#FridayFlash - Spring Water

“Uh, Mark, you, uh...you need to come see the new water end cap.”

The manager in question didn't look up from his computer screen, letting Jesse fidget in the doorway for a moment. The young man was always too nervous, so Mark couldn't imagine whatever was happening on the floor was that important. “What's going on that you can't just fix it?”

Jesse sputtered and ducked in and out of the doorway; he would be a hysterical wreck later this afternoon, no matter what Mark did at this point. “You just need to come look.”

He saved his produce order and stood up, barely repressing a sigh. He even managed to keep sarcastic comments to himself, knowing it would trigger the young man further. Jesse was reliable enough normally, and a hard worker, right up until something set him off. There was no calming him down at that point, only letting him cycle and process.

Mark was glad his unit had had no high strung men like Jesse while in Afghanistan. “Let's go.”

Jesse started to fill him in while they headed through the warehouse to the floor, but his babbling was barely coherent. “So this lady went up to Dani and told her something was wrong with the water, and Dani thought she meant the pump wasn't working and just needed refilled, so she told her that she'd get someone to check on the machine and came and got me.” He tittered nervously; his pseudobulbar affect was stronger once triggered.

“I thought this was about the end cap,” Mark said in an attempt to keep the story brief.

“Turns out it was, but I didn't know that when I went up to the machine. I did what I was supposed to, and I looked it over, but everything was working. So I went to find out who'd had the problem, and the lady found me, and she was all bitchy when I told her the machine was working just fine. She said I needed to do something about the crazy lady by the spring water display and stop playing around with machines.”

Mark gritted his teeth, unable to keep the exasperation out of his voice. “So why didn't you just tell me there was a crazy lady that needed kicked out?”

“But...I...she's-” Jesse's lower lip quivered and his eyes went wider. He looked like a kicked puppy, and it only irked Mark further. “You just need to see her,” the young man whispered finally.

He turned from his subordinate and stomped toward the display in question, wishing he'd have brought one of the handsets with him. Would make calling 9-1-1 that much easier.

Mark heard the commotion before he saw it, and hurried forward, heart in his throat. A crowd had gathered, and they murmured at the woman shouting threats. He tried to push his way through, barely registering what it was she was saying.

“Keep your vulgar hands to yourselves! Your theft will go unpunished if you but move aside and let me return home with what is mine. Continue to gawk, and my wrath will be mighty.”

He made his way to the front of the crowd where he could finally see the crazy woman. “Ma'am, we're going to have to ask-” Mark's voice died in his throat at the sight of her.

She was clearly humanoid, having the standard arrangement of limbs and face, but there was no way she was human. Barely four and a half feet tall, long and willowy, a stiff breeze could have knocked her over, but she wielded her quarterstaff like a trained warrior twice her size. White hair cascaded in a waterfall from her topknot, highlighting the blue shade of her skin. Of which there was a lot; her armor consisted of moss and weeds that revealed as much as it protected.

“You there!” she said, pointing her staff at him menacingly. “You appear to command this gawping crew.” He nodded once, too stunned to do much else. “Return my blessed waters at once.”

“I-” He swallowed, shaking his head once to clear his shock. “I can't really do that. The vendors don't tell us where it-”

She stepped forward, thrusting her staff at his face. “Knave! Those are the incorrect words. Shall I show you what befalls those that cross me?”

Mark really didn't want to know what would happen. It would be better to cross corporate than this tiny naiad. “I'll go get the pallet jack.”

Xenomorph Infestation - Video Story

Long before Prometheus and Alien Covenant came out, I was reading the Dark Horse novels of the Aliens universe. My brother and I hashed out how or why the xenomorphs existed, and we decided they had to be genetic creations, and that they were released, somehow, to terrorize the galaxy.
This is one possible way it could have happened.

I do not own the xenomorphs, and they belong to all their proper copyright holders. I'm just borrowing them for a fanfiction, as it were.
Artwork: mine
Original story: http://ravencorinncarluk.blogspot.com/2012/04/fridayflash-xenomorph-infestation.html
Music: "Malicious" Kevin MacLeod (incompetech.com)
Licensed under Creative Commons: By Attribution 3.0 License
http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/3.0/

The Shalafae Archives - Hello

Wherein Morrigana meets Shalafae's sister. Note: most of what I have already written of these stories are in third person. Only recently did I feel comfortable enough to write from her perspective.

***

Morrigana meditated in the garden, letting her senses dance with the flows of energy. The roses hummed to themselves, surrounding the hybrid in contentment. She knew only peace when practicing outside.

Strange for a dragon to enjoy such verdant surroundings, she thought. Then again, only half a dragon. The other half may very well be elf or gathin or anything else that likes plants.

The young woman’s training had progressed to the point that Lord Shalafae let her practice unattended. Mornings were for debate, afternoons for meditations in the garden, evenings for dinner and lessons, nights for passion. The sun had only just begun its descent, giving her hours yet.

A new presence entered the half-dragon’s senses, and she bolted to her feet. Morri and Shalafae were the only two in the castle. Did her master already know about the intruder? Should I run?

During her hesitation, a tall blond woman entered the meditation circle. Morrigana stared, stunned by the other woman’s grace and beauty and presence.

“Hello, Morrigana.”

The hybrid reeled, slumping back to her cushion. Clearly this woman was known to Lord Shalafae. Her pointed ears and upturned blue eyes even gave them a similar look.

She smiled gently, and continued her approach. Tiny steps made the woman appear to glide. A breeze stirred through golden hair, wrapping strands of it around her white dress. “Many apologies for startling you.” She knelt on the grass an arm’s length away.

“Who are you?” The question was lame, blurted out, and Shalafae would have reprimanded her for speaking thoughtlessly. There were no thoughts in Morrigana’s head, only raw reaction.

“No wonder he kept us apart. You are simply too cute.”

“Are you his prisoner too? Are there others?” Morrigana leaned forward in eagerness.

“Prisoner? Hardly, sweetheart.” She offered her manicured hand, and the young woman took it. “My brother has been many things to me, but never my captor.”

Morri blinked slowly, mind blank as it refused to process the new information. “Brother?” Her voice was hardly even a whisper.

“Yes.” A simple nod, steel blue eyes glittering.

“Who are you?”

“I am Kyra Shalafae, and I decided it was time for us to meet.” She brought Morrigana’s hand to her lips, laying a kiss on the young woman’s knuckles.

Fear and confusion and panic rose in her heart, undoing all the calm of her meditation. Morrigana held stock still, awaiting some form of punishment or torture. Shalafae had been kinder, less prone to random violence, but years of captivity had taught her to expect pain.

A sister. He has a sister. Why now? What test is this?

Kyra scooted closer, keeping Morrigana’s hand. “My dear, you needn’t fear me. You’ll come to no harm at my hands.” She started stroking the young woman’s wrists.

Calm was slowly restored; Morrigana drew a deep breath, and her thoughts came back to center. “I am pleased to meet you.” The hybrid bowed her head, black hair spilling across her shoulders. “I beg pardon for my reaction. It was most unbecoming.”

The female Shalafae tucked a strand of Morrigana’s hair behind the girl’s ear. “You needn’t apologize. Considering how these last three years have gone, you behaved admirably.”

Mild resentment poked at the half-dragon’s heart. “You’ve been aware what he does to me?”

“Oh yes.” Kyra nodded. “I’ve helped my brother develop some of your training regimes, actually.”

She tried to jerk her hand away, but the blond used energy to enhance her strength. “Monsters,” Morri hissed.

“We’ve been called that and worse.” Kyra went back to stroking Morri’s wrist. “I hardly notice anymore.”

Tears formed in her silver eyes, and long suppressed emotions sought freedom. Morrigana felt freshly captured, raped and abandoned, lost and alone. “Why are you here?”

Gentle fingers wiped at the hybrid’s cheeks. “Because you have been alone too long. My brother is neglecting the fact that dragons need their clan.”

Morrigana swallowed back her sorrow, turning her face. “I have no clan. They gave me to Shalafae with no regard.”

“That doesn’t mean you don’t need companionship. Someone other than my brother to talk to, to practice with.”

Morrigana brought her gaze back to Kyra. “Why would you do this? I’m just your brother’s pet.” Bitter resignation filled her words.

Kyra’s eyes grew harder, focused and unfocused all at once. “You are more than just a pet, or a blood price, or a bed slave. You need to know that.” Power hummed around Kyra Shalafae.

The hybrid didn’t know what to think, how to respond. She did get terribly lonely, but accepted it as another of her master’s tortures. Just the two of them, leaving her completely dependent on the cruel man.

Lord Shalafae appeared in a puff of magic and aether. Morrigana scrambled to genuflect, recognizing the angry set of his jaw. The albino’s presence roiled in the area, promising punishment. “Explain,” was his terse command.

Kyra forestalled Morrigana’s rushed words with a hand on the girl’s back. “We are busy getting to know each other. I’ll have her up for dinner when we’re done.” The blond woman stroked Morri’s back. “You may leave us be now.”

The half-dragon tensed, waiting for Shalafae’s anger to boil over. There would be beatings, physical and energetical, and possibly blood. It would not go well.

Lord Shalafae left.

Morrigana sat up, jaw hanging loose. Kyra put an arm around the young woman’s shoulders. “Now, where were we?”

#FridayFlash - Training the Brood

This is a piece I submitted to an anthology with very limited space. Obviously, I didn't make the cut. But I think you all might enjoy the quick read.

***

Malbec crossed his arms, staring down into the training ground as goblin minions prepared for his assessment. A village of flat wooden houses were erected, stuffed farm animals placed in reed pens, and mannequin soldiers placed in patrols around the perimeter. “Is all this necessary? Can't you simply explain the problem?” the dark lord asked, glancing at the master-of-dragons beside him.

Tural shrugged, keeping his head down. “Well, if I went and told you that the fledges aren't performing like they should, that they were too dumb to be trained, you'd ask me to prove it to you before you'd go get me some new breeding stock, and I'd basically have to set this all up to show you that they're too dumb to train, so why not save us all a bunch of time and have you just come right down here to see why you need to invest in new breeding stock if you want to keep using dragons to terrorize the villages.”

Malbec sighed, exhausted by the hobgoblin's run-on sentence, and crossed his arms over his chest. Despite the absurdly long explanation, there was a certain logic to what Tural said. “Begin your demonstration.”

The hobgoblin leaned over the balcony, barking orders. “Workers, clear the field. Girls, take your positions.” She-goblins in white dresses swapped places with the males in rough overalls, taking up spots around the fake village. “Send in the first dragon.”

A heavy iron gate rattled open at the far end of the training ground, but nothing came through. Malbec waited for many long seconds, but no dragon emerged. He let forth an exasperated sigh, staring holes into the back of Tural's head. Just what had been happening down in his dragon pens?

The fledgling dragon finally entered the training arena, prodded by a team of goblins behind tower shields. Squat and pudgy, the young dragon looked neither lethal nor powerful, nor like its wings could bear it into the sky. Pastel in color with rounded horns, it looked like a child's crayon rendering.

It casually waddled into the village, tongue lolling from the side of its stubby muzzle, where it began nosing at the faux buildings. One display fell over, then another, and the dragon made a game of tipping them over.

The she-goblins scattered, running wildly through the set, catching the dragon's attention. It trumpeted, a sound more gleeful than frightening, and began pouncing at the pretend victims.

It chased one, then another, ineffectually grabbing at the she-goblins with blunt claws, knocking more buildings over, raising clouds of dust with each so-called attack.

Malbec narrowed his eyes in anticipation when the dragon finally caught a virgin; the instinct for violence would surely rise to the surface, and it would eat the she-goblin. Tural had certainly exaggerated the situation.

The dragon licked the she-goblin's face with a sloppy tongue, wagging its tail.

Malbec turned away, jaw clenched with suppressed rage. “They are too dumb to train. You will have new breeding stock in the morning.”

The Shalafae Archives - Tribute

Wherein Morrigana meets the Lord Shalafae. Betrayal and heartache, and imminent rape.

***

I strode down the hall on Uncle Calsean's arm, hiding my trepidation as best I could. Mother always says to show no weakness amongst lesser races, and that all races are beneath the dragons. I drew my shoulders back, as regal as I could be in the restrictive human form and awkward suede dress. Fourteen was not too young to be proud and strong.

Calsean had said very little since waking me in the pre-dawn on Aldebaran, just what to wear and how to look, then he'd teleported us to this dark world. I couldn't tell where we were, other than the same dimension as the clan home. There was plenty of magic, but not the kind I was familiar with.

A shiver ran up my spine as the whistle of wind increased. I'd heard it since we arrived at this massive castle, though I'd seen no evidence that it was real. Soft and melancholy, it chilled me to the core. A more violent shiver passed through my entire body; Uncle Calsean patted my hand reassuringly.

When I met his gaze, it was anything but reassuring.

I wanted to ask him why we were here, but my tongue seemed three times too big for my mouth. We'd been walking for several minutes without seeing anyone else, nor had we reached the end of this enormous hall. Two dragon warriors could have flown wingtip-to-tip without touching the walls, and the ceiling was consumed in shadows. Everything was made of black marble, the red veins seeming to throb beneath the mirror polish. Our bootheels clicked with each step, the bare walls offering only crisp echoes.

The wind rose in a shriek as magic tingled sharply across my skin. I gasped at the sensation and halted; Calsean was forced to stop with me. We'd apparently walked through a web of illusion, the breaking of which had put my hairs on end, nibbling on every nerve.

But we'd found the end of the hall.

A massive chandelier cast silvery light upon a dais and black throne. A painting took up the entire back wall; a man and woman stood back-to-back amidst a field of the slain. Every race was represented, depicted in various states of pain and slaughter. I was impressed by the level of detail, and wanted to study it for every hidden gem.

But the throne intrigued me more. It hummed in my mind like obsidian, and it definitely looked like it had been sung into being, not carved. A great robed figure made up the back, it's robe open to let skulls spill out to form the seat and arms.

I wanted to know who could sit such a throne; the left arm was shaped like a dragon skull.

“She's more beautiful than you told me,” a voice said from behind us. My heart leapt to my throat, and I tried not to spin too quickly and reveal my fear. When I saw the speaker, there felt like I could hide very little from him.

He was albino, though his irises were blue not red. Uplifted eyes like an elf marked his race, though their shape and the sweep of his ears were from an obscure clan. Long hair was braided away from his face in an elaborate design, and a simple silver band encircled his head. Silk robes were highly embroidered, and they highlighted is trim, tall body. We both wore heeled boots, and were of a height, though I was of a heavier build.

It was his eyes I couldn't look away from. They haunted me, as if from a dream. Or a nightmare. They pierced to the very root of my soul, exposing every dark secret, every weakness, leaving me vulnerable and naked to his stare.

Mother's remembered voice echoed through my head. “Never be less than proud. No one is better than you, despite your mixed blood.” I was only half, but that still meant I was dragon, that I was better than this unknown elf lord. I would not be treated like some peasant girl.

“Who are you to address us with such familiarity?” I drew my shoulders back and lifted my chin; the posture of a dragon looking down they're snout at an upstart challenger.

My uncle stiffened beside me, and it took every ounce of willpower not to look at him. Why would he fear this man? “I'm sorry, my lord. She's young, and-”

The stranger cut him off with a small gesture, smiling at me. Smirking, rather, eyes narrowed and boring into my skull. “You should be sorry. I expected that you would have explained to her why she was here.”

Ice stole into my veins. Was this another suitor, chosen by Leyisha's schemes? My chin dropped a notch, my shoulders not riding as high. Dragon arrogance and clan pride kept me from taking a draconic mate; why hadn't it stopped her from conceiving me?

The albino elf bowed suddenly, deeply, with right hand over his heart. hair cascading forward over his shoulders. “Greetings, Morrigana, princess of the Takishidar Clan. I,Ulrin Shalafae, Lord of Lost Souls, Master of the Dreaming Throne, Last Emperor of the Sidhehan Empire, titles ad naseum, am honored to make your acquaintance.” He glanced up through his lashes, giving me a serpent's smile. “May I tell you that you are more beautiful than I have ever been told?”

I couldn't suppress the shiver that ran up the length of my spine. Uncle Calsean patted my hand, but I felt utterly alone as I watched the elf lord straighten and step closer. What was going on here? Mother wanted to use me as a pawn to strengthen the clan through outside means; this man seemed to have titles galore, but did he have the power that went with them?

Lord Shalafae reached into a pocket of his robes and withdrew a silver necklace. “To commemorate our meeting, may I offer the lady a gift?”

Calsean squeezed my hand, pulling me back half a step. “My lord.” His voice held a slight growl, with less deference than anything he'd said so far.

Part of me wanted to look at my uncle, get a better reading of what upset him so deeply, but I couldn't take my eyes off the ruby hanging from the necklace. It sparked and flashed with inner fire, the deep color of thick blood, perfectly smooth and shaped like a tear. I'd never seen anything quite like it, had never felt one so powerful.

“It's just a necklace,” the albino said softly, setting the ruby to swinging. “Just a beautiful gift for a beautiful young lady. If she wants it.”

His attempt at enticement worked. I wanted the gem, wanted to hold it and touch it and taste it. Dragons were well-known for their love of bright and shiny objects, and my hybrid nature did nothing to quell that desire. “I'll take it,” I said softly, reaching for the necklace.

Lord Shalafae gave a small sound of triumph, then gestured with his free hand. “Turn around. Lift your hair.”

I followed his instructions, pulling my black hair into a mass atop my head. As the elf lord approached, I met my uncle's eyes. They were painfully sad, but his jaw was set in a fierce line. If he were so bothered by this man, why bring me here?

When our host stood directly behind me, I had a sudden inkling of what my uncle feared. Shalafae's aura wove though mine like a graveyard mist, passing through every defense I had built. My heart raced and breathing was difficult, but I didn't move away. Didn't want to move away.

He wrapped the necklace around my neck, fingertips brushing my skin; a small sigh escaped me, goosebumps racing up my arms. Shalafae clasped the chain, and it felt as though winter descended upon my soul. A frown creased my brows, and I started to step away.

Lord Shalafae wrapped his arms around me in a fierce grip, mouth falling to my throat. I cried out, eyes wide with terror, clawing at his wrists. I needed to be free, but I couldn't break his grip How was he this strong? Why wasn't Calsean helping me?

My attacker began to feed then, drawing on my ki in ways I didn't expect, that I was too young to know. He bit down, his teeth tearing at tender skin, painful, causing me to attempt to pull away. There was no escape though.

I tried to transform, to drop this cumbersome form, to take my natural shape. Lash out with claws and teeth, then fly away.

But I couldn't. The magic wouldn't respond. Bones didn't shift, flesh didn't stretch, wings remained dormant. I hung helpless in his arms, being slowly drained, my knees buckling. “Uncle,” I whimpered, aching with the need for freedom.

Lord Shalafae broke his bite with a groan, his arms shifting around my torso, holding me upright. “Oh, surprise of surprises,” he whispered, lips brushing my ear. Tears ran down my face, and I cringed away from the kiss he planted on my cheek. “She's more innocent than I expected. Tell your rheksha her tribute is acceptable.”

What could he possibly mean by tribute? I stared at my uncle, imploring him to contradict the evil man holding me. He wouldn't meet my gaze, keeping his eyes lowered; he nodded and walked past us.

“No!” I shrieked with all the strength of my young voice. Fresh tears ran in hot trails from my eyes, and I struggled and kicked, praying at Shalafae's restraining hands. “Don't leave me. Uncle!” I barely heard his retreating footsteps over my sobs.

The lord lowered his mouth to my neck again. “Now the real fun begins.”

#FridayFlash - Missy's Guide to Practical Necromancy

All right, Readers, it's time for another one of those nitty-gritty subjects no one likes to talk about, yet all of us have to deal with; cleaning up after your zombie house pet.

For those of us who've raised passed familiars as companions (four black cats and a crow, myself), we know the challenge doesn't end with giving them their unlife.

Dealing with bloodstains and flesh gobbets are just one of those challenges. Mere minions can be left in a corner, where they won't get unsightly stains on the furniture. If they've made too big a mess rampaging through the local village, you can leave them outside until either the next rain washes them away or they rot away.

But your companion means something, is more than a mindless automaton. You put too much time and too many components into raising one, so they deserve better than the dank dungeon. It's certainly not their fault if they slough a little skin every time they jump into your coffin.

Let me tell you how I deal with it.

1 Living Slave If you haven't already read Barlowe's article “You CAN Afford A Slave”, I suggest you do so and learn the top ten ways a mortal in the house can really improve your focus on the dark arts. Number two is house cleaning, and that includes after your beloved. Let them find stray toes while you curl up with your latest grimoire and pet.

2 Leather Upholstery & Wooden Furniture Many of us remember our early decors, all black velvet and lace. If you haven't already made the switch, then follow in my footsteps; wood and leather. Not only will you no longer look like a broody teen (there's an intimidating elegance to ebony wing-back chairs), but they are so much easier to clean and maintain. Ichor wipes right off, leaving no stains behind.

3 Mummification There are two schools of thought on when to raise your familiars as the undead; right away or after a drying-out process. Barlowe recommends as fresh a body as possible for the sturdiest minions, and I mostly agree. Your companion will certainly look more life-like, and might even fool the unobservant. But I've always found more flesh leads to more problems; putrescence, sloughing, alopecia. Which is why I recommend showing a little patience and mummifying them. (To whatever degree you're comfortable with. If you don't want to remove their insides, dry them longer.) I've had great success with Belladonna's Desiccation For Beginners.

4 Acceptance If any pet owner, living or unliving, familiar or mundane, tells you they're able to keep pet messes 100% under control, they probably have a pet rock and don't have any real experience with animals. I've made a lot of attempts to get my lair spotless, but the instant I turn my back, a stray hair or maggot reappears. The constant vigilance it would require to clean up every stain, smudge, leftover prey, or glop just isn't healthy. For you or your pet! So I simply do what I can and accept the little negatives for the greater positives.

That's pretty much all there is to it. Four simple ways I handle my undead fur babies. No magic spells or herbs (after the raising), no tricks or hidden techniques, nothing the lich one parish over knows that you do not. As Grammama always said, “If the answer seems too easy, you thought too hard on the problem.”

May all your graves be fresh,

Missy

Don't forget: Next week is HemlocKon where I'm running a Nightshade seminar. For those of you who can't meet me there, I've got a surprise guest post all lined up, and I'll flood the Facebook group with all the great pics.

Until the next moonrise!

The Shalafae Archives - Woo Her

My Shalafae stories are dark, twisted, and incestuous. It has always made sense for these characters to be written this way, and they're really the only truly taboo characters I have. While not graphic, this story does touch on the relationship of Ulrin and his daughter; I suggest not reading if that bothers you.

Again, incest ahead.

#FridayFlash - Furry Faerie Friends

Turns out, corgis are from the faerie realms.

It really shouldn't have been a surprise to me. Or any mage with even an inkling of awareness. It's not like there weren't somewhat magical creatures currently living on the physical plane, but we all thought they had been cataloged already.

Most of us know corvids are from higher realms, as are cats, of course. Raccoons, dolphins, and parrots are telepathic to varying degrees. Roses and orchids aren't from the base Earth realm, though the exact origins are lost. The list went on, unchanged for time immemorial.

But no one knew about corgis.

In hindsight, someone should have seen the signs. Corgis were more than just smart; they were extraordinarily clever and crazy intuitive, bordering on psychic. They brought happiness and joy to everyone they met, and always had a smile on their face. Corgis were impossible to keep down, and I'd never met a traumatized one.

Someone also should have noticed that there was no breeding the corginess out of them. German shepherd and a corgi? Shepherd-colored corgi. Pomeranian and a corgi? Pomeranian-coated corgi. Kingsnake and a corgi? Well, maybe nothing that drastic, but we don't know for sure that it wouldn't be a scaled corgi.

I do know that when the worlds shifted to a closer alignment and the doors of Alfhame opened to reveal Prince Niall and his honor guard of armored corgis, my mind was figuratively blown, and not just by the smoking hot elven prince. While I'd stared in shock with my jaw hanging open, Auggie, my current corgi, had just stared at me with an oh-so-smug smile.

I wanted to kick myself for not having noticed the glaringly obvious signs. I'd only run a haven for lost faeries for the last decade, boarded the feline familiars of my friends, and had kept corgis all my life. Never once had I thought I had anything but normal dogs, even when my faerie friends fawned on them or my corgis unerringly understood what I was saying. It hadn't even seemed strange when Auggie had brought me what turned out to be my strongest divining rod.

How many other magical creatures were living right under our noses, waiting to be acknowledged?

The Shalafae Archives - Forging

In which we learn how Morrigana's soul-eating swords were created.

The Lord Shalafae stared at his three guests, measuring them, tasting their nervousness on the heated air of the forge. They remained quiet, only the father of the group daring to meet his crimson eyes. "To what do I owe this pleasure?" the albino Sidhehan asked.

The father, a dragon warrior who would have been a whelp during their race's emancipation, spread his shoulders, not wearing the elven shape well. Shalafae smirked to himself as he realized the warrior kept trying to shift his wings, and waited for the dragon Arleshtyn to speak. "We've come to pledge ourselves to the Princess Morrigana."

Allowing himself the faintest gleaming of pleasure, Shalafae leaned against the work table behind him. Dragons are loyal to a fault, he thought, brushing a loose strand of hair from his cheek. "Her mother is still rheksha, if I am not mistaken."

"Leyisha is," the warrior confirmed, his older son, Maurith, shifting in the heat.

"Then why not pledge yourself to her? Having given up her daughter, I'm sure she'll need support." The albino winced internally at memories of his dragon concubine. She had served her purpose, but had left flaws in his girl that he was finding difficult to erase. Shalafae had no concerns for Leyisha's difficulties in leading her clan, and less concern for the woman herself.

"But Morrigana is the one," blurted the youngest, his brilliant eyes flashing. He was pale-skinned with dark hair, like all the Takishidar when they shifted to elven form, his forearms criss-crossed with scars. Shalafae was surprised by the fierceness in the young dragon, and felt the stirrings of destiny around the warrior.

"Rhaeyhaes, silence!" barked the father. The Sidhehan lord turned to face Arleshtyn, raising an eyebrow. "Your pardons, my lord. My sons and I have always been gifted with visions. We know that Princess Morrigana needs our strength, not her mother."

"What of her father?" Shalafae ached softly.

The warrior smiled. "Her father has her, does he not?" There was a suggestive tone to the dragon's voice that let Shalafae know Arleshtyn was privy to many visions. Including decisions that hadn't been confirmed yet.

"That he does," Shalafae said softly, thinking of her liquid silver eyes, thinking of the fierceness of her skills as she learned to fight. Shalafae couldn't see her failing his final tests.

Hence his presence in the forge, working black steel with Chaos spells.

"How is it that you three would pledge yourselves to her?" Shalafae asked, rising to pace to the raw blade resting in an acid bath. The metal that would be the crossguards and hilts awaited work, tossed carelessly onto the shelf above the bath.

"We will give her everything," Maurith responded. Shalafae glanced over his shoulder as the dragon stepped forward, shoulders stiff as if he could flare wings not present in this form. "Princess Morrigana will need our strength, and we shall give it freely."

"Everything?"

Three heads nodded. "Everything that is ours shall be hers."

"And you're certain she's worth it?" Shalafae stroked the edge of the acid bath, measuring the three again, making plans. He'd known his daughter would have guardians amongst her clan, warriors who would stay with her despite the tasks she would be set to, yet he'd never expected they would present themselves to him.

The father puffed with pride, his aura flaring in the sweltering forge. "We are certain. She will be everything that is Takishidar. Her name will sing through the universe forever."

Shalafae paused, letting his fingers caress the surface of the acid. His flesh tingled where the powerful liquid began dissolving the first layer of skin, but the pain only sharpened his senses. All signs had pointed to this daughter being the one he was looking for, the tool he would need to reshape the universe, but he'd thus far held back from naming her his sword. He wanted her to pass his tests before he let himself make plans pinned on her wings.

But this family, from her own clan, were already sure of her status. None of his other experiments had been vouchsafed by prescient strangers, or caused him to start forging swords. He'd never acted with this much surety, or seen so many signs. Smiling slowly, the Sidhehan had to allow himself to believe in Morrigana's destiny.

"To be her guardians will take your lives," he told them, turning to face the three dragons. "Your deaths will be painful, and your guardianship thankless. She will never know of your dedication, or your sacrifices." Shalafae locked eyes with each of them in turn.

He waited, letting the pause grow, letting them contemplate what he would take from them.

Rhaeyhaes spoke first, his youthful passion coloring his words. "Anything for Princess Morrigana. If she never knows we protect her, she'll be that much stronger. There is nothing you can do to turn us away from her. We are hers to command." The young dragon's eyes sparked with passion, his cheek flushed. Shalafae felt power radiate from the youth, strength and magic filling the air.

Crimson eyes turned to the other two. "Does he speak for you all?"

"He does. Dying for the princess is an easy service. Do your worst."

The Sidhehan smiled. "I'm pleased to hear such pride and conviction. You are worthy of my daughter." The trio relaxed, though they still bristled with determination.

"How may we give ourselves to her?" Maurith asked.

"By finishing her swords with me."

***

The dragons worked passionately with the former emperor, proving themselves capable assistants. Rhaeyhaes was highly dexterous, and he spent most of his time crafting the crossguards, working the black steel as if he'd been born to it. Arleshtyn was accomplished with Chaos magic, and helped fold layer after layer of power into the length of the blades. Dragon fire burned hot, keeping the forge stoked to near near impossible heats.

In a matter of weeks, rather than months, the black steel swords were ready. Shalafae stood with the three Takishidars, proud of the work they'd done. The swords were clearly a pair, but not twins. Both had four feet of razor sharp blade, including sharp-edged blood channels. Both ate the light as only Chaos-infused metal could, making the viewer's eye ache.

The similarities ended there. The blade on the left had been fitted with a soaring dragon for the crossguard, the edge of the wings sharpened to a thin blade. Onyx gems glittered from the eyes, the mouth open in a gout of flame that licked along the blade. The tail wound around the hilt, the spiked tip circling the pommel.

The other sword was surmounted by a coiled and looping dragon. The mouth snarled around a point of steel at the pommel, eyes glittering with obsidian. The wings arched to one side for the crossguard, the tail looping to a razor point on the other side. Rhaeyhaes had detailed the hilt with inlaid bits of leather, creating the supple look of scales.

"They are impressive," Shalafae told his assistants. "I am certain she will love them."

"They lack life, though," the father told him.

Wisps of white hair danced in the heat of the forge as Shalafae turned his head. "What do you mean by that?"

The dragon turned, his shoulders spread wide. "I know of you, Lord Shalafae. You are infamous, and I know you relish it. I know of your swords, and I know how they devour souls to power you." He stepped to the swords, caressing the one on the right, tracing the loops and coils of the crossguard. "I felt the spells you laid in this metal. You intend for the princess's blades to be like yours." Shalafae met Arleshtyn's eyes blankly. "But they must be given life in order to feed."

Shalafae joined him by the sword. "I'm glad my daughter will have such an intelligent guardian."

The dragon's eyes glittered, and he readied himself for his next task. "Faithful for eternity."

The albino lord lifted the blade, proud of how light they'd made it, keeping the dragon's gaze with his own. The father nodded once, then Shalafae plunged the sword deep into the dragon's heart. Arleshtyn stiffened with pain, his eyes wide and teeth gritted, but he made no sound. Shalafae clasped his shoulder, holding the dragon as he drove the sword to the hilt, scalding hot dragon blood pouring from the wound. He could taste the dragon's life as it pulsed and flared, attempting the fight the spells woven through every molecule of the sword.

Then Arleshtyn's eyes closed in resignation. He stopped fighting, and sagged against the sword. Shalafae heard the dragons keening mentally, felt all their auras pulse with death. The sword drew on Arleshtyn's soul, welcoming it into the metal matrix, giving him a new home. The dragon father groaned painfully, his hands beginning to shake, blood staining his lips.

Still Shalafae held him, the hilt growing warm as the first sword slowly gained life. Arleshtyn collapsed to his knees, his mouth falling open, the last of his lifeforce feeding Morrigana's sword. The albino lord briefly wondered if a similar scene had played out during the forging of his own swords, then removed the blade.

Dead and already cold, the father slumped in a heap to the floor. The sword pulsed in Shalafae's hand, and he could hear the faintest whisper from Arleshtyn as he settled into his new role. The lord reverentially set the soul-blade aside.

Maurith stepped forward, not glancing at his fallen sire. "Faithful for eternity," he said in a hushed voice. He wasn't as stoic as Arleshtyn, and Shalafae could see him shake with fear. The dragon gritted his teeth as Shalafae lifted the inert sword, and closed his eyes. Shalafae didn't blame the boy; after all, he'd seen what happened to his father, and what was about to happen to him.

Shalafae sheathed the sword in his heart in a swift movement. The dragon youth gasped, stiffening, his eyes flying open in surprise. Blood immediately rose to his lips, and Maurith shuddered as his heart thundered around the hungry steel. His hands rose to the hilt, and Shalafae waited for Maurith to try and pull the sword back out.

Instead, the dragon pulled the blade deeper, the razor edges of the crossguard cutting into his pale flesh. He keened low in his throat, the vibrations rattling through the sword to Shalafae's hand. Maurith's pain vibrated in the room, causing the Sidhehan's skin to race with goosebumps. Maurith's lifeforce jumped to into the ensorcelled sword, filling it swiftly, giving all of himself to Morrigana's weapon.

Maurith expired with a sigh, falling back, his eyes closing as Shalafae pulled free the black sword. A glorious trumpet resounded inside his head, and the lord felt confident in the choices for the souls of his daughter's swords. Imagining the look on her face when presented with the magnificent living blades, he set the second sword beside its mate.

"What of me, dread lord?" Rhaeyhaes asked softly. The youngest dragon didn't look at the corpses of his family, staring intently at Shalafae. The ancient lord could feel the dragon's heart keening, and tasted sorrow despite Rhaeyhaes's best efforts. "How shall I serve?"

"Go back to the clan hold. Wait there. Grow strong. One day, Morrigana will need support, and you must be alive to do so."

Rhaeyhaes's nostrils flared as he nodded. Dying for the princess had been easy. Shalafae hoped the boy had the strength to live for her.