to serve you, my lord.”
Stand, Khalid, and take the chalice at my feet.
Khalid stood and approached the pedestal. A platinum chalice had appeared at the statue’s feet, filled with a glowing, red liquid. Khalid bent down to take it in his hands, glancing back at Erenoth. The priest still knelt with his head bowed as if in a trance.
Drink, my son, and receive my blessing and my power.
Khalid placed the chalice against his lips, smelling the sweet aroma of the warm liquid. It was reminiscent of grape wine with a hint of cinnamon and cloves, something one would drink to cure a fever. Hesitantly, he drank, letting the sweet liquid pour over his tongue. It felt warm and comforting as he swallowed, tingling his throat and stomach like the lotus nectar he had drank as a young man. He liked the sensation, and continued drinking until the chalice was empty. He then returned it to the pedestal and sat next to Erenoth, cross-legged and anticipating the effects of the wine.
The warm sensation spread throughout his body, coursing through his veins like a hot tonic. He felt the warmth grow stronger as it penetrated his muscles and skin, tightening and strengthening them. He sat back, resting himself with his palms behind him, and closed his eyes.
He thought back to his youth, a time of his life when he lived with honor and respect. The people loved him, seeing him as a hero to the poor and downtrodden, and he relished the thought of renewing that honor. For most of the past thirty years, he was in the service of The Lifegiver, and had forgotten about the people. He became the very type of person he hated; selfish, cruel, intolerant of failure, and greedy beyond any of the Sultans and Sheikhs he once robbed. But now, here in the presence of the Dragon, he would become a new man. He would be his old self again and live a life of virtue in service of the Firstborn.
Just as Khalid finished that thought, the tightening in his body began to feel uncomfortable. His stomach knotted, his muscles ached, and a wave of nausea came over him. He sat upright, leaning forward to put pressure on his aching midsection. It was then that he noticed the burning sensation under his skin. It felt as if he was being blasted by hot sand, and whipped by a dozen flails.
Khalid rose up onto his hands and knees as the pain increased. He turned to Erenoth, who remained in his trance-like kneeling position. The knots in his stomach worsened, giving rise to a lump on his throat. With a wretch, he vomited on the floor before him, spewing a thick yellow liquid that glopped onto the stone and splattered like oil. He groaned with the pain, trying desperately to expel more of the foul liquid as it filled his gut. Wave after wave spewed forth, covering the floor, and he struggled to breath between each wretch. Then, the sensation underneath his skin began to change, going from a burning, to a tightening. A different tightening than before, this time more painful and frightening.
“Erenoth,” he gasped. “Help me.”
The priest remained motionless, despite the growing pool of strange vomit that was collecting around the two men. Khalid rose to his knees and fell back, writhing in excruciating pain as his body continued to transform.
Khalid.
“Dragon,” Khalid whispered. “What is happening?”
Your body is changing. Let it happen and do not fear. Erenoth survived, and so will you.
“The pain…”
The pain is short lived. I am sorry you must endure it, but it necessary. It is not to punish you or redeem you, but to change you physically. When the process is complete, you will be the High Priest of Tel Drakkar. You will be a draconian.
Khalid continued to squirm as the pain flowed through him. Every part of his body burned, and his skin felt as if it were going to burst. He felt his chest tighten, and he reached up to cover his aching heart. It was beating stronger than he ever remembered and the sensation was disturbing. He had heard of older men dying
Stand, Khalid, and take the chalice at my feet.
Khalid stood and approached the pedestal. A platinum chalice had appeared at the statue’s feet, filled with a glowing, red liquid. Khalid bent down to take it in his hands, glancing back at Erenoth. The priest still knelt with his head bowed as if in a trance.
Drink, my son, and receive my blessing and my power.
Khalid placed the chalice against his lips, smelling the sweet aroma of the warm liquid. It was reminiscent of grape wine with a hint of cinnamon and cloves, something one would drink to cure a fever. Hesitantly, he drank, letting the sweet liquid pour over his tongue. It felt warm and comforting as he swallowed, tingling his throat and stomach like the lotus nectar he had drank as a young man. He liked the sensation, and continued drinking until the chalice was empty. He then returned it to the pedestal and sat next to Erenoth, cross-legged and anticipating the effects of the wine.
The warm sensation spread throughout his body, coursing through his veins like a hot tonic. He felt the warmth grow stronger as it penetrated his muscles and skin, tightening and strengthening them. He sat back, resting himself with his palms behind him, and closed his eyes.
He thought back to his youth, a time of his life when he lived with honor and respect. The people loved him, seeing him as a hero to the poor and downtrodden, and he relished the thought of renewing that honor. For most of the past thirty years, he was in the service of The Lifegiver, and had forgotten about the people. He became the very type of person he hated; selfish, cruel, intolerant of failure, and greedy beyond any of the Sultans and Sheikhs he once robbed. But now, here in the presence of the Dragon, he would become a new man. He would be his old self again and live a life of virtue in service of the Firstborn.
Just as Khalid finished that thought, the tightening in his body began to feel uncomfortable. His stomach knotted, his muscles ached, and a wave of nausea came over him. He sat upright, leaning forward to put pressure on his aching midsection. It was then that he noticed the burning sensation under his skin. It felt as if he was being blasted by hot sand, and whipped by a dozen flails.
Khalid rose up onto his hands and knees as the pain increased. He turned to Erenoth, who remained in his trance-like kneeling position. The knots in his stomach worsened, giving rise to a lump on his throat. With a wretch, he vomited on the floor before him, spewing a thick yellow liquid that glopped onto the stone and splattered like oil. He groaned with the pain, trying desperately to expel more of the foul liquid as it filled his gut. Wave after wave spewed forth, covering the floor, and he struggled to breath between each wretch. Then, the sensation underneath his skin began to change, going from a burning, to a tightening. A different tightening than before, this time more painful and frightening.
“Erenoth,” he gasped. “Help me.”
The priest remained motionless, despite the growing pool of strange vomit that was collecting around the two men. Khalid rose to his knees and fell back, writhing in excruciating pain as his body continued to transform.
Khalid.
“Dragon,” Khalid whispered. “What is happening?”
Your body is changing. Let it happen and do not fear. Erenoth survived, and so will you.
“The pain…”
The pain is short lived. I am sorry you must endure it, but it necessary. It is not to punish you or redeem you, but to change you physically. When the process is complete, you will be the High Priest of Tel Drakkar. You will be a draconian.
Khalid continued to squirm as the pain flowed through him. Every part of his body burned, and his skin felt as if it were going to burst. He felt his chest tighten, and he reached up to cover his aching heart. It was beating stronger than he ever remembered and the sensation was disturbing. He had heard of older men dying
Similar Books
