[STARFIRE] The Dragon's Kiss

Astaroth

[*screaming into the void intensifies*]
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It varies a lot depending on my schedule, unfortunately.
Writing Levels
  1. Advanced
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Preferred Character Gender
  1. Primarily Prefer Male
Genres
Psychological horror
Body horror
Supernatural
Giallo
Splatterpunk
Dark fantasy
Historical
Low fantasy
Magipunk
Weird West
Noir
Thriller
Gothic horror
Southern Gothic
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Medieval fantasy
Once upon a time, in a kingdom far, far away, there lived a wise and benevolent king. In his youth he wrested power away from his corrupt uncle and married a young and beautiful princess. Together, they brought the land to a new age of peace and prosperity and were much beloved by their people.

This is not their story.

Not far from the royal castle- a mere few days travel through the Darkly Enchanted Forest- stood the tower of a great and renowned wizard. He wandered far and wide, winning the hearts of fair maidens and honing his sorcerous arts, collecting knowledge long buried. Many travelers braved the journey to his tower in search of wisdom or instruction in the arcane.

This is not his story either.

This is the story of the successor to the throne, the young and reluctant King Roland; of Princess Amelina Carrowen, the long-lost daughter of the neighboring kingdom; and of the strange and remarkable circumstances which brought these two together. A long quest awaited these unlikely heroes, and our tale begins in the most unlikely of ways, with the unlikeliest of characters.

This is the story of a dragon's kiss.


The procession of princesses on Friday afternoon had been the last straw.

"Your Majesty," Wentworth had begun, for the fifty-fourth time that week, "you really ought to be thinking about these things. You won't be a young man much longer, and the future of the kingdom depends upon you providing an heir."

"Wentworth, I'm twenty-five," Roland had pointed out sharply, tugging the equally sharp point of his sword out from the practice dummy's chest. "I turned twenty-five last month."

The Castle Steward remained unfazed, stubbornly lifting his grizzled chin. "Precisely, Your Majesty. Why, when your father was twenty-five-"

"Yes, yes, I know. He'd already overthrown a tyrant, captured the heart of a princess, and made damn sure that I was on the way. And look what good it did him. He and mother both succumbed to Dragon Flu by the time I was ten. But as you are so fond of pointing out, Wentworth... I'm not my father."

The man went on as if Roland had never spoken. "I've arranged for several very suitable matches to grace us with their presence this afternoon. If Your Majesty would please, they will be arriving just in time for tea in the rose garden."

Roland turned to stare in abject horror at the man who had been his only true parental figure for the last fifteen years.

"Tea," he repeated, sheathing his sword. "In the rose garden. With princesses. Plural."

"You cannot expect to simply go gallivanting about the kingdom however you please for the rest of your life, Sire. You must begin to think of your duty and responsibility to the throne you sit upon."

That was quite a stretch of the truth, in Roland's opinion. When he thought of "gallivanting about", it did not conjure images of his occasional strolls around the estate or clandestine fencing practice behind the stables. The last time Roland had been more than a mile away from the castle, it was on a diplomatic visit to Barthoff. He'd been buried in paperwork and court "pleasantries" the entire time, and could scarcely breathe, let alone gallivant anywhere.

"Show me a princess that is more interesting than gallivanting, Wentworth," Roland announced, "and I might be inclined to give her a chance."

And that, really, was the crux of it, more so than simply not wanting to marry some twitter-patted, dimwitted, mincing princess. He certainly would rather marry a woman with a brain, if not for love. He didn't really know whether he wanted to get married to anyone. But most of all, Roland wanted an escape from the drudgery of court life and politics. He wanted adventure. He wanted to actually explore the kingdom that he was supposed to be ruling. He wanted to be something other than, well... a king.

He wanted to learn magic.

There was a tower that could be seen from the ramparts of his castle, and Roland knew- everyone knew- that this was where the great wizard Egon dwelt. Building a tower that could be seen for miles was sort of an odd thing to do when you wanted to discourage visitors, but Roland supposed that the trials of the Darkly Enchanted Forest helped keep unwanted questants at bay.

It was a shame that maps were utterly useless when the trees didn't stay in one place, as Roland himself was swift to discover later that afternoon.

"Hell and damn," he swore, squinting at the bleak-looking trees before him and then down at the useless map. According to this map (which was at least an enchanted map, but all it did was show where places wound up once they'd shifted 'round and did nothing to help him actually navigate), he was hopelessly lost.

At least it was also well into teatime, and therefore he was safe from princesses.

When Roland looked up again, it was to find himself standing just before the drawbridge of a tall tower. It was crumbling and ancient, with ivy growing up one side and scorch marks on the other. It looked desolate, abandoned. But in the Darkly Enchanted Forest, he knew, appearances were almost always deceiving...

"Well," he said. "That was just a bit too easy, wasn't it?"

Hand going to his sword's hilt, Roland slowly set foot upon the drawbridge and began to inch across.
 
The drawbridge creaked, and Amelina rushed to the window of her tower. Sure enough, it was a man. He wasn't decked out in armour, this time, so it was less likely he was one of the knights sent by her father to come RESCUE her or whatever else they thought they were doing. Damn fools never listened to her.

Hiking up her skirts defiantly, the princess marched the long way down the stairs to the entrance of the tower, shoving the heavy doors open. She couldn't take a single step outside the tower, but she was in full view of whoever was coming. "TURN AROUND AND GO HOME." She shouted, arms folded across her chest. "GO ON, SHOO. I'VE HAD ENOUGH OF YOU PEOPLE COMING TO BOTHER ME AND GETTING YOURSELVES KILLED. Hmph." She had left her crown somewhere in the castle, and her dress was elegant and a lovely, dark red, but somewhat smudged with soot. Her dark brown hair was sloppily arranged so that strands of it were falling in random places.
 
Roland did pause, briefly, because this was quite obviously not the Great Wizard Egon. There was more than one tower in the Darkly Enchanted Forest, and this one had seemed a bit short... He regarded the creature standing at the door thoughtfully.

Then he shrugged, because he was also rather sick of wandering in the woods by now. Something bad usually happened to those who retreated from such obvious adventures, sometimes even worse than what happened to the adventurers.

"I have no intention of getting myself killed," he called back. "And hopefully I shan't have to bother you long. I'm afraid I'm already turned around."
 
That gave her pause. "Ohhh. He's not a knight or Prince trying to rescue me." She addressed the right door conversationally. living alone for 13 years did something to your thought to mouth inhibitors. "That's new." She gave him a small squint, considering what to do. "I can't help you if you're lost." She told him warily. "I know the forest better than most, but you can probably tell it likes to move around. You can come in... if only because I really need to have lunch with a person every once in a while." Amelina turned around with a swish and headed back into the tower to kick her magical kitchen into gear. She left the doors wide open, but those would close with a bang as soon as he got inside.
 
A hot square meal sounded good to Roland. He probably ought to be suspicious--if she lived in the Darkly Enchanted Forest, she must be either an enchantress or enchanted herself--but luckily a lifetime of people trying to poison Roland had given him both common sense and a knack for spotting if anything was wrong with a dish. Whatever the woman served him was bound to be more appetizing than the journeyman's bread in his knapsack.

Now that Roland had crossed the rickety bridge and followed his hostess into the tower, he was close enough for her to study his appearance. He didn't look like a knight or a prince, that was for sure. He didn't look much like a king, either, unless you happened to have a gold roland in your pocket for reference--not that the coin would tell you that his eyes were green and his hair was sandy, or that his morning stubble had grown into serious scruff by this hour of day. The clothes he wore were well-stitched, but were the sort of clothing that Wentworth might faint over if he caught Roland in them: a rough linen shirt (now somewhat spattered with swamp matter and road dust), a plain leather jerkin and breeches, and practical boots.

He also towered over her. The top of her head did not quite reach his chin.

"I'd be happy to join you, milady," he told her courteously. His advisers might groan at seeing him treat a likely enchantress as if she were a court jewel, but his advisers damned well weren't here to see it, and Roland thought it wise to avoid offending someone who could likely turn you into a toad. "But perhaps we should trade introductions first."

Right. Introductions. That raised a question, didn't it? What was he going to tell her? She must not recognize him, he realized with a start; there had been a distinct lack of bowing and scraping, as tended to happen when he talked to people outside the castle walls. Roland wasn't inclined to invite either bowing or prying, and so he concluded that the best approach would be to simply avoid any mention of royal heritage.

"I'm... Roland," he offered, clearing his throat. "And you are?"
 
She eyed him for a second as he followed her in. He really didn't know, huh? "Amelina." She snapped back with exceptionally little formality. She paused to look out the window to a little courtyard where she kept her sundial. "Bit late for lunch, is it? He actually turned out to be useful, reminding me to eat."

Her little kitchen was a cozy one, comprised mainly of a simple hearth, a wash basin, and a magical pantry. A small, round wooden table was sitting not far from the hearth, with only three chairs. Unceremoniously, she kicked the door of her pantry with all of her might, resulting in a loud bang. "Tea. And some fresh bread and ingredients for some kind of stew. We have a guest AND NO IT'S NOT THE OLD MAN, so be good and don't give me anything strange. You know how much I love trying my failed dragon fire balms on you."

It didn't take long for her to set a pot boiling with something that smelled of meat. The tea had come somehow already prepared and she placed a cup in front of her guest with the hunk of bread as they waited for the stew to cook. "So if you're not here to rescue me like an idiot, who are you and what are you doing in the Darkly Enchanted Forest?" She stared straight at him with her wide blue eyes, apparently not the least bit daunted by his height.
 
Roland began to wonder just what he was getting himself into. His hostess talked to herself and the furniture, seemed overly concerned with an attempted rescue, and didn't recognize her own king. She was also rather sooty and disheveled. Had it not been for the clearly magical components of the small castle, he might have assumed she was simply mad. It could be very difficult to tell the difference with magic users, after all.

But a madwoman was still more of an adventure than he'd stumbled across so far, and royal beggars couldn't be choosers. Not that Roland was complaining in the slightest. This would cause Wentworth to have an entire basket of kittens were he to see Roland now, sitting in a tiny and rather cozy kitchen with a girl who looked like she'd brushed her hair with a chimney brush, which meant that it was bound to be a good damned time for Roland.

He took a sip of his tea. It was delicious.

"I was travelling to see the wizard Egon," he confessed carefully. "I was hoping he could give me some advice on where to study. I'm interested in the business of adventuring, and a little magic is all but necessary for that."

At least, that's what Roland had deduced from every adventure that he'd ever heard of or read about.
 
Amelina sat across from him at the small table and sipped her own tea. It was the only thing normal the pantry could seem to do decently. It certainly did all sorts of fancy dishes she didn't even know the names of when the old man Egon came by, and those were delicious enough, but ask it for a simple stew or some roast meat and it would add all sorts of extra and very unnecessary spices that did NOT go together. She wanted nothing more than to prop her elbows on the table and place her cheek on her fist, but she couldn't bring herself to do that while she had a guest. She kept her hands folded in her lap, back straight prim and proper, though her clothes and the messy hair and smudges on her face made her good breeding less than evident. She had been taught etiquette as a small child, and governesses had intermittently been sent to her until, on her sixteenth birthday, she had screamed at her father during one of his rare visits that she wasn't going to accept any more of that nonsense and he was going to get out of her house and stay out. That hadn't stopped him from trying to send more knights and princes after her, but the governesses had stopped. He'd been sending them since she turned 14, so back then he'd still had hope. Most of that had died by now, and good riddance, she said.

"You're looking for the old man, huh?" She asked idly, picking up her stubby little teacup again. "Looking for grand adventure isn't much different from looking for trouble, out here." She sighed. "Egon has come to visit me here since I was a little girl. Pretty much the only piece of decent company I ever have. He hasn't come lately, though." The dark haired woman looked up at the man who called himself Roland, and seemed to come to herself. "Oh, excuse me. All of this must feel rather strange to you, I suppose. I don't usually get simple lost travelers. Most either go on their way as soon as they realize I'm not who they're looking for, or they're here because they know who I am, so I guess I'm a little out of practice introducing myself properly." She stood up and gave an ironic, sweeping bow. "I am the Princess Amelina Carrowen of Barthoff, only child of their Majesties King Bartholomew Carrowen and Queen Levina Carrowen, imprisoned in this tower these past... twe- thirteen years, awaiting a hero so valiant as to rescue me from my tragic fate, that ne'er in my true form shall I leave this tower 'til I be freed by the power of True Love's Kiss." She tried not to sound a mixture of bored and irritated upon reciting this speech, but no doubt she failed magnificently, and she wasn't entirely sure she actually cared.

She sat back down. "Or. At least, that's how I'm supposed to introduce myself. Honestly, I don't want to be rescued. I can't step outside the tower, but the witch kept the library well-stocked with books to read, so I've been teaching myself a little magic, and the old man helps me when he has the time to pop by. No one seems to have any good defense against dragon fire, so I've mostly been working on a recipe and that keeps me busy." She was rambling. A lot. It happened whenever anyone at all came to visit. She just could not stop talking. "It's not so terrible here, after all. And when I start feeling a little stir-crazy, a knight comes and demands I let him kiss me, despite my protests that he's going to end up dead, and I manage to take a flight around the forest until the sun rises again."
 
Whilst Amelina rambled, Roland sat dumbly in his seat, his fingers curled a little tighter around his teacup than they'd been just a moment prior. Princess Amelina. Of all the things he'd expected to encounter out in the Darkly Enchanted Forest, a princess was not at the top of the list. It didn't escape him that after fleeing the prospect of tea with a princess, that was exactly where he now found himself.

Ironic indeed.

Good lord. She was the princess of Barthoff. He'd visited her parents only a few months ago. Roland had a vague recollection of being informed that they had a daughter, but that she was indisposed. Indisposed meaning cursed and locked away in a tower, it seemed.

He took the moment to study her warily. Amelina of Barthoff was not like any princess Roland had ever met, that was for sure. Maybe it was her unusual lifestyle away from the court that kept her from turning into a fluff-headed, simpering, delicate mess. Whatever it was, Roland decided that he could relax; she seemed about as interested in returning to the world of royal life as he was.

Still, he found himself strangely reluctant to admit to her his own title. The words lodged in his throat, making him shift uncomfortably in his chair. He was so flustered, in fact, that he didn't even think to stand and bow.

"A pleasure to meet you, Your Highness," he finally replied with only a trace of stiffness. "I'm from Niverfell, myself."

Niverfell was a prosperous kingdom, despite the fact that nearly half of it was overgrown with the Darkly Enchanted Forest and its offshoots. To be fair, much of its wealth came from the forest itself, as the oddities and artifacts within fetched a great price for those bold enough to retrieve them--and the forest hadn't always been Darkly Enchanted. It was only when the Wicked King Raymond had taken the throne that he'd cursed the land, twisting the forest's magic for his own purposes. Even Roland's parents and the Great Wizard Egon hadn't been able to reverse the spell's effects entirely.

Roland thought privately that if his parents hadn't associated magic so strongly with Wicked Uncle Raymond, perhaps they'd have had a better chance.

"If you know Egon, I don't suppose you'd have a way of contacting him?" The wizard was notoriously difficult to pin down. Roland might actually have a better shot staying here than venturing back out in search of the other tower.
 
Amelina scowled. "No I don't. He comes when he sees fit and leaves when he sees fit. The grumpy old womanizer. I haven't seen him in months, and I have no idea what he does when he doesn't come visit me. He used to tell me about some of his adventures, but now when he visits he mostly helps me with my dragon fire balms and other potions and spells, and I have no idea if his adventures actually happened or how long ago they occurred if they were real. Dragon's breath, it's been a while since anyone's called me 'Your Highness.'" Her nose crinkled up in disgust, but she supposed it was proper behavior.

The princess eyed Roland. She'd seen quite an interesting assortment of people looking for adventure in the Darkly Enchanted Forest, but couldn't actually seem to pin down what he was. He didn't seem to be a knight or prince, merchants were too practical for adventures, and his clothes were too nice for him to be a desperate peasant. He didn't act like a desperate peasant, either. He had seemed very uncomfortable to discover she was a princess, but was calm and courteous enough that it didn't seem like he was totally unfamiliar with them either. She shrugged openly, forgetting that the motion would seem very out of the blue for him. Probably either royalty in disguise or the fifth son of a well-to-do villager or something.

Standing up abruptly, she went to the pot and ladled a little of the stew into two bowls, bringing them over to the table and setting one bowl in front of her guest, the other in front of herself. Despite the hot liquid they held, the bowls were cool to the touch, and the two spoons she fetched would never grow too hot to the touch, either. The hunk of bread to go with the stew was still mostly soft and warm. Most everything in the tower had a little magic in it. Except for the long, winding stairs that led to her room. "Anyways, do you have any sort of idea what kind of magic you want to learn? 'Adventure' is vague. If you want to fight anything, you should've brought a magic sword in with you to begin with. If you're just looking for something, I can provide you with an easy finder's spell, and maybe an unlocking charm. Other than that, it's probably not worth it for you to "learn" magic. Plenty of idiots get by just fine without it, but it's rare to find someone who has no specific adventure in mind."
 
"Frankly," Roland told her, "My life at home is dull. Extremely so."

He took a spoonful of soup and sipped it carefully--and immediately did his best not to cough. Mustard and lavender was not what he'd been expecting, and there was a slight burn at the back of the mouthful that wasn't particularly pleasant either.

"This is a unique stew," he said, grabbing a hunk of bread to counter the flavor.

"If I stay at home, I'll be forced to marry off and continue the... family business," he went on. "I grew up hearing tales of the Great Wizard and I thought perhaps meeting him would be a start to finding my own path."
 
"Ah." Amelina said, before dipping her bread into the stew and shoveling it into her mouth, swallowing before the flavor could fully register. "I see. The bored-" She stopped and scowled down at her bowl. Since she'd had a guest, and the pantry had given her most of the ingredients besides the meat and a couple vegetables as dry spices, she'd just thrown them into the pot. She should've been more careful. No, she should've asked for sandwich ingredients instead. She stood up abruptly. "Give me a second to go punish my pantry." And she added off-handedly, "Don't eat that."

Lifting her skirts unladily high, she dashed out of the kitchen, down the short hall into her study, right across from the library. The doors attempted to slow her down by being a little sticky and heavy, but she roared, "DO YOU WANT ME TO TRY MY FAILED BALM ON YOU TOO?" And they capitulated. Nothing wood liked the dragon balms. Mostly since the failed balms had a nasty habit of setting anything that even remotely used to live on fire.

She came back seconds later with a glass jar full of a clear, jam-like substance, a glass rod sticking out of it. The pantry door bent inwards as she approached, as if flinching away, but she just twirled the rod around a couple times in the balm, and slathered it on the door liberally. It sizzled for a moment, then burst into bright purple flame. Amelina slammed the jar down on the countertop and then patted her skirts and returned to her seat with royal decorum.

"I apologize for that. I do try properly disciplining the furniture, but some pieces just can't be taught." The pantry door behind her made a crackling pop and a whine of burning wood, even as the purple fire merrily spread across its surface. "Unfortunately, I'd have to say the old man isn't really interested in protegees, as far as I can tell. Or... really anyone male. Many people do make a name for themselves here, I suppose. Or are never heard from again. But as for how they manage that, I can't say, what with the being trapped in a tower thing. I'd offer to let you stay here in case the old man shows up, but the tower only has one bedroom. I could maybe teach you a little magic and send you on your way, if you prefer. With extra bread. And... nothing else." She gave the pantry a glance from the corner of her eye. It hadn't stopped burning. Man, this last balm was extra effective, wasn't it? Or. Ineffective for its intended purpose, that was.
 
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