Did I ever mention how one goes about acquiring magical objects? Because there are a few methods of varying accessibility. The most obvious method is money, lots and lots of money. Such is the method favored by the moderately wealthy; places like Edelweiss aren’t unique, but the quality isn’t guaranteed. The more adventurous at heart may occasionally find one or two amongst ruins or monster dens, although it’s rare. Or, if one happens to be or know a Magis, a magical object can be made; of course, that’s entirely dependent on the materials available.

Now, I also did not specialize in the study or creation of magical devices, however, I did have to take a couple courses to graduate. Naturally, I know just enough to not get myself killed, the perfect amount to know if you ask me. And, while it may not be my passion, how could I not feel tempted by the prospect of such excellent base materials. The end result would be amazing, even if I only attached a spell or two and glued some things together. Well, that’d be a waste though.

You see, and stay with me here, slaying a land dragon is really no easy feat. Beyond the standard perils of hunting a creature that’s all around larger, stronger, and more aggressive than you, land dragons are also a magical species. Not a dependent species like fae or spirits, but a species that can produce magic. More than that, their very presence is strong enough to change the flow of minor leylines! For reference, other species have to try to cause that kind of phenomena; all greater dragon species do that just by existing.

Now, I can’t claim to know too much about the primordial magic of dragons, but I’d never want to cross one if I could help it, much less hunt such a creature.

And yet, here we have a man who has not only elected to do such a thing, but that has succeeded. The proof of which is the double-layer ward that existed only moments before. Really, I was being overly modest to imply that Pyxis’ tribe could have bought the materials. No, no, because such things are on the level of being regarded as legendary heirlooms; it’d be nearly impossible to find someone that’d sell you something like that for less than half a kingdom’s ransom. Thus, they had to have hunted one themselves.

As such, it’s also likely that they still have some of it, whichever parts haven’t been used or eaten anyway.

That would be my price, though some would surely call it immodest.

But really, how can I be expected to pass up on such a rare opportunity?

And as the hunter, Orion’s father has the right to give it to me.

I grin to myself, ignoring how Pyxis’ family shivers beside and behind her. Well, even if you regret it, it’s too late to ask someone more altruistic for help.

***

An hour or two of brief negotiations later, and I am now the proud owner of not one, but two dragon heartstrings. I also received a rackful of scales, a claw, and four whole fangs, which are still incredibly valuable, but not nearly as hard to get your hands on as dragon heartstrings; owed entirely to the fact that acquiring heartstrings requires you to kill the dragon they came from. If I weren’t a Magis, I would have turned such things into a legendary weapon of some sort; bows are an especially good choice for strings, but bladed weapons aren’t out of the question with the right smithing techniques.

However, I am a Magis. And Magis make tools when they get ahold of good things. Or trinkets. Those amulets of protection and power don’t make themselves, after all. But I’ve digressed.

It’s tempting to take this boon and turn it into a compass, one that can find anything. As effortless as it would make my current task, I’m no treasure hunter, it would be relatively useless to me after this. At most I’d use it to find a dropped or misplaced quill nib, and I’ve already got perfectly good spells for that purpose. I’m not exactly desperate enough to use a whole dragon heartstring just to tell me what Pyxis already said anyway.

Hmm… This demands further contemplation, I think.

Nodding to myself, I coil up the metallic heartstrings and store them with everything else in my pocket dimension hip satchel. The nomads had offered me bags to carry it all with, but a Magis never needs more than one. Technically the bag is unnecessary too, but some things are about aesthetic. Besides, it was the first complicated spell I ever cast. Trying to make objects bigger on the inside than they want to be requires a lot of folding, and space really does not like to be folded indefinitely.

Anyway, eventually I head out. I’d been in Teleost for several days now, and I’d be on the road for a few more as I travel north. The main family, as I’d recently learned they were, saw me off with a beaming Orion in tow. I’d even received a gift from him, separate of the payment I’d claimed: a small pendant modeled after his family’s sigil. Strung onto a simple leather chord dangles a small green ring and three little feathers, a perfect miniature of the ornaments that hung on their tents. A symbol of home, and in this case, a symbol that I was welcome among them the next time we crossed paths. Although, it’s hard to say when that might be; they have no reason to stay anchored in Teleost now that Orion can move around freely. Plus, I live much further south. Who knows, maybe I’d find them for a visit. Maybe.

The road towards the mountains is significantly and expectedly emptier than the road I traveled to get into Teleost. If anyone would care to notice, perhaps they’d tell a lone traveler not to bother. To turn back because it's pointless or dangerous. But not here, you see, no one takes the mountain road by accident. No one takes it without knowing. So, if one is so foolish or unlucky, they are left to their own consequences.

After all, the path itself tells you to turn back.

It’s littered with debris, as a road maintained only by happenstance and random acts of mercy by those rare few that travel it. Some patches are overgrown with scrub bushes and wiry grasses. And worst of all, the distant calls of monster fauna. You see, a major leyline runs near here underground, and its many rivers trickle outwards, imperceptible to most people except for the ways it affects the land.

No normal animals can live this near to one. Nothing placid or mundane. Most of them sustain themselves on magic alone, only ever killing out of boredom. And so, many of them have grown large and strange; those that live long enough occasionally crossing over to become fae or spirits. Despite their fearsome qualities, it would be wrong to call them malevolent; there are even those among them that offer help to people in times of severe famine or trouble. Such is the case of Dorson the Red Fox, rising from the leylines to assist heroes of olde in their noble goals; or so many people believe, anyway.

In reality, like attracts like as far as magic is concerned. The monsters are strong, so the least intelligent of them tend to follow their instincts to remain close to the largest source of magical energy nearby. Obviously, weaker animals would be eaten or out competed, ensuring that monster fauna are the most abundant life forms around. But people do love to tell stories. That said, it is dangerous, no matter what the true reason is.

Of course, the Hounds I’m chasing couldn’t have picked a resort destination to run off to. Even just a calm prairie or meadow, perhaps? No. No beach episode for me, I guess.

Unfortunately, all the little villages I’ve checked along the way have been busts. Well, not that there have been that many, but all busts none the less. The closer I draw to Harpy’s Nest the deeper the stone of intuition sinks in my chest. Surely, they wouldn’t be there, the Hounds are far too notorious. Plus, they’re really into their uniforms. Apparently modeled after the favorite outfit of His Royal Dorkness Himself: a short black cape with a crimson inner lining, draped over one shoulder of a rust red jacket, a white cravat at the neck, and black pants, all with gold buttons and piping. I can hardly imagine what the original outfit must have looked like, for that to be the simple version.

Anyway, they aren’t a group you would forget seeing.

Or so I’ve been told. Personally, I’ve been doing everything I can to avoid them and anything else to do with the Supreme Lord of the Forsaken Lands ever since that fateful pain in my butt six years ago. Can’t fulfill your “destiny” if you avoid the other half of it, right?

Those idiot knob-knocking mutts, of freaking course they’d get their dumb hack selves caught and tossed in the Harpy’s muck bucket by the one rock muncher there that gives a flying yack.

Ehem. Excuse me, I was possessed for a moment.

To recap, I’ve finally found someone with more specific information than “they went that way”. Sadly, I have been informed that those imbeciles got themselves thrown in the pound. Worse, they’re at the Harpy’s Nest. My least favorite people at a place I’ve never wanted to go. And the stone I need, right along with them. Oh joy.

How I’d love to wash my hands of this.

Regrettably, this time, it is my problem.