Styx

S T Y X

THE VAGABOND

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There is no dragon in Sornieth that has memory of when Styx came to be. It is likely that she had parents that loved her, as it is quite rare for hatchlings left on their own to live long after they have hatched. Perhaps she even had a brother or sister, a nestmate that she said her final goodbyes to after deciding that it was her time to leave. But in the time it took for Styx to grow from hatchling to adult, there was not a dragon alive that laid eyes on her. No sighting of an adolescent Gaoler struggling to blend in. No sign of a teenager attempting to hunt larger prey for the first time. No idea how those curious markings could have showed up on her fur. It is believed that, had anyone actually seen her in that crucial time period, it would have been remembered, as was her first time ever entering a settlement.

Her appearance turned curious heads and raised worried eyebrows. Eyes narrowed and mouthes turned. Yet, no one said a thing about the giant lumbering beast. It was impossible to tell which was her horizontal pupils were pointed. Impossible to discern just exactly how and why the bright cyan marks upon her fur were glowing unlike anything seen before. And, the most shocking yet mysterious question, was how the silent dragon had managed to attract a Sprite. It sat upon her horns, happy as a clam, chattering about everything and nothing as it wrapped it's tail around the Gaoler's horns for balance and leaned down toward it's ears. As the crown exchanged suspicious whispers, the Gaoler approached one of the vendors in the marketplace. It was one of the more run-down shops in the location, specializing in selling preserved portions of dried plants and meat, dried jerky and grains that would last a long while. The Gaoler procured a bag from within it's flowing mane, and to the seller's surprise, deposited a large quantity of gems upon the table."I'll purchase your entire stock," it rumbled, and it was impossible to tell if the beast was a man, lady, or something else entirely.

As the seller quickly bundled it's many wares, the Gaoler ran it's eyes across the bazaar. Dragons stiffened and turned away as the horizontal gaze scoured across them, raking over their scales and souls. Yet, it was not looking at them. It was soaking in the details of their ragged surroundings, images of disrepair telling a story of a place that had not been profitable for a long time. Yet, it was not as if there was a lack of variety, or that the marketplace was in a desolate location. Rather, it was as if something-- or someone-- was making life purposefully harder for these hardworking merchants. Styx turned her gaze to the nearest passerby, one who had unwisely stood in place instead of shuffling away as soon as Styx had approached. He stood stock still, a deer caught in the might dragon's headlights. "Have you any trouble with bandits, dear friend?" the Gaoler questioned, voice soft and calm. "Your home seems to be in a state of dilapidation, yet is thoroughly populated. It's not like you are in a deserted location either, as I found you quite easily." The passerby tried to ignore the Gaoler, tried to sew his lips shut, yet the piercing even gaze of the Gaoler pulled his words out on a string. "It's the Deepwood Desperados," he blabbered. "They're thieves and ruffians. They storm our homeland and steal our wares! Our hard-earned money and our supplies! They say if we stop providing, they round us up and kill our young and make the rest of us watch!" The collective tail of woe tumbled out of his mouth like water over a ledge, and the Gaoler only watched and nodded. The Sprite, unnoticed, took notes upon a pad of paper. Then, the Gaoler turned back to it's vendor of choice-- as by now all it had purchased was bundled up and ready to go-- picked up the various bags of non-perishables, and had set off into the darkness from whence it came. The dragons within the marketplace stared off into the oppressive gloom of the trees that hid all including the glowing markings of the Gaoler, then uneasily returned to what they had been doing before the arrival.

The next week, at exactly the same time the Gaoler had arrived, a scout for the townsfolk ran into the bazaar as white as a ghost. She called for anyone that was able to handle grizzly sights to follow her, as she had found something of utmost importance. She led about a quarter of the townsfolk into the woods, then off a beaten path no one had yet noticed before. There, they saw truly a nightmarish sight. Every last bandit that had tormented them for uncountable days had been rounded up and slaughtered. Most of them had been reduced to bloody wrecks, while others didn't even have a scratch on them. Autopsies performed later showed that their lungs had been filled with water-- then frozen into crystalline shards. Curiously, a few were left completely untouched, appearing as if they had died from fright or shock. And on the leader of the group, the townsfolk found four letters carved into his scaled flank;

S T Y X

There are still tales of the vigilante Gaoler all across Sornieth, many of them followed up by sightings of the beast-- then a report of new bodies. She (they had found out that much) never laid a claw on the innocent, instead channeling all her wrath into those that deserved it. One of the merits of the Gaoler nose, of course, was that they could sniff out the occasionally bad from the truly rotten. Though her Sprite Isabella was much more eager to chat (provided Styx's stare didn't scare you off first) it was regarded as quite literally impossible to get more than a few ominous words out of Styx herself. And following her was completely out of the question, as despite her glowing markings, Styx could disappear into the darkness as easily as a fly might. Though, there are a few fellow Gaolers that seem to have broken through Styx's tough exterior, though neither are willing to spill any important details about her, and will clam up such as Styx might when questioned about her. All they will say are a few vague details that never amount to anything. Rosebush, the living bush, describes Styx as a "walking miracle" and "an excellent buddy for teatime". Ishodd, the paranoid shopkeeper, often rambles about how Styx "needs to keep her priorities straight" and "is a nightmare to work with when regarding finances" and "will go bankrupt soon if she's not careful". Of course, even the nosiest can't get anything more out of the two even if they try. So for now, Styx is nothing but a local legend. The scary story parents tell their young hatchlings at night, warning them to behave lest the glowing blue beast rest it's slanted eye on them. The "WANTED" posters nailed onto lightposts, running more ragged everyday as no one comes forth with anything substantial. The calm thought at night that drives away fears of the unknown as paranoid dragons struggle to get to sleep. And, most importantly, the looming nightmare that plagues all evildoers as they wonder if that branch that just snapped was just a mouse... or something else entirely.

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