Wine, Coffee, and Fire

He was in some sort of prison cell, though something in the air told him it was not originally meant to be a prison cell. 

The scent made him think of grapes or alcohol... perhaps both. 

The drugged food and beverages they fed him kept him from using his full strength, at least between bouts in the arena - but it did not take away his keen senses. 

The prisoner growled as he thought about how he’d ended up in this current state. He thought about his life before he was a gladiator for his captor's amusement. 

He used to wear more than just a loincloth. He used to serve at the pleasure of a kind mistress. He used to fight for justice. He used to feed off the land.

Now he was in some kind of subterranean holding area while the noises of cheering and jeering crowds filtered down from above. His chains were enchanted to hold him and the guards outside the cell were less than talkative.

Prior to his imprisonment he was a wandering blade: a reptiloid among mammals. 

Proud. 

Strong. 

True.

Free.

His scales were dark like black smoke, except for gray from his throat to his torso. Long draconic horns jutted from his head. 

Everywhere he went, the furred mammals would gawk. For those that bothered to speak with him, they knew him as ‘Draknor.’ 

Some called him “barbarian.” The gall of those fuzzy creatures. 

He knew five languages and understood arithmetic, yet all they saw was the savage reptiloid.      

Draknor could hear sounds from above: scraping, stomping, bits of indistinct chatter. He wondered just how far below ground he was and how long he’d been a prisoner. Time and perception were certainly skewed. Suddenly his blindfold was removed.

The room spun. It was gray in most parts, but a spark of violet followed his wandering pupils.

Draknor had been slightly drunk before, but this was nauseating.

“Beast?” A voice called from the void. Draknor could see two fuzzy things before him. “Beast, can you hear me?”

“Can you hear us?” Another, deeper, calmer voice asked.

“I am no beast,” he rumbled.

A high-pitched chortling. The insane fuzzy ones always seemed... more insane than his kind.

“We found him,” the younger voice said playfully to him.

“What do you want of me? Have you nothing better to occupy your time with?” Draknor tried to focus his vision and though it was not as miasmic as before, the voice was still emanating from a hole in his vision.

“We found the one that killed your mate, beast,” the voice said again, giggling. “The female you were traveling with.”

Draknor tilted his head and squinted, then his eyes went wide as the mammal’s words slammed into him. 

“What? Ylla!? She was... No...”  

Draknor tried to steady his vision. The room swirled and swayed - moved in and out - lightened and darkened.

“The one who slaughtered her is here,” the tormenting voice said. “Would you like to meet him?”

“You speak lies and half truths mammal!” Draknor roared. 

“Now, now, why would I lie to you? BRING HIM IN!’

Suddenly his vision changed. He could tell he was now face-to-face and prison-to-prison with someone else. A bear nearly climbing the bars of his prison to get at him.

“YOU BASTARD!” The large mammal screamed, baring its fangs at him. “I’LL GET YOU FOR WHAT YOU DID!”

Within another second he had departed, or so Draknor thought. He was continually blinking and shaking his large head to clear his vision. Again the two little fuzzy creatures were back. The one in the rear with bright violet eyes had hardly said anything during the confrontation, but Draknor had many questions.

“What have you done to me? Who was that? Ylla… she’s alive… No dead? My head… Your damned potions!” 

The only time his head was clear was when they let him fight - when they didn’t put anything in his food and water, but he was also too well-watched then too. By the time he was able to concentrate what was left of his senses, his captors had apparently already left. 

His exhausted thoughts drifted back to the days leading up to his captivity, when he found himself on the Southern Continent. 

A male jackal with a wide-brimmed hat stared up at him. Darknor was an imposing figure in his mix of cloth and chainmail. His greatsword - a weapon of his people with a gem within the pommel - rode on his hip,. 

“Well, you’re a rare sight in these parts,” the jackal grunted. 

Draknor grunted. “Indeed.” 

They were standing among rows and rows of shrubs while various mammals worked to harvest the beans from the vegetation. 

“Well,” the jackal said, gawking up at the reptiloid, “if you want the job guarding our crops you’re hired.” The jackal clicked his tongue and looked around, as though something was wrong. “These plants are vital to Daedalia’s economy. Lately there’s been... incidents.” 

“Incidents?” Draknor asked.

“Some of the smaller farms have been burned. Some think it’s the work of the Sh’ra, others think it’s bandits or raiders from the wildlands... Whatever the case, those of us in the farming coalition are taking precautions.”  

Draknor grunted. “I shall guard your crops well.” 

After pay and lodging were discussed Draknor could recall taking his leave of the jackal and striding among the strange crops. The various mammals looked at the imposing creature with trepidation, speaking to one another in hushed tones as he passed them.  

The reptiloid was used to such reactions. He ignored them as he found what he was searching for: His female reptiloid companion among the mammals. 

She much like him, though instead of black scales she had bluish-green, and - like all females of their race - she had a mane of brown hair going from her head down her neck, and unlike female mammals she lacked breasts. 

Draknor gently smiled with his huge fangs as he recalled her memory.

Though she was tall, her figure was more lithe and her eyes soft. Instead of armor she wore a toga, and instead of a sword she carried a quill and parchment: She was a scholar through and through. She had been accompanying Draknor since he had freed her from a wicked ruler’s court. She was speaking animatedly with one of the field workers.

“I see, these beans are ground up and made into a drink, and they keep creatures alert? Fascinating.” 

“Ylla,” Draknor grunted.

She turned. “Oh! There you are, everything settled?” 

Draknor made a slight nod. 

“Splendid!” Ylla exclaimed. “The agriculture here is truly fascinating, you know?” Draknor wasn’t exactly interested but he let the scholarly reptiloid prattle on. 

She was content, and that made him content. 

The days passed with Ylla doing research while Draknor and the other handful of guards protected the fields through the day and into the night. It was simple, if decent-paying, work, but one fateful night - everything changed. 

Draknor stood guard over the fields when he heard the shrill blast of a lookout’s horn. This was followed by another and another as the alarm was raised. Draknor and every other guard were quickly on the alert as they readied weapons. Torches could be seen bobbing in the darkness, a lot of them. From North, East, and West. 

“Not getting paid enough for this!” a painted dog exclaimed as he dropped his spear and sprinted away into the darkness. 

He was not the only one that abandoned his post, but Draknor stood his ground, undaunted despite the overwhelming odds, his presence commanding to those that had not yet fled.

 “Evacuate the workers,” Draknor addressed a handful of guards. “The rest of us shall buy time.” 

Draknor strode towards where the torches were converging and found himself faced with a curious sight. These were not Sh’ra raiders, but three different armies. One was made entirely of jackals, one of leopards, the other of hyenas: all native to the Southern Continent. All seemingly confused and scattered. 

“What are you doing here!?” A leopard roared at a hyena. 

“No, what are you doing here? Hehehee!” A hyena responded. 

“We were told there was a raid here!” A jackal shouted. 

Draknor spoke up. “Whatever your quarrel is, take it far from these valued crops!” 

“A reptiloid!” one of the soldiers exclaimed. 

There was more confused jabbering between the three armies, each confused, each babbling something that contradicted the other. 

“He’s here to raid the crops!”

“No you are the one that is here to raid!” Draknor roared over the multidunious voices. “And WE are here to stop YOU.” 

“You’re traitors in league with foreigners!” 

“Quiet!” Draknor shouted trying to regain control of the situation. But from somewhere in the darkness an arrow was loosed and there was a cry of pain as a leopard went down. It was the spark needed to ignite the kindling.  

Battle commenced as three very confused and disorientated armies surged into each other, and a handful of guards caught between them. 

Draknor blocked a khopesh from a hyena that seemed to have suddenly grown crazed, as if a switch had been thrown. Jaws slavered as the hyena slashed and slashed for Draknor who parried the blows before being forced to retaliate with lethal force. Draknor chopped down on his foe and ended the hyena’s life. 

A jackal and a leopard were fighting, the jackal using a short chopping blade while the leopard used a narrow stabbing sword. Spears, shields, and halberds clashed while arrows and javelins flew overhead. 

Draknor waded in among the violence, his hulking figure a massive target, but he was the very image of rage as he hacked and stabbed through the soldiers who had taken leave of their senses. 

Smoke filled the air, the crops had been set ablaze and the fire was spreading to the homes of the workers. Draknor broke away from the fighting and ran for the cabins. Tired and coughing on smoke, he had taken some wounds in the fight as well. Blood trailed down his legs from a wound and his torso ached from being struck with a mace of some sort. 

“Ylla!” he cried out.

“Draknor!” Her voice answered but he could not say for certain where it had originated. 

“Ylla where are you?” Draknor asked. 

He thought he heard a scream - a very familiar scream. It was a mix of pain and fear. Draknor sprinted towards the sound only to end up dodging the swipe of a polearm. A jackal barred his way and a leopard threw himself upon Draknor’s back. 

More of the crazed soldiers.

Draknor fought against them as more joined the fray and the flames spread. He had to get to Ylla. She was hurt… or worse. The reptiloids movements were beginning to slow, the wounds and exhaustion were taking a toll even upon the  mighty Draknor. 

He bashed a leopard with his sword’s pommel before he sank to his knees in exertion. Draknor tried to rise but his body was betraying him. He could hear laughter from the smokey darkness as a smaller cat with tufted ears stepped into the light: A lynx of some sort. 

Draknor tried to rise but he was exhausted, the lynx smiled broadly as she brought her hand into a pouch and withdrew it holding a powdery substance. With a smirk she blew the powder into Draknor’s face and the reptiloid lost control of his senses as he pitched forward into the darkness.            

The next thing he recalled was himself blindfolded and shackled somehow: his prized sword and armor not within reach. 

His head snapped back to the present, he could sense he wasn’t alone again his head clearing. It had to be close to a fight if he wasn’t feeling weak and disorientated. 

“Where am I?” he growled as he strained against the chains, but the more he struggled the tighter they grew around his wrists.

“Calm yourself,” a gentle and smooth feminine voice said. “You are in a place between places. A stop on your long journey.”

“Ylla, where’s Ylla? Answer me. Release me.”

“You are tired and weary from your wanderings.” Her voice was somehow convincing. Smooth as velvet. “Open your mouth if you would, hero - I have a healing salve for you to drink.”

Draknor initially refused, but found his maw opening almost on its own. He was tired and wounded after all.

The elixir hit his tongue and he could tell it was some kind of wine. It was smooth and cool and rich. He moved his head away and murmured, but found himself asking for more and more.

“Very good, kind reptiloid,” the voice said as she poured more and more of the tasty liquid into his massive maw. After a few moments, the stream of wine slowed and stopped. 

“My my, you were thirsty weren’t you?”

Draknor muttered something as he felt his senses were slipping away. What had they given him? Where was his sword?

Where was Ylla?