After a brief rest in their caves, and many days of hard travel the hunters finally came to the crater where Wormtongue waited. Never having seen a Dragon before, Wroth’s brothers quaked and trembled before the dreadful magnificence that was Wormtongue. On the other hand, Wroth strolled forward pretending he had no fear, but in truth, his heart still fluttered with nervous apprehension.
“I’ve brought you a better meal, my Dragon-mother!” the gray teen called to her in a proud tone as he gestured back at his cowering brothers and the great boar that hung between them.
The flying serpent raised her head and gazed at the other Graylings. “Very good, my dear son.”
Seeing her raise up and hearing her deep hissing voice was too much. Goroth and Grum dropped the boar, Oblat cast off his dead brothers. Without their burdens, they hurriedly scurried away from the Dragon’s gaze and hid themselves behind a nearby boulder.
“I see you have killed a pig for me, but what happened to these others?” the flying serpent asked with a hungry look.
Wroth dropped his head with a shallow feeling of sadness. “They were accidentally killed during our hunt, and I was unsure what I should do with their bodies.”
The Dragon gestured to the stone slab. “Bring all that you have to me.”
Wroth barked at his hiding siblings, and with great trembling, they came forth with both the boar and their dead brothers.
“Lay them all here upon this rock.” Wormtongue commanded a second time when they looked unsure what they should do.
With shutters of terror, they did as they were told and then put as much distance as they dared between themselves and the great serpent.
Wormtongue drew in a great breath and then engulfed all three of the bodies in her hellish fire. After a few seconds, she turned the smoke-filled flames upward until they faded, and then with a quick snap of her massive jaws, she took half of the boar in one bite. Once she had swallowed the large morsel down with jerking gulps, she then turned to the dead brothers. Like the pig, she took half of each and gulped the mouthfuls down.
“Come!” she said after she had eaten. “Have some of your prey.”
Wroth strolled over and ripped a piece of meat from the carcass of the boar. He now found the flesh delicious, and seeing pleasure upon his face, his brothers followed his example. Like Wroth, they did not enjoy it at first, but after many bites, they decided they liked it very much.
“Have some of these others also.” The Dragon suggested.
Wroth hesitated with a clear expression of alarm. It was one thing for the Dragon to eat his brothers, but for him to eat his own kind seemed terribly wrong.
Wormtongue saw this and quickly answered his unspoken dilemma. “Remember when I told you that Aether is within all things? In truth, we’re all more than this crude flesh. Our true selves reside within each of our hearts.
“This true essence is Aethereal – a form not unlike shadow. It consists of pure Aether born out of the Void. So, when your brothers died, their essence passed through the Aethereal Veil which separates the living from the dead. If there is nothing to bind them to the realm of the living, their Aether will be drawn back into the everlasting Void, and when the dead return to that vast darkness, they lose themselves within its nothingness.
“It’s only by eating their flesh that you forge a bond between yourself and the dead. If you don’t eat, they will fade into oblivion.” She paused and gave him a questioning look. “Do you wish to see your brothers diminish into nothingness?”
Not waiting for him to answer, the she-Dragon continued. “On the other hand, if you eat them, their Aether won’t be lost, but it will become a part of you. In that way, their shadows will be linked to you from across the Aethereal Veil, and from there, they can even guide you with the wisdom they gain from hovering upon the very brink of the Void.”
Wroth’s eyebrows pitched up in a surprised expression. “Are you saying I could talk to the dead?!?”
Wormtongue glanced at something off to her left and then nodded her horned head. “Yes, but that’s a lesson for another day. First, you must bind your brothers’ Aether to your own.” As she said this, she gestured to their cooked bodies.
With a wary glance at the Dragon, Wroth took a piece of Moag’s flesh, and brought it to his mouth. “I don’t wish to see my brothers fall into nothingness, and beyond that, I want to learn how I can communicate with them.”
This seemed like a great power to him, and he wondered at what secrets he might learn from the dead. After a second more of hesitation, he ate the hunk of man-flesh. Again, following his example, his brothers did the same, and in this way, the Grayling race became eaters of the dead.
“You know,” Grum commented around a mouthful of his brother, “They don’t taste much different from the pig.”
“You’re right!” The others replied in unison and then let out mirthful laughs.
While licking grease from his fingers, Wroth asked a question. “If someone dies and we’re not able to eat them, how long before their Aether is lost?”
The she-Dragon considered this for a long moment. Neither she nor her master had foreseen that he would ask such a question, and so she had not been given the answer. After a few seconds of deliberation, she responded with her own question. “How many days have your brothers been dead?” She inwardly calculated that for the meal he now ate to be worth his eating, the Aether would need to linger for at least that long.
Wroth swallowed, pursed his lips, and began to count out his fingers. After a second more of deliberation, he replied, “It’s been over six days.”
“Ah, good!” Wormtongue let out a convincing sigh of relief. “You weren’t too late! The Aether of a creature lingers at the Aethereal Veil for one cycle of the moon's phases. If not eaten before that time has passed, the creature’s Aether will begin to be drawn into the Void, and once they pass beyond the brink, they will be lost forever.”
“What is a moon?” the fell-teen asked with a confused expression.
Not giving the question much thought, the Dragon replied, “It’s the largest light in the night sky, and it changes shape in a cycle. The completion of that cycle is how we measure a month.”
Wroth looked up at the cloud-choked sky. “How do I see this moon?!?”
“Just count out thirty days from their death!” The Dragon growled with irritation.
Wroth shuddered slightly and then timidly asked a third question. “How much do we have to eat to save their Aether? Can we eat just a mouthful, or must the person be eaten completely?”
With a sigh of impatience, she gave her answer. “The more you eat, the stronger the bond will be between you. After all, the pull of the Void can be very great, and so you will want to make your connection as strong as possible. At the very least, you must eat the heart, for that is where most of their Aether resides.”
The flying serpent paused, reached out her giant fore-claws, and cracked open the chests of his brothers revealing their fire-roasted hearts. “And remember, when you take their Aether into your soul, you are also gaining their power.”
“Power!” The word echoed in Wroth’s mind. Above all, he craved power. The power he had over his siblings only awakened a hunger for more. With such power, he hoped to overthrow his father, and in the end, he dreamed of ruling all the lands of Riven!
With a sudden expression of fierce resolve, Wroth turned to his brothers. “Let us forge an unbreakable bond with our dead. Eat all that you can but save their hearts for only me!”
The others nodded gravely, and then each of them took yet another piece of their dead brothers. When at last they could eat no more, Wroth begged the she-Dragon to bind herself to their dead with even stronger ties by eating the remaining scraps.
She did so with delight.
“Wormtongue?” Wroth began to address the flying serpent as he wiped grease from his mouth.
“Wormtongue?!?” She echoed with a stern look of dissatisfaction. “Do you call your birth mother by her given name as if she was nothing more than a common serving wench?!?”
Wroth flinched at the rebuke. “Forgive me, Dragon-mother. I meant no disrespect.”
“Very well, all is forgiven.” Wormtongue gave a dismissive wave with her forefoot, but an exaggerated expression of hurt still lingered upon her elongated face. “Continue with your request, for I’m sure I heard the approach of yet another question.”
“Yes, Dragon-mother.” He acknowledged. “I wished to ask help from your matchless wisdom.”
Wormtongue like these words very much. “Say on.”
“I seek a way to keep my father from taking my mother by force.” Wroth explained with suppressed anger.
The flying serpent nodded her understanding. “My wisdom comes from the Aether, so to discover this mystery, I must consult the Void.”
Saying this, she closed her black eyes, raised her head, and let out a deep rumble that sounded like thunder. With great amazement, Wroth and his brothers felt the vibration of her growl deep within their chests. As she made the sound, the base of her throat swelled causing her obsidian scales to bristle, and a red glow could be seen between them.
After doing all this, she fell silent, and seconds later, her eyelids began to flutter as if she were beholding some strange vision.
Without opening her eyes, Wormtongue finally spoke in a gravelly hiss. “Your father only wakes when the effects of the black mushrooms fade from his mind, and then, he only leaves his den when he has no more, but if he never runs out, he will have no reason to come outside.”
“So, I only need to keep his bowl full!” Wroth simplified with happy satisfaction.
After a reverent bow, he made haste to return home. Once there, he commanded his sisters to perpetually fill their father’s bowl with mushrooms. In this way, Wroth kept Calamitous within his den. With the gray-Ancient in an endless stupor, Wroth’s mother was no longer bothered by her husband.
While his father was in a mushroom induced stupor, Wroth commanded his brothers to hunt and kill any creature they came upon. Whenever they took prey, they brought it before Wormtongue. She vomited out her fiery smoke-filled breath and cooked the victims within seconds. Then, after she had eaten her fill, Wroth and his family would eat as well.
Likewise, if any died or were killed, a funeral procession bore them to the Dragon-mother. She said words of magic over the corpse, and after she engulfed it in flames, all ate. In this way, they believed that they were binding the deads’ Aether to the clan.
Moreover, the whole clan continually ate from the Tree of Deepshadows, and so, like Wroth, even the irises of their eye became as black as pitch with no hint of color.
As time passed, Wroth added his own daughters to his wives and added his sons to the ranks of his hunters. In this way, the family grew into a corrupted race of people. Because of this, Wroth would no longer allow anyone to call him brother or father, but instead, he took a title that belonged to only one: he demanded to be called king.
Being a king, he sought to enlarge his kingdom, and so, his hunters became warriors, and his warriors became an army. With this army and with the help of the Dragons, the fell-king began to march south. Thus, he began to pillage and destroy the pleasant land of Serenity.
