[Writing] Pax Draconica 2 - Chapter 3 (5th Nov 2025)

[Tapewolf]

I have about 13 chapters of this, so perhaps it's time to start posting them here.  This is, surprisingly, the sequel to the original Pax Draconica story.

I should probably mention that this contains spoilers for Book 1, since the first thing we do is summarise the events as a catch-up.

There are a few unresolved issues about balancing the two main plot threads, but hopefully I'll be able to fix that soon.


Chapter 1 - Fish

Mermul stared into the waters of the lake for a few moments and gingerly flicked out his tail, slapping the blue-grey appendage against the water repeatedly.  After a short time, the surface rippled and began to roil until a large, sleek head popped out of the lake with a splash, rubbery skin gleaming like a wetsuit.

"Oh," the dragoness said, looking at Mermul disapprovingly.  "What do you want?"

"Rude," Fiskul remarked.

"He's a frost-dragon," the water-dragon complained, shifting her gaze from the grey-furred dragon to the small, scaly black-and-red figure beside him.  "Frosties love their pranks.  Making ice floes and shit to try and stop us surfacing.  It gets old very quickly."

"But I didn't," Mermul pointed out reasonably.  "If that was my plan I'd have frozen it while you were trying to surface.  In any case, I can no longer breathe frost."

"You lost your breath powers?!" the water-dragon looked horrified and her head backed away in case Mermul was somehow contagious.  "But- but that's a gift from Father Alkrash Himself!  What did you do?!"

"It's complicated and you probably won't believe it anyway," Mermul sighed.  "Lord Thurr guillotined me, and while I lay headless, The Great One chose me to be His champion against Thurr, and an emotional support dragon for Fiskul here.  When I awoke, I had gained the power to heal the dying... but that new power had replaced my frost-breath."

"You're that Chosen One people have been talking about?!" the water-dragon looked surprised and unsure whether to believe him or not.

"Yes," the fluff-dragon said.  "I miss being able to freeze things, as it's often useful.  But I would never wish to give up the power to save lives.  And... well, back in Arcaia, before everything went bad... I sneezed in the shower.  That didn't end well."

"Why are you so surprised about this?"  Fiskul protested.  "It's been on the news!  For the first few tendays Mermul could barely move for people wanting his autograph.  And now some folks are trying to worship him..."

"Well, I could point out that we don't get television out here in the middle of a lake," the dragoness replied, "...But actually I'd be lying.  We have an Eidophor in that big building on the island, and we can also project films too.  The real problem is that we have to leave the water to watch, and it's just more comfy to swim, you know...?"

"So, does that mean you don't watch the news at all?" Mermul looked worried.  "I mean, in some ways I don't blame you... it can be pretty miserable, but when Lord Thurr was threatening an invasion, I'd have thought that was something you'd need to know about, so as to prepare if the worst came to the worst."

"Indeed," the dragoness admitted.  "We get newsreels with a compilation of important events from the last tenday or so.  As you say, it doesn't pay to be completely out of touch.  But a the same time, we're more likely to be interested in things that affect us water-dragons than things happening further out.  So yeah, we heard about the threat of war.  But then we heard it was averted and kind of switched off."

"But-" Fiskul looked outraged.

"Shush," Mermul told them.  "It doesn't matter.  I'd take apathy over cult worship any day.  Even the Chosen One's got things to do, right?"

"I guess you're right," Fiskul sighed, "But it seems so ungrateful given that you died to help save their tails!"

"I don't see many people lining up to worship you," the dragoness pointed out drily.

"It's mostly Fiskul keeping them away," Mermul said, craning his long neck to indicate the smaller dragon.  "For all that they consider me some kind of messenger from Father Alkrash, they're not particularly keen on the Devourer, even though we're both in a similar position.  We both get to see the Great One occasionally.  But... well, I have to die to get new instructions or prophecies or whatever from Him.  And to be blunt, dying isn't a particularly enjoyable experience.  Fiskul is a lot closer to Him than me, anyway..."

"But I look more scary," Fiskul added proudly.

"You're the Devourer...?" the dragoness looked worried.  "But if you're here... Did we miss a newsreel saying the world is about to end?!"

"Nah.  I've always been here," Fiskul said.  "Going to and fro in the Eyrth and walking up and down in it.  If you have a burst pipe, you'd call a plumber to fix it, sure.  But ending the world doesn't work that way.  I don't come when I'm called... I'm supposed to just lurk in the background until an apocalypse is needed."

The dragoness opened her mouth to reply, but before she could speak, a very small dragon had spotted them and came running over.

"Sea-dragon!  Sea-dragon!" the dragonlet burbled.  "Do the fountain thing!"

"Oh all right," the water-dragon grumbled, secretly pleased.  She arched back her head and inhaled deeply, before blowing a jet of water straight up into the air.  The youngster pranced and screamed with delight, and Mermul felt a sudden mischievious urge to freeze the water in mid-air.  Of course, this would upset the other dragons and besides, he had lost that ability... But the temptation still remained.

"I admire your restraint," the dragoness said, glancing at Mermul while the dragonlet was apologetically retrieved by one of their parents.  "I could see you wanting to play silly buggers with a frost-breath attack."

"It was tempting," Mermul admitted.  "Might have upset the kid, though.  And like I said, I can't.  I can heal things, even raise the dead.  But I had to get new freezers installed in the villa."

"This healing breath business," the water-dragon said.  "I have never heard of such a thing.  Can you show me?"

"Give me a fish," Mermul said.  "That would make as good a demonstration as any."

The water-dragon disappeared below the surface for a few moments, and then reappeared, spitting out a medium-sized carp, which landed in front of Mermul with a wet slap.
Gingerly, Mermul flipped the dead fish so it was floating in the shallows of the lake, and then he closed his eyes and inhaled.
A pale blue energy flowed from his mouth, like a plasma.  The dead fish spasmed, rolled over and darted suddenly into the depths of the lake.

"Wow," the dragoness said.

"It can have its drawbacks," Mermul said.  "Being able to heal the living and the dead is a wonderful gift, but... Well, one time I forgot I can't breath frost anymore.  I..."  Mermul's voice faltered at the memory.

"He tried to freeze a side of beef," Fiskul added helpfully.  "Shooing a live cow out of a pantry wasn't quite how I'd expected to spend that afternoon."

"What would have happened if you had cut the meat in half first?" the dragoness asked greedily. "Could you get two cows out of it?"

"We tried that later with a leg of lamb," Mermul said.  "You get one sheep - nothing happens if you try to heal the other half."

"Pity," the water-dragon said.  "Anyway... I have things to be getting on with.  You summoned me for a reason, right?"

"Ah, yes," Mermul said.  "Lord Varl is planning a new hydropower plant in the eastern valley.  We would like your aid in assessing the hydrological impact of this scheme.  As a minor lord, I'm nominally in charge of that region, so it falls to me to act as envoy."

"I see," the dragoness said.  "I shall inform our leader that Lord Varl wishes to speak with them, and an envoy will be sent to him.  Thank you for taking our kind into account in this matter."

"Thank you," Mermul said.

*  *  *

The meeting had not called for official dress, so Sir Fardon wore only his neck-pouch as he entered the throne room.  A formal gathering would have called for ceremonial armour, and the brown dragon had mixed feelings about such gear.  It looked fantastic, and was a real crowd-pleaser.  However, it was also what he wore when carrying out executions, and the guilt of taking the lives of his fellow dragons weighed down upon him.

Sir Darving and Sir Narfus were also present, and also dressed casual.  Lord Varl rarely donned armour except on special occasions, and wore only his usual jewellery.  Most of it was decorative, but the bracer on one foreleg contained a potent spell of protection that rendered him nearly invulnerable.

Lord Varl twitched his red-orange tail as Fardon entered.  Along with the two red dragon-knights, he was pondering a map on a large table, and he beckoned Fardon to join them.

"Arstrom?"  Sir Fardon asked, taking in the map.  "That is to the far northeast, isn't it?  Not a safe place for dragons, from what I remember.  And ruled by a series of... well, despots."

"That is so," Lord Varl replied.  "Even there, Lord Thurr's reputation has sullied our kind.  But it seems the tide may be turning, as we have received enquiries from their overlord."

"Now that Thurr no longer poses a threat, the ruler is apparently re-evaluating his relationship with dragonkind," Sir Darving added.  "Even the anti-dragon zealot factions there have to admit that an invasion by Thurr was the big danger, not hostility from Taria.  That at least, is what Lord Terror is saying."

"So they are opening their borders...?" the large brown dragon replied.  "Interesting."

"Indeed," the dragon king remarked.  "Their lord has invited us to send a delegation to discuss opening trade links, and to help prove to his people that dragons can be beneficial.  I aim to send out such a mission next tenday, and I would like you to lead it, Sir Fardon."

"Trade isn't my strong point, your majesty," Fardon pointed out.  "Presumably that side of things will be left to others?"

"Indeed.  You will be there as my representative.  The actual nitty-gritty of the negotiation will be done by others.  But they will look to you for the final say, and of course for protection."

"And Tarnover...?"

"It will keep," the red-orange dragon reassurred him.  "You have excellent underlings and they will be able to manage in your absence.  If you are truly worried, I can spare one of my knights here to keep an eye on things."

"Hopefully that won't be necessary," Fardon said.  "But... Hmmm.  What do we know about this Lord Terror?  Arstrom has had a long run as a feudal state, and to be honest, a name like that is... concerning."

"That is one of the things we would like to know more about," Sir Darving sighed.  "I was in Trooland earlier this year.  Those who have seen him say that he is a furre, but shows little sign of age.  He looks to be in his mid-twenties, and has done so ever since he usurped the throne twenty-something years ago.
"Maybe he has some fancy enchantment," the red dragon craned his neck at Lord Varl's invulnerability charm briefly.  "Or maybe he has dragon blood in him.  But he has been making big changes recently, modernising his realm.
"Perhaps he is a tyrant like Yyrkoon was, and Marfour the Red before that.  But even then, past performance is no guarantee of future returns, as the banks like to say.
"It wouldn't be the first time a despot has backed off, and opened up their society if the alternative is becoming a head on a pike.  And you never know, 'Terror' may just be his family name.  These are things we would like you to try and determine if you can."

"Just because we can trade with Arstrom, doesn't mean we should," Lord Varl added.  "But hopefully you can help us answer that question."

[Anders71]

Aha! Pax Draconica time!

[Tapewolf]

Chapter 2 - Summoned

Lord Mermul's villa was a spacious residence that he had inherited from his aunt, following her execution and the seizure of her estate.
Mermul still had the occasional nightmare, reliving the moment when Fercia had lost her teal-furred head in the city square for mass-murder and treason, and how he had nearly suffered the same fate.  The house, grounds and her fortune had been awarded to him as compensation for his mistreatment.
Even so, for some time after that, Sir Darving had still treated Mermul with extreme suspicion, fearing that he too was some kind of sleeper agent for Lord Thurr.  Until Thurr had demanded his head to avoid a war...

"Urgh," Mermul said, as he looked at the front gate.  A number of flowers and small gifts had been laid beside it.

"They mean well," Vinny said, perching on the archway overlooking it.  "I don't have the heart to stop them, but I have asked them not to block the entrance."

"But it looks like they're mourning me," the fluff-dragon complained, as the brown dragon opened the gates for them.

"You did die," Fiskul pointed out helpfully.

"In Lord Thurr's dungeon," Mermul pointed out.  "Maybe they should leave the flowers there?  If they want me to heal them, they should just write a letter or send me a Viewdata message like everyone else.
"No... that's the thing I have a problem with, I guess...?  Not that people need help, but the people who don't need help and just want to be... well, groupies or something.  Great One help me if they get planning permission to build a temple to me or something."

"I wouldn't worry about that," Vinny said.  "You're a lord, and can nix the planning permission if it comes to that.  But it's also very likely the Archbishop would have something to say if a new faith springs up around you."

"He'd probably try and sentence me to death again," Mermul grumbled.  "Though I'm less worried about such things now.  How about you, Vinny?  You have risen from the grave too.  Want to take my worshippers off my hands...?"

"Gah," the brown dragon said.  "You can keep 'em!  Besides, you raised me.  That's probably what all the fuss is about."

A small red dragon coughed politely.  Vinny turned sharply.

"Oh, Jentir?  Still here?"

"Just finished the hedgerows.  But... uh..."

Vintur looked at the gardener with an unhappy expression.  "Oh boy.  You heard what we were talking about, right...?"

"Uh, yes," the dragon said.  "I didn't know you... uh... died, and..."

"You want to know what it was like, don't you...?" the brown dragon sighed.  "This is why I never mention it."  He leaped into the air and landed majestically upon the pathway, gathering his thoughts with a pained expression.

"Mermul once told of an empty dawn sky," Vinny started, eyes staring into the distance.  "No ground, only a few scattered clouds in the far distance, and a beautiful red-tinged sunrise that never came.  No pain, only the feeling of the air flowing under your wings.
"I went there too, when Lord Thurr shot me.  I felt a moment of pain... I think, I may have imagined it, and then... Then I was in the dawn place.
"I don't know what happens if you're wingless.  Maybe there is land far below for those who can't fly, and you find yourself lying on a rock.  Or maybe they are gifted with the experience of flight after their mortal lives are done.  I don't know.
"But I was there, flying in that same void.  Then a silver dragon flew beside me.  I was told to wait, that my time had not yet come... That Mermul would tend to me.  Then he went away, and after that I woke up.
"I do not think many people have got to see their own brains splashed over a wall, but I am one of them.  I almost puked up again.  Mermul sent me back to sleep, and the next thing I knew... Lord Thurr had murdered Zeelah."

"You weren't supposed to say that!" Fiskul looked aghast.  "The official story is that she's his advisor!"

"I was going to say that Mermul saved her!" Vinny snapped.  "That's true, right?  Now you've gone and thrown that out the window!
"Look, guys, this isn't supposed to get out, but the truth is... Thurr's gone, trapped in a magical trinket.  There's someone in his head, but it's not him.  Zeelah's running the show now.
"For her... His own sake we've tried to hush that up to avoid a coup or a fanatic trying to get the real Thurr back in charge."

"I don't have any ties to Thurr," the gardener said hastily.  "I just wanted to know what happens... if I..."

"...If you get an out-of-skull experience like Vinny did," Fiskul said helpfully.  The brown dragon winced.

"Sorry," Fiskul said, looking abashed.  "I'm too used to dying.  It doesn't bother me anymore."

Vinny rolled his eyes and craned his neck back to Jentir.  "Ties to Thurr aren't a problem as such," he said reassuringly.
"There's a fair few refugees from Thurr here, but I'm not worried about them.  Nobody who is fleeing from his cruelty wants to see that part of him come back, because he might call a hit on them like he tried to do with Mermul.
"No... it's the sleeper agents that worry me.  The ones like Fercia was, who are true believers but are very good at hiding it.  They might not be too happy about the spy network being dismantled, and if they realise it's because Thurr isn't Thurr anymore..."

"That's above my pay grade," Jentir said.  "I'm just a gardener!"

*  *  *

The music hall was one of the largest rooms in Mermul's villa.  Inside it, the blue-grey frost dragon lay upon a specially-designed couch, his forelegs roving across the keyboard, with the couch supporting his body while one foot was free to press down on a semi-circular pedalboard.

Horn-like tones reverberated throughout the room as he played, a maze of pipes hidden in the loft switching on and off as he recited an opus by the reknown composer Urnax, written to commemorate the thousandth anniversary of Lord Varl's coronation.  Mermul fluffed a note here and there, but successfully completed the final arpeggio run, ending with the closing chord and an earth-shaking bass note from the 32-foot bombarde rank.

As the echoes faded away and he switched off the blowers, Mermul craned his neck around to see Sir Fardon standing in the entrance to the music hall.

"Impressive," the brown dragon said, looking surprised.  He thumped his tail upon the ground in appreciation.  "I didn't know you could play!  I didn't even know you had this!"

"Oh, I started to learn in Arcaia," Mermul said, looking embarrassed.  "Thurr had a pipe organ, and there was one in the Temple of Alkrash, but we plebs weren't allowed anything like that.  Thurr wanted his people to be warriors, not artists.
"Anyway, Fercia's villa had a small organ, but it didn't seem to have seen much use lately.  Since I have a lot in the bank from the reward money, I had it refurbished and expanded.  I've been taking lessons...
"But it's good to see you, Fardon!" he added.  "Did Lord Varl summon you from Tarnover?"

"He did," Fardon said.  "And since this business will take me away from Taria for a while, I figured I should let you know I won't be around for a bit."

"Much appreciated," Mermul said.  "Let's discuss this in the parlour."

*  *  *

Mermul led his friend into the parlour, and settled in a large couch.  He moved a table out of the way, which held a collection of oddments including a large brush.

"Some more of Fercia's personal effects," he explained.  "There was a hidden compartment in the couch.  Nothing terribly interesting, though... mostly fur-care stuff.  Can I get you anything?" he added.  "Tea?  Coffee?"

"I do have a meeting at the palace in one hour," Fardon said apologetically.  "So I can't stay long, I'm afraid.  But if you have tea, I wouldn't say no."

"I'll get it," Fiskul said, poking their head into the doorway eagerly.

"Tea from the Evil One," Fardon said, looking amused.  He looked at the brush for a few moments and then settled into another couch.

"Firstly, Lord Varl is sending a delegation to Arstrom," Fardon began, as the two dragons made themselves comfortable.  "I'll be heading there next tenday."

"Arstrom..."  Mermul thought for a few moments.  "Northeast, right?  I don't remember them being kind to dragons there."

"There was an incident some centuries back," Fardon said.  "Dragons weren't especially welcome after that.  But their present lord seems very enthusiastic about having dragons return there.  While it would be good if we can negotiate trade links, I am also supposed to look into this lord and see if he would be a good match for an alliance."

"I wish you luck," Mermul said.  "Be safe!"

"I should go too!" Fiskul said, entering the room with a tray of hot beverages.  Fardon craned his neck towards Fiskul with a look of dismay as he took one of the bowls.

"But it makes sense!" the smaller dragon protested.  "I love Mermul, but I don't want to lose you either, Fardon!  You're going a long way!  What if it's a trap?  What if you're taken hostage?  You'll need someone who can break you out again if things go wrong!"

"You do have a point," Fardon admitted.  "But I will have to run that past Lord Varl, and I don't know what he'll say.  Granted, I doubt I could stop you coming with me if you were determined.  But..."

"Let me guess, he'd be privately relieved to have me out of his realm, but worried that if I'm out of his sight, I might start devouring the world without him knowing?" the Dark Destroyer looked amused.

"I will definitely ask," Fardon said.  "I can't deny it would be useful to have some backup, an ace card in case this 'Lord Terror' lives up to his name.
"There is one other thing," he added, lapping at his tea.  "Lord Thurr has requested your presence, Mermul."

"Oh," Mermul said.  "Do we know why?"

"Thurr would like you to try and resurrect someone," Fardon said.  "He has asked if he can borrow you and your powers, whether you would be available on betaday?  That's all I know, unfortunately."

"I could do that," Mermul agreed.  "Though much depends on who and why.  I'll use my discretion."

"Wise," Fardon admitted.  "I'd assume it's one of Old Thurr's victims... but who knows.  If it's someone unsavoury, you can always refuse...  Oh, and you can stay at my villa if you need a stopover in Tarnover," he added.  "My housekeeper will be told to expect you."

"Thanks," Mermul said, and promptly sneezed.

It is not usually a good thing when a dragon sneezes.  Once, this would have left a neat patch of frost.  But now, Mermul sneezed a pale blue stream of energy, which struck the table and the brush upon it.

"Beg pardon," Mermul said.  And then froze.  The energy was not going away.  Instead, the glow had spread to engulf the fur-brush and was continuing to grow.

"What the hell..." Fardon started.  Fiskul looked astonished.  In the centre of the energy blob, giant bones could be seen.  Within sixty seconds, a colossal skeleton had formed.  It became faint as flesh knit and covered it.  The table collapsed and the glow faded away, leaving a teal-furred dragoness.  She stumbled briefly, craned her neck to take in the room, and faced Mermul with a shocked expression.

"...Oh," Fercia said, looking stricken.  "Oh Mermul... I don't think you were supposed to do this!"

"I didn't think I could!"  Mermul squeaked, looking horrified.

"Holy Alkrash," Fardon gurgled.

[Tapewolf]

Chapter 3 - Fercia

"Fiskul," Fardon said, "Find Vinny.  Tell him to call Sir Darving.  He will need to see this."

Fercia sat down like a dog and focused intently on Mermul.

"I have to know, Merm," she said, looking worried.  "Before your large friend here kills me again, I have to know...
"I can't trust what I learned in the Punishment Place... Did you get the Xebulon?  Did you take down Thurr?"

"Yes," Mermul said.  "We did.  Lord Thurr is trapped in his own invulnerability bracelet and Zeelah has taken his place.
"People are confused, some think I have blackmailed him or otherwise forced him to do my bidding.  But the truth is - he's out of the picture."

"Then it was worth it," Fercia said, sighing with relief.

"Are you going to cause trouble?"  Fardon asked, watching the teal dragoness suspiciously.

"No," Fercia said simply.  "There is no point.  There has clearly been an accident, and taking advantage of the confusion would not improve my standing in the long term."

"Nonetheless, I cannot let you leave the room," Fardon said.  "You did not go so quietly to justice last time."

"I wanted a spectacle," Fercia said simply.  "It was never in my mind to try and escape... Since I had been caught, I wanted to feel like I died fighting, to show the world that I had died bravely - losing my head in as dragonly a death as I could manage."

"It was all a bit stupid really," she added.  "But it seemed like a good idea at the time.  If I had known I would be returning to the land of the living, however briefly... I might have acted differently then.  Certainly I would, knowing what I now know of what awaits me."

"Alright," Sir Darving said, entering the parlour with Fiskul in tow.  "What's the- AAAAHH!!"

The large red dragon stared in total disbelief.  "What the hell has happened?!"

"I sneezed," Mermul said unhappily.

"You sneezed," Sir Darving repeated numbly.  "Mermul sneezed and a dead psychopath appeared...?  Am I having some kind of nightmare?  A mental breakdown?"

"It's real," Mermul said miserably.  "I sneezed my healing power on one of her old grooming brushes.  It had traces of her fur in it...  And now..."

"He did not intend this," Fercia interrupted.  "Nor did I.  And yet... here I am.  I await your judgement."

"That's above our pay grade," Fardon put in quickly.  "It's Lord Varl who should be deciding what happens to her.  Myself, I say exile.  I've killed her once, I have no wish to do it again."

"Exile?!  After what she did?!  She violated the Pax Draconica more times than we have claws!"

"Think," Fardon snapped.  "It's going to look pretty fucking weird if we guillotine an infamous mass-murderess a second time.  Do you want to answer the questions that will raise?!  If we kick her out of Taria, none of this is our problem!"

"...But we can't!" Sir Darving wailed.  "We can't have her alive and free while all those people she killed are dead!  That's not fair!"

"You would be within your rights to take my head again," Fercia said, bowing her neck and resting her head upon the ground as if expecting Sir Darving to remove it there and then.  "I deserve it for the atrocities I committed."

"Absolutely not!" Fiskul objected.  "First, killing her here will ruin Mermul's carpet.  But more importantly, she has already been executed once!
"She doesn't get another go, besides which she's into that sort of thing."

"Fisk!" Mermul protested, looking shocked.  "You can't say things like that!"

Fiskul rolled their eyes. "I may not understand your taboos, but I do understand your laws," the Devourer pointed out.  "Legally, she's dead.  You've got her house, Mermul.  The case is closed and charging her again would be double-jeopardy.  She cannot be executed twice for the same offence!"

"That's only a problem if people find out," Sir Darving said, thoughtfully.  "But supposing you devoured her...?"

"I will not!" Fiskul snarled.  "She's served her sentence."

"Have I?" Fercia asked quietly.  "I still have a few years left to serve in Hell.  Escaping that punishment and returning to the land of the living... this was not supposed to happen!"

"You see?" Darving insisted.  "She admits it!  She belongs in Hell and we should send her back there!"

"We do not have that right," Fardon said.  "We should ask the gods what to do, this is their province, and ultimately their doing."

"Oh no, no, no," Mermul said, backing away.  "You're not killing me just so I can get instructions from the Great One!  Fardon, you are my friend and I hate to make threats, but I was an assassin once - and I can mess you up if you force me to defend myself."

"I meant through prayer," Fardon clarified.  "You outrank me now, and I'd be in serious trouble for assaulting you without good reason.  That said, if you should see Him again, you should probably ask for a safety interlock on your healing breath power..."

"Back to Fercia," Fiskul said.  "There is the further problem that her trial and execution might have been unduly hasty.  She was on a meat-rich diet - we know that now - and if she was not of sound mind because her hormones were scrambled, she should never have received the death sentence at all!"

"What makes you think you know so much about our laws, Fiskul?"  Sir Darving stared at the black dragon challengingly.

"When you have been publicly executed as many times as I have, you make it your business to have a good grasp of what's a capital crime and what isn't!" Fiskul snapped.  "I had to become a law expert by necessity, simply to keep my own head attached, to say nothing of my poor friends!  And yet, that very reputation as a lawyer is one of the reasons I get referred to as the Evil One!"

"Being mentally confused does not absolve me of all my crimes," Fercia interrupted sadly.  "The killings in the murdertorium were still pre-meditated, to feed my blood-lust.  If you seek to give me the blade for those crimes, I will not resist."

"But that blood-lust was caused by malnutrition," Fiskul objected.  "There are extenuating circumstances.  You should be imprisoned, yes - executed, no!  Besides, the fact that you acknowledge the wrongness of what you did, that speaks well of your character, despite your misplaced loyalty to Thurr."

"We do not know for sure that this was a mistake," Mermul said thoughtfully.  "Perhaps this was intended by Father Alkrash, that she may find redemption here on Eyrth.  She helped us defeat Lord Thurr, and that counts for a lot, for that monster has taken far more lives than Fercia ever did."
"Low-risk criminals are sometimes moved to an open prison, are they not?" Fiskul added.  "That may have been the intention here, if Mermul's theory is correct."

"You think she was given early release from Hell?!" Sir Darving sat down and covered his eyes with his hands.  "Alright...  I can't deny that's possible.  I cannot know the minds of the gods, and sometimes they work in very mysterious ways."  He put down his forelegs and looked around.
"Either way, we must keep her away from the bereaved.  Some are likely to attempt their own kind of justice if they learn that she has returned, and their loved ones haven't."

"I do not want that!" Fercia yelped, horrified.  "Lawful execution is one thing, but being murdered is quite another!  I do not want others to suffer over what I have done, and if they commit a vigilante killing upon me, they will surely get the blade too!"

"I could bring them back afterwards," Mermul said helpfully.

"That's a vigilante resurrection!"  Sir Darving looked horrified.  "You've done enough damage already, Mermul!  Our legal system was never designed for people to be un-executed... Please don't wreck it any further!"

"Lord Mermul," the frost-dragon reminded him.  "I hate to pull rank, but I'm pretty sure my title gives me a say in what becomes of her."

"If it helps, I can dye my fur," Fercia said.  "I doubt I'm the only teal frost dragon in Taria, but all the same, it would be better if I was not recognised."

"You're being very cooperative," Sir Darving said, looking at her suspiciously.  "What are you up to?"

"Nothing," Fercia sighed.  "I have caused enough mayhem for a dragon's lifetime.  I cannot take back what I have done, but if I am to remain alive, I want my deeds going forwards to be noble ones.
"Mermul may be right, that I was allowed to return here to try and redeem myself.  I am assuming that is the case, and as such, my new life should be dedicated to goodness... assuming I am permitted to have one.
"And on that note, if you still have my diaries to jog my memory, I can probably make you a list of those who perished in the murdertorium."

"I managed to restore some of them to life," Mermul said.  "With my gift.  But even so, a list would be useful.  And yes, if you can change your appearance a bit, we'll need that.  Urgently."

"What's the rush?"  Sir Darving asked, looking crestfallen.  "Lord Varl will want proof!  If she's had a makeover and no longer resembles Fercia, that proof will be harder to provide."

"Because of the cultists!"  Mermul sounded anxious.  "Gods... If they find out I've resurrected my aunt, I don't want to know what they'll think!"

"Cultists?"  Fercia looked appalled.  "Mermul, what have you been doing?!"

"It's not my fault!" the blue-grey dragon protested.  "A bunch of the Small Races started worshipping me, just because I was blessed by Father Alkrash!  They think I'm some kind of conduit to the Great One and that He will hear their prayers through me or something.  I don't understand it.  I wish they would go away."

"He's right," Fardon said.  "If word gets out that Mermul resurrected a notorious serial killer, it could cause a schism.  The cultists are harmless now, but... Urgh.
"Best case, they see it as Alkrash showing His mercy upon a sinner.  It's the ones who think he misused his gift, or that Mermul has to turned evil that will be dangerous.  They could start trying to kill each other.  Or Mermul.  Or kill other people in his name.  When it comes to a religious fanatic, I don't know how much collateral damage they could do."