Ruphys

There was nothing Ruphys hated worse than the smell of wet feathers.

But the rain had been falling non-stop for days, and while he’d normally have curled up in his cave to sleep it out, the unavoidable falling temperatures and the snow that clashed horribly with his bright plumage demanded he shift his tail and get somewhere warmer.
Unfortunately, warmer temperatures meant rain. Rain meant wet feathers.

And wet feathers meant no flying. And bad smell.

Though for the last while, the smell had been getting a lot worse, and he didn’t think it was from him. Feathers smelled gamey, like a concentrated mass of bird. But this smell was less bird and more rot. More death.

And it was getting stronger.

He stopped in his tracks when a wave of the rank stench breezed across him – so strong it made him retch. Covering his nose with a sodden wing, he looked around, eyes watering. If it was this bad even in the rain, he must be close. He pushed through the leafy underbrush, guessing he didn’t have far to go.

His guess was confirmed when, with a disgusting squelch, he put his foot through a corpse.

He staggered back with a startled growl, shaking free of the soft, rotting flesh. Foul, foul! He dragged his dirtied foot through a bunch of ferns, the smear of brown and red left behind only making him further disgusted. What WAS it? A glance at the offending corpse showed a creature too twisted and rotten for him to make out what manner of dragon it had once been.

He was just leaning in for a closer look when a muffled voice shouted through the trees. “YOU! Stop! Back away, for your own safety!”

Ruphys raised his head slowly, watching the dragon that now came winding through the forest. At least, he thought it was a dragon, it was a bit hard to tell under that bundling of cloak, gloves, mask and hat. He looked right into the goggled face and said in a calm, clear voice, “I’m afraid I don’t understand you.”

“This is a contaminated area!” Blustered the masked dragon. “Plague, man, plague! Haven’t you seen the postings?”

“I have not.” There had been no posted warnings, in fact, but perhaps if he’d been using the road like a normal person instead of blundering through the underbrush, he would have seen them. Not that he knew where the road was, from here. Blast this rain, blast his wet feathers! “What sort of plague is it, then?” He asked, maintaining perfect calm.

“Scalerot! You fool! You absolute birdbrain!” The masked dragon pointed at his still-slightly-slimed talons with a black-gloved claw. “And you’ve put your foot right in it! I hope you’re prepared to die!”

Ruphys looked at the masked dragon. Then looked back over his sodden, heavy, and unmistakably not-scaled coat of feathers. “I think I’ll manage.”

The masked dragon stared at him, his bird-like nose turning from Ruphy’s face to his drenched wings and back again. “You…oh. Naturally.” He straightened up, shaking rain from the rim of his waxed hat, and said briskly, “I don’t suppose you’re in need of a job? We’re in dire need of extra claws to help clear the area…”

Ruphys sighed. “Can I negotiate my payment in terms of hot food, a dry place to sleep, and a waterproof coat?”

The masked dragon nodded.

Ruphys, at last, gave a wry smile. “Then we have a deal.”