Ah, technology! Whipped this up while on break at work. Emailed it to my phone, copy & paste, and voila, story.
I was reminiscing a bit today about my old WoW days, and my favorite mount, the albino drake. Loved that thing.
May 14, 2015
Jesselyn knelt by the bedrolls packing the last of their supplies. Krane came back a few minutes later with a pot full of water. He dumped it over the low flames, the charred wood hissed and spit water droplets in protest.
“Have you got everything?” he asked.
She nodded. “We are fine to leave.”
He gave her a guarded look. “We’re fine once he gets back, you mean.”
“Don’t be a hard ass. I sent him off to eat. He’s been going too long between meals lately.”
It was her took to give him a look. “It is not the same and you know it, Krane.”
“Fine, but he’s been away since before dawn. It’s nearly noon.”
He shrugged, but left it alone. The warrior paced around the small clearing that had served as their campsite for two nights. Jesselyn tried to ignore him. She tried not to worry about her darling, out all alone, circling the area in an attempt to find suitable nourishment. He’d been pushing himself too hard lately, and not just because they’d had to flee three days earlier from a large group of their enemy. She glanced at Krane’s back, studying, as she always did, the scarred line the ran down from the back of his left shoulder to his elbow. She asked him once about it, and all he said was that it was a hell of a fight, and sometimes his arm still bothered him. When it was cool or damp.
Jesselyn admired him in a way. Especially his armor. As a warlock, she couldn’t wear anything heavier than thick cloth layers. At the age of ten, she tried on her father’s gaunlets, and his chainmail shirt. Within minutes she felt the incredible weight of it. The weight of all that a warrior carried. The face to face combat, the closeness of a kill. The metal blistered her skin, and when her father found her minutes later, he wasn’t angry, but upset at the pain she felt. He’d hoped for another warrior in the family, and as her older brother left to learn with the hunters of the wild woods, he’d really hoped it would be her to carry on his legacy.
Her mother had been a caster – a mage. Mage, she thought with more than a touch of conceit. Damn mages and their damn fireballs. “Phew, phew, phew,” she whispered, imitating the hand motion. “Silly mages and their ridiculous showy spells.”
A breeze kicked up. She heard the flapping before the shadows of his great wings darkened their site. Jesselyn stared at the descending albino drake. He landed with grace and immediately hopped towards her, gleam of excitement in his red eye.
“What is it, boy?” she asked, and then took a step back. “Eww. Benji!”
“What’s the matter?” Krane came dashing over.
“Benjamin! I’ve told you a hundred times that we do not play with our food”
The drake averted his eyes. He gave a shake of his neck, and the limbs of the troll shook. They heard his cursing. Neither of them spoke troll, but they could pretty much figure out what he meant.
“It’s rather amusing,” said Krane.
She gave him a dirty look. “Do not encourage him.”
The warrior reached out, ran a hand along the young drake’s long neck. “I still don’t know how a warlock managed to get herself the loyalty of one of these. How long have you had him?”
“Four years. You should be happy that he’s carrying us both,” she said.
“I am.” He stood next to her. “So is he going to eat that dreaful excuse of a troll, or am I chopping its head off?”
Krane started to draw his sword. Bejamin let out a squawk and hopped away. He pawed at the ground.
“Benji, sweetie, just eat the damn thing,” said Jesselyn.
He began chomping on the troll. Within seconds nothing remained, and the drake stretched his neck out and belched.
“Disgusting,” she said.
“What’s disgusting is that name,” said Krane, carrying their supplies to the drake. “What the hell kind of weird name is Benjamin?”