Del Sarto of the Dragons: Drestir's Despair
Drestir's Despair
Zargon of the Southern Princes collapsed onto his scaley belly clutching it. Pain shot up and down his spine into the center of his belly centering on his stomach. He felt it boiling in him like his stomach was boiling with hot scalding water. He cried out in a shrill screech but he wasn't the only one not writhing in agony. The rest of his fellow dragons had practically lost energy now and were sitting or clutching their own dragon bellies writhing and crawling around. Some just mumbled and grumbled in agony.
His father had taken it to being as dignified as possibly, as dragon kings went, but even his now pale ebony red scales kept him from being totally healthy. He sat there on his dragon butt swithing his tail back and forth, the grumbling only audible if one got close to him.
Zargon could smell the disease, whatever it was. A flier had been dispatched to Del Sarto of the fire sorcerers but he was late. Zargon suspected he wouldn't be able to get there before the worst came to worse.
No one had fully perished, it wasn't much more than a stomach flu to most of the dragons of his father and his size. He wasn't full grown and was a seven by ten arc claw size which was about a quarter size smaller than a full ten by ten claw size that his father was. That was the standard of measurement that he and the rest of the dragons of Sharclaw region used.
But it didn't matter to him as Zargon of Sharclaw could only shiver and press his claws into his writhing boiling stomach and cry out in the shrillist of agony. The rest of the subjects, the attendants, courtiers, vassals and others came down with the disease.
Yet Drestir approached the dragony prince now, his dark scales really paled in camparison to Zargons gold and bronze scales. Drestir remember the scaly patterns of his prince meant he was destined for great things. The local medicine dragon had said anyways but he was far removed from Del Sarto so no one believed her. What changed was that Zargon wasn't going to be anything if he fully succumbed to the disease and their enemies and enslaved them. Nothing much more undignifyijng to any dragon than being an outright slave, except the few conscripted like Drestir.
He nuzzled the princely dragon and rested his snout next to Zargon's on the ground whimpering, "Are are you going to be alright?"
Drestir whimpered and murred at his prince, clenching his own eyes shut but Zargon knew Drestir was resilient. He was only mimicking the pain as was proper of the dragons that served others and an act of sympathy to take in the pain of other dragons one respected to oneself.
"You aren't that bad. You know this my Drestir. Pleasee ummmm gorp gooo find ddddd delll ssssarto the ssssorcerrr and get him here qqqqquick please glarp blarp," and he started to roll over and writhe. The princely dragon did this in a out of the main channel of passages so the rest of the subjects of the dragon nation central didn't see their prince in such a shape and thus Drestir waited till his wimpering grew quieter.
Zargon's eyes were closed and he was breathing heavily but resting before the black scaled attendant dragon scurried out of the cave and ascended down into the brush piles at the foot of the mountain. He oriented toward the direction he was sure to find Del Sarto on, and shot off padding the ground and kicking up dirt as he picked up speed. His heart raced. His demeanor brought him closer to dragon tears. He pulled them back into his eyes, blinking his eyelids.