Caro looks over his body, brushing a few strands of grey hair out of his eyes. "I don’t know exactly what happened. I still can’t believe I’m alive... if you can call this being alive..."

~Caro's Story~

If I had to explain myself, I suppose I should start with Master. He is... well, he was, the closest thing I had to a parental figure in my life. My mother and father were drafted into the Imperial Legion shortly after I was born, leaving me in the care of their old friend. A mighty earthwalker stallion of a blacksmith. Dark black coat and silvery mane. Hammerfell was his name, but to me he will always be Master.

Now, this has nothing to do with the dragon, but to me, well... I’ll get to the point. Every other morning, Master and I would take a long walk, or carriage ride depending on the weather, into Reinoc. As the known world expanded, so did the trading market, and Master had all the right connections. Oftentimes he would let me play among the village while he slipped some bits to the cargo ponies at the docks. The finest leather and rare ores from Saddle Arabia and beyond were in his reach at all times.

That is why I admired him.

He wasn’t bound by the enforced laws. He did what he felt was best for him and everypony else. Breaking the law isn’t wrong if good comes of it, right? I guess you could say his ideals kind of rubbed off on me.

On that particular day, the sun was just barely peeking through the thick haze of morning fog. I remember the smells of mildew, rust and moist gravel. It sounds vile, I know. But it’s one of those unseemly things one learns to appreciate. Like when you catch cold and you feel unusually cozy.

Master left me by the statue of Gammon in the town square, which served as the local marketplace. There, travelers and adventurers were cutting out the middle pony and getting their goods straight from the source. I had bought a red apple for myself while I was waiting on one of the benches.

You probably can’t tell, but I used to be quite the socialite. One didn’t have to travel far to find a friend in Reinoc. Anypony looking to do business, find a shipmate, or even a companion, would approach you first. A dark brown unicorn colt in particular had taken interest in me. He told me I had the right build for traveling, and asked if I would accompany him. I politely declined his offer, but he wasn’t opposed to having a nice conversation.

We sat and talked... well, he did most of the talking. Boasting of the great beasts he’d slain, and I of the swords and shields I’d crafted, which, to be honest, were hardly the stuff of legends. We only boasted about the bad when comparing scars, elsewise we only spoke of our greatest feats, no matter how small or insignificant they may have seemed.

For what time we did talk, I was rather fond of him, but I never dreamed of nor considered becoming an adventurer. My life was devoted to the shop, smithing swords and weapons for the true adventurers. Every contribution to the whole mattered, so my services were important to ponies like him. If anything, I could gain a customer.

Master came around with a cart chock full of enough supplies to last his shop an entire winter. He had struck a true bargain when he ‘accidentally’ intercepted an undercover Blackwing shipment and was compensated to keep quiet about it. Katanas crafted from black onyx, bronze longswords, diamond ore... I couldn’t stop smiling! We made a mint off of the adventurer and his mates. They took one of everything.

Master was normally so stoic, but I could see the excitement in his eyes. With all those precious bits in hoof, we could have bought more land and expanded the shop back in Riverhoof. Perhaps even have opened a branch elsewhere. We were going to make off like bandits!

The adventurers roped me into going to the docks with them and giving their new blades a test run. We waited until the guard patrolling the area was out of sight, and then I held up a mythril broadsword in a defensive position, so they could strike. They worried for my safety but I assured them that it was my master’s sword. It was nigh unbreakable and light as a feather, as they found out when their strongest swings didn’t even make me budge.

“That all you got? I’m not even a regular fighter!” I threw a few taunts, but they laughed it off. They’d gotten what they wanted; their weapons were in pristine condition.

I had just seen them off out the northern gate and was heading to the southern one to meet up with my master when a bone-chilling scream rent the air in two, like a blade of flames through butter.

Not even in the most trauma inducing nightmare could I ever have seen such horrors. The fog turned into a blinding haze, the blue sky was painted with billowing storm clouds that went on forever. That’s not what terrified me, though the mare stumbling past as the flames slowly consumed her, leaving nothing but melted skin and charred bone was... sobering, to say the least. The vile scent her corpse was the least of my worries, as I looked towards where she came from. It was then I heard something not of this world.

I lost meyz fah hiu sil, Dovahkiin!

I think they were words, but they didn’t sound natural. They echoed like a thousand voices in my head, sending pain through my body. As I keeled over, trying to comprehend this ungodly voice, I felt tremors. They grew stronger by the second, and when they finally fell silent, I felt safe enough to look up.

I was face to face with a red eyed monstrosity. A dragon. He took up the entire length of the block. His bladed wings had torn through every shop, inn and fruit stall just to stare me down. I couldn’t hear anything, except for my heartbeat and more unintelligible sounds.

Faal unahzaal gein fent drun hiu dinok.

I collapsed in pain, that incomprehensible tongue splitting my skull. My vision was swimming, blurring the sight of burning ponies and homes. Those who survived the firestorm were caught in the wreckage or choking on clouds of black smoke. It was the smell I’d never forget. Fresh blood and burning flesh assaulted my senses.

The warm trickles of blood from my ears and nose did little to assure me I was still alive. Darkness creeped in the edges of my vision as I watched the remainder of the town collapse in flames. Reinoc was gone.

“Wake up, child! You must live!” The reassuring voice of Master cut through the black. My hooves reached out to grab for those words, to find him. “Never give up, Caro.”

With only a helmet decorated with mammoth tusks, he took his mythril sword in his mouth and leapt onto the dragon’s snout, thrusting the glowing blade into one of its eyes.

The deafening roar of pain the dragon howled did nothing to improve my condition. I staggered to my hooves, watching Master leap onto the creature’s back, and ram the blade into a weak spot between the scales. Blood rained onto the streets, congealing from the heat of the burning town.

Unfortunately, Master was too preoccupied with dodging the dragon’s fire to notice its spiked tail, which blindsided him and sent the sword flying from his teeth. With a single stomp of the dragon’s massive claws, the unbreakable mythril sword shattered.

Master made a dive for what remained, but he was struck by the tail again and he rolled helplessly across the ground. The dragon reached for him, brandishing one of its claws.

I closed my eyes and jerked away from the sight. Despite the ringing in my ears, my heartbeat muddled by the blood still pouring from my ears, I heard everything. The sound of bones snapping, sinew rending... his screams and curses as the beast did its unholy deed. Mustering up the courage to look back, I saw the dragon raise its head and roar in victory, blood dripping from its teeth. Master was nothing more than carrion among the ruins. There was nothing left for me to live for.

Aan nekaa do laas.

That was the last thing I saw before my vision completely darkened. If I had the strength to scream, I would have until it tore me apart. Not even that was possible, another thing taken from me. I doubt anypony would have heard me over the roars of several other dragons rampaging across the smoke drenched sky anyway. I knew my end had come.

Now, I am not a religious pony but I was so desperate for the nightmare to end, I curled up and prayed to Epona for sweet release from this hell.

Then, I felt nothing. I fell past the edge of despair and into a void of emptiness. I rose from my stupor, a new determination coursing through my veins.

A town soldier that had been reduced to nothing but ashes had left his bronze sword behind. While the blade was scarred and slightly warped from the heat, it sufficed. I took it from the pile of torched armor.

Dreh ni krif aan Dovah, mal gein!

The words didn’t hurt anymore, or perhaps it was because I stopped caring what they said. Only one thought remained, and I yelled it out to the dragon as I galloped towards the monster.

“Die...”

I leapt, and by the strength of Epona, or whatever was happening to me at the time, I bucked it in the jaw. It reeled back in pain as I dropped to the ground, noticing its exposed underside. With a mighty thrust I managed to drive the dull, bent blade into its chest, not stopping until it reached the hilt. The metal mixed with the dragon’s innards, sending chunks of entrails flying as I twisted it to be sure. I pulled it out and stabbed again, and again, trying to find its heart. Whether I did, or just caused it to bleed out, the beast uttered what I assumed was a curse before it collapsed onto the ground. "Die! Die! Die, die, diediediedie!!!"

For reasons I couldn’t explain, I felt angry that he died so easily, Angry that I couldn’t let him feel my suffering. Roaring with rage, I stabbed the sword into its body several more times, splashing more blood all over my coat, giving me an odd thrill. I don’t know how long I spent mutilating that beast, but whatever drove me was beginning to wear off, and I collapsed in a heap, sobbing myself into a deep sleep that not even the Imperial Legion carrying me to prison could wake me from.

Caro blinks, noticing the sting of tears in his eyes. Wiping them away, he returns to the jarl’s dinner table and shoves a cupcake viciously into his mouth, like she predicted he would. He then drains it down with a glass of warm apple cider, the faint lingering of alcohol not enough to soothe his nerves.

“I am sorry,” says the jarl. “Had I known you would reminisce with such emotion and passion I wouldn’t have asked this of you. Nopony needs to go through such horrors, let alone twice.”

“It’s better if I talk about it. Epona knows what would happen if I kept all that bottled up,” Caro replies, downing another glass of cider. “You can imagine my surprise waking up in an Imperial cell, covered in dried blood and dirt, having no memory of what happened. The memories slowly resurfaced over time, but by then I was so emotionally drained I couldn’t cry if I wanted to. My true feelings wouldn’t show anymore. Maybe that’s why the Imperials thought I was mad.”

“Are you quite sure it wasn’t the depressants the Empire forces prisoners to ingest?” The Jarl tilts her head questioningly.

“They... didn’t help matters. As easy as it was to get hooked on them, I welcomed the axe long before they took effect. Then... Tohro saved me.”

“And now we're stuck together. Isn't that romantic?” Tohro shoots up from stuffing his face with vegetables. "I have to say, I know you are a legitimate, if untrained warrior, but, Divines... You obliterated that behemoth.”

“That behemoth deserved worse, and I couldn’t do it. I have so much anger, I need to...” Caro tenses up as he cannot put his feelings into legitimate words without yammering nonsense. “That... probably explains where my bloodlust comes from. Drake?”

The jarl is at the throne, speaking to one of her colleagues; a foal who wears a dark robe several sizes too big, with his face humorously hidden by the cowl. They talk in hushed voices. “It is as you predicted,” says the jarl with an edge of anxiety. “Dragons roam these lands once again, and they’ve already taken lives.”

“And a town," says the little one. "This will only be the start of their crusade, but for what reason? If only we could interpret their language. We could understand their intentions better.”

Tohro laughs at the professional matter of which the child speaks.

The jarl gestures to Caro. “The only pony who survived their assault has heard their words, and he nearly deteriorated from the experience.”

“That's most unusual... Perhaps... if I found some form of literature, I could begin a rough translation. We may have further use for Caro.”

“Hey, now.” Tohro shakes his head, approaching the jarl and her friend. “This colt is stubborn as the mountains themselves! If he refuses to work with Shokenda Blackwing herself, then I highly doubt he’d serve the neutrality for such a petty request.”

“Nothing relevant to Jarl Drake is petty!” shouts the foal as he stomps over to Tohro. His high pitched squeal is far from intimidating. Tohro can't help but snicker at the little foal’s attempts to sound mature.

“Control yourself, child.” The jarl sighs and wipes her brow. “So, you’ve now been thoroughly introduced to Court Wizard Boysenberry. His wild imagination led him to believe that Caro wasn’t responsible for Reinoc’s destruction. I think I’ll have to listen to him more often.”

Boysenberry sits on his haunches and crosses his forelegs in smug confidence. “You flatter me, Jarl Drake. Now, I must request something of these two.” He takes Caro and an amused Tohro aside, into a circular room illuminated with several floating spherical orbs of many colors. The only decorations are a painting of Clover the Clever upon the wall and a large alchemy table connected to a red wooden desk. It’s littered with stones and stains of magical concoctions, as well as note cards with detailed scientific procedures.

“I have been doing everything I can to investigate this phenomenon but I have had little success. I could only theorize the involvement of dragons with the blood samples Jarl Drake’s scouts retrieved from the wreckage of Reinoc. Nothing more than that. Then, you show up and confirm that theory. Do you think this is fate?”

“I was just in the wrong place at the right time,” says Caro.

“Good answer. Fate is for foals and the scared billy goats who can’t accept responsibility for their actions.”

Tohro snorts, causing Boysenberry to turn to him. The lad pulls his hood back with his magic, revealing a combed jet black mane and grey coat.

“Do you not share my sentiment, Blackwing?” He trots about the room, making grand and exaggerated gestures. “Let me tell you something: it is not because of fate that I am the court wizard at such a young age, it is because I am a better practitioner in my fields of studies than anypony else that could also fill the position. Now,” he says as he turns his glare into a smile, shifting his gaze to Caro, "we are at an impasse. I am standing before the first pony spoken to by a dragon, but I cannot get those words out of your head without things getting messy. So instead, here's a theory. What if the language you heard was the same language engraved within a certain gemstone rumored to be deep within Beak Falls Barrow?”

“I am assuming you want us to retrieve it for you?” asks Caro.

Boysenberry nods. “You are an adventurer.” He then looks to Tohro begrudgingly, “You are an adventurer.” Finally, he taps his own horn, “I am seven years old. You understand my predicament.”

Tohro snorts. "I wasn't much older than that when I joined the Blackwings."

"Yes, perhaps, but not all of us are born into a life of war."

Caro notices something out of place among the rough and jagged stones scattered across the table, what appears to be an oval shaped one, grey in color and flecked with black spots. "What's that?” he asks.

"Just research." Boysenberry waves a hoof. “So, will you humor me, or must I let my first chance at deducting this mystery slip away?”

Caro pats the little unicorn on the head. “I’ll do it.”

“Huh?” Tohro shakes his head and then his companion’s. “Where did that come from? Who are you and what have you done with Caro?”

“Boysenberry isn’t the only one here who wants to know what the hell is happening. If just one gemstone can tell me why Master had to die, then that’s enough closure for me.”

Tohro cannot find a legitimate counter-argument for that, even though he starts many unfinished sentences. “Okay, okay. Whatever you wish takes priority.”

Jarl Drake looks into her liquid glass again. The contents only shows several armored individuals gripping knives and crossbows. “Do be wary, my brave colts. It seems that you are not the only ones who wish to claim this gemstone. Wherever a shining object lays, the Thieves Guild is sure to be as well.”