Dragos
Dragon Tales
The following excerpts were taken from a dusty leather-bound journal, recently discovered amidst the stalls of an old bookstore in Ontario.
Feb, 1874
It came to me in a dream. I can’t recall how long ago it was now, it seems like only yesterday, but I know that’s impossible. Who is ᛋᚺ? I can’t recall anymore, the dream slips away too quickly. But I know, somehow, that ᛋᚺ was in love with ᛈᚱᛁᛋᚲᛁᛚᛚᚨ. In my heart I’ve known it all along. It was she, the mother of dragons, who inspired it all. She is where everything began.
Who sent me the blood-stained map? I don’t know, although I have my suspicions. It doesn’t matter. Whoever it was knew of my background, my research into dragon lore, my life’s work. I sensed what it was the moment I laid my eyes upon it and my pulse quickened - I had been searching the old libraries for it, for so long. But if I had any lingering uncertainty, the message sent with the map left no doubt. It told the tale of Dragos, King of Dragons, whose legend that once chilled the bones of every living thing, had long ere faded to forgotten realms, a deeply sleeping myth. Was it now safe to speak his name aloud, to whisper of his long lost treasure? Hidden deep in a jungle, built as a sacred shrine to the ancient King, the temple had kept ‘The Treasure of Dragos’ safe and away from human greed for centuries. Perhaps it is best to let sleeping ghosts lie, but that is hardly a choice I can make. I have no choice – I must pursue this dream.
July, 2019
Finding the journal was like waking from a dream. Or maybe like falling into one. Father had told this story to us, passed down from his father's generations, so many times, that it felt like it was a part of me, too, our secret family history. He used to hint about a book, but I never imagined it was real. I kept the story of my family's quest alive in my heart, and promised to never forget it. I know how that odyssey consumed the men who set out with that map, so many years ago. They had discovered so much, but after more than a year away from their families, they had lost so much as well. They would never know how close they had come. When I found the journal, it opened a door, and I knew I could not rest until I had tried, at least, to finish what had been started, ages ago. Perhaps father had left it for me to discover, or perhaps, the secrets of old had their own plans.
The three of us will set out tomorrow armed with great-great grandfather's detailed expedition notes and research journal, to pick up the trail where his team ended theirs. If we can succeed in finding the Temple of Dragos, his life’s obsession will be vindicated. I don’t care about the treasures – the many diamonds adorning the temple walls, the silver and gold coins locked tight in the Tomb. If the stories are true, heroes, or raiders of old, may have already claimed those prizes. I just want to prove he was right, and possibly, retrieve the famed sword that slayed the Dragon King.
There is so much information in the journal, but certain pages seemed cryptic. Perhaps this will become clearer as our journey unfolds, although I suspect there will be new riddles to solve, and codes to break, as we get closer to the prize. I hope we are up for these tasks, as navigating the path will be difficult enough. According to father’s calculations, once we reach the ancient temple, we will face no fewer than ninety-two steps barring our way. He is sure there will be discoveries to be made, both false and true, many keys for many locks, and tools that may help us if we are wise enough to understand.
Despite never seeing it, father was able to piece together a rough description of the temple from the old texts and accounts that his ancestor's research had uncovered. Hopefully this knowledge will help us if we make it. He often remarked that the architect of the temple appeared to pay homage to even older wonders of the ancient world, [ref. 1, 2] but that the Temple of Dragos was the artist’s finest masterwork. His notes are unclear but make mention of various details which are difficult to understand: The Steps of Insanity? The Portal of Desolation? The Doors of Wisdom, The Gears of Time? The Solar Alignment Actuator? and the last, which is quite clearly written, The Cinnabar Tomb. Perhaps my quest will finally reveal their meanings.
November, 2019
Many months have passed. Finding the take off point for the journey proved more difficult than we had anticipated, and yet, at last, we succeeded. Each time we felt despair setting in, another clue was revealed, a photo or drawing from the notebook made clear, or a notation explained. At last, we discovered the path. I am a scientific man, but here we faced the ghosts of old. Was it madness that drove our companion away, or something worse? I fear we will never know, and it will haunt me forever.
The Temple was just as father predicted, rising like an ancient stepped pyramid from the jungle floor. We circled the perimeter to gather our bearings, and discovered the ruins of past adventurers – were these clues, or warnings? There was no thought of turning back, and the radiant suns beckoned us, yet climbing the steps was far more difficult than expected, a challenge that took many days and sent us back and forth in an unexpected, interlocking dance. Our journey eventually brought us to the portal, deeply stained red with dragon’s blood, a gruesome warning indeed. The password, lost for an age, was found again, but some things are not meant to be woken, and we ran for our lives as the earth shook the rubble down upon us.
Now lost in darkness, we stumbled upon a Chinese Gate supporting massive doors, sealed behind which we could hear the steady whirring of gears that seemed to turn back time itself as we listened, transfixed. I have no explanation for the wisdom we summoned to get us through those doors, except to admit there was some magic in the air. Crossing that threshold, we sensed the presence of the maker, hidden behind every detail. We might have lost ourselves in a trance for eternity there, amidst the relentless turning of the gears, if we had not given in to the universe, and stepped outside of time itself. At last, we had reached the tomb. I could see it in the distance, infusing the space with a poisonous crimson glow. The floor appeared lined with dragon hide. There was an object at hand in the entryway, a replica of the Temple built of exotic walnut, lacewood, curly maple, wenge, bloodwood, ebony, purpleheart, poplar, diamonds, tiger eye, abalone, copper, steel, brass, leather and more. But what of the fabled treasures, the silver dragon, the silver scarab whose mechanical wings part to reveal solid gold? Alas, I know not, and perhaps this is what saved us in the end. For as we broached that most sacred of spaces, a venom tipped dart shot from the darkness to pierce my companion. I could not let her die. I grabbed the ancient relic before lifting my friend into my arms and running, as fast as I could, away from that cursed place, to save her, and to save myself.
Feb, 2020
Looking back as I write this account, I find it all hard to believe, even though I lived each moment. Already the memories fade, the reality becomes blunted. Were it not for the artifact, I might suspect I had invented it in a dream. I dare not explore the beautiful relic, which surely holds so many secrets that are far beyond my skill to reveal. Many nights I simply sit and regard it, sipping the blood red mulled wine I have come to associate it with, my evening Nitecap.
The drink takes me away from the frantic hunt, based as it is with a floral Beaujolais containing subtle earthy notes that speak of France. The wine runs deep in this potion, where echoes of cabernet sauvignon and merlot combine as well, fortified by lemon and orange brandies, and quinine. There is sherry too, more fortified wine of the palomino grape, which lends an autumn nuttiness, that has been infused with exotic Chai spice, and amplified by sweet cinnamon. At last, a sparkling golden crown is set upon the liquid, more wine to join the rest. All of these rich flavors from the earth merge in the magical elixir, sending me on a journey of the senses, the only adventure I now require. The drink transports me, and I realize I no longer need the artifact as a reminder. I will send the relic on to a friend who may yet unlock its secrets, and continue the tale … of Dragos.
Tucked into the back of the old journal was a recipe:
Treasure Chest, Natasha David (Nitecap)
2 oz gamay, pinot noir or similar medium bodied red wine
1 oz Lillet Rouge
1 oz chai tea-infused oloroso sherry
¼ oz cinnamon syrup
1 oz dry sparkling wine
Stir all but the sparkling wine with ice and strain into a favorite chalice. Top with the sparkling wine.
References