"The monster is in here." a low, gruff voice snarled. Followed by the shuffling of clumsy feet, the crackling of torch flames, and the sound of barking hounds.
"How can you be so sure?" another voice asked.
"I know it is here, the dogs followed its scent. They're never wrong."
More dogs barked, there must have been at least half dozen of them. Following the alluring scent further into the chasm of the mountain, a winding system of caverns that could split the mountain in two if the stone possessed the desire to do so.
The stone walls were pitch black with years of fungus continuously growing on it, and tainted water failing at washing it away. It was a rotting system. The ground was littered with pools of stagnant water, stalactites from the ceiling dripping with liquid onto the heads of those who passed. While the stalagmites threated to trip and pierce those who wandered carelessly.
The place looked uninhabited, it reeked of death and decay. It was a foul place, and the naïve mortals ventured too far. Moving forward could lead to their untimely death.
The hounds at their master's feet barked louder than before, beginning to pace back and forth nervously. The senses of animals were much keener than that of mortals.
"They're on to something!' shouted the original gruff voice. "It must be straight ahead, move forward!"
The group of people behind him cheered, "Today we kill ourselves a troll!"
They ran forward, their torches providing only a minimal amount of light. The dogs ran with them, continuously howling and flooding the caverns with deafening noise. It wasn't until the men reached a dead end that they stopped. Confused and puzzled, they looked around realizing that the caves ended at their feet. Blocked by a jagged wall that was the color of moss covered oak.
The men held their torches up to the wall, feeling more lost than before. "Where is the troll?" a man shouted with frustration.
They looked around, raising their torches towards the ceiling of the chasm as well as the ground. Perhaps there was an entrance to another tunnel within the one they were in, and that would lead them to the cattle slaughtering beast.
The dogs were still barking, however they sounded more panicked than before. Their hair was upright, ears pulled back and teeth bared. They were afraid of something and the men were too foolish to see it.
"Quiet those damn things up!"
The dogs didn't obey to the men's commands, instead the whites of their eyes appeared and they began whimpering and yelping. Seconds later they tucked their tails between their legs and abandoned their owners, fleeing to the entrance of the cave. Away from danger.
Watching the dogs flee in terror left the men weary, looking between one another and trying to silently determine what to do next. Push forward? Or go back? Then they heard a noise, one they were not completely familiar with.
"What was that?" one asked.
Another shrugged his shoulders, "The wind. Lets keep looking for that damned troll. I've lost enough livestock to that creature."
"I've never heard wind like that before."
"It's the caves, when there's wind in them it sounds like whistling."
"It, it sounds like something breathing."
Their frightened expressions continued to dart about, the cave were making sounds now that they were not expecting. The pebbles on the ground trembled, the stone sounded like it was cracking. A long-low sounding hiss, one that sounded like a viper warning a predator, echoed off the walls.
They all began to look around, then one shrieked like a woman. "The stone! It's moving!"
One of the men rolled his eyes, "It's probably just dwarven magic. They had tunnels all over the place." he walked up to the stone wall in question, the one that looked as if it were covered in moss.
He held the torch up towards it, running his hand over the wet stone. "It's warm." he said curiously. "I wonder if there is a hot spring near."
Looking over at his fellow men he was about to speak comforting words, possibly explain that a hot spring or hot air was trapped behind the stone and it was leaking. However they all stared at him as though they were petrified, their legs shaking like leaves in the fall wind.
"What is it?" he asked.
They pointed at the stone his hand was still touching, then screamed and bolted like the dogs had done minutes before. The man turned back around, looking at the spot his hand was resting, just in time for another bout of steam to blast him in his face.
He heard the same hissing sound, long, low and threatening. Once again the stone shifted, and this time he stared into a slanted emerald green eye, it blinked, the depth of the pupil constricting. It was fixated on him, tracing his every movement. Watching, waiting, and plotting.
Hollering and yelling obscenities, the stubborn oaf ran after the other men. "It's a dragon!"
The man was right. Their arrival had woken him from a deep slumber. Their dogs had given him a headache worse than the one he started the morning with. Their stench had stung his nostrils, and when they touched his hide his foul mood worsened.
Berodach turned around, his body fitting snug in the narrow cavern, jagged scales were pressed against all sides of the cave and moving was both slow and challenging. The men fled from the cave once they saw his glowing eye, however their arrival at the very least meant this place was no longer safe.
Berodach's entire body ached. It felt like his muscles were being torn apart from fatigue, his old bones throbbing from the creeping chill in the air. Then there were his wounds, gaping wounds with edges that were surely not due to close anytime soon without a proper healer tending to him. Those made his sore body feel like he would crumble into ash.
Ambushed by several other dragons earlier in the week, he had been severely wounded. On the receiving end of horrific attacks, he was covered in burns, as well as deep lacerations and punctures. His kin had every intention of claiming his life for a trophy, holding nothing back in their attempt to bring him down. He was lucky to have escaped, if one would call his survival lucky.
He had found these caves and hid like a coward within them. He knew exactly why it was the his kin sought vengeance against him, and one day he would have to face them. However, today was not the day he would give into his demons.
The cruelty of the Great War still haunted him. His actions that he made then would plague him throughout time, just like they had to his victims. So many perished, just because of his actions. So many blamed him, just because he was a fool filled with hate.
Taking the lives of other dragons had both cursed his mind and his body. He was abandoned by the Aesir once during the war, and now he was forsaken more than he was before: the majority of his kin wished him dead. While the remaining number of kinsman who didn't want him dead this instant wouldn't mind ensuring his wretched soul wandered the afterlife in agony.
He pushed himself through the winding tunnels, flinching and snarling at himself each time one of the protruding stalactites caught his torn flesh. His body needed treatment, he needed to be healed. But where could he go? Who would help a being like him?
An ancient dragon who had been in existence since the first dragons were brought into the realm of the Aesir, birthed from a scale plucked from the Prince among Dragons. He had grown large, healthy, but soon his corruption was exposed. Forced to leave his homeland to travel the lands of mortals, where not only did his kin continue to make attempts on his life, mankind did as well. He was hated by every living creature on earth.
Very few dragons could offer treatment for his wounds, let alone they would turn him away simply for who he was. He was truly alone, so who in the world would aid him. His kin were obviously out of the question. The gods were not an option, nor was man. How wretched of a creature he was.
He was in a difficult position, and pushing himself out of the cave into the daylight was just as hard. The sun stung his sensitive eyes, blinding him until his pupils adjusted. The men and dogs were rushing down the mountain side, disappearing into the tree line by the time he was able to spread his wings. He heard their faint whimpers as they moved further away, thankful that they did not create more commotion.
Silence was his safety for now. Causing any sort of noise could alert his many enemies, allowing them to find him once more. If they did find him, they would surely try to finish him off and in his current state he would not be able to fight back . He was not ready to die. Not yet.
Berodach launched himself into the sky, soaring into the eye of the rising sun. He continued to ponder: Who would help a wretch like him? Who? Her smiling face was the only one that came into his mind. Yes, she would help him, though it was at minimum, a two-day journey there. He had to fly across the whole continent for her help.
"Little slayer…" his deep voice rumbled. "-It is time to repay your debts to me. It is time to aid the one you once called… friend."