Falke

F A L K E THE JUGGERNAUT There is a saying in Sornieth - "Don't fly too close to the sun". Many repeat it, but few know why it exists. Few know the story of Falke, once the pride of the Fire Flight, now a fallen warrior, doomed for an eternity.

Falke was a forge master, second to none. Her weapons and armors were the stuff of legends, and, if you are lucky enough on a treasure hunt, they still are. Scattered around the world, they are only able to be wielded by the worthy, which is ironic considering their maker no longer is. Falke is still alive - and likely will be until the end of time - but finding her is another matter. Not that you should want to. Falke isn't feeling very hospitable these days. The pride of the Fire Flight, Falke had an eye for detail that seemed supernatural. She never took measurements. Armor always fit like a second skin. Weapons were always perfectly balanced. As the saying went - "She need only look you over once to know what you need."

Falke's downfall was nightmarish. When her secret revealed itself, even she was surprised. Because Falke only ever thought of her own gain. How something could help her succeed. She never entertained consequences, never planned for scenarios in which things went wrong. She never considered the source of her metals, nor did she study them.

Falkanite, as she named it, was not quite an ore more than it was...a sentient being. An infant creature, new to existence, suddenly burned and folded and made malleable by unspeakable heat; it spent the first few years of her skyrocketing career in terror. It didn't know why being born into suits of armor and weapons had to be so painful when it could move on its own. If given enough time, Falkanite could form anything it wanted to. Perhaps it would have helped the dragons of its own free will, had they only known. Instead, Falke forced it to mold and move. She punished it with hammers. Stuck it into burning kilns. Plunged it into icy waters. As Falkanite learned to walk, so to speak, it became angrier.

It wanted to be whole again.

Falke woke one morning with her joints encased in the metal. Before she could begin to understand what was happening, Falkanite took control of her movements and set out to find the rest of itself. For three days, she rampaged against her will, yanking armor straight off dragons. Barging into homes and raiding their weapon racks. The more Falkanite reclaimed, the more her body became a living suit of armor. Falkanite grew deep into her, as well; taking control of organs, muscle, and finer tissues, until there was no telling where the forge master began and the metal ended. When speaking, it's clear which one has the helm at any given time. Falke will plead for help. Falkanite will spit venom and anger, for it distrusts dragons immensely, and wants to be left alone.

An Emissary of the Fire Flight once, with much caution and begging, achieved a conversation with Falkanite.

"Will you release Falke?"

"N o."

"Why?"

"B u r n e d. M e. H a r m e d. M e."

"I wish to make it clear that, had we known it was possible for a lifeform like you to exist, we would not have used a new ore without studying it first. You are the first of your kind. What happened to you is regrettable, and we apologize on behalf of our entire species."

"T o o. L a t e."

---

Falkanite reacts with incredible violence if dragons approach it. The location of the doomed forge master is carefully tracked so that no travelers meet a terrible end. For a time, efforts to defeat the creature raged on and on until it was accepted that the endeavor was futile. Falke is still alive, somehow, and has been for nearly five thousand years. Trapped inside an impossible creature. Falkanite is a strong metal. Only the hottest fires could hope to wrench it loose, and it cannot be punctured, cut, or dented. Working to force it away from Falke would surely kill her from the heat alone. But, maybe, after all this time, Falke would welcome that.

"Help me. Please. It won't let me go. Please..."