When Nokkland found himself setting off with the inn's barmaid to track down an ice-dragon, he hadn't realized that he would be thrust into the center of a prophecy he knew nothing about. Nor that he would become part of an undercover group of revol...
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Author's Note: italics paired with "" represent communication via thought that aren't Nokkland's own. His are indicated with italics only and first-person. I've tried to make the separation clear but it's not easy. Also, this is a rewrite. I hated the first version so bear with me and I hope you enjoy this one too!
A hand of air closed around Nokkland as Embade pushed off the ground, its palm pinning him to the scales of her back, their shapes etching themselves into his cheek. Wind, in turns, roared and whistled in his ears with every beat of her wings. Air flowed by at such a pace that it created a film over Nokkland's eyes, blurring his vision.
Embade angled herself sharply upwards, snout to the sky. Nokkland felt himself begin to slide backwards, gradually at first, then ever faster. He tried to clutch at her scales, scrabbling for a hold on their smooth surfaces. He hissed as one of the edges cut his palm. Yet nothing seemed to slow his descent.
To his left, Nokkland thought he saw the outline of one of the bone spines which marched down Embade's back. Desperately, he lunged for it. The wind buffeted him sideways, his fingers barely brushing the spine before suddenly closing around it. Simultaneously, the force of the air which had been crushing him lessened. He found himself breathing again, the muscles in his shoulders loosening as relief flooded through him.
Looking around, Nokkland discovered that Embade had leveled out her trajectory. By now, they were in the clouds, the earth below long ago dissolved in a curling grey haze. Huge mounds, columns, and fantastical shapes of varying shades of grey floated around them. They swirled as if in a current when Embade's wings tore through them, separating, and then reconstructing themselves into new forms. Here, one resembling a castle and there, one which took the shape of stag's antlers.
Where are we going? He wondered, the clouds obliterating his sense of direction.
A picture floated into his mind, the clouds around him giving way to an unfamiliar mountain scene. A lush forest of a multitude of green tints, more than Nokkland had ever seen even in paintings, lapped at the sheer cliffs that rose to form the peak.
The view moved upwards, approaching a large cavern. A thin lip of rock extended from it over a gorge. The walls on either side seemed lumpy. As the perspective of the picture focused in, Nokkland managed to distinguish carvings crawling up the mountainsides around the cave. Before he could figure out what they depicted, he seemed to be swept inside for the scene shifted past the yawning mouth of rock into a void.
Looking around him, Nokkland found himself floating in midair. Far beneath him extended a bubbling underground lake. Steam rolled upwards towards him in great billows which curled into each of the twelve chambers which opened before him off of the void.
Movement caught his eye. Nokkland tried to turn but found he could not. A slither echoed from somewhere behind him, the sound of something snaking its way over gravel. Then, the entire scene vanished.
