#ramerian

Returning to his shop from the herbalist’s stall, Caeris paused, staring into Rosefica’s shop. She was there, working on some medicine or elixir as always, and he took a minute to just watch. As he often did when he thought she wasn’t looking. For a mortal, she was beautiful. Frail, but with an underlying power that one would regret overlooking. Her neck, so pale and smooth. The compounder’s uniform was modest, but he could almost see what she looked like under it. It was an image to set his teeth on edge and set his mind to fluttering.

He could imagine…so many things. His teeth and her blood. She would fight him. It would be an inferno and they’d both burn. It would be terrible and glorious, to fight this intoxicating mortal. Deep inside, a voice whispered, Do it.

He shook his head and moved on, back to his shop. His order should have been delivered by now, and he had inks to make.

"Did you hear? The commander saw a black dragon in Gorgrond." A nearby paladin leaned across his table to his companion and said softly, "A fully grown black dragon. Battle scarred, she said."

Caeris stopped cold with his coffee halfway to his lips. The only clue that he was even still living was the puff of his breath in the chilly Frostfire air. Seen. He’d been seen! He felt a stab of fear. What if they tracked him here? What if they knew? What would he do? Where would he go? He reached for his staff. The ebony staff’s dragon head stared at him tauntingly.

There was a derisive snort from the paladin’s death knight companion. “I heard she claimed it disappeared right in front of her. Probably drunk on duty and saw a rylak. Those things get freakishly huge. I’m more interested in the Alliance. Someone reported they’ve been sniffing about the ogre fortresses to the north…”

He’d been staring at the photo for hours. It glared at him from the corner of his shop, taunting him with its writhing tentacles and far too many eyes. Caeris, the blood elf shop owner, would start to work and invariably Ramerian, the black dragon, would find himself pulled back to stare into the lidless eyes and gelatinous mass of the old god in the photograph.

Kill, it whispered to him. Kill them all. Burn them and listen to their screams. Cherish their suffering.

He screamed, pulling ridiculously long blood elf ears down and holding them painfully to his head.”NO! Get out of my head!”