Andvari

The Necropolis shuddered with the intrusion of life upon its grounds. The quietude of abandoned homes that doubled as respite for the departed stood in ramshackle rows left untouched and ravaged by decay. Though all spirits had long since crossed such threshold, sat upon a stone basket in one particular home remained a singular egg. Its shell harboured faint scratches, perched at a tilt and unmoving.

The murmur of conversation infested through the Necropolis’s stagnating silence. Ripples of magic fluttered with the resurgence of life within the maw of the deadlands, as dragons approached and touched warm paws upon ancient runes, the Necropolis feasted on the energy oozing into it through the group of explorers. The camp settled in with a multitude of idle conversation. Efforts began to uncover the meanings of the rune carvings, with some bolder dragons venturing further into homes, peering through rotten doors and crumbled windows.

One dragon managed to wrangle themselves halfway into the dilapidated cottage harbouring the untouched egg. In the darkness it did not look unlike the stone tablets outside. The dragon planted a paw upon it in passing, soon summoned by a string of concerned calls.

“I’m coming!” Returned the dragon, squeezing themselves back out of the crevice. The conversation ebbed away from the homes, and in the returning silence, a minute crackling developed. Specks of shell split and popped away from the egg, revealing a wide green eye and its thin, serpentine pupil. The egg tilted back and toppled with a hard thud, shattering apart. Amongst the remnants of shell clambered out a Spiral hatchling, corkscrewing its spindly body in awkward wobbles. Sharp talons latched onto the frail wood of the door, squeezing horns past the small opening. The hatchling’s nostrils flared, sniffing the air. His thin ears rotated to the sound of distant merriment.
The spiral dogged the group with curious endeavour. Upon reaching the castle, the spiral watched the group enter, enamoured by the courage of the leader. He had heard the name before, the Tundra with the noble gait. The Spiral slithered atop a marble statue to observe.

“Entomos,” The Spiral breathed in miraculous wonder. And he waited for Entomos’s return, and waited. Until the castle itself thundered with frightful power, and the Spiral fled toward it in a panic.

The Spiral did not remember much beyond the blinding light engulfing him. He awoke to grass underneath him and the pale sunlight mottling down from high above. He hopped, unused to the chill of grass and the churn of winds, scrambling up and around trees to investigate the birds, startling them in the process. From the height of a looming branch he found Entomos groggily rising from the thicket and frantically clambered down, claws marring the bark of the tree. The Spiral approached in tandem with Entomos, curious but unspeaking, unleashed now upon Sornieth and left to its wide expanse. The Necropolis yet beckoned, but its summoning paled in comparison to lilting chirps and murmuring banter.

“...Saw a name on the stones,” A dragon’s idle dialogue caught the Spiral’s ear. “‘Andvari’. Perhaps a resting place for one such dragon?”

The conversation slipped away from the Spiral, who took a moment to review his own talons, his body, and huffed a breath.

“...Andvari,” The Spiral mumbled, pleased with himself. “Andvari.”

A name and identity adopted. A child born of the Necropolis.


Lore by PunchingSolas