"So she thinks she's a dragon?" said her mortal lackey's contact called Binbolf. Or something. She hadn't been listening. He was a tall red-headed 'Nord,' one of the locals in a region she had never heard of before – 'Skyrim.'

  There were a few strange things about the area: the orcs and humans seemed a lot friendlier with each other than Caprifexia remembered reading about in her classes, there were cat and lizard people she'd never heard of before, as well as even more sub-breeds of elves than she had realised existed.

  Then again, mortal studies never had been her best subject. It had been taught by a drake too weak to have a proper job in her dragonflight, and who couldn't control her clutch, so she had mainly dozed or read about more interesting things – like magic.

  "Just go with it," said Einar, making some strange mortal winding motion beside his head. "She's a pretty good wizard though, melts locks in her hand and can shapeshift."

  Caprifexia and her minion were currently in some very disgusting drainage system below the equally filthy mortal town of 'Riften.' The air was close and damp, the walls and floor grimy and disgusting, and a very large part of her would have liked nothing more than to set it all on fire. There were various low-life looking types hanging around a rather slimy pool of water drinking slimy beverages, an eye-watering percentage of which was alcohol.

  Mortals really were ridiculous, thought Caprifexia as she watched one them throw back a toxic drink, always so keen to end their already short lives even sooner. And yet they had the audacity to complain when her people simply expedited the process. Hypocrites.

  "I suppose we could always use more wizards," said Binbolf, swirling his more sensible cup of some kind of tea in front of him. "Fine. Got a job that can work with two. The Goldenglow estate is important to one of the guild's biggest clients, and we need you two to go and teach them a lesson."

  "How many should we kill?" asked Caprifexia. "Do you think one in every ten will do? A good traditional decimation? I'm open to suggestions."

  "What? No! No killing!" said Binbolf, frowning deeply and looking at Einar. "We just need you to get into their central office and steal the ledgers. Don't kill anyone, and definitely do not damage the hives themselves."

  "No killing. Got it," said Einar, breaching the boundaries of their minon-master relationship by taking Caprifexia by the shoulders and steering her out of the subterranean bar.

  "Unhand me, mortal!" she said.

  "Yeah, yeah, yeah," said Einar, ignoring her. "Akatosh, you're crazy Capri."

  "My name is Caprifexia," she said. "For an outlaw, Binbolf-"

  "Brynjolf. He's called Brynjolf."

  "Do not interrupt me," said Caprifexia. "As I was saying, for an outlaw, Binbolf seems remarkably unwilling to destroy his enemies. I'm not sure I care for the class of criminal you are introducing me to, minion. I require lackeys willing to cause death and destruction, not soft-hearted thieves."

  "Fuck's sake, my name is Einar. Einar."

  "I'm aware."

  "Brynjolf is one of the head honchos of the Thieves Guild here, so play nice with him if you want to us keep getting jobs, yeah?" said Einar. "Now, how do you want to do this?"

  "I want to burn down this honey factory, salt the fields around this squalid little city, and bathe in the blood of my enemies," she said. "But apparently no one cares what I want."

  "OK, what about a plan that doesn't involve failing the mission before we even start it and hurting loads of innocent people? Something that doesn't sabotage the honey production, and doesn't involve murder."

  "Well what about some mayhem?" she said. "We could set fire to the area near the hives, and while the workers are dealing with that, we just stroll in and take the ledgers?"

  "I like the distraction ploy, but how about instead of setting things of fire we just pose as prospective buyers?"

  "That sounds less entertaining," said Caprifexia. "But acceptable, I suppose."

  Black dragons were masters of deception and subtlety after all.

  ***

  Smoke curled up the walls of the office, billowing in from under the closed door. The muffled sound of crackling flames reached them, along with more than a few screams.

  They were on the outer edge of the stinking mortal town, in a large mansion on the 'Goldenglow Estate,' which was near a field where mortals in their endless depravity actually cultivated insects. She had wanted raze the hives to the ground on sight, but she had restrained herself and limited herself to just the mansion as part of her genius 'distraction' ploy.

  But once she took over, then this apiary, all apiaries, would burn.

  "Hurry up," said Caprifexia, who was gripping the terrified manager of the Goldenglow Estate by his collar and shaking him periodically to stop him getting lippy.

  She had been going to kill him, of course, but then she'd remembered that Binbolf had begged her not to, and it didn't pay to annoy one's prospective minion in the 'wooing' stage. You needed to speak softly, be gentle, offer to help them with whatever mortal neurosis was bothering them at the time, promise them power and wealth, and make them love you. The fear and terror came later. At least, that's what her textbook had said.

  Also, for some reason she couldn't identify, now that she was actually at the Goldenglow Estate she found the thought of murdering a mortal in cold blood a little unsettling.

  It must have been something she ate.

  "I'm going as fast as I can!" said Einar, hurriedly shoving the key into the lock and opening a cabinet that contained the ledgers. "Of course, if you hadn't set fire to the damn building, I wouldn't have to hurry!"

  "Please, I have a wife!" begged the manager, pathetically.

  "Shut up, no one cares," said Caprifexia to both of them, pushing the man over and giving him a kick in the rear for good measure. "Got them?"

  "Yes," said Einar, grabbing the books and stuffing them into a satchel. "Let's go."

  "Good, now listen here ape," she said, picking the manager back up before he could crawl away and hoisting him back off the ground. "Tell the guards anything about us and I'll personally pay a visit to this lovely wife you've been gibbering about. I'll have dinner, it'll be delightful."

  This tale has been unlawfully lifted without the author's consent. Report any appearances on Amazon.

  "I'd listen to her if I were you," said Einar, making that motion next to his ear again. "She's a fucking maniac."

  "OK! OK!" sobbed the manager. "Just don't hurt me, please!"

  Satisfied, Caprifexia pushed him back to the ground.

  "Brynjolf is going to be so mad," said Einar, coughing as he opened a window and crawled out, dropping to the ground six or so feet below as Caprifexia shifted and flapped down after him.

  "Why? We didn't kill anyone, and the hives are fine," she said gesturing with a claw to the wooden boxes that were clearly not on fire, unlike the main building behind them that definitely was. "We fulfilled all of his ridiculous requirements."

  "You're a total psychopath," he said as he ran for the nearest wall and vaulted over. "And switch back, it's weird talking to a flying lizard."

  "Dragon."

  "Fine, dragon," he said, putting up his hood and trying to look inconspicuous as Caprifexia flapped along beside him. "Capri!"

  Caprifexia waited a few more seconds just to show that he wasn't the boss, she was, before switching and attempting to draw up her own hood. It got stuck on her horns and tore, but with a bit of wrestling she got it to come forward over her face. Very Stealthy.

  "Hey you!" said a guard as they rounded the corner. "You see what happened?" he asked, gesturing to the orange flames and smoke pouring from the building they had just left.

  "We certainly didn't set it on fire," said Caprifexia, convincingly. "I heard that the manager was incompetent, and a drunk, and liked to gamble, and his wife was a criminal hiding from the law, so perhaps it was for in-sor-ance, and-"

  Einar put a hand over her mouth. "We don't know anything about it sir."

  "Oh, alright then," said the guard. "Just stay out of the way – we'll be bringing water carts through soon, and we don't need any gawkers underfoot."

  ***

  "What on Nirn were you thinking!?" yelled Binbolf, who was somehow upset despite having jumped through his absurd hurdles. "I told you not to damage honey production or hurt anyone! Does the word 'subtlety' mean anything to you?"

  "We didn't, the hives are fine, and no one died," said Caprifexia. "And I don't – hic – like your tone, mortal."

  "At least the guards seem to think that it was an inside job, something about insurance fraud, and the drunk of a manager refusing to say anything at all about it," said Binbolf, rubbing his face before shaking his head and walking away, muttering under his breath. Probably about how brilliant she was.

  They were sitting in an unhygienic tavern hidden in the even more disgusting subterranian drainage system, and Einar had bought them a bottle of something that probably would have burned Caprifexia's throat if she had been mortal. Caprifexia had insisted on sterilising her mug thoroughly with boiling water, which seemed to offend the barkeeper.

  "Hah!" said Caprifexia, tossing down another mugful of the liquid. "In-sor-ance," she said, using a word she wasn't entirely sure the meaning of, but which she'd heard someone say in the subterranean bar the first time they'd been there. She was pretty sure it caused some kind of harm to people. Or at least involved destroying things. She wasn't sure; it wasn't important. "I – hic – knew it."

  "Capri, you literally made that stuff up not two hours ago, I can't believe the guards fell for it – you are an unbelievably terrible liar," said Einar.

  "Quiet minion," she said, pouring herself more of the 'rum.' "You're not supposed to – hic – back chat me. You'll have to work on that."

  "I'm not your minion."

  "Sure you are, you agreed to 'go into business' with me," she said, gulping down the entire mug. "And since I'm a dragon, and you're a mortal, that makes this a master-minion relationship by definition. Anything else – hic – it would be like… like a… a… mortal thinking it was equal to – hic – to a dragon!"

  "You're deranged," he said. "And stop drinking so much, you're tiny – you'll pass out."

  "I'm a dragon – hic – I have a strong consti- consti- constitution."

  "You're not a dragon, you're just a very disturbed young woman."

  "Why – hic – can't you accept me for what I am, minion?" said Caprifexia.

  "Because dragon's don't turn into people, and you have four legs, dragon's have two."

  "Nonsense, proto-drakes have two legs. I am a dragon, Blessed by the Titans, Scion of the Old Ones, Daughter – hic – of Neltharion the Destroyer, and Queen of the Black Dragonflight!"

  Einar snorted. "And I'm the Prince of Atmora – see, I can make up stuff too."

  "Make up?" she said, starting to get confused. She'd thought he was just being a typical foolish mortal. But even their ignorance had limits, difficult as it was to sometimes believe. "Are, are you seriously – hic – telling me you've not heard of the Black Dragonflight?"

  "Yes Capri, I am."

  "And Lord Neltharion? My father? What about the Cataclysm?"

  "Cataclysm?"

  "You know, the reshaping of the world: delightful earthquakes, breathtaking new volcanoes, massive glittering rivers of lava…" she said, waving her arms about. "I was told quite a few tens of thousands of mortals died. It was all initially very successful." She scowled. "Until you mortals ruined – hic – everything!"

  "Nothing like that has happened for centuries, not since the Oblivion crisis."

  "No, it was a world-wide event, even – hic – even whatever backwater place this is would have felt it's effects."

  "Never heard of it."

  Caprifexia frowned and looked at her drink, there was something wrong, something that had been niggling at her mind for weeks. It wasn't anything she could definitively put a claw on, but it had started as soon as she had emerged from that abyss, when the stillness…

  She jerked back in her chair, nearly tipping over the dirty piece of furniture before Einar caught her.

  Apparently he was good for something as a minion.

  "Easy Capri, you're just a little drunk, that's all-"

  "N-no," she said, staring at her hands. "The whispers, the whispers are gone."

  "Whispers? What whispers?"

  "Ever since I was – hic – a hatchling," she said, part in awe, part in terror. "They've always been there, that's why everything seems so quiet."

  "Are you talking about some kind of mental illness?" he said seriously. "Talos, I didn't realise you actually had something. I'm sorry Capri, I shouldn't have made those comments about you being crazy; that was nasty and unfair. My cousin has schizophrenia, and he is one of the greatest lads I know. You haven't been taking any medication that I've seen, should we go to the apothecary? He found that-"

  "But if there are no whispers," she said, ignoring her minion's meaningless babble as her slightly intoxicated mind slowly turned over. "Then this isn't Azeroth. And if this isn't Azeroth…"

  "Azeroth?"

  "Then… then I've found a way to teleport between planets," she finished, standing up and declaring loudly. "I – hic – am the greatest wizard in history!"

  "Nevermind," said Einar, shaking his head. "You're clearly fine."

  "Minion! Buy more of this horrific mortal drink, I want to celebrate!"

  ***

  Caprifexia woke the next morning with an immense headache. Someone had put her to bed and tucked her in with some rather ratty blankets, probably her dutiful, if slightly impudent, minion, after she had, well, she didn't remember a whole lot after…

  Oh, right, the whispers. They were gone.

  Part of her was rather scared by their absence. They had been a constant in her life, shaping her, guiding her since before she had hatched. To be without them felt like she had been cast adrift on a turbulent sea.

  But at the same time, she felt a peculiar sense of liberation. Although she had never viewed it as such before, now that the whispers were gone she was entirely free of the influences of others, and, if she was honest with herself, it was a little disturbing that she'd never thought of the Old Ones as controlling her – as upon free reflection they quite clearly had.

  Had that been what had motivated Wrathion, her dracocidal brother? Had he somehow broken the whispers and grown so disgusted that his kin were servants that he had decided to end them?

  She supposed she could understand that reasoning, dragons, proper dragons, were not servants after all, not even to Gods, old or otherwise. She'd still have to kill him one day for trying to assassinate her, of course, that was just how things were, but at least she might be able to give him a respectful nod before she crushed the life out of him.

  Regardless, she was safe from him here for the moment, assuming he didn't also realise through some pale reflection of her sheer unmitigated genius the secrets of interstellar travel. She could build up an empire here, and then, when she was larger and even mightier she could return to Azeroth, kill Wrathion, kidnap a likely consort or two from one of the other flights and bring them back, begin repopulating her dragonflight, and then rule over this new world.

  But why stop there? Why not conquer world after world? With almost infinite resources what was there to stop her and her new, free, Black Dragonflight? They could be as mighty as the Legion, and not half as wasteful.

  She would rise! Rise as Queen of not just the Black Flight, not just of a single world, but as the Supreme Empress of the Cosmos!

  But first… first she needed to get something to make her head stop spinning.

  A.N. If you like my writing, you might be interested in my fantasy adventure novel – – which is entirely pre-written and with chapters released every Friday!

  Mishka the Great and Powerful that isn't up on Royal Road yet!). However, I don't monetise or time-gate my fanfiction though (plz no sue!).