Damien: Tribute to Daius

“You’re getting on the bird. He needs to complete his trials and I want the Nox male ready for breeding since yesterday. He’s valuable stock.”

“There’s a reason we call him Damien, boss.” The thug said this in a low whisper. Behind him was the titular stryx, already trying to pry apart his tack. It had been a small miracle when Thief’s men slipped the harness over the dark bird’s head and tied it down. Or maybe that was Damien’s plan. He’d been unusually quiet while they tightened his straps.

“Damien, like devil. That creature is no stryx. It’s a...a demon with feathers.”

Thief sniffed. “He’s no worse than Düm.” Sniveling wouldn’t impress Thief.

“Düm has the courtesy to leave staff alone. But not that bird. That bird….”

“Enough of this!” Thief threw up their hands. The thug cowered. “Get on the stryx or get on my knife. I don’t pay you men good money to shiver and cower every time a dragon snaps.” Thief clapped and pointed at Damien. The stryx squealed as the thug shuffled forward. From a smaller creature the sound might’ve been cute. But from a stryx, even one as short as Damien, it was a warning of things to come.

The thug hopped on (barely avoiding the stryx’s snapping jaws) and was happy to find the angry protests stopped as soon as he settled into the saddle. He looked up towards the cliff where the Elders sat. Perched, much like the stryx they’d be judging for today’s Tribute to Daius. He thought he could see them nodding at him. Was it a signal to start? Or was it a warning?

He regretted not keeping his eyes on Damien instead.

Seizing opportunity, Damien bolted into the sky. The thug barely managed to grab the metal holds on the saddle as the bird twisted into a tight spiral. Then Damien dove, a sharp right angle that nearly lifted his rider off his seat. The thug pressed his torso against the saddle and closed his eyes. He was supposed to direct the bird, but his life took precedence over his job.

Damien leveled out and curled into a desert cliff and into the red canyon below. It was so narrow, the stryx’s cat’s eye wing tips grazed the ribboned walls. Wind roared behind them, lending speed to the mad bird. Arches bridging the canyon walls blinked the dawning sun on then off again. The thug’s brain ached.

This was madness. He had to stop it. The thug raised his torso slightly. Thief was always telling them to show strength before a Dracostryx. That Dracostryx, and Thief’s Dracostryx in particular, respected power and prominence. Maybe the dragon would listen then?

“This isn’t how the trial goes!” the thug shouted. Tears streamed from his face, whether from fear or pain as sand cut into his skin he couldn’t be sure. “We’re supposed to run together, fly together. We’re supposed to--”

His lecture cut short as he crashed face first into an arch. And as his limp body fell to the canyon river below, Damien chuckled.

Kekekeke.

“What a waste” Thief said as Damien lighted in front of them. The Elders shuffled and murmured amongst themselves.

“Welp!” Thief snatched Düm’s wayward son by the throat feathers and yanked him forward, “You really are just like your mother.” Thief walked the stryx back to the starting area. The Elders nodded again, and Thief started the tribute. Properly this time. And Damien chuckled throughout the entire thing.

Kekekeke.