"Kityaki and the Great Wyrm part 1" by Tallulah ´Darkhorse´ Cunningham

Kityaki and the Great Wyrm
© Toby Cunningham 2001

Once upon a time, though for an elf, much less a dragon, it was probably not all that long ago, a bane fell upon the land west of the ivory mountains. Crops withered and decayed in the fields, animals and humanoids alike broke out with plagues of boils while and diseases that weakened the land while strange monsters lurked in the shadows, claiming the night as their own.
Such was the darkness of these times that even the mighty dragons that soared the sky-paths over my homelands felt the effect of this curse.
Of all these dragons the most concerned was also the eldest of the oldest great wyrms, known to all dragon-kind, good and evil, as Uncle Spadetooth.
This Spadetooth was so old that the gods would have a hard time remembering when he was whelped. No one knew what colour he had been in his youth, for time had faded his scales to a mottling of dusty hues. Even his horns had buckled and split into fascinating shapes over time, like the branches of some gnarled old sacred tree adorned with chinkling trinkets, disguising his past all the more.
Now many of the younger dragons came to their Uncle Spadetooth to voice their distress at the blight that seemed to linger over all of them: For age had made him an amiable wyrm. So much so, and his word so respected, that many turned to him for guidance, wise council or to adjudicated arguments, gaining his services in return for a trifling piece of treasure or enchanted object provided the topic was of importance and interest to him. But the news brought to his spiky ears in these fell times was far from settling: the most powerful of the younger dragons, younger being any-being not as old as himself, had tried to lift the bane to no avail.
The tales brought to him worried Spadetooth and the more he listened the worse the news he heard. Especially when, one day, he suddenly sneezed. This was not the sneeze caused by dusty treasure, nor the sneeze due to a musty tome, but the sneeze of some being coming down with a nasty cold, and it alone blew away a third of the rubble around his cave entrance. And concerned Spadetooth more than all the news he had heard thus far: for it take a powerful curse to give a dragon like Spadetooth even the smallest of colds I assure you.

So Spadetooth began to look at the lesser races to see how they were faring, seeking inspiration for combating the curse on the land.
He noted without surprise, that the humans had begun to fight among themselves, the dwarves decided it was the fault of the orks and ogres (who believed the same of the dwarves) were fighting their old enemies, and that the halflings were stoically tried to ignore what was going on both in and outside their own little communities.
Of all the humanoids it seemed that the elven kind were faring the best, defending their small settlements with the tenacity of an aurumvorax while caring for their sick and injured.
“This is no good.” Spadetooth huffed to himself as he watched the land wither day by day through his battered old scrying glass.
“This is no good at all. I shall have to do something about this.”

Now one doesn’t get as old as a great wyrm like Spadetooth without learning a few things and Spadetooth knew thrice that amount. The only problem was that it had been so long since he had needed something that could stop a bane like this in it’s tracks that he had stored it right at the back of his great memory and he had to go and look for it. So Spadetooth sat down on his favorite treasure pile and began to remember as only a great wyrm can, and after three threes of days, three being, as we all know, a number of great power, he had remembered all of the spell.
But now Spadetooth was in a quandary for the spell components were rare and hard to find and one had to be particularly tricky oneself to find them. He could always go out and collect them himself... But to do so would mean he would have to leave his personal hoard behind, and his great age; for all the wisdom time had bestowed, had left him a mite stiff in the bones and so would take him some time to gather what was needed.
He toyed with the idea of calling upon one of the elven settlements for aid... But their numbers were far too few now and all the individuals that Spadetooth had known before his last nap had either perished or departed to the realm beyond the star seas: there was none that he knew or trusted enough to call upon.
But a curl of a smile shimmered along Spadetooth’s great maw as an alternative came to mind and he hummed happily to himself as he rummaged through his trinkets for what he needed.
For you see Old Uncle Spadetooth had a plan so cunning and sharp that if you put a tail and whiskers on it you could not only call it a weasel, but you could cut yourself on it as well.
Finally set out before the great wyrm was a narrow staff of black bamboo (a gift from an Emperor across the Great Jade Sea many years ago), two sparkling topaz, the whiskers of a otter, the tooth of a forest-fox and the slightest sliver of one of Spadetooth’s own scales.

Now Spadetooth began to weave a spell, singing tones of power and words of an old enchantment, one to bind the objects into a single vessel.
As the last notes of Spadetooth’s spell-song faded into the late evening gloom, for he had sung seven full days without pause, from dawn to dawn and on again, the bamboo staff gave a jump and a hop and then disappeared along with all the other spell components. And in it’s place was an elf as black as the bamboo with topaz yellow eyes that glowed with an otters cleverness, the wit of a fox and a just small portion of Spadetooth’s own wisdom.
And it was into this small vessel Spadetooth had poured all he knew of where to find the spell components needed and what they looked like:
For you see Spadetooth decided that if he could find no being to travel for him he would have to create one. He had decided that this being would have to be swift to find the items he required as fast as possible and so he had ignored the dross the other races provided and created an elven like being as his messenger.
But he was unsure of his creation, for all the work he had put into the making of it, so he addressed the bamboo elf.
“Do you know where the objects are that I desire?” Spadetooth rumbled to the being that stood before him, still as a carved jet statue with unblinking yellow eyes.
“Speak.”
The black elf straightened and blinked as though suddenly awakened to the world at that word and looked with surprise at its hands.
“Speak!” Spadetooth repeated his command. “Do you know where and how to fetch the items I require?”
The bamboo elf bowed slightly. “My maker: I do not.”

Spadetooth growled to himself and clenched his talons in annoyance for he though his spell had failed but the elf-being, unperturbed, continued, his lilting voice even and unworried.
“But I will find them.”
The assurance in his creation’s voice startled old Spadetooth so that he snorted, almost blowing the black being off it’s feet, his snort became a chuckle and then a laugh.
“And is that so.” Old Spadetooth looked on his creation with amusement mingled with relief “Barely a moment old and yet you are confident you can obtain what I need without knowing what it is?”
“It is what I was created for and so I will find it” The bamboo elf replied.
“Then you shall be called Kityaki for it means ‘seeker’ in the old tongue” the Dragon said. And Kityaki bowed in acceptance of the name, for it defined his purpose and to him a name was weightless and so a burden easily carried, though some names are not so.
“And now Kityaki you should be supplied for your journey, where ever it takes you.”
Spadetooth gave his creation four small boxes and instructed the elf-being to place the items in each and then they would return to the dragon’s cavern.
All other aid from the Dragon Kityaki turned down for, as he told the Great-Wyrm, he had been created to find the components and so he in himself should be all that was needed to find them.
And what were those components you ask? Well you shall learn of them as this tale unfolds. For Kityaki barely knew what he sought until he found it and it would be unfair if you knew before he did.
So Kityaki climbed down the mountain from Spadetooth’s lair and closed his eyes, spun himself three times widdershins and set off after the first of the items.

Now it didn’t take very long, for Kityaki moved across the land like the wind through reeds, until he reached a barren place, rocky and forbidding with the sunbleached bones of many a man and elf scattered across the stones.
Now many a man might quake as he came near such a place for every sign screams of the territory of a beholder but Kityaki did not quail for Spadetooth had not thought to give him fear and so he did not feel it.
And presently a beholder bobbed up, it’s eyes a-raging at his termedity of this elf like creature to approach it’s terrain but then it paused, confused. For, you see, beholder kind can often pry into the minds of their prey and when it tried to do to so to Kityaki it encountered something very strange.
For though he looked like an elf Kityaki was still very much like the bamboo he had once been and there is nothing familiar about the way bamboo thinks.
Now perhaps Kityaki had Tymora’s luck and had met the only curious eyetyrant in existence for it decided not to roast him then and there. Half it’s eyes saw an elf standing before it and the other half saw only a clump of dark bamboo swaying in the wind which made the beholder curious, curious as a cat, and so equally prone to the consequences. And Kityaki was swaying slightly, as had always been his habit as merely a reed on the river bed and he had wanted to think.

Now the Beholder didn’t really know why but it found itself asking Kityaki who he was rather than incinerating him on the spot and gloating over the scorch-stain.
And because the beholder knew the old tongue well: why, when Kityaki told the orb his name it took it at it’s original meaning, and, in a way, he did so rightly for that is what Kityaki was. Yet I digress.
“A seeker of what?” The beholder gnashed it’s teeth, still trying to decide if it was talking to an elf or a plant
Kityaki, paused for a second before he replied, for he had the cunning of a fox and almost the wisdom of a dragon on his side and a ferrety plan was building a nest in his mind.
At last he spoke: “I am a seeker of sage o’great one”
Now the bamboo elf’s tranquil swaying and the lilting tones of his voice soothed the beholder as a reed flute may calm the cloud dragons that rage in the far eastern lands and the eye tyrant put off destroying him for another moment.
“So you are seeking a sage of knowledge you’ll have no such luck. I ate the last one weeks ago.” At this the beholder licked its lips and allowed it-self to gloat at the memory, as a beholder often will.
“No gracious being” Kityaki pointed up the rocky slope behind the beholder, at a small plant that struggled bravely through the rubble.
“I am seeking sage for my master, a rare and wondrous plant. It is said those who consume the plant gain the ability to command the four elements at whim”
“Ho! Is that so?!” The beholder chortled as half it’s eyes focused on the harmless herb greedily. “I have half a mind to try it myself...”
“Oh I beg you do not O’gracious being for of all the places I have searched this is the only place I have yet seen it and my master is in grave need of it’s properties!” Kityaki quailed in false fear, mimicking the mice who had once hidden in his leaves when the gold patterned pythons had coiled through the waters of his home shore.
“Huff!” snorted the beholder, and I am told a snorting beholder is quite a sight “Who is this master of yours that you would so readily trespass to procure such a small matter for him?”
“Why he is the great Uncle Spadetooth of Ifrtreni Heights.” Kityaki replied, feigning shock that the eye-tyrant had not guessed in the first place.
“Spadetooth eh.” The beholder licked it’s teeth and long strands of drool strung from it’s meaty tongue as it floated up towards the plant, for Kityaki had found perhaps the only gullible beholder in existence. “That senile old wort won’t mind if you have to keep looking. He’s probably forgotten you already.”
And with that the beholder snapped up the plant and began to chew vigorously...

“bleeaarghh!” the eye-tyrant spat the pulpy plant aside, sparks of light flashed from it’s eyes, as it turned on Kityaki.
“foul frond! Hated herb! You try to fool me elf!”
“But was it not sweet in taste?” Kityaki smooth face furrowed with puzzlement. “surely it was as sweet as honey for the purple veined sage always is.”
The beholder growled and many of it’s eyes turned on the partially chewed “The veins are yellow as pus on this accurst plant.”
“But you can’t have eaten a yellow veined sage!” Kityaki widened his amber eyes and wrung his twiggy fingers in distress. “I was certain it was purple!”
“It was yellow” The beholder, now both angry and uncertain, insisted.
“Ahh! No! Then you must hasten to find the blue starred flower with silver leaves and eat three blossoms before it is too late!” Kityaki stated.
“Why?!” The beholder snarled, with false sparks of fury flickering over his eye stalks. I feel well enough.”
“Why my master told me of a great red wyrm that accidentally ate a sheep that had eaten of yellow vein sage and he felt fine too.” Kityaki spread his hands out for emphasis, much in the same manner as I do now, and he continued.
“But after an half of an hour and no more than that he died in terrible agony, trying to turn himself inside out to escape the pain and by that time it was too late to find the antidote.”
Now the beholder began to be uneasy, all his mental probing of the elf-being seemed to indicate Kityaki was telling the truth... either that or that he was a tall reed growing by a water course, and it was making the beholder feel rather dizzy and nauseous... Or could that be the herb beginning to take effect?!
“I have seen such star blossoms not long ago O’ Spherical one. They grow thickly on the other side of this range near a stone that looks like a rook: I could run and fetch some for you...”
“No!” Snarled the Beholder, for it’s lair was near there, and this was why Kityaki had described such an area. “I wouldn’t trust you not to run away and leave me to perish. I will fetch it myself. You are sure of the description?”
Kityaki nodded in reply. “Nothing else like it grows here.”
Now in its confusion and haste the beholder did not even bother to try disintegrating Kityaki but fled in the direction of Kityaki had pointed.
As soon as the beholder is out of sight and sound what does Kityaki do but stride over to where the chewed plant, a harmless bitterwort, lay and, using a stick, pickup the spit thick piece and scrape it into one of the little boxes.
No soon than he had closed the lid and the box disappeared, back to Spadetooth with the first of the spell components: Beholder spittle.

Kityaki was about to leave before the beholder could think to return when he felt a twitch in a finger and a shiver down his back: A sure sign of something hidden.
Following the instinct that made him what he was, Kityaki overturned the plain rock that had been directly below where the beholder had floated and, lo and behold, a rusty sword of ancient design lay waiting.
Well the sword was in pretty bad condition but Kityaki knew he would not have found it if it wasn’t a part of the over all scheme of fate and Spadetooth would surely find a use for it, so he hung it from his belt and continued on. He only paused, allowing himself a foxy grin and a otter like chuckle, as he heard, far off in the distance, the enraged and distressed cry of a ‘poisoned’ beholder that discovers itself in a meadow of many different sorts of blue, star shaped flowers with silver leaves.