugh-

But, wait, there was no reaction!

The little girl, chronologically two years in age, but looking and acting more like a fifty years old Elven child would be, gave her surroundings an irritated look.

There was her mother... Gotzone found herself resting in her arms. A smile, showing worry and relieve in the very same moment, was frozen on her face.

Motionless.

There was that bard, likely the partner of her mother, but not only have they avoided yet engaging sexually like any normal person, but that black dragon-something-something mix even hesitated to live up to her black dragon heritage!

How disgusting!

She as well was frozen in motion.

Gotzone recognized where she was and when, in her mother's home, that happy silly Elven forest turned into a somewhat cool spooky forest, if it wouldn't be for those darn Drow!

She shivered afraid, even if she tried her best to avoid that weak reaction.

Esti – paladin bird, Æþelstan – tin can, Emi – slut failed, Mori - cry-baby, It-what-was-her-name-again-xaro? For a moment the Dragonling thought to be in the middle of a giant prank, but what would be a prank without the relieveing moment when everyone laughed?

Why was everyone just frozen, and not alone all people around her, but any movement, any animal and plant, as if she, Gotzone was wandering inside a...painting.

It took her a while to wiggle out of her mother's hands – Snake-girl!, a voice taunted her inside her mind – as out of sudden something actually happened.

"Don't worry hatchling," a voice sounded up from behind her, dry and rough from high age or exhaustion...or both, Gotzone couldn't tell.

Although her reflexes, sharpened in two years, had her turn around, jump up, her wings fluttering, all in one movement, then she opened her mouth, showing her fangs and growled in what she thought will be a threatening way.

The figure in front of her didn't seem the least impressed.

"I have the time frozen for the moment, so we can talk undisturbed, hatchling."

The other one was about five and a half foot tall, slender, but athletic, with dirty, scrapped leather wrapped around her body, several times fixed, improvised, hardly a professional work, just enough to work somehow.

Other than that leather suit, she – it was clearly an elder woman – wore matching leather boots that might once have been black and a ripped, blood-stained once blue coat, hold with a dentet amulet over the left shoulder.

A great two-hand sword could be seen to be behind her back, sheathed apparently and she made no motion to change that.

Gotzone never thought much of fear to anyone ranked higher than herself, except father/mother Lust, of course and Alaia, her mother...somehow. Now, though this sight here made her forget any idea of attacking the stranger.

Her skin was covered in scales, greenish in colour with a hunch of metallic red below, and horns framed long, not combed, turning thin, hair. White hair with a faint memory of red in it.

One of her arms looked unusual stiff and a thick scar run across the face, Gotzone kept starring at for long moments before she brought herself back to her senses.

She crossed her arms in front of her chest and bellowed angrily at the new-comer, "I AM NO HATCHLING!"

"Oh, but I know you now act like one. And no, you may not try what you think, neither electricity nor acid can harm me."

"Ho- I wasn't wasting my breath on you...YOU!"

Gotzone landed on her feet, looking up to the green, foggy, eyes of the woman and tried her best to look herself as calm and superior as she could, giving an impression of being untouchable.

The leather-clad woman just sat down, with no hurry at all. A faint smile on her lips.

"My name is Bakarne... wyrmling." She chuckled. "Better that way? Now, I have come to deliver a message to you."

"Oh, great!" The Dragonling sighed theatrical, "Let me guess, card games on horse back?!"

The older Dragonoid just laughed.

...about her!

Gotzone growled angrily at her. An acidic sensation been tickling in her mouth, about to get let lose.

NOW the elder woman reacted... Why now? Why not... She let out a growl herself, deep from within her throat and the intensity, the pain, the strength, the toughness, the bitterness, all in that ancient sound made Gotzone silent.

"Don't forget, I can play that game, too!" Bakarne said sharply, then resumed to her previous voice, more calm. "Now, listen very good, no, no interruption. The Inevitable ones don't really like me being here, but they know I must be...it is in their interest, but...", here she made a long pause, breathing in and out a few times.

"You sure you're up for that, oldie?", Gotzone asked amused, then her memories brought back the angry reaction the other was capable of and the Dragonling found her hands covering her mouth, looking apologizing.

"Good then," Bakarne commented what she saw. "I am only given limited time to tell you this all, whatever you'll miss-"

Gotzone waved with a hand, for the elder woman to eventually start, but not in a bored way, she was actually worried to miss something. Something her mother would miss!

Bakarne did that knowing smile again, as if she KNEW it would annoy the Dragonling, in fact any child, then started to tell her story:

"My story will start not far from here and will end very far! It starts with a Dragonling...and smoke."

*

998 Third Age

Smoke was in the air, like a heavy blanket. Thick and dark it took any room for breathing and any way of orientation. And there was this intense smell...

A smell much like burned flesh!

The little Dragonling quickly looked up in surprise, shock even, at the changed environment.

A moment ago Gotzone has been with her mother, feeling save enough, now she found herself in this surreal post-apocalyptic scenario.

The dust particles forced their way behind her scaly lips, tickling at first in her mouth, then scratching her throat from within, making her cough heavily.

Between coughs, the young girl brought unmentionable curses out of her mouth, spoken in an old, dark language.

The dust cleared a bit, but only enough to allow her to breath and have a look at the battle field.

Yes, it was not less than a battle field, more a butcher's place even: A slaughter!

"LIGHTENING BOLT!"

A bright stream of electricity, the fire of gods, rushed by above her, the little girl covered in mud. Dirty! Cowardly!

Bleh-

Still she was too paralysed to move, unable to do anything.

"REGGY! LEAD THE CATGILS OUTTA HERE!" a man in heavy metallic armour screamed over the loud battle!

"Sir, yes, but aren't I nee-"

"REGGY! Please!" A woman shouted loud, yet not angry, more concerned.

"Yes, Madam!"

The little Dragonling could hear afraid screams of a group of people, fainting slowly, as if being lead away.

Catgirls, she thought, then corrected herself. The Catgirl Maid Army.

Gotzone shivered, but that was the only reaction she was able to do.

"GOTZONE!", that was her mother, "Get outta here, dear... and... Look after grandma! Please!"

"Gotzooone!", another female voice´, but much younger, "How do you look like, all dirty, bah, you let THEM do that to you? Come and we return with father/mother to OUR TOWN!"

A'luna!

The Dragonling's heart pounded faster, gladly to hear her sis-

Yet, how could A'luna be here? That was impossible!

"Gotzone, dear, please don't listen to her! I know," she heard her mother through the smoke, "I know, I did mistakes in the past, but we can build up a completely new life together and yes, even A'luna can join, she's just still blin-"

A giant spider leaped over Gotzone and she did her a scream, unnatural, loud, from where her mother's voice came.

"Quick, run over here!" There was A'luna again.

Something was hurled back out of the smoke as a shadow hurried by Gotzone's other side, likely one of Emi - the shadow dancer's two autonomous shadows.

Inches before Gotzone a giant spider twitched a last time, eventually laying there dead as a stone. Out of the dust a little figurine emerged, holding a burning bright fire chain: Draka, the half-nixie, half black-dragon bard, with some cat-girl traits, was there in time for the rescue.

The little Dragonling watched, feeling as if more than one heart revolved in her, in joy, in panic, in worry.

"Gotzone, get moving! Pleeease...", the bard waved at her to get into safety.

"Pft...", Alaia's daughter made, running away was no option for a strong Dragonling, but then again...

Was that blood staining Draka's clothes red like a sun-set, red like the night of Ryu Aku?

"Come, sister, decide!" A'luna again. "Or are you a traitor like Tristie?!"

Gotzone though ignored the fires around her, the smoke, the battle, the spiders, the adventurers, the Drow fighters, the trap the walked into...

A'luna's voice made "Ow!", but quickly was replaced by a Drow's, "Eventually. Revenge. I'll start with your offspring though..."

The words hit on the Dragonling like an ice-cold whip. Each hurt.

Offspring? She realized in that moment...

"GOTZONE!"

"RUN!"

"FAST!"

"NOW!"

"DAUGHTER!"

"NO ONE WILL EVAH HUR-"

Too much loud voices fall like a land-slide on her young mind, making her cover more. Hands grabbed after her, but she shook them off. She just wanted to be far FAR away!

A leap, a scream, a body fell on the Dragonling, burying her under it.

Gotzone heard distant, muffled sounds through the dark, leading her into a comforting unconsciousness.

*

"OW!"

The Dragonling woke up to the sharp pain of a slap over her entire face.

Her eyes opened, yet all she saw was a blurry view on the world around her and a black hand moving away after slapping her awake.

"HOW DARE YOU!", the crimson-copper scaled child bellowed, half afraid, half angry.

"DARE?! DAAARE?! WHY- YOU!"

"DRAKA, DAMNIT, this will not solve anything!" Æþelstan of Oakleigh grabbed her from behind and dragged the struggling bard away from her.

The Dragonling found the time to win an overview over the scenery around her: Dozens of dead Drow and spiders covered the ground. Much blood was dried now on the ground between burned down tree-stumps.

Æþel, Draka and Emi, all were covered in blood and scars. The bard also glared with rage at Gotzone. Not far, leaning at a tree stunk, a young Dragonling, A'luna!

Alaia's daughter just opened her mouth in shock, but did not move a bit, still. A'luna's head clearly hung in a weird angle off her neck, much blood around her: In her hands an owl, with a bite or claw-mark in her neck.

Her mother's familiar!

"E... Esti? A'l- A'LUNA!"

"Oh, NOW you notice!" Draka snarled.

"Where is mo-"

"Your mother...", Draka growled angrily, she pointed at a a dark spot on the ground. The dark ashes, they were the outlining of a medium sized body, around Gotzone.

"That cat-Drow! This Zr'zoz took her with her..."

"That fucking bitch? What are we still here for then," Gotzone forgot any words she had planed to say and just let out her emotions. "Let's go after them! KILL her!"

Reggy carefully patted on Draka's shoulder, it was now that Gotzone realized that there was no arm below it any more, but a bloody stump only. The bard just shook of the kind gesture, breathing in and out deep, barely having control over herself.

There was an unseen before fire burning in Draka's eyes.

"She DIED for you!", she threw at Gotzone, "T...that darn murderer took her body with her..."

The Dragonling gasped for air, stuttering some sounds, but then remained silent.

Her mother, dead? She was the one forcing that mad good life on her, so eventually it would bite her. But, it was also her mother, HER mother!

"Are you sure?"

Draka gave no answer, just gulping heavy, tears running over her face.

Æþelstan eventually answered, his voice calm, yet his face showed his true feelings, "Yes, she was...burned...limp...broken."

Gotzone's view, with any word, turned more red, her heart running fast, she jumped up, running over at her mother's companions.

"WHY DID YOU NOT STOP THIS FR-"

She was interrupted and as surprised as anyone around her as Draka leaped at her, claws scratching over her face.

Alaia's daughter clawed back, kicking and biting after the little taller black Dragonoid.

It seemed to be ages before both were divided, Reggy, Æþel and Emi pulling them apart.

Gotzone got a good view on Draka's face and clear as ice could see the will to kill in her purple eyes, before the bard shook herself, held her face and walked off, sobbing.

Gotzone decided for herself, eventually they would continue that fight, for good.

It took a while before she realized that cleric, Reggy, standing next to her, looking at her.

"Your mother told Miss Draka and me to watch over you, teach you and help you grow up to be a good person, and trust me, even if I will not like it much, I will fulfil that wish."

Gotzone said nothing.

*

1008 Third Age

Nothing!

The plain seemed to be endless, stones, dry earth, dust. A lifeless appearing cold desert, only little moss and lichens here and there adding a spot of colour, of life.

The sky was just as grey as the landscape below, only scattered hills, walls, craters even lifting it above utter boringness.

The figure in a similar coloured cloak, the face hidden deep in the shadow of the hood, knew better. Yes, she knew better and she couldn't resist a sly smirk, but only for a moment.

Gone as quickly as one would overlook a little moss in stone-dust.

Deep below the surface, under a crust of molten, reshaped and cooled down soil and stones, there were the last survivors of this forest, after IT had happen.

Who could have foreseen it? The copper dragon? The moment Tree One fell burning like a mere match? The magic unleashed? T- the cataclys- No, none dared to think about THAT one.

Zr'zoz shook her head about the not understandable ways of what those people have done. Now, the remaining Zuhaitz-Elves, or however they called themselves in these day, were forced to live like Drow, whether they have been enthusiastically following Greenmirror or not.

Zr'zoz didn't care for them. Nor for anyone, but her goal.

Her goal.

She remembers how she grew up, deep in the under-dark, different, but that was planned. It wasn't anthracite-black, but alabaster- or ash-pale skin that covers her body. Her eyes, less pink but of an intense red, almost like a fire or fresh blood, after a deadly strike.

A streak of that mossy, green, symbiont covering her head like hair, fell over her forehead, irritating, but the Drow didn't do anything about it. Her thoughts were bound else.

A group of Drow clerics, priestesses of Lo'lith, they were longing for power and found a place looking promising: Tree One...the spiritual centre of that remote living, unusual Drow-like Zuhaitz Elven-kind.

It were mere legends that tree would be magical, a divine sign or even a contact-point to the planes of the dead, but it was worth it. Worth to play this game...

A Drow child, prepared, in a very improvised way, to go to the surface. She was to disguise herself as one of those apparently ever-happy surface-dwellers and learn more about them. So far so good...

Zr'zoz, meanwhile standing on the top of a stony hill, sighed softly as she remembered that time. A wind blowing up pulled the hood of her head, but she didn't care.

A few decades ago, she – the improvised experiment – arrived in the darned cold, yet cheerful, forest. She was not alone at first, another one, older one, the only other one bred for this mission, was with her.

It was a warm, sunny day. Bleh. Her companion and herself, they had no idea what game was played with them. At least she didn't know until then...when he turned into a were-beast, a bear!

It was a surprised yelp and then...she found herself on the disgusting intense green grass, her body aching.

Suddenly the thought stroke her mind, this was initiated, this was meant to be. That was why he had hesitated to get into disguise, it was not a dislike for the mask, but he was to transform when near to the hippy Elves and attack her so she could get saved and win the trust of them.

Where were her saviours now though?

Warm breath with a disgusting smell came over her face, a bear...Him!...looking at her and while she was not able to read in the animals'...his! face, she meant to see sorrow, even fear in those big eyes.

The bear roared loudly, got up and away from the Drow-in-disguise, but froze in mid-movement, turned around again and this times the eyes were just dark and without any thought in them.

What happened next...Zr'zoz hardly could recall, but she found herself cowering, whimpering even, but now paw, no fangs came down on her, but there was this woman: A Zuhaitz-Elf, very old, as old as stones, clothed in what other cultures might call a kimono.

She stood there, holding a great sword, her hands shaking, but determined she let not go for a moment, as the cold steel went straight through the bear's heart.

With a last spark of strength remaining in...it, the beat slashed with a paw after the elder woman – she went down with blood staining her fine silken clothes.

There was a young Zuhaitz-Elven girl, not much older then Zr'zuz, about fifty, kneeling near the old woman, holding her in her little hands, crying loud and heart-breaking.

Zr'zuz, the Drow, the experiment, the disguised one, the bait, the child-without-childhood, for the first time met Ederne Eskarne.

*

The Eskarne family clan, it was anything Zr'zuz did not stand for and far worse: Sunlight, mild shadows, green everywhere, happy faces of people trusting each other deeply, women AND men equal, the child-soldier was often close to throw up in disgust.

Though, she couldn't: Now she was Erlea. She played the traumatized girl, lost in a frightening emptiness of amnesia. She played well, although the Zuhaitz-fools would have done anything for someone alone and scared as loneliness was considered a worst possible fate by them.

They even had an unique word for the-bitter-sad-feeling-on-being-alone – Bakarne. For them, Zr'zuz remembered, it was like sunlight and crowded places to a Drow.

If there was one Elf embodying the cheerful, naïve spirit of Zuhaitz most then it was that so life-agreeing, fire-haired girl named Ederne. Why, she never made any reproaches to Zr'zuz...Erlea that it was her for whom er beloved great-great-grandmother died – NO! - instead of she talked day and night about how heroic Analaia has been, what a great adventurer she was and how she, Ederne, wanted to follow in these foot steps one day.

The young Drow stayed in this strange environment for years, always Ederne around her, trying to cheer her up. Eventually then, Zr'zuz returned home.

It hasn't been easy to find back into the under-dark, escaping the sticky-gluey happiness of Zuhaitz, but Zr'zuz made it...to find herself in a cellar...in a cage.

Over the years she was away, listening to legends and myths, realizing the Zuhaitz-Elfes were no rational scientists and had no info she was looking for, meanwhile there had been a change in power. At home.

The new priestesses in charge saw no longer any use in her, her mission failed and her, HER!, as dysfunctional.

The only reason she got not disposed like a used tool was sadism. One of the high priestesses found an interest in studying, testing and probing the young Drow girl, still in a Zuaitz-disguise. Can anyone compare one pain with another? Could anyone tell what was worse, the torture the sensitive, emotional Ederne would go through, for two years, decades later... or the tortures the tough, rational Zr'zuz went through FOR decades.

Drow society shows one continuity – to constantly re-shape. While rules stayed as the stone-walls around them, those making the rules changed, those in power rose and fell and it was almost a wonder that Zr'zuz was handed alive from owner to owner, everyone finding another delight in having her.

One thing that stayed continuously, too, then even grew, was the feeling inside the Drow juvenile, the realisation that up on the surface another one, of her age, of her looks, was having a glad, happy, life-worthy time...

Slowly, her thoughts, her self-doubts of being dysfunctional turned into hatred onto the one that had been given all she longed for now.

Decades passed by and there came the day Zr'zoz could run away from her current owner, whom held her as a pet at that time. Luck seemed to be with her as she could make it to the surface, away from any follower, and into the arms of a saviour.

He was unworthy: A Human. Yet he was powerful, magically skilled, both rational and devoted, his mind as clear and sharp as finest silk of giant spiders.

It was this man who restored her original, her experimental looks, pale, moss-haired, red-eyed. He also showed a great interest in her, far more than needed... Zr'zuz knew she couldn't trust him forever, that he were out to abuse her when possible, but he would be useful for now.

Feardorcha VIII, he tried to awake new strengths in her, improve her latent magical abilities, to...whatever his plans were, apparently they didn't work.

One day, the Wandering Towers, home to this wizard, came to yet another stop, some-where, some-when. Zr'zuz left the study she was living in, strolled through hallways and rooms, curious what might have caught the wizard's interest this time.

She passed by rooms she never have seen before in the last two years, but she was well aware of the towers could change their interior. Eventually reaching the entrance-hall, to her surprise, she didn't found Feardorcha, ready to leave, but his Dwarfen servant and...a Zuhaitz-Elf, bruised, covered in lumpen and dirt, blood covering her upper thighs.

"He is dead. Go now. Take this with you." The Dwarf never had said much before and didn't change it now, stoic, as he handed new clothes to the young woman, a bow, a spear, a backpack, likely filled with rations and some coins.

Zr'zuz watched, no emotion being able to brow up in her, but one, how the Zuhaitz-Elf, then the Dwarf, both left the towers. She was unable to move, realizing what must have happened. He must have betrayed His Master with that...that...

Realisation fell like stone dust from a cavern ceiling as she became aware that the young woman, walking away from the Wandering Towers, was the goal of her hate!

She jumped up and towards the wide open portal in one movement, just to find herself in the vortex, away from space or time, any sensual sensation, any thing at all, the vortex the towers travelled through. She fell…fell…fell and landed.

Moments later she would scream up loud upon realizing that her strange travel to this place has added cat-features to her looks. She wouldn't be herself though if she didn't eventually snap back to her normal, calm self. Not caring. No distractions.

This wasn't Alena any-more, Zr'zuz knew it as she gathered herself up from a grassy spot, between intense sweet smelling trees. Walking some steps she found one of her feet standing inside a squishy, soft, fruit, she never had seen before. Not impressed though, she just looked up. Not far she spotted a city, glowing crimson in the dark of the night and she decided to go there...

She didn't find friends there, she never had any of those, but useful allies...to be able returning to Zuhaitz. She found people already working at it to destroy the happy-cheerful Zuhaitz, which only played into her hands. Then she found and eventually eradicated her one opponent, took her corpse, disintegrated it, to make sure she'll never come back...but that only left emptiness inside her, no feeling of success.

Eventually she realized for herself that a puzzle piece was missing: She still had that little Dragonling left alive, the daughter of Ederne...Alaia and Feardorcha, the great-great-great-granddaughter of Analaia.

Zr'zuz re-arranged her hood and walked off the hill, having sorted her thoughts and mind another time. The rouge with a little magic-skills had a new goal.

"Gotzone," the wind carried her words away. Silent as they were. "You will not get away and if it takes me more decades. Never."

*

1048 Third Age

"No, no, no,no, NO!"

"WHAT NOW?!"

The girl shouted angry, as she stood, legs spread, over her opponent. That young man, what was his name again?, wiggled on the ground, his hands covering his face, crying in agony.

Æþelstan of Wesamara stood up from his throne-chair in a controlled motion, slow, but full of strength. Strength, still much of it, despite his rather high age for a Human.

He reached the arena-walls in a few swift steps and looked over at Gotzone, a hard to determine look in his blue eyes.

"Keep up discipline. You clearly did already better than THIS, losing control that easily."

Gotzone stood there, a bit ashamed, one hand behind her head in an automatic gesture, then looked up to her liege with sudden stubbornness.

"So, what, it's just a bit acid."

"Would you say the same if it'd be you who-"

"I'm immune old man!"

"FUCK IT! You have a sword, use it!"

"Try to make me!"

Not being able to not notice the argument a middle-aged, armoured, man stepped aside the king, hand at the grip of his sword he looked alarmed at the situation.

He knew how easily Gotzone and Æþelstan could get at each other's throats.

"Eadward, please have... Alfred brought to the cleric."

"Yes, father, my king."

Eadward, Æþelstansson, of Oakleigh waved some of his men to help him and together they got the unfortunate sparring partner of Gotzone on his legs and with arms under his shoulders, walked off with him.

Æþelstan's son knew that he was not needed to leave with Alfred from the arena, but he instantly understood the hint from his father, that he wanted a word with that red bitch alone.

Gotzone realized it as well.

"Ohhh, don't want them see you yelling at a little girl?"

"YOU are two-and-fifty years now and no matter what your mother's people hold sacred, by West Amaran laws you are a grown up woman and need to face consequences for what you do."

The bearded, once blonde-haired, aristocrat gave the young woman-girl a stern look. "You can't escape from reality. Your mother wouldn't want it."

"Pft... Don't mention that whore that gave birth to me once..."

"HOW DA-"

"No need to test your heart over her bad behaviour, old man," another voice interrupted the king.

"Ah, Draka..."

Æþelstan gave Gotzone another glare, then walked upright to his throne, watching from there how the bard would handle her foster-daughter. On his way his heart stumbled a bit out of tact indeed and he grabbed quickly for his chest, but then his dignity won over, he stretched his body and set down on his place, hoping none had seen this shameful moment of weakness.

Draka Rumag di Alaia, as she kept calling herself, re-arranged the dark cloak hold over her shoulders and walked over to Gotzone, fluttered quickly over the surrounding walls of the arena, then landed right in front of her.

Her remaining arm stretched out she poked provocatively at her foster-daughter's chest, she wouldn't reach much higher anyhow, while her prosthetic Gnome-made arm hung like limp at her side.

"Didn't I tell you to listen to uncle Æþel while I'm around with the adventurers? You know, things didn't get easier after Pride got his hands on FAUI and them under his control!" she snarled, hissing a bit. "I can't deal with any more trouble, especially not from you, little wyrmling!"

"I AM NO W-", Gotzone though stopped herself and just sighed, waiting for the lecture to come.

Draka just shook her head, disappointment in her eyes, but also anger, "Yes, you're more a hatchling in behaviour. NOW, listen," again the claw of her index finger rested on her foster-daughter's chest, giving Gotzone a slight stinging sensation to feel.

"I'm not here to lecture you, nor do I have the time and patience..."

"What happened, old lady, you never let out an chance to tell me about how my lovingly mother would have this or that-"

Within a second Gotzone found herself on the floor, lying on her back, warm blood dripping out of her nose. Instinctively she tried to whip off the liquid, but made a loud sound of pain as she touched her nose, it clearly was broken.

"WHY?"

"You...Never talk bad about Alaia, got it!" Draka walked off, showing her back – not in a naïve way, but showing she doesn't have to fear Gotzone – fluttered up on the arena wall and not before then looked back at her foster-daughter and started to talk again.

"Ebony-claw fell victim to The Cataclysm, too, in fact, all of Middle Pretonia is in a state of chaos and anarchy... Dakra, having brought back to his senses joined the army of Humans, Elves...Nixies even. No need to say they are all dead. I'm the last Vuthagix-nixie now...and full heir of Darka."

Æþelstan, from some distance, followed the discussion soon enough coming up between mother and daughter. Unrest, his eyes wandered off them and around in the great hall: Only the arena was mostly empty, around it, swords, shields, Gnomish fire-spitters, a great table with a tactical map on it, little figurines making the war look like a game, but it was far from that.

A world war. Indeed.

The king knew that Humans, Elves and Orcs were guarding any entrance to the great hall. Orcs, those proud warriors, or what little was left of this once great, wild culture, barbaric, but honest, after FAUI rose. Æþelstan had never dared to imagine to have Orcs, the remaining free Orcs, at his side, against more sophisticated acting Orcs.

King of Wesamara, he chuckled dry and bitter, what a king. Wesamara had the luck to have no major battlefield, no strategic location, no threatening military force, no legendary landmarks...and still, after the fall of the Unified Kingdoms of Breacia and Norpret, now the West Amarans moved into the centre of attention as vast amounts of refugees, civilians, as well as warriors, have fled here.

The enemy reacted quick and Cudlinastone fell before it could be build up as a new centre of resistance. Æþelstan didn't even try to hide the tears coming into his eyes when remembering how much had died in the city, that day.

Yes, he was king now, a king of a breaking realm, only in charge now since everyone else who could be was either way dead or a traitor.

Æþelstan of Wesamara coughed dry, holding his chest.

There was a sound, a noise out of sudden, distracting him from his thoughts. Upon looking up he realized Draka and Gotzone were no longer arguing, but staring behind him.

The old king only felt a cold, stingy sensation at his neck, but then there was nothing any-more. Maybe one of the last great Human leaders in Alena died with a look of surprise in his broken eyes.

"Round two. Are you ready? Who do you think would die this time for you?"

Zr'zuz pushed the lifeless body aside and walked towards Gotzone, ready to finish her work.

*

1123 Third Age

Dwarven workmanship would have done a wonder to this place, but lacking their help, this cave was just this, a cold and wet hole in a mountain.

There were not much occupants, sitting close together around a portable fire. Not much a word was spoken, and yet all of them fully understood each other and remained in silence.

A red-copper Dragonoid woman, dressed in a leather armour, worked with a wet-stone at her sword. Her movement looked like studied and far from devoted to something. One of her hands looked strangely stiff.

Opposite of her place at the fire was a Half-Elven Orc woman. Like in a trance she counted, again and again, through a pile of white pebbles next to her, each rolling around on her palm for a moment before falling back to the pile with a click.

Another Half-Elf, rather old and experienced in her looks, sat a bit away from the light and warmth. Her cloak didn't show much of her looks, but none of the others had to see her silvery bodysuit underneath to know who she is. The divine bow on her back spoke a clear enough language.

An ogre, heavily armoured, he looked far from being sensitive in any way, born a warrior and ready to die as one, yet he carefully cleaned the wound of a Halfling.

There was also a Human male, blonde hair framing a young face, walked up and down nervously, always shaking his head, the great sword in his one hand looking somewhat limp, as if he'd have no idea what to do with the fire, the rage, the thirst inside him.

Finally a very old Human male, clad in dirty robes that have seen much better days, green and brown might have been the colours, but red has stained them often, red as of blood. None knew what energy, maybe even unholy magic kept the old man up, he was far behind the average Human age...as it used to be. These days no-one lived for long.

Gotzone eventually stopped working at her sword and again looked over the Gnome-made arm she wore now. At first she only carried it around with herself as a reminder, but then she came in need to use it herself. The Battle for Ryu Ai did not leave her without scars, but without an arm.

Clearly she remembered even now how Draka had saved her against the mad cat-Drow – mother-and-again-mother-murderer! - how she saved her time until Reggy, yes, the cleric, pushed open they heavy door to the great hall.

Eadward of Oakleigh was behind him, Humans, Elves, Orcs following suit. As Æþelstan's son got aware of his father's death we was he first to storm at the strange pale Drow murderer with cat-features.

Gotzone would never forget how her foster-mother died in her arms. The Dragonling had argued with her, just moments earlier, but now made-up aggressions and stubbornness were gone like the wind and she cried, yes, cried, forgetting any pride, as Draka's eyes turned slowly dark, a whispered "Alaia...you? ...yes...I...back now...with...you..."

It's been decades since. Gotzone's view wandered over Beatrix and Saranith, there was also Æþelstan Eadwardson; Gok and Alton Stoutleaf; Eventually...Rasegen Tenths, also known as Reggy.

The old man, a former cleric, sat silent on a few pillows. His bones weren't the youngest any-more and his back ached often, but he refused any help and it took a long while to talk him into accepting the improvised pillows as seat.

Often enough his eyes remained at Gotzone for a while, the Dragonoid knowing all too good what Reggy must be thinking in those moments, to see the daughter of the woman he loved and with each year passed worshipped even, in memory, much more than the goddess he used to follow.

The sign of the Eskarne-clan, a stylised copper dragon on black and purple, on an amulet, worn at a necklace, was sign enough of who his goddess was now.

"I never should have let Alaia go..." He sighed heavily and weak, "What if she got ki- captured?"

Gok, just having finished the bandage on his best friend's leg, looked up with a worried look, "Yo' 'ware that' no good thing t'think 'bout?"

"What big guy here said," the much higher voice of Alton agreed quickly, "You know, it's true. You CAN'T hold her forever."

"Oh, YOU-", Reggy didn't make it further as a coughing-fit hold the Rebellion-leader in his grip. Rebellion wasn't by far a matching term for a little bunch of hope-forgotten individuals, yet it was as good as any.

"There you go, this will eventually get you in a long overdue grave," Saranith commented dry as the loud coughing ended and the old man yet again remained silently on his pillows.

"Can we forget the dying and killing for once? We can't strike for peace and love and hope if it's not in US!" Gotzone was fully in her element, her enthusiastic struggle for the true Good!

Reggy cocked his head a bit and looked curiously at the Dragonoid, "Hope is where in? Oh, right, I remember, she ended up in a dragon stomach, poor kitten."

"Not that hope."

"Huh?"

"Never-mind...Any-way, Tenths-senpai, the spirit, the believe in doing the right thing. We need it ourselves so we can spread the word."

For a moment Gotzone had Draka's voice in her mind, from memories, before IT had happen, singing a joyful-silly song about bird being the word.

"All I need is Alaia back, here!" The old man stated.

Before anyone could answer him, Saranith rose in a quick movement and held her bow, arrow ready, at a newcomer, none but her had noticed coming in. The ranger quickly scanned the shadowy figure – some divine given spells came in handy here – then allowed her to step inside the circle of light.

The young woman, half-Elven and barely adult in age, walked with a cute, energetic skip in her steps to the old Reggy, sat down next to him, her arms carefully wrapped around him.

"Ah, my Alaia..."

Beatrix looked up from the pile of pebbles to Gotzone and shrugged "You never can tell which one he means when..." The Dragonoid made a vague hand gesture, eventually letting out her idea, "I don't think there is a difference for him."

"My dear, we were so worried, tell," yet again coughing held Reggy in its grip for a while, "tell us what is new?"

Alaia-Draka Tenths, re-arranged fer fake FAUI-uniform, stroke back her thick, long white hair and started to report.

"It is only a matter of time now and IT will be fought over the stone dessert of Zuhaitz. Yes, there, where it all started. The legions of FAUI stand ready at the one side, the Seven Sins have gathered on the other, they have brought everything, I tell you!"

Gotzone cocked her head, made a pft!-sound, as she always used to do when not glad about something, at all, but then had the daughter of Ayla Eskarne and Reggy continue in her report.

The faux-Drow did so, enthusiastically, "Soldiers are covering all the former Elven forests and Human lands and even more wait ashore on boats. Even the air is armed. Literately, as both side will throw in anything, Elementals, magic, summoned beasts, even Cataclysms! This WILL be the one all deciding battle and..."

She got interrupted as the ground under them, the walls and the ceiling shook oh so slightly, as if a tremor went through the landscape, a very familiar tremor.

"SOON you say?!", Gotzone was in no time on her legs, "That was a CATACLYSM! They must have started already!"

Saranith shook her head, but not because she wasn't agreeing with the Dragonoid, "I still can't believe people got their hands on this abyssal mechanisms, death-bringers, that have us feel the battle in Zuhaitz even here..."

"I have something else to believe in."

Gotzone's eyes widened, her head quickly turning around to see anything, even the slightest hint of the origin of that voice, but she didn't have to look for long.

"Missed me?"

"I hardly could say so, bitch!"

Reggy looked from one woman to the other and did his best to get on his feet, holding with a tight grip at a walking stick as he did so. "YOU! You were the one who killed my Alaia!" His mind fully clear and awake again, if only for now, Reggy bellowed rough but definitely angry at Zr'zuz.

"This time it's only you and me, red," the cat-Drow gave her conditions and Gotzone quickly agreed "You got it, you and me, kitty."

"Not if I have a saying in this," the legendary Æþelstan's great-great-great-grandson stood by the Dragonoid within a moment, suit followed by the rest of the Rebels. "She has a chicken to pluck with all of us, it's not alone your business, Gotzone, aside, didn't you always remind of us team-spirit?"

Gotzone would never forget his last words.

*

430 Fourth Age

Last, but not least, the story came to its most distant chapter...

Dark clouds, rarely ever broken by the sun, kept the world in perpetual twilight. The world that was a new one, a changed and re-shaped one, in no way like the last one.

Thick forests occupied some areas again, having conquered back what was lost in The War, only there was no familiar tree or flower: Fern-like bushes and trees with a scale-hide dominated the new woodlands.

Between the few green spots, wide deserts spread over the continents, some of sand, some of dust, others of stone, all of them left behind by a weapon never meant to exist.

Tribes travelled nomadic through this forgotten world, Orcs, Humans, a few Elves – mostly Drow, some Dwarves, Lizard-folk, but there was not much diversity.

Most of them, fighting among each other, long forgot the past, only having legends of a struggle between gods that happened before the creation of their world: Only, this world wasn't new, but old, close to death.

So was also the woman walking on what might have been a street once, but no was just a stripe of molten and then cooled down stone. She had no goal in life, but the road kept her going.

Her once red-orange hair was almost white now, her green eyes foggy, but her mind as sharp as ever. How old she was now? She couldn't tell any-more, she didn't care for when exactly the Fourth Age did start or which Third Age year 430 FA would be.

She was timeless.

Silently she scratched a bit at the big scar across her face, the continued walking. The disembodied head, she carried with herself, hung limp at a leather-sling and with any step she made, the mummified head softly bounced on and off her right leg.

Gotzone remembered how Zr'zoz had killed the Rebels with ease, except of her. It has been Alaia-Draka who casted a forced teleportation on her distant relative, getting her far away from the cat-Drow.

Gotzone should later have to learn that the so enthusiastic-cheerful young woman fell at the hand of the family-murderer, too.

She wasn't here for her memories though, yet again, those were what brought her here.

Yes, she had eventually hunted down Zr'zuz, caught her and the cat-Drow then even, in an unforeseen twist had told her story, before both met in battle again, but this time Gotzone definitely allowed none to step between the assassin and her.

Her mother. Her foster-mother. Her cousin. Plenty have died only to protect her. Just this time, there were only the two opponents and Zr'zuz – the one who never had a friend – now had none to step in to hold a blade from her.

Gotzone looked up from the cold stone-plain and shouted at her best, "I AM HERE! WHERE ARE YOU? SHOW YOURSELF!"

Nothing happened and the elder Dragonoid got a bit impatient, nervously rearranging the shoulder-held blue cloak that used to be of the tength of Oakleigh.

"I am here. The point of time to reveal myself to your insufficient working sensual organs is exactly chosen and needs no explanation nor excuse."

The Inevitable looked out of an emotionless face, as if he would have been there at that spot already since the beginning of time, only to remain invisible, untouchable, for most of it.

Gotzone got a feeling that might be even the truth.

"We have a deal then?" Gotzone-Ederne Eskarne folded her arms in front of her chest and looked directly into the motionless face.

"You are aware of what situation were are in. Some of us oppose this plan, obeying strictly to fate, others have realized that the end of the world will end our usefulness and reason to exist."

The Dragonoid shrugged, poked the mummy-head at her side and looked up again, "Others as you?"

The Inevitable remained as calm as it always has been, "After Tiamat entered the Battle over Zuhaitz and the deities one by one got pulled deeper into The War, we realized the dangers that may come to the Third and Forth World. We prepared ourselves," here it made a dramatic pause apparently, Gotzone could see no reason why.

"To undo the damage down, history will be rewritten. Be aware though that you will get only this chance. There are others that can step in your place, but none could do a change at this moment in history as you could."

In some distance thunder roared and a light wind came up, waving the Dragonoid's hair softly.

"Wha- I mean, when is that?"

"The death of your mother had drastic consequences for the forest then known as Zuhaitz."

Gotzone gulped and coughed dry, trying to get away the feeling of being strangled slowly from inside. She felt very uncomfortable to recall that times, since she still knew how she was like, back then.

"You will appear earlier than that, some weeks, if we can aim right, despite the interferences by the other faction."

"Oh, lovely..."

"This IS your chance. Use it. You can not talk to anyone but yourself though, so make it worth it. Also – you have to leave this here."

Gotzone followed with her eyes were the Inevitable pointed at, the head of Zr'zuz. "Time paradox, I guess?", she muttered but eventually dropped the disembodied head. "I'm ready..."

*

998 Third Age

Gotzone breathed in and out a few times, collecting her thoughts, "You ready to hear what I think of THAT? A'luna in this lousy forest? Draka not overly cuddly-happy-dolly? ME fighting for a true Good?"

Despite the loud voice she talked in, her body spoke another language, she sweated, shifted nervously from one leg to the other, her eyes couldn't stay at the other...her future-me for long.

"I KNOW it is hard to accept this and I KNOW that it makes you afraid, but you will have to be strong now, to prevent this time-line from becoming real...or would you like you being me one day?"

Bakarne didn't smile, nor chuckle, but talked directly, no-nonsense, with her past-self.

Gotzone cocked her head, twiddled with her thumbs nervously and slowly looked up to her. At least, a first step.

Both Gotzones kept talking for what felt like quite a while, yet this chat couldn't go on like that forever.

"And you're sure we can't go back to Ruy Aku an-"

"No. The Inevitable ones decided like this. I'm sorry. I know we lost a lot there that meant much to us, but here we are given a new start, all together now, please, don't miss it."

The young Gotzone made a hmpf!-sounds, "As if I would be afraid! If I want to, I can protect my mother's life all on my own!"

"And – do you want to?"

"She would get into one of her risk-no-life-for-me trips again..."

"You know she is about to learn where and when it is al-right to risk something...someone...at the risk of losing. Now, about you? Do you want to help her?"

The young Gotzone was rather overwhelmed by the information raining onto her, the great responsibility that awaited her. Deep inside herself she just wanted her mother to hold her, but all she did show of this was looking over to Alaia with big eyes, only getting a smile frozen in time in return.

"...yes..."

The elder Gotzone, knowing how honest that little word was, nodded slowly. With the movement already her body though started to turn transparent, like a memory fading.

"Wheredoyougo?!", the younger version of herself shrieked.

"Ah, dear me, as of now, my time, my world, ceases to exist, history is written anew. Maybe I just dissolve..."

"But, but, we can do something? Call one of those Elven gods if you need to, b- but..." The Dragonling got into stuttering, nervously, and needed a deep breath in to calm a bit.

"...but all of our time-line live on in your heart."

Gotzone instinctively looked at her chest, where her heart is. For a brief moment she was irritated how there could by anything in it but blood, but then understood the figure of speech, having heard it before from her mother.

Mother!

*

Gotzone woke up, hold by her mother. Alaia Eskarne, her strange, yet so familiar mother.

The Dragonling got a feeling she haven't had seen her mother in centuries – and slowly memories of her dream...vision? Returned. They were blurry and she couldn't recall all of it any-more, like for example whom her mother was fighting against, some small, winged, person, but it didn't matter much, as the message of the entire mental travel stayed:

You need to help, love, your mother, or...you end up a lonely wolf, fighting for centuries against...against...assassin? before learning what you could have seen much earlier.

Gotzone realized she did hold a little spider close all the time, the tiny animal had fainted by now and the Dragonling threw her away with a swift movement. Instead of holding the arachnoid she just moved closed to her mother, who noticed her daughter's need for being close to her and kept holding her.

The young Dragonling had her eyes closed, all this visions and responsibilities were just too much, all she could think of now was her mother, on who's chest she rested, listening to her heart-beat and soon enough she was slumbering deeply, dreaming of an old woman walking into a bright light, being welcomed by her mother.

Meanwhile Alaia and Draka looked a bit puzzled at Gotzone, who was just a little girl for now, not making any cynic comments or testing her borders, but just wanted her mother to hold her.

Alaia then brought a smile together, much relieved, somehow. Draka smirked in a friendly way, "You think she had a scary dream or was it still from her temple experience?" Alaia shrugged and carefully patted the sleeping Dragonling, "Either way, she is happy now and that's what counts."

-Fin-