Jelinek Pitcairn's Story

The world of Pre'Mian was better than some Jelinek had visited. Magic flowed freely here, in such a myriad of ways that he'd withdrawn from it entirely for his first few hours, and both dirt and stone spoke eloquently, which was much more comfortable. He'd made his introduction to the leader of the place, someone called Jasien, with a very strange and very unfitting title of "Firelancer"; as if someone that dully colored and mild could possibly fall under the element of "fire". He seemed more like an Earth sort, to the human-formed demon. But then, Jelinek just might have been biased.

Jelinek had, of course, offered to pay for a room while he perused the surrounds, liking the feel of this Ring of Fire mountain: normally he wasn't fond of fire, as Fire demons tended to be obnoxious and argumentative, but the ring around the dead volcano wasn't quite the same-- and besides, it was a volcano. How much more Earth could you get? But Jasien had turned him down, offering him a room for as long as he needed it, and had said something about visiting the Flight of the Dead clutch. Since that was why the demon had decided to world-walk, he promised that he would.

"Not like I'd actually sign up as a candidate," he muttered to himself as he paced down through the Ring of Fire's many levels, one hand behind his back, the other trailing along the obsidian wall beside him. "As if I need some undead pup trailing after me in the Underground."

But, that clutch had been why he'd come, to begin with. Jelinek had researched many forms of magic; he had grimmoires of forgotten, half-articulated spells; he had strangely empowered gems, feathers and teeth from rare beasts, and even a bespelled artifact or six. In all his years, though, he hadn't yet looked into necromancy.

"Not that I really want to practice it," he mused, caressing a rough patch in the wall as he passed it; the stone very nearly purred. "But I do want to know about it...."

Most of the magic he'd looked into, Jelinek didn't actually practice. Why bother? There was no need; just knowing it was enough. He supposed if a situation came up when he'd need to use any of his obscure knowledge, he might do so, but he hadn't come across and situations when he would need any of that obscure knowledge. So, he just continued to hoard it, for the sake of hoarding it. It would be the same with necromancy, he expected.

"Flight of the Dead, undead clutch, dead dragons walking around and hatching out of eggs... hmm." It would certainly be interesting to watch, at least. He hoped the complex of rooms and tunnels inside the volcano had a library, where he could read up on necromancy and undead things before the hatching itself. He'd have to explore.

First, though, he'd promised he was going to investigate the clutch itself, and now seemed as good a time as any. "Undead offspring-- undead parents? Or some strange, magical thing... hmm...."

Jelinek passed someone in the hall, who gave him a strange look for speaking to no one but himself. Jelinek ignored him, following the tunnels that the stone said led to a chamber full of strange, un-living dragons and even stranger, un-living eggs. Stone knew life-- it supported life in its strongest form, sustained life in its smallest form, and constantly felt the pressure of living things across it in all forms, even if it wasn't exactly alive, itself-- and if it said those things that moved and breathed in the chamber below were not alive, then it was probably right. "Undead parents, it seems," he muttered thoughtfully. "What will they look like?"

He didn't have long to wait before he found out. One of the paths in stone took him to a ledge overlooking a partially metal-plated cavern. It wasn't full, not by a long stretch of the imagination, but nestled in heated sand-- Jelinek could feel the temperature of the grains even from so high above them-- were the "un-living" eggs.

Settled among them, or sometimes pacing among them, were a very wide variety of dragons. Jelinek stared hard down at them, noting differences, similarities, scents, the way they walked-- or didn't quite walk. Some of them seemed as light as air, some of them seemed oddly heavy, some of them walked on bones for feet, a couple even walked on their hind legs. Not all of them were even un-living, exactly, though most of them were.

"I feel so Zenite-damned small," Jelinek grumbled, but still didn't shift forms. He didn't particularly like fighting, or even confrontations-- or even sharing words with anyone but himself!-- and shifting here, on this exposed ledge, would do nothing but draw attention to himself. Quite possibly negative attention: some of those dragons-- actually, a large number of those dragons-- didn't seem particularly friendly. "As if demons are supposed to be any more friendly. Heh. Well, I'm not, and I'm not about to try it with those things."

Snorting to himself, Jelinek turned back along the ledge, having seen enough. He'd have to get closer to find out anything more, and he didn't feel like it. Visiting the Firelancer had been more socializing than he'd done in a long time, with anything but the ground, and it was more than enough to make him want to find the innermost chamber of the volcano and listen to the earth shift for a while.

"Or," he suggested to himself, "find that libary. If there is one. Get a book, curl up in a corner and learn about necromancy... hmm. A thought."

Stone told him of a quiet, parchment-smelling place, and with a small smile, Jelinek let the unheard voice lead him to it. Let someone else tell him when the clutch was supposed to hatch, if he even cared if he missed it; the books were calling, and books were much more palatable.