(Cont.) At first, Blackthorn was wary of the stranger, having been alone for such a long time. But the man was stubborn. Over the space of many weeks, the stranger kept coming back to the forest. At first all he would do was sit back and talk, but over time he got bolder. Before long, the two started to talk and they became fast friends. The man, named Stephano, Gave him his name. He named him Blackthorn, for the way his tail resembled the leaf of the tree of the same name (cont.)

(cont.) After many years, post of them forming their link, thier secret bond was discovered. A cultist followed Stephano on one of his daily hikes into the woods where Blackthorn lived. Rumours had spread about the man hiding something allmighty - and possibly unholy- in those woods. When he saw the dragon standing there, proudly in the beams of sunlight passing through the foliage high above, a wicked grin spilt his face. A dragon! An honest-to-the-Mother dragon! This was exactly what his Lych-Fathers had always dreamed about.Quick as a rat, he turned and scurried away to reveal his discovery.

That night was black and moonless. Blackthorn lay draped along the lowset branch of an old oak, confident that his dear friend had made him safe. A sharp sting hit the top of his shoulder. It is nothing. He thought, flapping his leaf-like tail at it. Just a irritated wasp. A sinking feeling hit his stomach. A wasp? But wasps sleep at night! His eyes shot open, locking onto a strange man.(cont)

(cont) The stranger was decked in a full hooded black robe, a bone mask covering his face. Blackthorn's head spun, as his eyes wondered to the mans hands. He was wielding a strong bow, another arrow ready to be fired. Against his own will, the Sergal looked over to where the sharp pain stung. His vision blurred, but clearly there was an arrow. A horrid scent radianting from it. It was poisoned! The world faded to black, and Blackthorn passed out.

As the young dragon started to come too, his body felt uncomfortable. He was on his side, his upper forleg bound high up at his side and great weights at his neck, stomach and tail. His eyes opened to the sight of more robed men chanting. A sense of panic and bitrayal washed over him. He pulled at the, newly discovered, heavy chains at his jaw to look around. There was Stephano, striped to his waist. Two men flanked him, holding him down with rope and vicelike grips. The two loxked eyes, and shared a communial glance of fear and unity.(cont)

Another stepped out from behind Stephano, unnoticed by the paniced mortal. He was nude, apart from stark bleached bones strapped to his body. His helmet was the worst. The only mark that made it clearly not that of a mortal equine was a spiriling pearl horn tapering angled up. His chant was almost beautiful, rich and ancient in dialect. A blade was pulled from behind him. A silver curved sythe unpon a long legbone mount. He lowered the long edge to a neat fit against Stephano's torso, and as his chant reached an arching crusendo, pulled the blade hard.
"Stephano!" Roaded Blackthorn, his cry transforming into a bust of Verde flame. The chains around his neck were pulled hard, throwing his head hard into the earth and cutting his cry short with a choke.
"So the Chosen speaks." Commented the Man With The Sythe. "No matter. It changes nothing really." His voice had a musical quality.
"W-why?" Choked the dragon.
"Because we have a purpose for you. " (cont)

(Cont) "We are going to ascend you into a Dracolych. Our Dracolych. With with your power as ours, no-one shall stop us!" He then erupted into psycotic laughter.
"I. Wont. Let you!"
" 'Let us' "He chortled, stalking closer, the blade dripping blood. "You have no choice!" The blade was swung hard into the Surgons ribcage, striking relentlessly true. Blackthorn screamed, then all was black.

A long time past. The world he was in was odd and unsetling. A voice he couldn't understand whispered to him. All he could pick out on was OBAY. He didn't want to. Anger started to grown in him the more he word. Spiring and intesifying into a pinical point, getting louder and clearer.
"YOU WILL OBAY!" Yelled the voice, no longer so musical. Blackthorn's fury erupted into a single cry.
"NEVER!" The world then snapped back into stark reality. He was standing on his feet, claws digging into the ground. Snow had settled around him, and a foggy sunset punctured the clearing.

(cont) The air stunk of burned matirial and de'ath. The circle of man from before all surrounded him. De'ad. He tried to quicken his breath, but nothing happened! He wasn't even breathing! He painiked, calling out with his link to Stephano. He could feel him, but was blocked!
Many hours later, he gavered his wits about him. He was no longer as he was Before, but was free, so whatever those horrid men tried hadn't worked entirly. His link was still out there, somewhere, too, no longer as he was before either. So the unde'ad dragon began to wonder, hoping to find his friend and parter again and does still to this day. (End)