World Of Fire

Chapter 1

With a final, defiant roar, the beast fell silent and still. His last breath expelled plumes of smoke from his nostrils and his hell-fired eyes dulled as his life slipped away to go onto whatever was next. He had fought valiantly, but his opponent was experienced and well trained; a legend among men. The dragon was in his prime, six hundred years old, and built of muscle and rage. He had been a dragon that not every Celnaer Hunter went after and those who did rarely returned.

The man on the beast's chest was breathing hard. Sweat was on his brow and hands still clasped around the hilt of his sword. It was embedded in the dragon's chest, deep within his heart. The hilt was right up against the dragon's grey scales. He tightened his hands around the sword and pulled it free. The shining silver was coated with blood so dark it was nearly black. Climbing off of the beast - which was an impressive feat in itself due to his massive size - he limped back towards the stallion that had fled when he had been knocked from it's back due to a swing from the dragon. With a spare cloth, he wiped the blood from the metal and placed it back in the sheath at his hip before cleaning his skin of any blood whether it be his or the beast's.

He climbed on the stallion's back and turned his head away from the fallen dragon, kicking its sides to a slow walk. Its carcass would quickly be scavenged, both by humans and animals. Its scales and bones made for expensive jewelry, its leathery wings for luxurious clothing. Its meat for the rich or any animal that was able to break through its grey scales. Every part of the creature would be used. Nothing would go to waste.

The sun had just started to set behind the tree line when the male halted his horse and made camp for the night. The adrenaline that once filled his veins had dulled and he was now able to feel the wounds that he had sustained during the fight. There were cuts and bruises all over his body, but the worse of his injuries were the burns on his arms. Though he managed to escape most of the flame spat from the dragon's mouth, his coat had caught and burned to his skin. He rubbed slave on his arms to prevent infection and bandaged them. It caused a dull throb, but he hoped to be back at Celnaer Keep before it got any worse. There he would see the healers and he would be fixed within hours. Along with the burns were some broken fingers that quickly snapped back into place and some lacerations from it's ivory claws. Again, he rubbed the injuries with salve and stitched up the cuts before bandaging them.

He didn't sleep well that night. The dull pain caused him to wake several times during the night so he ended up setting off just as the sun was peeking over the horizon. He reached Celnaer Keep by mid-morning.

The keep was built of light grey stone, sweat, and blood, completed nearly six hundred years ago. It rested just outside of the Rerst Forest in open green plains and next to Wilks Lake. The castle was several floors high which housed living quarters, training rooms, medicinal floors, kitchens, and classrooms as well. Around back were training fields filled with every type of weapon and obstacle one could imagine. The Keep was headquarters for all Dragon Hunting activities that when on in Atharia.

He gave his stallion to a stable boy and made his way to the debriefing rooms. He sat in a wooden chair, arms resting on the table in front of him, keeping his face neutral despite the pain that now radiated from his body. He was used to dealing with pain. He had done so his whole life.

"Name, rank, position, and name of the dragon killed." A man spoke as he entered the room and sat, chin to his chest as he looked over papers. His hair was graying and thinned, pale skin full of creases and wrinkles, evidence of his years. There was a dead look in his eye, a sign that he had worked this job for many years and was now simply going through the motions until retirement.

"Jamal Ka Ahzaar. No rank or position. Darlath, a six hundred-year-old male." He spoke, his voice gruff and weary. All he wanted was to make his way to the healers and then rest for a few hours before he was on his way again.