Dragon Fall

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Olwë and Nolë Practice Archery

Olwe watches Nole as the sea merchant draws his longbow and takes careful aim at the target. He could not remember the last time the two elves were here at the range. He watches and waits, a small, pleased smile of encouragement on his face for his companion, the intrepid sea merchant.  Nole often does not have the chance to practice archery, and his technique is not as well honed as his king's. Nole is more often at the docks caring for ships and studying charts than on dry land shooting a bow. It seems his technique has really slipped, as he totally misses the target.  Olwe gives a disappointed grunt, his eyes squeezing shut as his expression mirrors the sound. "Sorry, my Friend," says Olwe in sympathy.

Olwe steps up to his friend and claps his hand on Nole's shoulder. "Shall we have another round, friend Nole? To help two rusty elves train their eyes and stead their hands?"

Aztryd in the Marketplace

Nodding, Nole steps aside and lets his king start the next round. Smiling, he waits to see how his king will perform. While the two pass their time in pleasant and peaceful sport, Aztryd has wandered down to the market, searching idly through the abandoned shops.  Most of the foods have spoiled, of course, but most of the other merchandise is only dusty.  She finds a shelf of clothing, sound, sturdy stuff.  Holding up a pair of breeches, she finds them nearly as tall as she is.  Aztryd turns disgustedly from that shelf, looking for children's sizes.  Finding these, she holds up a shirt.  Alas, elvish children are shaped even more like twigs than their elders.

With ease of centuries of practice, Olwe draws his bow and notches his arrow.  Bring the bow up, he pulls back, and sites the smaller target.  For moment, he pauses, then lets the arrow fly. Nole watches the arrow fly across the range. Studying carefully Olwe's stance, he tries hard to remember the correct posture for archery.

 Dometis flies high above the forest floor, scanning for any signs of life that could potentially provide decent support on his mission; however, rabbits and deer alone would not suffice. Grumbling to himself as he grows more frustrated, he continues his flight. There was something, though, on the wind. He perks up when he catches the scent.  It was only a small whiff, but it was something. He breathes in.  There, again, he was sure of it.  He could smell it.  Smoke. He turns to change his course to head for the origin of the odor.  His wings aching with exhaustion, his body wracked with pain, he banks sharply to the left and hurtles earthward, hoping to gain speed. He flies lower and faster than before, a determination burning in his eyes, despite the ache of his injured leg.  As he get closer to the smell, he realizes that the smoke is from a cookfire.  He is sure that there is something cooking there, on that fire. He flaps his wings, to gain yet more speed.

The Long Weary Flight of Injured Dometis

Breaking from the trees, Dometis is surprised to find water beneath him. He shakes off his astonishment and continues to fly low and hard. His eyes shoot wide open when he eyes what looks like Jagged hills on an island. Closer inspection reveal that they are, in fact, the spires of a castle. Then he spots a harbour. His limbs trembling, he cannot fly any further.  He decides to look for a spot to land his huge mass.

Apakenwe hauls the basket of laundry down to the beach to wash.  She wades out into the water, where the harbor breakwater has reduced the waves, caring little that her skirt is getting wet.  She pulls a tunic out of the basket, and swishes it perfunctorily through the water. Apakenwe wets a few more items, which seem to shed their dirt immediately on entering the water.  She holds up the dwarf's vest, and frowns at the stains ground into the leather.

At the archery range, the first arrow hits the target a glancing blow, but the second gave a solid blow, and the Lord of the Teleri gave a satisfied nod. The wind had picked up, which seemed odd, given how the morning began.  But Olwe was still adjusting to the passage of seasons in the mortal world and the storms which were a thing unknown in the Undying Lands. He turns to his friend and gestures for the younger elf to shoot again.

Nolë

Nole rises to shoot. He glances towards the harbour, as if checking on the swan ships. More so out of habit than conscientiously, he tends to look towards the dock as a mother checks her children. However, something else catches his eye. Something dark hovered above the waves, not very distant, but close enough for the Teleri merchant to realize it is not a seabird. "My lord, look!" He points towards the unknown object as a child points to a new discovery.

Olwe whirls about at Nole's command, following where he points, eyes scanning the skies.  He find the large object in the sky, eyes narrowed, and sucks in his breath. "What is that?" he asks, and squints.

Nole stares at it for a moment longer, then shakes his head. "I do not know, nor could guess."

Olwe quickly notches another arrow to his bow. He knows not what the large object in the sky may be, and in all likelihood a bow would prove a poor defense, but it is the only weapon ready to hand at the moment. He watches the object and waits.

Dometis angles his wings to give him lift. He is amazed at what he finds. A whole, fully functioning civilization on a island int he middle of the sea! The glow of a fire confirms the cooking fire. Getting closer he starts scanning for more landing spots but there are none available.

Unaware of anything but his own personal travails,  Estelin tries hard to prepare the noon meal, but he has a lot of trouble using the cooking fire. He remembers everything Nole taught him, but still has trouble remembering what all the utensils are used for. The pot on the fire is a mix of things he thought would be good, and he simply tossed them all into the pot at once: garlic, fish, chocolate, bread, and, of course, noodles.

From the vantage of the archery range, Olwe sees the dark spot coming closer and taking shape. He runs to the edge of the range and shouts back over his shoulder. "Nole!" His voice has a tightness to it , and his eyes widen as he begins to see what looks like wings. "Nole, is it heading for Alqualonde?"

Nole watches the trajectory of the object as it moves across the sky. "Yes, it seems to fly around as if searching for a place to land. I think it is a beast of some kind." He goes to stand with his king at the edge.

Apakenwe, too, catches sight of a dark shape in the sky..  The skies are full of sea birds, as usual, but this shape is moving differently.  She watches curiously, forgetting the laundry in her hands.

Olwe looks over at Nole, his face slowly draining of color. The "beast" was larger than any of their largest swanboats, and it was, indeed, heading straight for the Swanhaven. Nole looks at his king and notices his worry. He then turns back to the sky, waiting to see what will happen.

Flapping his great wings, his breath coming in harsh pants, he spies tiny figures on the land. Dometis ponders. Would these people welcome him, or greet him with hostility? Would they help him? Would they consider him an ally, or enemy? Would they help him back to help, or leave him to die? He knew not. For the moment, he was too tired, battered and beaten to care.

Closer the shape came, and from the harbor, seabirds and swans, sensing the approach, sprang up out of the water and took to the air; a flurry of feathers, as the birds squawk and rush to fly to safety. Apakenwe grabs at the basket, overturned by the panicked swans.  She scrambles to collect the floating clothes, hampered by the skirts clinging to her ankles.

Olwe stands on the hill, body taut, a bead of sweat forming on his upper lip as his eyes watch the creature's approach, a leaden, dead feeling in his stomach. Few things in Illuvatar's creation is such an imposing presence in the sky, to his knowledge. And as he waits, Olwe is reminded of the strangeness of this mortal world.  For, in truth, he has only begun to learn what creatures may now walk and fly  upon the earth.

"Blessed Illuvatar!" Cries out Olwe.  It is his worst fear...a dragon! Olwe remembers the dragon who landed in Alqualonde long ago, but his heart is still pounding painfully as he races down the hill, heedless, running headlong....to friend,  or to foe, he knows not.

Nole draws his bow. He would go down fighting. It did console him that he would perish with his king. "My lord, perhaps we can wound it when it makes it's next pass" he holds an arrow to the bow string. He follows his king down the hill.  But Olwe is beyond hearing his friend. The docks...the docks, his heart pounds at him, and images of broken Teleri bodies, blood splattered and lifeless rise up  like cold specters. Few they are, but he cannot see that again...not again.

Azdryd hears the screeching of the birds outside the shop -- shriller and louder than their normal cries.  She steps outside to see what is going on.  A dark shape passes overhead, toward the sea.  Estelin, who was stirring the contents of the pot on the cooking fire, hears some disturbance outside the kitchen window. He races to the opening and sees a dark shape flying about. "Blessed Iluvatar," he exclaims and quickly descends the hallways and stairways towards the palace entrance.

Dometis flies low across the market and angles himself,  past two ghostly white faces. He doesn't see any other option, but diving into the sea.  He shuts his eyes and prepares to drop into the sea. He knows it is going to hurt. The aches and pains and wounds protest as he tries to prepare himself, trying to let his massive frame remain relax.  He folds his wings mind a fog of pain and exhaustion and drops  from the sky, tumbling horn over tail. His vision blurs, and pain shoots throughout his entire being.

Running, his feet pounding against the pearl tile of the plaza a cold bead of sweat runs down the middle of the Teleri's lord's back. The air that  pushed at him in the wake of the dragon's passage was hot and smelled pungent.  His nostrils burned from the smell, and  there was a pounding of blood rushing to his head, mingling with the sounds of his footsteps and Nole's.  He pulls up short as he sees the dragon curl into a ball and drops into the ocean.  For a moment, he stands there, stunned by the sight. Nole wipes the hair from his eyes just in time to see the beast's bulk fall into the sea with a great splash. "Did I... just see a dragon fall into the sea?" He looks at his king worriedly.

Olwe turns his head aside to look at Nole's expression, to see if it is as incredulous as his own. "A dragon," he affirms. "Come," he commands as a battle ready calm descends. "We must see if we meet friend...or foe." Nodding, Nole follows his king's command and accompanies him to their fate. Taking in a deep breath, Olwe strides forward, bow at the ready.  In the distance the sea birds circle and cawl at each other, but the harbor has grown deathly silent.

 With the laundry under control, Apakenwe turns her attention back to the dark shape.  She can see something floating out in the water.  She begins to walk out toward it, but soon realized that the water is becoming deep, and would go over her head before she reached it.  She stands, up to her chin in the water, contemplating this dilemma.

 Dometis shakes his head underwater, trying to make sense of what he just did, the adrenalin still coursing though his body. He floats to the surface and inhales. Pure sweet air. He comes to the realization that he is in no place a dragon should ever be: the water. As he drifts, he tries to remember what he saw of the harbour from the air. Remembering a small beach to the right of the harbour, Dometis decides to swim towards it. He tries kicking his legs, but pain like he has never felt before seizes him and he sinks suddenly. He fears the worst, and uses his tail instead, like a snake through the water. Dometis slithers through the water toward land.

Olwe watches as the dragon makes for land. Without a backward glance, he turns, and runs, speeding to head the dragon off. " We cannot let it make shore without knowing its intent. "As he runs, he  knows the irony of his words. Two elves against a dragon. But still he runs, bow in hand. Nole follows his king to the spot where the dragon was going to come ashore. He remembers wishing for newcomers to arrive in Alqualonde, but this was a little larger than he hoped. He stands resolutely by his king, praying that the dragon was a friend, not a foe.

 Seeing the creature swim away, Apakenwe turns back to shallower waters.  Collecting her basket, she heads to shore, and follows the docks around to the other side of the harbor. Heaving and puffing, Dometis swims to the shore, able to stand now. He tries putting pressure on his broken leg, wincing before it ever touches the sea bed. He hobbles toward the shore on his 3 remaining legs. He smells elves and looks up, seeing a pair approach.

Dometis limps up to the shoreline and sets a paw down on dry land and looks at the elves. He takes deep breaths, trying to gather himself to take  more steps forward. He lowers his head, a sign that he means no harm. He steps forward raising out of the water. He collapses into the ground huffing and puffing.

Olwe skids to a stop, the spongy, water soaked ground squishing beneath his boot. Slowly he raises his elven bow, blue eyes taking aim at one of the dragon's eye. He may not can kill it but maim it, yes, he can do that while it was still in the water. He draws back the bowstring and holds it, arm steady, muscles protesting a little at the strain of holding a position like this for very long.  He can feel Nole beside him. Calmly, he calls out in the common speech known by so many creatures of this world, "HALT, Dragon, and declare thyself! Why seek thee Alqualonde?"

"My lord, it looks like it is wounded. But we must be wary as it may be feigning weakness. We must be ready to fight," Nole says worriedly, his bow ready to shoot.

Dometis winces and manages to mumble, "Please, elf, I mean no harm. I am here purely by accident. Please allow me to gather some strength so we may discuss this further. I have been flying for days on end."

Apakenwe sets down her basket and stares.  A dragon?  She has never seen on in person, but this could be nothing else. Out of a corner of his eye, he sees movement, the fabric of a skirt but refuses to take his eyes off the dragon. He watches as he steps forward and prepares to shoot, but the dragon collapses, so he lowers the bow. He nods at Nole's words. It does seem hurt and weak. However, but for one dragon, they have all been creatures spawn of the Dark Lord's hate. "I am Olwe, of Alqualonde, "He shouts to the dragon. "Give me thy name or perish where you lay."

"Olwe, I am known as Dometis in this tongue. I mean no harm to you or any of Alqualonde," He says with difficulty.

Apakenwe walks closer to the creature.  "Dragon?  Are you a dragon?"  The sunlight gleams off it's blue scales.

Turning his head to face the approaching elf, he answers, "Aye, I am a dragon," He moans.

Something in Dometis' wearied tone spoke truth. And since Apakenwe has walked closer to the collapsed Dragon, Olwe  dares not shoot the creature. He shoulders his bow and walks forward. motioning Nole to remain far back enough to fire off an arrow if needed. Nole nods and does his king demands. His guard remains up, but he is quite fascinated by their new visitor.

"Lord King," Apakenwe says. "I think Nole is right.  The dragon is wounded."

Dometis turns back to Olwe, watching him approach as well. He raises an eye ridge when he hears Olwe's proper title. "King Olwe, My  apologies, I had no way of knowing of your title," he manages to grumble out looking down and lowering his head further.

Olwe keeps his eyes fixed on the dragon, watches Dometris warily as he walks up to the dragon. Close up he can see the creature is in pain. "I think you are right, my lady, he is hurt."

Slowly Olwe kneels in the sand, reaches out, fingers outstretched to touch a dragon.

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