a collection of tales [[ chronocompass writing ]]

It was their first time outside of Tsotska d’la Mer, at least as far as Eredia went. Marshasp had described a few other places and mentioned Bestia d’la Mer as his first introduction to the world. It was warm, tropical, and welcoming. The people there had mistaken him for a T’terré, which worked out in his favor. He went by way of sea, but Caliban followed a different path. He had memorized impressions from metal dragons in the markets and followed their instructions carefully. They were seeking a master tailor, someone known for his skill in dealing with dragons of all kinds. 

Sure, the dragon was snapping up breakfast if it was close by, but his goal was clear. Prospero assisted, teaching him the owners of each track, and the signs of broken brush when it appeared. He offered no assistance when it appeared to be the trail of a dragon. Whether it was feral or elemental in nature, it seemed his Rider avoided the dragon hunt. It was only natural, with that thing haunting him. Caliban would find some way to remove it.

They emerged in the forum of a small village. A fountain sat at its cobbled center, and the buildings nearby all had metal trimmings instead of the typical stone or wood. They had never seen so many dragons tightly packed in one place, even in Tsotska d’la Mer—on top of that, it seemed there were no Riders to accompany them. Animals scrambled around in abundance, with little ducklings making up the bulk of the smaller crowd. Hopefully they didn’t snap up a pet on the way here. At the same time, would anyone notice a small duck missing? Caliban sniffed to look for the scents of other things. He sensed a few Erré, plus someone who smelled of the Chronoscape. 

Before he could follow the closest scent, a dragon presented itself from the crowd. Where the other dragons were nonchalant about their appearance, this dragon was looking at Prospero curiously. Or, rather, dragons. It had five heads, each with their own shape and expression. Its body was long and it had a short mane, not unlike the dragon his Rider had hunted. Caliban wagged his tail and gave a bark of greeting. The dragons seemed to relax, all except for the dog-like one. It was peering at Prospero’s shadow in confusion and whispered quietly to the finned head beside it. As the two held their quiet conversation, the beaked one smiled and called out to them. “Welcome to Salvus! You sort of went past our guards, so you’ll need to wait a bit. We can’t have just anyone wandering the streets with all these dragons.”

Prospero nodded. “Makes sense.”

The dragons laid down and twitched their tail in content. The finned one was next to speak. “We’re called the Company. We’re not an official greeter or anything, but there’s something odd about you, and we just need to ask.”

Caliban also sat, tilting Prospero’s saddle and almost tossing him off. He was used to it, though. His Rider climbed down easily and stood in between them. All of the dragons were much taller than him, so sitting seemed strange. “What do you mean? I’m just here to shop. I heard there was a tailor here.”

One of the Company shrugged—no way of telling who—and the finned one continued. “It’s just very strange for someone to hide a dragon in Salvus. There are a lot of people who notice, us included. You should be honest with everyone here, or we’ll doubt your intentions.”

Prospero scoffed and waved an arm at his huge companion. “This is my dragon. It’s pretty hard to hide him. You can call him Caliban.”

The canine head furrowed their brow and let out a sigh. “And the other one?”

Before they could go into detail, another dragon appeared from the crowd. This one was rife with the smell of a river, and looked like it belonged in the plaza fountain more than the cobbled streets. Its blue scales petered out at the muzzle, revealing its soft skin underneath. The lack of scales did nothing to diminish its intimidating figure, though. Her light voice revealed her as a lady, and Caliban was eternally grateful for her timely appearance. While his Rider was distracted by the town guard, he sent a piercing look to the canine head. He hissed softly, hoping his Rider would mistake the voice for another dragon. “The dragon isn’t his. Don’t speak of it again.”

The canine snarled, while Caliban bared his fangs right back. The other heads of the Company looked worried and shushed the canine. The beaked one offered up a gentle threat—“If you make trouble, there are a thousand claws to defend the city. We’ll let you do as you please, but don’t forget that.”

The guard seemed satisfied with whatever Prospero had offered up as explanation. She pointed them towards a large oak tree and the two carried on. The Company whispered to her and the guard followed from a distance. Well, as long as they didn’t speak of it again, Caliban wouldn’t pay them any mind. It was only natural to be wary of a poacher and a dragon as strong as he was. 

A small boy stepped out of the armored oak tree, accompanied by a bearded metal dragon. He was the one who smelled of the Chronoscape, though for all intents and purposes, he seemed perfectly at home among the Erré. He looked like a fox Bestia. At the same time, if Marshasp could be mistaken for a T’terré, then this child could be mistaken for Bestia. He would not alert his Rider of any danger…yet. 

The small fox made some hand signs at Prospero, but when the Rider gave him a look of confusion, he turned to his dragon. It cleared his throat and introduced himself. “My name is Chysanthos. This is my Rider, Fox, and I’ll translate for him.”

Fox grabbed a stepladder and started measuring. Caliban crouched to accommodate him, scattering a few ducklings that were pecking at his feet. He gathered cloth and expertly sliced through the fabric. “You need something to warm the dragon, and my Rider knows the best way to do that. He will choose the design. Now, let’s talk Silvence.” The child stitched together stripes of green and black, trying to use the length of the fabric to the best of his ability. Coverage with a dragon as big as Caliban was an issue. “Making a blanket for a growing dragon is an impossible task. We’ll be making him a scarf instead.” He draped the fabric over Caliban, gauging the length needed. The dragon felt his Rider’s disappointment in the price, but silvence was exchanged all the same. He would do his best for Prospero later. Maybe double the amount of trees today. That would be fun. 

With the exchange done, the Rider was left to watch. His thoughts wandered to question from before. The dragon that he couldn’t see. Caliban had spoken nothing of the creature; He wanted it gone before it formed a permanent attachment to his Rider. He offered a distraction—the image of Fox using his hands. “You, talk that?”

“No, I don’t know sign language.” His thoughts drifted toward learning the motions and signals now. It would distract him for a little bit, but Caliban knew the damage was done. Fox was fast to finish his work, and he added one last touch—Caliban’s name, embroidered in golden threads. The dragon struck a dashing pose, wagging his tail and licking at Fox’s face. 

Chrysanthos frowned and pushed his snout away gently. “That’s enough. Keep your slobber off my Rider.” As they said their goodbyes, the aquatic guard from before approached. They escorted them through the hoard of ducklings to the proper entrance and exit of the Chronoscape—a place outside the city, across a river, and far more secluded than the plaza they had been pointed to.

They took their time hunting on the way home. Prospero once again aided in tracking, even stepping down to show Caliban the subtle signs of passage—the overturned moss, the stains on trees, the mushrooms half-eaten on their path. Each time they passed the trail of a dragon, he was reminded of the Company’s question. Caliban would send him images of the world around him each time. “This, what flower? Food, close? You hungry?” They were simple distractions from a 'simple' dragon. He would need to work quickly to get rid of the shadow before it did something to Prospero. Would Iapetus do it? Could Marshasp know how? Perhaps it was time to pay the spirit of the springs another visit.