THE DRAGONING

THE EPIC OF TEAJIZZLE PRELUDE THE DRAGONING

"There is no avoiding war; it can only be postponed to the advantage of others" - Niccolo Machiavelli "I...I think I am ready." The voice of the acolyte rang out across the cavern, giving the only

knowledge that the figures could garner as to the size, the shape, the feel of the ancient cove. Several hours earlier they had arrived at the location, sitting in complete silence in its recesses, awaiting complete equilibrium between their minds.

And finally, they had reached it. Slowly, the second figure, the acolyte, began to hum. His baritone, a thick dialect, echoed against the damp-covered rock that formed the walls, the monotony of his song soon beginning to utterly

overpower the senses of both figures, the sound providing a strange light in the all-encompassing darkness. Slowly, the first, the 'master', joined in, his tone harmonising against the deep-voiced acolyte. Within minutes a haunting yet beautiful symphony,

their voices convening, rang out. It would not have been out of place in a male choir. And then, suddenly, silence. Not even a breath. The faintest dripping of water would have made a din in this silence. And still, silence.

"Yes." With a screech, the cavern lit up into a brilliant, emerald glow. The wet walls seemed to completely dry up, a sticky flame wicking upon it. Finally, the figures were illuminated. Still sat, his eyes

closed, the very figure of calm, was the master. A wizened old man, wearing an old pair of spectacles with odd-coloured lenses and a white jacket, there was just the faintest of smiles wrought across his lips. The second figure,

the acolyte, was much harder to discern. The green flame had enveloped his body, an unnatural fire turning him into a conflagration. Inside, he screamed, tearing around the cavern with absolute fear. For a few minutes this continued, before,

eventually, the flames died down. Underneath, the acolyte panted helplessly, groaning for help but, strangely, laughing. Stumbling forward to his master, the acolyte grinned widely, a glimmer of emerald in his eyes unseen before.

Looking at each of his hands, he roared and then projected his force towards the wall. With terminal velocity, a spray of black and gray shards erupted, transforming previously flimsy rock of the wall into something different...something otherworldly.

Something sinister. Bedrock. Turning back to his master, he laughed, and smiled, and laughed again. "Ey up duck," Teajizzle said to his master.

"Cheers fort'power." His master nodded solemnly and then, in the blink of an eye, disappeared, using his divine power to teleport instantly from his plane of divining. Teajizzle, meanwhile, continued to acclimatise to his

new powers. Flexing his powerful muscles, he hunched up and then, powerfully, threw his arms into the air. With a deafening blast and the reignition of the emerald conflagration, Teajizzle started to transform. His body tearing asunder,

spines started to erupt from every pore in his skin, his spine elongating and a vicious, barbed tail starting to swing from his lower back. From his shoulderblades, a pair of spiney, sharp-tipped wings started to sprout, the leathery flats tying together

the supportive spines tattered and torn, and, critically, permanently ablaze. Finally, his very eyeballs turned into rounded, glowing emeralds, the very sight of them likely to kill a mortal with the horrific tales, the experiences

they held. Roaring, the Teajizzle-headed dragon took a stroke of it's wings, rising into the air. Moving out of the cavern and beyond into the forest, he unleashed a thick, powerful stream of Bedrock Dragon breath, instantly

transforming the verdant, lush greens into a desolate see of impenetrable bedrock.