Two brers entered the filthy cell where the prisoner had been deprived of everything for a whole day. He could hardly stand but they forced him, dragged him by his chains.
He was a kobel.
One with nothing but fur. Small and puny. After being beaten, after being left to rot, there was not much of him left. Only a defiant smile.
This was the kobel that had made Descral, the wyvern city, shake and tremble at his name. A hero that had saved so many and shared so much. Befriended quite a few lost men like him. So of course there was nothing but confidence on his face.
Outside the crowd heckled him.
The crowd watched him being dragged toward the place. Everything was tight in this town, the streets so narrow, the houses small and stifling. The ground muddy, filled with filth.
Those laborers, those craftsmen, could hardly afford any of the wealthy's pleasures. So it was their entertainment when a thief was caught.
He was brought on the wooden platform to face that crowd.
There were so many faces, all tired, all worn down, covered with dirt. They worked tirelessly to survive with the far removed promise of wealth.
In older times their trade had made them precious enough that they could haggle for time and pay. But as more and more came that bargain fell apart. So they simply produced more to keep up, and they cursed the numerous youth that kept birthing all around them.
Nature had not planned for their kind to live so long and so safe.
As for him, standing on the platform, he had fought the kobels.
Because it was obvious, after all. If the kobel oppression ended then surely, surely everyone would finally live happily and free. Everyone would finally eat their fill and not fear for their life.
So he had risen against the kobels.
Even now, facing that hostile crowd, he could not help but smile. Waiting for his moment, the opportunity to escape, to keep fighting the good fight.
That opportunity never came.
The crowd, after getting their jolt, began to disperse.
It was his friends that had sold him to the guards in exchange for collars. With him gone, not a single soul remained that wasn't hiding in fear or worshipping the kobels.
The whole region had fallen under the rule of one.
This was Descral, a city of misery and filth where beasts lived longer and healthier than the wilds. Where they toiled under a mountain.
And on the mountain lived the kobels.
They were mighty and proud, lizards with smooth scales and short horns that spent their days basking in luxury. Their white mansions covered the slopes among rich gardens where the servants worked for them day and night.
An army protected them, with not a single kobel in it, yet fanatically defending the mountain from anyone.
So the kobels lived in perfect peace, disturbed only by a single duty.
In each park was a large pedestal, wide and circular, in which they put their eggs. And if one hatched from there, that was fine. It only meant that the baby would amount to nothing, so he was shunned or hidden from sight.
Otherwise, as soon as a female got an egg, she would hurry to bring it there. So they often spent time watching the pile of them on those pedestals, sighing and whispering to each other.
The servants would wash them, keep them warm, protect them at night even during the cold season. And if one died, that was fine. At least the child would not live in infamy. They took it out and threw it away.
As a result, not a hundred kobels remained on the mountain.
Their numbers dwindled more and more.
So it had become natural to seek the company of servants. The most loyal would be invited in, allowed to speak just to get some life back in the tiled streets.
And their subjects obeyed. Not because they had iron collars. Truth was after a while, that sorcery had faded. The collars did nothing anymore. Those who wore them just wanted, truly wanted to serve the kobels.
Above, on the highest plateau, no one dared to go.
That plateau was filled with a bog, water streaming down on the slopes.
It was lively and beautiful, filled with exotic flowers and their many colours. It was cut in half by an old wall whose gate was left open.
Trees still found their footing in the wet ground to cover it all with a frail canopy. So the top of the mountain looked from afar like moss. From inside it was truly a wild garden in which the fauna flourished, mighty and primal.
This was also where wretched kobels lingered. Those who had tried and failed. Bodies distorted, mockeries of their ancient blood. Turned mad by this fate.
They infested the bog, fought each other and fed on corpses, hoping, perhaps, to correct their mishappen silhouette. They unknowingly guarded the path to a small castle standing at very top, at the very end of the plateau.
Grey spires defied the sky itself. That castle stood atop a cliff under which a lethal steam kept flowing and when the winds were unkind, it fell on the city, killing many.
Wyverns circled it.
Wyverns had nested there, nearly a dozen of them. They would sleep in the vast rooms, in the court, quarrel for space and rest at the open balconies, eyes on the region they ruled.
From time to time, when they felt peckish, a wyvern would fly down, circle the mountain then approach. The kobels knew better than to stay out then, but fled to their mansions and hid there, waiting for the monster to be done.
The might beast would approach the pedestal, in the middle of their park, and snatch the eggs, the whole lot, between its claws. It would drag it all back to the castle, leaving yolk and broken shells behind.
After it departed, the kobels would come out and start celebrating.
Back at the castle, the wyvern would bring those eggs to the others. And they would wait. They would help keep the eggs warm, help them hatch. Only when one opened would they snatch the creature inside and swallow it.
And if one escaped, that was fine. That meant this kobel would follow the path of the wyvern.
It would one day be one of them.
There was Elua, and there was Savae. And there was Etelet and others with them. The wyverns savoured their meal in each other's company.
They wore iron harnesses. Symbolic ornaments they chose to wear with pride. Because they liked it here. And they liked their king.
And Uokror was there too. The second skull was hung with the first, guarding this hall.
Above it all, coiled on the highest spire, was the kobel king.
It had eight legs, four wings, two tongues and a tail three times the length of its body. Its claws could tear any metal, its tail pierce anything, its wings carry it faster than the wind. Its maw breathed a deadly mist, its eyes petrified its preys.
All those that had tried to take down the king knew it had a hollow heart.
There it stood, with mighty white scales and golden horns, a power not even the realm could bring down. Living with all those it had cared for, worshipped and loved.
Live happy, mighty king. May your reign never end. None shall disturb it.
All was as it should be.