Fanfic-Skiad

Skiad
This short story is some of my own Fanfic, written after playing Saga for three days solid, beating it. The ink and colored pencil sketch I mentioned is three times the size of my scanner bed, which is a teensy problem; hence, I have posted my other sketch of Skiad, the title dragon, here instead This is basically Skaid 2.0; it's been edited some for clarity and wording.

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     During the fall of the Ancient Age, dragons ruled the skies. Some realized that Sestren would bring the downfall of human civilization, and resisted. Sestren's creators responded by activating Guardians-dragons whose sole purpose was to prevent the destruction of the Towers Sestren used to carry out its mission. Almost all of the Guardians were linked to a specific Tower, but some, like the warrior dragon Atolm, were sent off, separate from the Towers. When human civilization collapsed and Sestren was cut off, these errant dragons were put into slumber for thousands of years, until Sestren could return-or someone else dug them up...
     Skiad awoke to drowsy confusion. He had a duty, a mission. Sestren had given him a purpose. What was his purpose? To serve...to serve..who? The ancient Spiritual dragon rattled plated, finned wings. Bright turquoise light fanned the area as eyes hidden under black armor opened. Humans surrounded him, skimming above the ocean far below. Skiad was on an ancient airship, but heavily salvaged, pieced together from many ruins. The gas-sail overhead had been dyed charcoal black, but it was not as dark as the cloudy night sky around. The ship was alone, with no attendant fleet or fighters.
     The crew wore every mutation on the Imperial Air Fleet uniform possible. The Black Fleet was the Empire's best, and they were allowed a little more leeway than normal pilots and crews. The water that passed beneath the ship was not the familiar inland sea just east of Zoah, but alien ocean, far south and east of any land known to the Empire. The clouds were spent-up storm clouds that hadn't released their grasp on the sky, even though the tempest was over. The airship was far from home. The ship had been assigned to receive repairs and new parts from a dig site in the scrub south and slightly west of Zoah. While they were there, something extraordinary was found in the site. They had found one of the ancient dragons, the keys to the Towers.
     The crew didn't realize that the storm wasn't the only reason they were lost. They had unwittingly dug right under a Seeker village; since the Empire shot Seekers on sight, they were understandably upset to have a Black Fleet airship hanging around. There was a short debate among the leaders, on whether to attack the airship directly or subtly ensure that it would not find them. The latter side won, quickly. Larec had slipped down from the village and snuck on board. The ship had been tethered, so the coming storm wouldn't tear them away. All the crew save a watchman had retired below decks to wait the storm out. Larec cut all the wires but one, and was preparing to return to the village and cut the final wire when a savage wind rocked the airship. The Seeker lost his footing, and was almost blown overboard. He barely caught a piece of rigging, and heard the last line snap below. He waited to crawl back onto the deck, until the watch had run below decks to alert the captain that they were loose.
     Larec realized exactly what this meant. Seekers didn't take chances; they had stopped searching for missing Seekers long ago, after the Empire started using dead Seekers as bait to draw the others searching for their missing companion. His village would wait for him to return for a few days, thinking he was circling around the remaining Imperial diggers; then, they'd set about finding a replacement. Until he walked into the village under his own power, they'd assume he was dead. He was trapped. Being trapped on any Imperial Airship would have been bad enough; being trapped on a ship of the Black Fleet was the worst fate possible for a Seeker.
     Of course, he couldn't just stand on deck and wait to be caught. Larec skidded across the rain-slick deck and slipped under a tarp covering some Ancient prize the Airship had found, in a slab of Ancient technology a little over half as tall as Larec was. Any idiot Seeker would have recognized the shape encased in the slab; the long neck and slim helm; the whip-like, finned tail; the armor that was as much a part of the creature as its skin. The Empire had found a dragon, an Ancient one, intact and asleep. At first, he was overjoyed. Skiad-ops-Endouw and his dragon, Lagi, were famous among the Seekers, hailed as heroes. Then Larec remembered that Lagi was the Heretic, the only dragon that did not serve Sestren. If the Empire woke this beast up carelessly, it would go about its ancient duties-hunting down the Heretic, destroying Seeker and Empire alike, leading the legions of monsters; if they woke it up carefully, then the Empire would have a fully grown dragon doing their bidding. All resistance would crumble, and the next time Lagi dared to poke his helmed nose past the Empire, it'd be lasered off by his ancient brother. Either way, things wouldn't be good.
     Larec leaned back against the slab and listened to the crew scramble below decks. The rain was hitting the tarp hard; the crew would batten down the hatches to wait out the storm. The slab was bolted to the deck along its lower edge, and the tarp was lashed down firmly, so Larec was in no real danger-at least, not until the crew came back on deck. He settled in for the long haul, and toyed with the strange wires hanging from the side of the slab. As the time wore on, he followed the wire all the way to the end of the slab some twenty feet away, where the control module for the dragon was. The Imperials had been working on the controls, and from the looks of it, they were succeeding in reprogramming the dragon. Larec considered the terror the Empire could cause with its airships, and pictured a dragon alongside them. It was a bleak picture for the Seekers. If only he had the tools to work on the control box, he might be able to change the Imperial programming...
     The ship's swaying had slowed down for a while. It still shook, but one just might be able to walk across it without being blown off-if they were lucky, and the wind didn't pick up again suddenly. Larec peeked out from under the tarp. He couldn't see the sky past the dark layer of clouds, but he could see the storage hatch for the engineers just five feet away. It would definitely have the equipment to work with the controls.
     He squeezed back out from under the tarp; the wind blew sharply again, sending the gunship on its side under its gas-lift. Larec barely caught one of the ropes holding the tarp before he fell. At least the wind was plastering him to the deck; of course, it didn't make the driving rain all that pleasant. He made the mistake of looking down, and caught a glimpse of the boiling ocean below before clinging on tighter to the rope.
The wind relented, allowing the ship to return to normal alignment. Larec scrambled up, barely keeping his footing in the rain. Even though it was no longer tossing the airship wildly, the wind was still strong, and it threated to work with the rain to blow him right off the deck. It occured to him that even if the fall didn't get him, some aquatic monster with more teeth than brains would.
     In order to get to the hatch without being blown off, he'd have to let go of the lash and jump for it. For a few minutes, he waited for the wind to die down, then realized that if he didn't go soon, the wind would just pick up again. Larec summoned his courage, swallowed hard, and leapt. If one was feeling charitable, they could say that he caught the hatch. However, it was a leap worthy of George of the Jungle. Larec slammed into the hatch hard, barely catching the edges with his fingernails. It took a few minutes for him to get up the courage to reach down for the latch. Just before the latch clicked, he noticed that the door was hinged at the top, and that he didn't want to be clinging to it like he was. He tried to push out of its way without getting blown off deck; he almost succeeded.
     It popped open. The bottom of the door caught him right across chin, and he grabbed the door out of pure reflex while everything around him seemed to explode in a bright white flash. He blacked out for a second, then recovered, one hand still clinging to the door. While no teeth had been knocked out, every last one had been loosened, and his entire head rang. Fortunately, the rain helped him regain his bearings on reality.
     He pulled into the compartment, which was short, but otherwise more than big enough for him. It took him a minute to find the tools he needed; then he slid back across the deck to the tarp and set to work on the dragon. He worked as long as the storm lasted; as it began to die, he realized that the Imperials would check on their prize. Larec quietly prayed that he had altered the Empire's programming enough as he slipped back into the compartment. He buried himself under tools and extra sail-material, then reached back and pulled the hatch with one hand; it swung shut and locked on him. Larec comforted himself that at least the hatch wouldn't pop open when he didn't expect it.
     After the storm settled completely, the Imperials did come back out on deck. They were still taking the tarp off to check on the dragon when one of the technicians noticed a soft, buzzing hum in the distance. Larec heard the captain and crew get very quiet- too quiet; all that could be heard was the clanking of the engines and that buzzing in the distance. His suspicion that something was wrong was confirmed when the captain, in a panicked tone, told one of the crew to hurry up and finish work on the dragon, before THEY arrived. Larec didn't want to know who or what "they" were. He scrunched up and prayed the material would hide him. The technician leaned right out over him, looking for the tools he had just been using. Larec saw the interface tool-the only way to keep track of what the dragon's internal systems were doing-sitting next to his hand, under the material. The airship was still swaying softly, although the fierce wind had died down to a gentle breeze. The technician reached for the material, seeing a corner of the interface peeking out. Larec nudged it out from under the material, hoping the technician would think the movement of the airship had pushed it out.
     The technician was more concerned with the Lazarias on the horizon, and hadn't even stopped to think about how easily the interface had come loose. The hatch shut again. Larec could hear the buzzing getting louder, fast; he could also hear the technician scrambling to activate the dragon before the monsters arrived. A string of laser fire scorched the gas-sail, leaving a trail of gray-black marks and lighting up the night sky. Larec didn't need to see the Lazarias to know what they looked like; Endouw had described them vividly enough. Four creatures, each as large as the gunship; with thick, short, conical bodies, slender rigid tails straight out behind them, and pointed projections off either side of their armor; glowing blue eyes glaring out of gaps in the plated armor. One of them, the leader, would have small filmy "wings" off the tail; these wings were the source of the buzzing sound. The leader also had a long, thin horn on the front of his carapace. The buzzing was behind the airship; they'd need to rotate the cannons to face that way, and even then, they'd be ineffective on the heavily armored faces of the monsters. Larec slipped out from under the material, trying to get a better idea of what was happening on deck.
     The technician returned to the hatch, surprising Larec, who realized that he was completely unarmed. Great, filmy wings fanned on the deck behind them as the dragon stirred. A crewmember who wasn't busy re-aiming the cannons pulled out a handgun and charged across the deck to the hatch. The dragon levered to its feet and spread its wings. The Imperial aimed at the trapped Seeker.
     Skiad had no purpose. The Empire had destroyed Sestren's original programming, the Seeker had wiped out the Imperial programming, and the technician erased the Seeker's instructions before being distracted by the Lazarias and a missing tool. Skiad was free and confused. It flapped silk wings roughly and shrieked. All of the Imperials turned to look at the dragon. The Lazarias fired again, rocking the ship. Several crewmembers slid across the deck, but the two on the unprotected storage-deck slid off-the technician and the crewman aiming at Larec.
     Sestren paused in its distant murmurs, sensing a new pattern-not a Heretic dragon, but not a dragon under its control, either. It transmitted silent warnings to the Lazaria swarm. They fired again, shredding the gas-sail of the gunship. Skiad took to the air, testing wings that hadn't been used in millenia. The gunship splashed into the water, bobbed a few times, and began to float on the surface. Larec ran across the deck and ducked into a door, to a lifeboat hatch.
     The Lazarias lined up on their new enemy. Skiad swooped straight over them, only to be blown back in front of them by an energy field generated by the leader. Larec coaxed the lifeboat-an unarmed, unarmored version of a Stinger fighter- out of the hatch and away from the gunship. Skiad reached for powers far beyond what any normal monster could call up. The Lazarias blasted again, piercing the dragon's jewelled wings in several places with laser fire. Skiad cried out, and the sky answered with branching lightning, destroying Lazarias and gunships alike. Larec glanced behind at the dragon, and headed northwest, back for home.
     The Lazarias fell into the water in pieces. Skiad flapped twice and soared off, over the ocean to the southeast. There was no land around for miles, and Skiad was still drowsy from his long sleep. It summoned ancient power again; the sky shattered, and Skiad darted through the black hole, to the colored safety of Sestren's realm.
Sestren reacted immediately. Skiad became aware of several shapes gliding through the ether, forming up into winged terrors. It knew of the anti-wings, defenders Sestren crafted of pure spirit to protect itself from the renegade Heretic dragon-the only dragon whose purpose was to destroy Sestren. Sestren would not tolerate Skiad's freedom, and it swiftly chose the most efficient response to this new threat.
     Skiad sped up. Sestren altered the astral void around it, trying to confuse the dragon. Skiad strained through its webbings. The anti-wings assumed dragon forms, and a swift creature ducked over Skiad, raking his back fin with laser fire. Skiad paused, letting loose his own laser blast which knocked the agility-class creature back as it dissipated. Double-strength lasers scorched its tail, as another anti-wing, this one altered for attack power, screeched up behind Skiad. Skiad rolled, willing the laser scars to heal over, then braked suddenly. The attack-class howled in confusion as it blasted over its huge adversary. Skiad pulled on his innate power again, turning the astral air around the enemy dragon into a whirl of formless razors. The shimmering dragon-spirit shredded into vanishing pieces. Skiad knew that the anti-wings would just reform if it didn't leave NOW. It pressed forward, pressuring its tired wings to carry it to the border of Sestren's domain, beyond which was the void between realities-a passage to an alternate universe, if Skiad picked the right place to exit. It was almost there when the sky ripped with lightning and plasma, knocking Skiad head over tail. A vast, finned and winged shape, shimmering metallic blue and violet, hovered as its attack hit home. The new anti-wing was a spiritual-class, a magic-user like Skiad. The anti-wing paused, summoning the energy for a final blast on the newly awakened dragon. Skiad reached further than he ever had, called, and heard the answer of a power no dragon of Sestren had ever called on...
     The ancient spirit pulled loose from Skiad. The anti-spiritual stopped in mid-spell. A shimmering dragon shape made of white-hot flame had emerged from its opponent, in the shape of the legendary Light Wing dragon, said to be the perfect dragon. The phoenix apparition's wings spread out into flaming whips. The anti-wing blasted it with lasers, which the spirit absorbed, unharmed. The astral landscape darkened to black, lit by the flares of the mythical spirit as it charged straight through the anti-wing, which shattered in shards of flame and color. The phoenix dragon dissipated as its opponent shattered, returning to its unknown hiding place.
Skiad turned away from the site of the battle, and used his own power to shatter the border of Sestren's realm one last time. The barrier between universes shattered; Skiad swooped through into an alien, clear blue sky as the Astral wall reassembled behind it. Skiad would choose his own fate, no matter what it may be.
     Many months latter, a ragged figure on a stolen Stinger crash-skidded into a southern Seeker village. The others had, as was their way, assumed he was dead. At first, they took Larec's tale as delirious rambling; granted, he didn't get that much out before he passed out. As he recovered, it became clear that he had been quite lucid when it happened. The Seekers took careful records, and have ever since watched for the feral shadow dragon to return. As years passed with no sign of Skiad, many theories came up. Some said that Sestren had destroyed it; others that it had abandoned its physical body for a spirit form. A few wondered if it hadn't literally passed beyond this world into another. Even those few can't say where it came out-or where Skiad went from there.