CHAPTER 1 - “Trapped in a bad comedy” - Christmas Special

Outtakes, short stories, fanfiction, specials, 

mythical, feral characters, alternative worlds, i like pie.

An alternate reality? Absolutely. The creations of our imagination are also reality. 

This is the beginning [of what could be a series] in which the author places fictional characters in the world 'in between' - and they, well, enter a new story with full awareness.

Our great actors of various plots face a serious challenge: they want to exist, to live, but reality and the dictates of correctness cause them to fall outside the realm of popularity. As long as their memory lives on, they live. So, writers, let us be an extension of their memory.

-

“Trapped in a bad comedy”

This is a special created primarily in memory of 

Of The Wilds (Coyote), 

but also for all his fans and supporters of his work.

A Christmas special that transcends all the rules of proper art writing. It was created completely spontaneously; although the idea came to me when I read the announcement of the author's death, I had absolutely no plan for this story, other than "whatever will be, will be, and it will be chaotic and honest."

“Trapped in a bad comedy” is, I think, the line in his Twitter caption that really stuck with me.

A rollercoaster of emotions and action, led by a number of quite complex and mostly not my literary characters. A challenging and completely new experience for me.

I hope you will see my attempt as a tribute to his legacy. Because this is only the first element of a great project of a fan continuation of his work. Not for the purpose of taking it over, but to celebrate life, including the life of his stories and <3 characters.

My main endeavor in this area is my "Split Of Fate" written since 2020, heavily inspired by his work [and with many references]. I'll allow myself to savor my next plans in the depths of mystery, letting them bubble up from the depths of my reflections.

This is just the beginning…

-

Soundtrack

NARNIA (music & ambience)

https://youtu.be/J5Vf6GkqMII?si=Ez43-4NocM1QPScT

Beyond the wooden gate, the misty gloom would discourage even a writer from describing the surroundings. The interior of an old barn on the outskirts of a small town hid equally colorful characters. Two black dragons sat down next to each other. One with golden eyes, the other the color of a pale sky.

- “This is probably going to be our worst Christmas story yet…” With his snout, the dragon pointed to a stack of blank pages, which they brought with them.

- “It's just us, Val, well, the two grumpiest old lizards in the universe.” He chuckled rather sadly, rearranging his collection of soft things to place his body more comfortably. Maybe we were just two drowning rats clinging to each other as the ship sank around us.

As Vraal tossed and turned several times in his fluffy nest, the old dragon's golden eyes roamed over the creaking structure of the oak frame, which had accumulated years of cobwebs. The only sources of light were uneven gaps in the wooden formwork and holes in the roof that resembled a starry sky. The air smelled of hay and an external cold was so saturated with moisture that it seemed like a cloud that had fallen to the ground.

It was amusing to him to find Vraal swaddled in warm, soft blankets, while Valyrym comforted himself with a humble paillasse beneath his frozen paw pads. - "You know? I really didn't want to go through all this sick chaos this year, but the story must continue. It's… tradition." He bolded the word, declaring great respect for the continuity of events.

- “You're right, you're right, old friend.” He murmured in a pleasant, deep tone. “Tradition… Ever since Coyote pulled me out of my oblivion, nothing has been the same. I felt a little different…”

- “Less abandoned?” He added when his friend didn't continue for a long time. "Wait... Who actually came first? I guess I was the first to appear in that Christmas Snow Globe?"

Vraal cocked an ear and looked up at the mischief in his companion's golden eyes. "You haven't changed a bit. You're already testing whether the old dragon has aged so much that he no longer remembers anything." He laughed hoarsely.

- “Good to hear, because you’ve aged even more…” Val smirked, seeing more gray on his companion’s face and paws. His neck curled into an S. “Funny. When I was young, you were old. Now that I'm old, you're still old… You haven’t changed a bit… I’ve heard that somewhere before.” Running through memories, he left his pawprints in the snow of warm pictures from years ago.

- “I just felt at home.” Finishing the thought, his deep tone resonated through the surroundings he had known for so many years. A surroundings that had become more dusty and desolate than the dragon would like to admit in his wandering thoughts and illusions.

- “This place is just… lovely.” Val was a welcome guest on this mental journey. He understood his companion’s perspective well.

- "You know? Sometimes your sarcasm is sky high. Other times, you just say what you think." He glanced at Valyrym from the corner of his eye, his body language sending him an expression of being impressed.

- “Sometimes even both…” He narrowed his eyes, nodding with slight amusement. The pebbled scales on his cheeks bulged with a smile. “A master of wordplay, or perhaps a lover of softly expressing mental shortcuts. It doesn't matter, I have experience in it.” He sighed, dispassionately turning the blank page over in his fingers. “What was I supposed to say, Vraal?” He grew serious, lowering his voice. “This boarded-up hole you know as a refuge will crumble in a few years, yet it's the perfect place for pleasant contemplation, far from chaos. You know exactly what chaos I'm talking about.”

The old dragon's heart shattered into fragments of glowing embers and was cooled by the next sentence Valyrym spoke. "And yet... it's so cold and bleak." Vraal's ears drooped slightly.

- “You deserved to look at this world anew.” In a gesture of friendship, he closed his eyes and bowed his head.

- “I deserved it…” He whispered, as if throwing away the ash that remained from the processing of his heart. He had managed to entangle many foundations in a single sentence.

- “Vatch came to write a story, not to listen to two old lizards and their noises about nothing.” He mlemled more and more with each word. “Oh my God…” He pulled the quill from his mouth, which he had thoughtfully placed there earlier. The quill was soaked in ink.

Gold and blue eyes looked between each other and then sharply down.

- “We are old…” He said with a shaking voice.

- “We forgot you were here.” Vraal joined in his friend’s playful tone, gently stroking the little creature’s chocolate fur.

Vatch growled thoughtfully. - "Well. So it looks like neither of us has any ideas?" He licked his hand to remove the ink from his muzzle, his tongue chaotically wiping against his fingers, staining his palms as well.

- “Well, maybe… If we don’t know what we want, let’s focus on what we don’t want?” Valyrym thought aloud.

- “Score one for the Second.” Vatch pointed a stick at the golden-eyed one. “I don’t want to eat any more ink…” He grumbled playfully, albeit irritably.

- “I don’t want to build bad memories, feel sorry for ourselves, cry…” In his thoughts and emotions, Vraalasothinox fought to keep the lump in his throat from growing with sadness.

- “I don’t want to repeat what has already happened over and over again.” He glanced at the memories with distaste.

The little furry creature raised its paws and pointed its claws at the two dragons. - "So why didn't you invite someone more interesting and cheerful than you?"

- “We’ve invited you.” With approval, the elder dragon bowed to Vatch.

- “You’re the best, Vatch.” Val licked the puppy’s chocolate fur on his forehead.

- “Stop, stop, stop…” Patpatpating at the rocky scales, he pushed the dragon’s muzzle away. “What was that for?”

- “Merry Christmas, Vatch.” Valyrym smirked, at his best.

- “It's only December first.” Vatch wagged his fluffy tail in amusement. “It's still time for work, not some warm Christmas spirit.”

- “Time flies, Vatch. Remember how I taught you to read and write until you became the best writer?” Pride, false or not, swelled in Valyrym. “By the way… we could have chosen a warmer place. My scales are still damp in this weather.”

- “I’m sorry.” Vraal suggested covering him with a blanket. “But I feel like something is terribly wrong… It's not just the cold…”

The barn door creaked and closed with a clatter of many loose boards. - "I think I even know what. Our author is dead, and we're trying to console each other somehow because someone invented a Celebration of Life, when I cried so much that the damned desert of Vakaal would be flooded..." His eyes darted to the creaking barn structure, but his mind was elsewhere. “Damn if I destroyed that world this way.” The green dragon dug into his own memories, putting the joke and sadness on the line.

- “Rev! Uhm… Hello to you too?” Val greeted him in a broken voice, trying to think of anything positive to say, but his library was strangely empty in that category.

- “Well, Revaramek, to say you took the words right out of my mouth is an understatement.” Vraal sighed, nodding in greeting and slightly envious of how the younger dragon could just blurt things out before he even had a chance to say hello.

Vatch rubbed his damp forehead with his paw. - "So... In this Celebration of Life, we'll be drowning in bad memories, self-pity, tears... Sounds like a good plan!" His black eyes wandered from one dragon to another.

- “Who invited him here?” Valyrym looked between Vraal and Vatch with a judgmental gaze.

- “Very funny, you old bastard…” Revaramek nudged Valyrym with his horned head, rubbed against his neck, and thought for a moment. “Let’s just say I have a knack for entering other worlds at the perfect moment.”

- “Oh! So there was a highlight yet? Damn… I guess it's time to end this story.” Vraal said sarcastically and pointed to the blank pages. “So… Well, this year's Christmas story…”

He thought for a moment, rubbing his green muzzle with a claw. - "Damn, it's December already..." A drop of water from the leaky roof landed right between his eyes, causing the dragon to close his eyes as a cold shiver ran through his spine. "I don't know what you're doing in this abandoned shack. Maybe we should just... go to the tavern? It'll be a bit more fun there."

Abandoned… Vraal looked at his collection of soft things with a strange mixture of disgust and sentiment, a charming blanket with a pattern of sky and clouds covering his well-arranged pallet. The others glanced around, nodding at the idea. "So how did you end up here?" The old dragon asked.

- “Local residents were rumoring that two ancient beasts had taken up residence in their old barn.” He chuckled. “I had a feeling it was you…”

A sudden flash of light caused everyone to close their eyes, and when they opened them, the world around them transformed into the festive surroundings of a tavern, decorated in all sorts of festive trinkets. Amidst gasps and delight, one old dragon was brutally torn from his world of illusions.

- “Was that Assterberry again?” Val growled, glancing nervously around the tavern’s large hall. His unease, like a gnawing hunger, was fed by the beauty of the combination of old architecture with cozy furniture and decorations.

The interior was warm, filled with people, but not crowded. In the green dragon's clawed hand was a mysterious artifact with a number. Rev knew exactly where their table was, but two strangers were already there, seemingly awaiting the arrival of the story's anxious heroes.

- “Who are you? Friend or foe!?” Reveramek stepped forward like a tavern guard.

They sat at a table in the far corner of the tavern, their images illuminated by numerous candles and ornate chandeliers. One was a furry, wingless dragon resembling an elk in black and gray. The other was a typical brownish-gray western dragon, but like Revaramek, was distinguished by webbed paws and a tail beautifully tipped with large frills.

- "Well, we may not be friends, but definitely far from enemies." The furry dragon spoke and bowed, closing his topaz eyes for a moment.

The scaly beast did likewise. - "Welcome. Take your seats." With a sweeping movement he pointed to the warm carpets around the table.

- “Uh… I’m Revaramek… You know, in our area, it’s customary for guests to introduce themselves first…” He gestured to the blank pages, feathers, and ornate inkwells. “But… this is our stack of pages… What’s going on?” Confused, Rev glanced between his friends and guests a few times. He placed the table number on the counter and carefully sat down next to them.

- “No need to introduce yourselves. We know you well.” The furry dragon lifted his whiskers in a light smile. “I’m Tinebress… or at least that’s my nickname…” He announced with a velvet voice, bowing again his head decorated with ebony antlers.

- “Golgaaryol Vokun Mir Roh Lah se Yolos.” ​​In a gentle but serious voice, the second dragon said, bowing again.

- “Uh, gods, Vraal, I thought your name was complicated.” Vatch looked at the old dragon with amusement.

- “Rev! Val, Vraal, Vatch! How good to see you here!” The woman emerged from the kitchen into the tavern hall and shouted with joy from behind the bar, rushing to greet them. “I’ll prepare you hot drinks in a moment.” She pointed to the two alien dragons. “These are our guests, who were eager to meet you… Well, I hope it goes smoothly?” She glanced between the beasts that towered over the human figure.

- “Do you have any vodka?” Half-bitterly, half-jokingly, like a typical grumpy old man, Vraal was already feeling tired of the chaos, though the company made his heart feel a certain warmth.

- “After being abandoned for so many years, this might be some kind of shock for him.” Valyrym quietly commented to Mirelle with amusement.

The situation quickly calmed down after the woman arrived. Revaramek approached her, sat down, and, with his paws pointing as if making a sales pitch, announced, - "This is Mirelle, the tavern owner and town councilor. But most importantly, she's my friend. Thanks to her, we have a cozy place in the neighborhood."

- “They know that, Rev.” Slightly embarrassed, but she greeted the dragon, stroking his nose.

- “I wasn’t abandoned!” Vraal denied, continuing the thread with Valyrym, flattening his ears. The slideshow flashed through his mind many images from years past.

- “Denial is a form of non-acceptance of your fate…” He clicked his teeth in a playful, dragonlike gesture of malicious amusement. “Well, come, monstieur, we will sit with our guests.” Valyrym smiled, then gently bumped his muzzle against Vraal’s shoulder, almost forcing the old dragon to go.

- “Everyone treats me like this... I'm something more than just a… monstieur.” Vraal chuckled as he made his way to the table, feasting his eyes on the beauty of the surroundings. “Damn, Rev. I can see from this tavern alone that Coyote has made some serious progress in describing the world since my story…”

Revaramek's ears perked up in satisfaction. "Not just the world. Me, newer, resplended... Maybe he liked me more, so he tried harder?"

- “But he neglected your personality.” Mimicking Valyrym, he snapped his teeth, the familiar sign of dragon amusement. He waited until everyone was gathered at the table. Vraal approached with the utmost distrust, taking his seat uneasily. He secretly studied the strangers intently. Valyrym and Vatch sat across from the guests, also visibly observing each other before any questions were asked.

Greetings, admiration for the beauty of this place, exchange of memories, and quips continued for several minutes before the beasts became accustomed to each other, trying to accept each other, gaining a small measure of mutual trust. Only Vatch was the first to initiate conversation with the strangers, exchanging many views and topics, but considering the papers spread before them, all related to the field of writing and the emphasis on writing this story.

Vatch was told to write, so Vatch writes. It was pointless to describe the tedious exchanges about the weather, the tavern, and the journey, although, in fact, that was probably the mood of most early meetings. It was simply quite stiff.

Vraal sighed helplessly and grew serious, glancing out of the corner of his eye at Revaramek's conversations with Mirelle. He decided not to delay, following the already-beaten trail of the swamp dragon, deciding it was time to ring the bell. - "Generally, the problem is very serious... Our author has passed away, and we're almost certain his soul cannot rest in peace due to the number of unfinished stories, the number of cliffhangers that have kept at least hundreds of readers in suspense. Imagine that they won't find the satisfaction of feeding that hunger by finding answers to countless questions."

- "Vraal, I don't think anyone will ever finish this. It's truly a huge amount of writing, millions of words, but that's not even the point..." Golgaaryol jotted down a few notes and pawed them to Vatch.

- “I wonder if you are here to help us?” Valyrym looked at the visitors, a glint of hope in his golden eyes. “Can you be trusted? How did you end up here?”

- “Wait, wait, not too many questions at once…” Golgaaryol gestured to the others to slow down, who suddenly, as if for the first time, had paid attention to the guests.

- “You know. We had a pact of sorts. I once promised I would draw all his dragons. I also promised that his art would not be forgotten. That I had plans for his stories… and yes, well, now I’m kind of in one of them. It’s really strange…” Tinebress sighed, looking down. “The thing is, no one is Wilds. We don’t know what was on his mind, what plans he had for guiding your Fate.” With lavender eyes he looked at each of them in turn.

Golgaaryol traced circles on the blank page with his claw. "We can help you continue your existence. This isn't Haven, Vraal. Unfinished business won't magically mend, Rev. Valyrym... Valyrym, Valyrym... I'd tell you a lot, but I can't, because Vatch is taking notes and there would be too many spoilers for potential readers..." He raised his ears, thundering from some depth of hidden emotions.

Valyrym's soul seemed to rise from the grip of Oblivion. - "You mean..." He felt as if cold pins were being driven under each of his scales.

- "I mean what I mean... We're going to have to work hard together to keep this entire universe from turning into a lifeless wasteland. That would be too sad."

Rev nodded. - “It's a very difficult task. No one realizes who we were to Coyote for so many years. What a powerful attachment that is, being the result of creation. And no one thinks about who he was to us. The Creator.”

- “It's like the death of a god someone didn't believe in, believed in, and loved. The entire universe suddenly stood on the brink of life and death. Existing essentially only in the memories of readers.” Vraal muttered sadly. “In each memory, we are different. We, as real people, no longer exist.”

- “Do the gods have their heaven?” Vatch wondered, putting the feather to his lips again.

- “I don't know, Vatch. Interesting question. What I was getting at.” Rev continued. “Over the years, we've become aware of what we are and that our true enemy is the Shadows of Wilds' life. I've seen them and faced them personally, at great cost to my health.” Gazing at the images of the past, he sounded like a general after a war. Notes of pain played in his voice, but they were buried beneath layers of pride and respect.

- “There are also the Archetypes of storytellers. You've seen the consequences of their actions. One great swamp, a veritable wasteland. They flood the world with words so empty that reality sinks as if under dunes of dust.” Tinebress jotted down a few notes. “We must keep a close eye on them and keep them as far away from this universe as possible, or all will be lost, including Wilds's true soul. One heart has died, but I, I will not stop writing, Rev.” Mysteriously dark sounds played in Tinebress's velvety voice.

- “We are the ones here who stand on this threshold of existence and nonexistence.” In a deep voice, Golgaaryol spoke with complete calm and gravity. “We are the ones whose sensitivity doesn’t allow the work of the First to die with him. You don’t deserve this. We are the ones who came here to appreciate what you were to him. And we understand perfectly what you could have been.”

- “Fuck…” Valyrym cringed, staring wetly into nothingness. The nothingness stared back at him, astonished by the dragon's presence, quivering and torn. Reality became a mirror in a bubble of darkness. In the reflection, the embrace of death was already reaching for his form.

- “Your rollercoaster of emotions is truly adorable, Val.” Vatch looked at the dragon with complete understanding and sympathy. “To appreciate this heart of poetry, one must see it naked, vulgarly true.” He patted Valyrym on the shoulder.

- "You must also know that this... space we are in is... different from the worlds of our origin. However, it is, in a sense, one universe." He spread his paws as if trying to draw a sphere with them, which he encircled with his claws.

Tinebress nodded to Revaramek. "I understand that. We are in the bubble of Between." He bolded the pronunciation of this word. "This place and its history have no influence on your story events, but the plot of your stories does influence what Between looks like."

Val, as if tired, rested his paws on the solid oak table. - "But, our stories have stopped in one place..." He struggled on the verge of despair.

Rev nodded, stroking Valyrym's hand in comfort. "It's like one of the cogs of the universe has been stopped. The Between is a world we shape ourselves... But we do so through a complex system of cause and effect, often unconscious

…

A rather serious conversation ensued, with even important details, but Vatch received a chocolate strudel from Mirelle and the promised hot chocolate, which was so amazing that Vatch preferred to focus on enjoying it rather than writing.

After a long moment, Tinebress noticed that everyone was occupied with mulled beer, chocolate, tea, coffee, eggnog, and a collection of sweet treats. In this world, everyone could enjoy such delicacies already in the December magic of Christmas. Meanwhile, he listened to their conversations and collected notes taken by others to review their ideas. - “Trapped in a bad comedy?”

- “Huh.” Revaramek lifted his ears and eyelids, licking his beer, honey, and orange-flavored lips. “You could say it’s a working title for The Between.”

Golgaaryol saw the potential and depth behind those words. - "That would probably be a good name for this story, looking at you all." He chuckled evilly, looking as adorable as only a dragon could.

- "In all seriousness... one hundred percent right." Val narrowed his eyes in a friendly gesture. We are trapped, our plots will stay where they are. We're left with this bad comedy that we can shape in some way."

- "We still have a beautiful story and... a fight ahead of us. Can Dread Sky still demonstrate his leadership and combat skills?" Rev seemed to be inviting Valyrym to join him in fighting for the return of hope.

- “Haha, obviously! Although with my age, it's rather a grey sky…” He muttered with slight glee, shaking his head from side to side.

- “Uh, that's good, very good.” Golgaaryol rearranged his notes. “Now we have a plan, a plot, an action!”

- “There is some progress.” Tinebress decided to explain further. “To continue Celebrating Life, we must fight the sickly correctness of writing that has taken over writers’ portals like… Hmm. We must take the elements of the story and write them ourselves before others write our history.” A darkness as deep as the history of many stories has settled in the topaz eyes.

- “Oh, thats deep. Well, long live mistakes, long live plots without endings or development, long live bad stories and even worse written characters!" Vatch stood on the bench to raise a toast to freedom, to breaking away from rigid rules and standards. "And let the damn communists bite the dust." He chuckled.

- “Hey, Mirelle?” Kim shouted from behind the table like a yapping scumbag. “There’s sand in my soup!”

The entire hall fell silent. Dark tones of emotion played on all the guests. After a moment, Putin and Maduro also began to make demands for a new dish. It was so surprise, and no surprise, when most of the European Parliament got up and left the hall, leaving their food untouched, as they also found the act of complaining distasteful.

Vatch covered his mouth with a clawed hand, now realizing the power to shape the storyworld with the quill Tinebress had brought.

Despite this inconvenience, Tinebress was happy with the way things were turning out. Finally, the notes of shared understanding began to form a beautiful melody, like Ludovico Einaudi playing along with the orchestra and Jeremy Soule, giving the festive tavern a warm, welcoming atmosphere. "Hey, it works! It really works!" The others looked at him questioningly. Tinebress decided not to explain his evolving thoughts.

The young urd-thin quickly stole the note, crumpled it in his paws, and tossed it into a nearby fireplace. After blinking repeatedly, Vatch observed the visitors with a new twinkle in his eye. Looking closer, he felt a different vibe emanating from these figures.

Golgaaryol was very quiet, calm, and you could feel comfortable around him. He was slightly smaller than Revaramek, but Vatch wondered if they shared a common ancestor. He was quite a funny creature, Vatch thought, seeing in him the pride and gravity of a true dragon, but spiced with a vibrant childishness and innocence. There was something deep in the depths of his eyes like solar eclipses.

Tinebress was a real surprise. Vatch had never seen anything like it in his life. A combination of dragon, deer, cat? His nickname certainly captured his appearance. But what was he like? To Vatch, he was an enigma, with lavender eyes brimming with power and a childlike positivity and energy. Vatch was quite shy around him. His penetrating gaze seemed to pierce the soul.

Mirelle called out to everyone that the evening special would be served soon. She went to open the side door, and a large, dark creature entered, carrying a large basket.

Rev glanced at the figure Mirelle had let in. "Chir'raal!" The swamp dragon leaped out and, with a running gait, wrapped his arms around the gryphon's neck, nearly knocking it to the floor.

- “Fuck! What?!” The black gryphon looked into the copper eyes of the dragon, who looked with the same astonishment into the gryphon’s claw-sharp eyes.

- “Sssorry?” He flattened his pointed ears, backing away from the gryphon on trembling paws. As an apology, he tried to arrange the feathers on its head and neck with his paws, patpatpatting them gently.

The black gryphon became incredibly irritated. - "Damn it... Not only are you knocking me down, but you're also burying my dignity..." His erect crown, curled ears, and bushy eyebrows gave his face an angry look.

- “Krek? Hi. What are you doing here?” Valyrym rose from the table, but didn’t run for a friendly hug.

- "It couldn't have happened without an embarrassing slip-up? Well, it couldn't have?! And of course it had to be me..." He looked into Krek's eyes almost with disgust, as if they were enemies.

Krek was a mirror to Revaramek's gaze. - “Let's just say I forgive this mistake…” After all, Chirr was also a handsome guy. He thought

Valyrym laughed. - "He took you, like Ayly... I ask again... What are you doing here? I never thought we'd meet here..."

The irritated gryphon pointed with a claw at the wicker basket full of chopped wood. - "As you can see... Since Coyote died, I've been making a little extra money on the side... Just to keep you all warm..." He nervously tossed a log into the fire.

Valyrym was devastated by the gryphon's mental state. He hadn't expected him to become so cold and wracked with pain. - "Will you... join us?"

Gryphon looked at the basket of chopped wood, stories burning in his cat-like eyes. "I'll throw some in the stove, then maybe we can talk a bit..." His voice was hoarse and completely emotionless. Before he got to work, he carefully arranged all the feathers. Beautiful jet-black quills dipped in silver decorated his wings, tail, and crown, each one having to be perfectly arranged.

- “Dude, what’s bothering you so much?” Revaramek nudged the griffin with his paw, gently stroking its shoulder.

The first thing he did was push the dragon's paw away and arrange the soft fur over his shoulder. He looked at Revaramek again, his serious, proud griffin gaze. - "The thing is... Since Coyote's gone... we haven't had access to his home. I don't remember where I was last. I couldn't find the others..."

- "So that's what happened... So everyone else could have been randomly scattered across the universe too! How did you get here? Where have you been? You stink like a horse." Valyrym helped Krek add wood to the stove. They laid the rest on the stove to dry thoroughly. He looked at the gryphon's paws, which were very tired from work and travel. The fur on his paws was slightly singed from accidents during work he was not cut out for.

- "I don't know. I don't remember. I was looking for a job, a home, something. The last mention of me was on Coyote's computer. From what I saw, the new story engine is based on a medieval world... I lost everything. Do you understand? Everything!" Pain, pain, and more pain. That was all that filled the black gryphon, doused in silver. “I just work here to have a home, because I don't know how else to find my place in this world.”

- “I understand you. You're looking for any hope, just like us,” Rev whispered, this time refraining from maliciously ruffling the feathers and fur into a mess.

- "I was famous there! You know? Famous! Vatch and I created tons of profiles featuring my stories and drawings. I had a lot of fans there..." He flattened his ears, staring into the fire in the stone hearth. The fire burned in his eyes.

- “About twenty.” Vatch gently raised his voice from across the table, exclaiming with amusement.

Krek made a luscious beakpalm, rubbing his eyes with the tips of his furry fingers. "There I had prospects, a future... So many loved me for who I am." He raised one paw into the glow of the flames and declared, clenching his fist. "There, fame, wealth, and power awaited me." Regal pride and power filled his fiery eyes.

- “I see fire…” Val pointed his nose at Krek.

Rev, lost in thought, understood that fire. - "It's in your blood." He appreciated the gryphon's royal beauty and high ambitions.

- “Fire…” Val pointed his nose at Krek.

Vraal was already rushing with a pot of water to extinguish the thoughtful gryphon's paw. On his last step, he tripped over Revaramek's frilly tail, and the pot landed squarely on the gryphon's head, soaking its feathers from head to toe.

The entire room burst into laughter as if it were a comedy series recorded with the audience. The gryphon took a deep breath, then let it out in a long, deflating sigh. - "Don't even tell me what was in that pot..." With a clenched beak, Krek growled.

- “Water… Water? Water. Sorry, Krek, I’m really not proud of this.” Vraal took the pot off the gryphon, which looked like a wet cat. He turned his head away, hiding a sly smile, unable to stop his mouth from curving into that strangely alien banana.

- "Thankfully, it wasn't me..." Rev commented, quickly tucking his tail over his paws, already feeling the edge of the gryphon's tolerance scale. He found a towel and began to thoroughly dry his wet feathers and fur, wanting to mend their relationship.

- “You look like a wet cat…” Mirelle reappeared in the room, and the black griffin by the stove was the first thing that caught her eye. “Get some rest and get warm.”

Haha, she said exactly what Vatch had written in the previous paragraphs as a comparison. Vatch chuckled to himself. The others looked at Vatch strangely, but he simply continued writing and didn't care. Krek did indeed look like a wet cat. Now the gryphon seemed much thinner and smaller, with ridiculously large eyes and ears.

- “This is a really damn bad comedy, Yol.” Tinebress whispered to the dragon, amazed at how things in this world were going so strangely wrong.

- “Mhm… That wasn’t even funny.” Yol commented quietly, slurping his hot chocolate, his frilly tail fin flicking in pleasure.

The soaked gryphon sat as if frozen in place. Its eyelids twitched, its claws trying to dig into the stone, as hard as its heart. Rev kept rubbing its head, causing the gryphon's posture to sway left and right.

…

Mirelle brought a large tray of meaty appetizers. - “Here’s our special,” she announced, placing a large, ornate plate on the table. “Meat hedgehog.”

- “Hedgehog?” With a wtf face, Golgaaryol pricked up his ears in surprise.

- “Uh… It's just a name.” She laughed. “Look.” She pointed to the tray. “He has eyes like this, and these sausages are like his thorns.” She presented the entire dish with her hand. The dragons tilted their heads in chorus of surprise, gazing at the craftsmanship of this work. “We even have a song. Meat hedgehog, meat hedgehog, you eat him, you eat him…” She hummed so merrily that musical notes appeared above her head. She was greatly amused by the dragons' surprise. Eventually, they thanked her warmly, sampling the snacks and savoring their flavor.

Krek sat on the corner of the table and stared at the furry dragon for a long time, slowly eating a piece of meaty hedgehog. - "May I ask what kind of species you are? I've never seen anything similar." The griffin's intrusive curiosity hunted its target. 

- “Uh…” Shock flashed in the dark beast’s topaz eyes. “Generally, it’s best I don’t talk about myself and my history here. Considering how this world works, being a result of our histories, the consequences would be unpredictable.” He said in a near whisper, with complete seriousness.

Krek jumped onto the table, fluffing out his mane and crown, and walked up to Tinebress, towering over him. - “Tell me what you are.” He glared at him, staring into topaz eyes where uncertainty was no longer a guest, but rather an intruder.

The others froze. Krek had always been a bit strange to them, but after a year of isolation, he had become truly distrustful, humorless, and constantly in self-defense mode.

- “Krek! Get off the table!” Mirelle urged him, slamming a rag on the bar counter.

Valyrym, who was sitting across from Tinebress, snapped his clawed fingers right under the black bird's tail. "You're ruining the view, birb."

Krek somersaulted, opening his beak in a comical way in disbelief, and let out a high-pitched shriek. After a frontflip, trying not to fall to the stone floor, he accidentally landed next to Tinebress, covering his back with his wing.

- “Oh, it’s so nice to be friends now!” Vatch commented, focusing the gryphon’s deadly gaze on himself.

Gryph was stunned again.

Tinebress took off his bird wing, though he could admit it would have been very fitting if it had been his own. He set it aside for their owner, who pretended it hadn't happened at all.

- “It… Is…” Krek screeched.

- “Quite funny.” Golgaaryol concluded, licking the chocolate from his lips.

Tinebress's ears perked up at his chocolate friend's reaction. "Moving on to more important matters than my existence." He raised his index finger in front of Krek. "The world of this drama-comedy takes place here and now. As per the original, we only have a short period of December to exist in Outtakes as a story. As the storytellers of Things, we create this world, but by bringing here echoes of the past created by other writers, we bring the Storytellers closer and closer. And with them come a certain bias and patterns that could threaten this unstructured bubble of apparent freedom. We cannot allow ourselves to be confined…” He spread his clawed paws, drawing a dome. “Under the roof of a single, limited cosmos..." 

- “Gods… Just… Curiosity?” Krek looked at Tinebress so questioningly that his eyes practically painted question mark symbols. He was curious, truly curious.

Will I escape? I won't. Submission was Tinebress's greatest weakness, he knew it all too well. In a long silence, he pondered the pros and cons, the many threads of various consequences swirling around him like an Andromeda of slides, fragments of alternate realities. - "F-fiend." Unexpectedly, the admission sent shivers down his spine. "I'm a fiend. Certainly the only one in this universe." Contrary to his expectations, the confession made no impression on the others. "I'm simply telling and publishing your story now."

- “Wait… What do you mean, you’re a writer?” Valyrym froze, and the entire room seemed to follow suit. Everyone, really everyone, was staring at poor Tinebress, who tended to avoid being the center of attention.

The orchestra stopped the tact. Those who were eating stopped eating. Those who were drinking placed their mugs and cups on the table. Somewhere else, the clang of a dropped piece of cutlery on the stone floor echoed. Anxiety tore at his heart, soul, and muscles, pounding rhythmically, echoing in his ears. Tine wanted to say something, but his lip trembled, making no sound except a soft squeak. He blinked, looking around chaotically. Should I regret what I said?

- “Well, I didn't focking expect that...” The griffin was in shock. His mood instantly changed from despondent to downcast, but with a creeping sense of leitmotif that could inform the continuation of their lives.

Tinebress was beginning to clear the fog from his brain, realizing he'd said something that felt like a story spoiler to them, like breaking the fourth wall. From a foreign guest he appeared to them like a demigod, the new captain of this bubble of imagination. "I didn't expect such a reaction," he whispered.

Krek only now noticed Tinebress's true expression of emotion. He was afraid of me. It wasn't hostility. - "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to scare you."

Tine looked into his eyes, at his ears, crown, tail. The gryphon's body language was utterly clear, unmistakable from beginning to end. - “You wanted to, but I'm not angry about it.” He had to admit that among all these intelligent beasts, the gryphon held something more wild, more unpredictable. And, unexpectedly, it was larger than Tinebress. A colorful soul and pride hidden in its mane of jet-black feathers and fur. Surely, beneath its proud jester persona, lurked a deep and profoundly intelligent figure. "I've simply never seen a gryphon with my own eyes before."

- “Never?!” Krek raised his head thoughtfully. “Where did you come from? He’s never seen a gryphon before!” He exclaimed in shock to the others, as if this was the most important news of the meeting.

Was hiding… but how deep… Tinebress finished the thought, somewhat intrigued, wondering if his hunch was telling the truth. The gryphon could also be a simple creature, like a soldier whose depth lies in the mystery of the orders he was given. Of all of them, Krek was the hardest to trust.

- “Tine? If I may call you that… This magpie has a point.” Revaramek became as serious as ever, but he managed to insult the gryphon while showing his appreciation, which he was proud of.

Gryphon was a bit confused by his emotional conflict within himself. - "What are you getting at?" he whispered sharply, staring into Revaramek's copper eyes. "If anyone calls me ag..."

Suddenly, the tavern door banged open. The same bang seemed to echo through every heart inside the tavern. A large man, as bearded as a bear from the wild tundra, like a dwarven boss, stepped inside. "Tinebress? I have a letter for you. Which one is Tinebress?" A heavy but very pleasant voice asked around the room. "They described you a bit differently, magpie." The man tried to hand the letter to Krek, but the gryphon pointed with a trembling paw at the creature with amethyst eyes that now looked like eclipses of a purple sun.

- “Tinebress is me.” The furry dragon whispered uncertainly. Dark thoughts flashed through his mind, that this would be the end of the story, that they would take him somewhere away. His fur and ears clung strangely to his body, shrinking the entire being.

- “Hello Tinebress.” The human extended his hand in greeting, as if greeting an old friend. The dragon returned the gesture, gently offering a paw with cool paw pads. “And a little gift for you.” He pulled a small package from his pocket and placed it on the table in front of the dragon.

- “Wh-ho are you?” Tinebress stuttered to the stranger.

- "Rubeus, the Inpost courier. Well, I have to go now. Merry goddamn Christmas, everyone." He slammed the door behind him so hard it practically fell off its hinges.

Suddenly, everything resumed normal, people resumed their conversations, pianists resumed their playing. Tinebres was delighted to see Golgaaryol talking with other dragons about their experiences and the plots of their stories. It was truly a wonderful time for this poor dragon.

Tinebress hadn't even expected that in real life, such familiar characters from the stories would be so different from what they were there. Or was it a matter of the narrator or the writer? Unfortunately, as often happens, Tinebress was the smallest of the four-legged creatures, so everyone seemed to look down on him, which was quite embarrassing.

- “Damn, I think I know this guy…” Valyrym dredged up something from his memories outside of his plot again. “Tinebress, are you a wizard?” Golden eyes sparkled as if sprinkled with glitter.

- “What?” Torn from his other thoughts, his ears pricked up at Valyrym, blinking in surprise several times.

- “What did this guy bring you?” Krek remained very insightful.

Yes, Krek was quite a surprise in terms of being different from the stories. He was a damn bird-cat with the personality of a raven and a domestic cat… Instead of removing the wax seal and untying the strings, Tinebress slit the edge of the envelope with a sharp claw and poured out the contents, peering intently at the letters. "There's a list of attachments for questions not yet asked."

- “What questions?” Krek, full of birdlike curiosity, looked at him.

Tinebress raised three claws and counted in a whisper, “Three, two, one…”

- “Tine?” Vraal walked away from his conversation with Golgaaryol and thought for a moment. “Our author knew us very well. You know a lot about us, but we know nothing about you. If you are to write a story with us… Why? Why do you care? Why do you care about our fate?”

Valyrym joined the exchange of thoughts aloud. "I see you're a complete stranger to us, from another place entirely. You and your scaly friend look different from the things of the worlds we know, and as you know, we've seen a lot... a lot. Were our stories that important to you?"

- “This letter contains the most important things. These are the words that have become my pact. https://www.deviantart.com/qahnareen/journal/Rest-in-Peace-Coyote-Of-The-Wilds-Statement-1227880911” Tinebress pushed the letter to the center of the table. He pursed his lips, as if forcibly sealing his thoughts inside. “Actually, we exist, thanks to you…”

- “Okay… This is quite moving.” For the first time since they met, the bird's expression had unmasked itself, revealing what he was actually feeling.

- “Fuck…” Revaramek summed it up like a true poet, when one word could truly sum up the resultant of thoughts and emotions.

Vatch stared at the letter. Vraal said nothing. He brought his forelegs closer together, glancing at Valyrym, who looked away and gritted his teeth.

- "You know... I was hoping for some kind of... fanfic, a short story someday..." Val sobbed out after a moment through his tight throat. I just really… wanted to..." Icy claws dug into his lungs, leaving the dragon breathless. His eyes sparkled like never before.

"You still wanted to live… Like all of us…" Vraal finished, as if reading his mind. He was a bit more shy about revealing his emotions around strangers. For that, he also adored Valyrym, who had always been his open self.

- "I understand… but…" Golgaaryol searched for words for a moment, absentmindedly rummaging through the pages with his claw. "It was supposed to be just another comedy with moments of emotion. I admit, I didn't realize how much this does for you… all..." A chill ran through his scales.

- “I think it will be good for Vatch and all of us if we go for a walk.”

- “It will…” Rev stared with copper eyes as if he had seen a ghost. “May I know what you have in this package?” He pointed to the gray package.

- “My order from temu…” Tinebress shrugged…

-

Mirelle, with some lizard, told us about interesting places to explore in the area at this time of year… Traveling with Tinebress, we missed all these places. While wandering through cities and palace gardens, everyone felt colder, whether on their scales, fur, or hearts. 

The pleasant, cinematic voice of the narrator tells us that all the characters in the story were feasting their eyes on the beauty of the colorful lanterns that surrounded some of the houses. 

All of them? 

Well, almost all of them, because Vatch, as usual, had to describe… But Vatch didn't write everything; after all, no one was monitoring him, and Christmas was coming, so why should he worry.

In the final moments of light, we lit wax candles of remembrance on the stone slab beneath which the remains of our creator rested.

- "You gave us no endings to the stories, and we witnessed yours." Valyrym seemed to have endured this the hardest.

In silence, a moment filled with sadness. Again from the world of another story, we also admired the dragon statue, Hero of the Marsh, famous in this town for many reasons. The inscription on the open stone book beneath its paws almost told us to live.

"Life is an exciting tale. Live it."

After writing this with tears in my eyes, the city streets were filled with people on a gloomy evening. A cozy warmth enveloped the Christmas market beneath the palace in the city center. What a contrast… Golgaaryol and Tinebress took the last of their coins to buy everyone something to eat and perhaps a few small souvenirs.

The dance of smoke and aroma made everyone hungry, and there were many meat delicacies to try from the nearby stand, from sausages to steaks of various cuts. Before the eyes of dragons and a griffin, more portions of pygmy goats for the customers were grilled and sizzled as if the wild applause of the crowd.

This, after a long walk, was enough to satisfy the entire crew. At another lavish station, they sampled various types of bread, which, oh, ironically, Krek was most pleased with, so there was plenty of joking around with the birb. Along the way, they teased him further by throwing bread crumbs and seeds under his paws, but instead of pecking at them, he pecked at the mischievous dragons.

Only the lack of fluffy snow spoiled the atmosphere of the approaching Christmas. It might seem strange that such a holiday is important to us. Well, we have our reasons. While we don't celebrate the birth of Christ, we do celebrate the opportunity to celebrate together in this beautiful atmosphere, because there are too many gods and too few friends.

Golgaaryol bought Tinebress a precious stone, like coal filled with hundreds of amethysts. He immediately handed over the gift, and together they gazed at the thousands of crystals sparkling like stars. Tinebress bought a rather large candle as a gift, which looked like a richly decorated Christmas tree ornament.

There was not

|

They lost Vatch, or Vatch lost them, so he didn't write a lot of things and dialogue... Vatch traveled more on Krek's back, so at least it was nice and warm. Vatch felt too uncomfortable to ride Tinebress's fur… 

The very nice, fluffy fur on his back looked like a jet-black scarf…

The Witcher 2 - Nighttime in Vergen Ambient Theme

https://youtu.be/L8sTPiZUHLM?si=hwiiL1Fr5MN0lFmM

After admiring the palace gardens for a long time, the heroes of our story returned from the present to a cozy tavern, where further surprises awaited them.

Their table was set with delicacies specialized for dragons and gryphons, ensuring their vitamin and taurine levels, essential for helping to cleanse the digestive system of hairballs.

- “The tavern is empty now.” Vraal was the first to sit at the table this time.

- “Most people are probably already cleaning up for the holidays.” Valyrym chuckled. “From what I've seen in previous years, for some people, it's more important than the holidays themselves.”

Tinebress noticed another envelope appear on the table in front of him, no sender, no addressee. "Is this for us?"

- “Open, open.” Valyrym raised his voice with surprisingly childish glee. “Maybe it's a present?”

- “It's still too early for gifts... Intrigued.” The furry dragon whispered intrigued, expecting Val to have left him a gift...

“There are 14 days left until Christmas Eve. If you were wondering if your lineup was random, I'd say quite quite... Other heroes of this universe are in a safe place. Don't worry…” 

A cold shiver ran down everyone's spines. Their curious eyes were fixed on the letter and the elegant paper on which these words were written.

- "Sorry everyone, but the food is getting cold. I don't know about you, but I'm damn hungry." Worried, Valyrym stopped Tinebress from reading any further.

- “What's right is right. Mirelle and her cooks worked hard to prepare this, so let's respect that.” Revaramek stroked Tinebress's ear with a claw. “If something's going to ruin this evening, it better do it after dinner.”

Fiendly dragon huffed and twitched his ear, looking at Revaramek with a bit of surprise. "This letter is strange." He turned to Valyrym. "So you didn't write it..."

- “Where and when?” He shrugged his wings.

- “Well… Mirelle really made sure the tavern was for everyone. Everyone will find a good place here.” Tinebress put down the letter and grabbed a wet towel to wash his front paws before eating. 

Others washed their paws too and began to savor the flavors of the roasted venison.

Suddenly, something cracked in the soft meat, as hard as a broken bone. They looked at Tinebress.

His moon-like eyes widened, as if darkness had grown before him. His tongue roamed over his gums and teeth. With a claw, he pulled a piece of fang and something hard from his mouth. He tossed it into a distant trash can, briefly looked at the chipped tooth, and then tossed it away. - "What bad luck..." He concluded.

- "Does it hurt?" Golgaaryol winced at the painful sound.

- "No... Thankfully, it doesn't. It's just a filling. Why do these things have to happen before Christmas..."

- “Maybe Mirelle knows someone who can take care of it.” Revaramek finished eating. The others were already finishing the last few pieces. Only Tinebress had to eat more carefully and slowly now. “Maybe I should read the letter.”

- “The sooner the better…” Added Vraal, who was the most concerned.

“As you can see, you are the only guests in the tavern. To progress to Existence, you must meet the conditions of literary epicness, otherwise you will forever remain only memories of smiles and echoes of laughter…

A wonderful gift awaits you at the end.

But for now, welcome to;

Big Bother 

Enjoy your meal. If you've already eaten and come across something hard, under no circumstances should you throw it away. It's very important... the key?

Your best friend, V.”

- “And who the hell is Five?” Vraal became particularly serious and stared at the letter like a proud dragon looking with contempt at the vanity of human creation.

- “It’s V, Rev…” Tinebress looked at the letter and corrected him.

- “What could this be about?” Valyrym relaxed, thinking the letter was some kind of joke.

An elderly man, dressed in an elegant coat and hat, entered the tavern. The entire team immediately looked at him and followed him with their eyes.

The man raised his glasses with false eyebrows. - “Psst. It is I, Leclerc.” His glasses fell back onto his face.

- “I never would have guessed!” Surprised, Revaramek focused his attention firmly on the guest.

He looked around at the guests, who were completely confused. - “I have a letter for you.”

Krek was closest, so he took the letter from the old man and began reading as soon as the man left the room.

“You'll have to overcome many challenges to ensure the story delivers any kind of action and adrenaline rush. I created Big Bother to provide you with a dose of thrills and an exciting storyline. By the time you read this letter, readers' attention has undoubtedly been riveted more to the ongoing action.

You can't escape the system and the program, because beyond that, there is no Existence.

The prize in the races guarantees progression to the next stage. If you fail, you will have to vote for one of the team members to leave.

Remember, I see and hear everything. You have the right to express your thoughts privately in the… confessional?

After reading, burn this letter.

Best regards, V.”

- “What races?” Krek added.

- “The author didn’t know what kind of race it was?” Vatch walked over to see the letter.

- “What? Uhm, there was no question, I added what races?”

- “Is there any more information?” Rev took the letter, looking at it from all sides.

Another unknown figure emerged from the kitchen. Almost stealthily, she approached Vatch, leaned in, and whispered for all to hear, - "My name is Michelle Dubois. Lizzen verrae carefully, I weel say zis only once…” 

- "I beg your pardon?” Vatch tilted his ear.

- “I said I weel say zis only once…”

Krek raised his paw as if to stop her. - “I didn't quite catch your name…” 

She sighed, exhaling through her nose. - “My name is Michelle Dubois, you are Krek…” 

- “Yes, I know that.” He nodded, his ears perked up, like a cat responding to his name.

She continued more slowly with irritation. - “Someone named Gervand left his horze in the ztable..."

Revaramek was still staring at the letter. - "We don't take care of the stables. This needs to be reported to...” 

She interrupted him, - “The key to his cubicle was hidden in the food.” 

- “What's with this horse?” Valyrym was completely confused.

The mysterious woman approached Valyrym and whispered, - "We know that Kreek lives in the ztable and has the keys to the main geyt…” She said, nervously looking around the tavern windows. “We have an arrangement for an illegal horse rrace. Vatch will be the raider. You win. You muzt take Roach back to the ztable. Quick. Thatz oll." 

Valyrym looked at Krek with pity and amusement. - "You live in a stable?"

The gryphon rolled his eyes, flattening his ears. - "I have quite luxurious quarters there..." He muttered shyly. "Did that fact really have to be the most important thing here?"

- “And why should we be involved?” Valyrym put his paw around Vatch as if to protect him. “We have some important task to do from the letter, not some race.”

- “Because Vatch is unknovn here. Ah yes, I have a disguize for him." She pulled something that looked like small dragon horns from her bag. "Itz a kobold race.”

Tinebress muzzlepawed. - "Any kobold can tell that's not a kobold race."

- “Ten you tell them hez a different race of koboldz. Vatch, remembea, your name is Stig now.” She confidently solved the problem and walked away towards the bar. “You have no choize. It's either vat or one of you leaves this ztory.”

- “Why?” Vraal rested his paws on the table and looked at the woman with a serious expression.

- “Because thoze are the rules. There must be poonishment and revard. Suchs the fate of the story's heroes.” She quickly left the tavern as if she were being sought and followed.

- “What do you think?” Vraal was also completely confused.

- “Tinebress?” Valyrym turned to the furry fiend.

- “Val, she was just talking about the assignment in that letter…” He looked around. “Has anyone burned it? We’ll have to do something… The point here is that we’re hitting a really niche audience. The Writer’s Shadows is forcing us to develop an adventure plot.”

Vatch was digging through the trash for a key and found it almost at the bottom of the pile. - "I'm probably not cut out for rummaging through garbage… What’s the plan? Vatch can ride a horse.” With a strange motivation, he seemed ready to take on the challenge.

Golgaaryol thundered in thought and planning. - "Generally, we don't have time to write anything, especially not to plan."

- “The principle is simple. The more we run from it, the harder these forces will press against us.” Tinebres clarified the message.

The bronze dragon continued. - “The action has to be fast. A climax? We have to figure something out, Tine. We're not in a fantasy story here, we don't have to fit into the rules set by others.”

- “We're not in a fantasy story here… Hmm. So we don't have to participate in the action itself?" Valyrym scratched his cheek with a claw.

Golgaaryol chuckled strangely darkly. - “We are the action, Val. We are the ones who make history. We just might write it.”

*

While the task was being discussed, Krek retired to a secluded confessional. - "I'll tell you what, I don't believe there's any point to what we're doing here. It's not personal, Tinebress, it's strictly business. Vatch and I could handle this all ourselves. For our biggest fans. We don't need management, especially from a complete stranger with no experience."

Revaramek passed Krek, only looking into each other's eyes. When the gryphon left, Rev entered the confessional. "Tinebress? Golgaaryol? You come into my circle, you write our characters. You have a strange influence on how we think and what we say. I don't know you yet, but I'll tell you, keep your friends close, but your enemies closer. I understand exactly what you want to do. Writer circles aren't friendly, so we should stick together, walking that fine line. Whoever you are, I'm watching you. I'm watching... That brown-gray dragon is suspiciously quiet..."

Another dragon approached to share a thought. - "Hi V, I'm Vraalasothinox... Hmm... Tinebress? I felt as if he possessed some strange, dark powers. Every time he turned the page back, I experienced a strange sense of déjà vu."

Krek waited until everyone was gathered around the table again. - "So, team, we're going to the stable... Whatever it is, we'll win." He said in a rather unemotional tone and with a sweeping movement of his head, pointed with his beak at the side door.

They made a quick getaway, no questions asked. The horse was in place. The slightly bent key by Tinebress's teeth fit with difficulty. At the gate, they found a note with the location and time.

There was no time.

Suddenly, a tall policeman with a funny mustache entered through the barn door. - “God mourning.”

The heroes of our epic tale stood frozen. Revaramek had Roach tucked under his wing, pinning Vatch there in his kobold disguise.

The policeman looked around and approached the terrified Krek, who was closest. - “You hav to vatchout for the Kettle.”

The dragons and the gryphon exchanged glances.

- “Yes, yes. Let’s be careful with the Kettle… Kettles are dangerous.” Krek stammered.

The policeman was a bit surprised. He leaned in, put his hand to his mouth, and whispered, - "I've heard romors that the Kettle is patrollin the nortvern port of town. See you son." He bowed and left.

There really wasn't time to worry about it. The witcher's mare was completely calm among the beasts, unlike the other horses. And that was the plan. Hide in different parts of the town, watch out for the patrol with the Kettle and growl a bit quietly, but just enough to stress out the opponents' horses a bit.

At the start, the furry kobold Vatch appeared. They accepted him as one of their own, since he knew the place and time. There, no questions were asked… And if any questions arose in the reader about the change in narrative form, then yes, it is I, Vraal, who's writing.

Listen, I'm waiting at the finish line, and this funny policeman, who's not really a policeman, is patrolling the area, looking for patrols patrolling the area. What a thrill…

The sound of hooves hitting the cobblestones echoed through the narrow streets of the town. From Vatch's perspective, it must have looked terrifying. Night, many obstacles, narrow spaces between the walls of old houses.

I have no idea what they were racing for, what the prize was, but I kind of understood why they were doing it. Speed ​​and power solve many things. Racing is certainly a good test of fitness for riders and their horses.

Valyrym managed to slow down a few of the panicked horses, but their gallop was still frantic. Revaramek also put on quite a show, imitating a drunken dragon knocking over barrels along the race course. I hope he was just pretending to be drunk…

Everything went smoothly, suspiciously smoothly. Vatch almost tied with some funny kobold named Kasis, but Roach had more energy at the very end.

I have no idea what the reward was. All I saw was some kind of roll of paper. I hoped it wasn't all some kind of scam.

- "Shtop!" A strangely metallic voice sounded from behind me.

- "Well, I'm sitting here..." I slowly turned my head. I thought. It was him, it was the Kettle… Oh no… Anyway. He was just some ridiculous knight dressed in a tin suit. Compared to what I'd faced in the past, he didn't inspire any fear.

- "Yes, I see. Um... I heard thele's a band of vild kobolc oaming the aea. Have you seen those kobolss? They pose a theat, beaking tlaffic lules by rrriding thei hoses in a danjeous mannea. I sweah that I, a night of this town, will bing them hustise!"

I thought for a moment. Instead of denying it, I came up with another idea. "Eh. I guess so. Yes. They rode off on horseback in that direction." I pointed in a completely different direction, but Kettle didn't seem to notice at all. He grabbed his head with his metal gloves and tried to adjust that ridiculous kettle on his head so he could see anything.

I waited too long. Our team was already gone; I couldn't even hear their voices anymore. Suddenly, the entire Kettle patrol appeared.

- "Stop," a guard said.

- “Well, I'm sitting here.”

- "You saw those kobolds, right? You'll come with us to the captain now and give your statement."

"What?" Now I was shocked.

- "Just a statement. You'll tell me exactly what you did here and what you saw."

- "Why? I want to go back to... home. It's cold."

- “No discussion.”

- "I'll go and lok for thaces of that gang." The Kettle declared, heading in a completely different direction than I'd shown him.

And, well, I went with the guards to complete the formalities and not cause any problems...

*

- “Whatever, I never thought I'd be mounting Roach.” Vatch finally dismounted, exhausted. Roach was steaming in the cold air.

- “Me too…” Krek added thoughtfully. The others looked at each other questioningly, and a moment of silence followed. “I never… thought… Vatch would be riding Roach… either.” He stammered with long pauses, his ears drooping.

- “Let’s leave it at that…” Valyrym placed the Urd’thin on Krek’s neck. “Better show us what kind of letter it is.”

Vatch pulled a wad of paper from his coat pocket. - “Eeeee… Is that some kind of number?”

Tinebress grunted and pointed at the barn roof. “Can someone get Roach off the roof?”

- “What? How?” Valyrym stood astride the door and stared at the roof in disbelief. “Now I know why she was locked.” The dragon gently climbed onto the roof, beating its wings, and the sound echoed through the quiet neighborhood.

A policeman was waiting for them at the stable. He waved his police baton in greeting. - “God ovening... You can't park there. Take off your horze and go back to the tavern until no one sees you."

*

- "Where's Vraal?" Krek whispered to Valyrym, while the others were already asleep on the soft carpets, warming themselves by the fire.

- "I admit I didn't notice he was gone..." Val looked around the tavern. It was so cozy and peaceful here at night. Vatch was so tired he slept leaning against the furry Tinebress.

- "I'll start worrying if he's not back by morning."

- "You're already worrying." Val smirked and simply curled his scaly body up to sleep.

- "I thought you'd go look for him..."

- "You thought wrong, birb. Vraal is an old dragon. Old dragons are immune to trouble by now," he whispered and yawned widely, curling his tongue like an octopus's leg.

- “Well, see you tomorrow…” Krek said to himself, still staring at the tavern door.

…

- “57921506…” Krek stared at the letter Vatch had won in the race. “It must be something damn important…”

- “I hope that’s not the word count for this story…” Golgaaryol muttered sleepily. He wasn’t a morning dragon, so he sat with his head resting on his paws on the oak counter.

The black-gray dragon opened the tavern door. - "I'll answer your questions... They locked me in a damn dungeon..." He walked in, immediately finding himself at the bar.

Valyrym shivered. - "What have you done?"

- “I got caught by the damn Kettle.”

- “Hey Vraal!” Some guy in an afro called from behind the counter.

- “Hey crabmen!” Vraal shouted back, raising his paw in greeting.

- "You're finally here... The water's boiling," Mirelle shouted from the kitchen.

- “Th-thanks…” Vraal sat down with Revaramek, waiting for something hot to drink. “I was interrogated and locked up overnight because I saw a group of kobolds… Damn dungeon, it was cold and hard, and I was hoping for a hot tub with those weird flower-scented soaps… Nevermind… What the hell did you win?”

- “57921506…” Krek stared at the letter Vatch had won in the race. “It must be something damn important…”

- “Strange déjà vu.” Golgaaryol blinked sleepily, eyes like silver moons, and lifted his head from the counter as Tinebress offered him a bucket of coffee. He yawned widely, his tongue curling in his gaping mouth.

- “Hey Yol!” Some guy in an afro called from behind the counter.

- “Hey crabmen!” Golgaaryol shouted back, raised his paw in greeting and took a sip of his morning coffee.

Mirelle came to the bar to chat, exchange gossip and joke with the guests. "Have you seen it?" She pointed to an article in a new newspaper. "It says here that the lucky ticket number definitely landed in our town. The winnings are some five-figure sum in the bank account."

Everyone sitting at the bar looked sharply at Krek, who was holding the letter. 

- “Krek! Show me that letter!” Revaramek no longer needed coffee. He dashed across the tavern to Krek and back to the bar.

Gryphon knocked down a glass of his favorite lime juice in surprise. - “This is it?”

- “Don’t worry. Head Councilwoman Mirelle will pay for any losses. MIRELLE?! Is this some kind of lottery ticket?” He wagged his tail like a happy puppy.

- "REV! I'm right here, damn it, don't yell." The woman examined the paper. "Yes, it's some kind of bank code. It even has the bank logo embossed on it." She pointed to the corner of the paper.

- “WE WON?!”

"Wait! Rev, don't get so excited. It's just a code, there could be hundreds of them in this city. You have to go to the bank with this. By the way... Do any of you have a bank account?"

They looked at each other. - "Wait... I have a bank account." Krek reached for his memories.

- “Okay, then we send Krek to the bank.” Vraal was still skeptical about the letter.

…

After a few hours, Krek returned, exhausted as if after a long day of chopping wood.

- “So what, what, what, what?” Rev jumped around him like a puppy who waited for its owner to return.

Krek was strangely resigned and confused. - "After many hours and arguments at every counter, I received a letter... Welcome to Cianfanelli Bank, where we look after your coin as if it were our own and the customer's always right. We are extremely sorry, because the file indicates the death of the account holder, we cannot grant you access to its status."

- "Mirelle!" Rev called into the kitchen. "Look at this..." He snatched the document from the bird's talons and handed it to the woman. “You're a councilor, so maybe you know about these things…”

- “Krek, damn it… Who did you register this account under?” Mirelle scowled. "Damn it... We'll have to transfer ownership of the account to you somehow."

- “So, can this be arranged?” Rev was full of enthusiasm again.

- “Yes, it is possible. Krek, you have to go to the city hall and ask for Permit A38.”

Krek banged his beak on the bar counter. - “I so… hate… so…” He groaned.

- "Why did you argue with everyone? Can't you get anything done the right way? Imagine that those people, those officials, sit there all day and are just as tired." Valyrym was secretly glad that others were handling his tax and business matters. Dragons usually didn't have room in offices and banks. A gryphon could fit in, though it probably struggled to squeeze through the crowds in the corridors.

- “Couze…I… so… hate… so…” He growled, took a sip of espresso, and set off for the office again.

…

A few hours later, he returned, banging his beak on the counter again. - "Damn queue... when I got to the window, the office was already closed... I accidentally learned that I had to go to the registry or archives somewhere for the A38 certificate..."

- “Just thinking about it makes me sick.” Vraal concluded. “Without pain, how can we measure joy?” He smiled pityingly at Krek. “I’m joyful it wasn’t me.”

- “Thanks, you old lizard…” Krek gasped.

- “Well, let Krek fight for access to the account, and you can help by taking over some of his responsibilities. Will you help?”

- “Caring for horses?” Valyrym asked quietly. Golgaaryol snorted with laughter.

Mirelle was surprised. - "What? No. You have to keep an eye on the fuel supply and bring in meat from time to time, and bring in produce from the market. Everyone will find something to do. Rev will help me cle…"

At the sound of his name, he turned, his tail knocking the things Mirelle had just finished sorting into order off the counter. Notes, contacts, bills—everything took on a life of its own. - "Oops?" Wanting to grab as much as possible, he knocked over the entire tray on which Mirelle had carefully arranged containers of spices. "Oops?" He repeated in a squeaky voice, as innocently as possible. 

- "REV… you infantile pillock, you’re tidying that up!"

…

The next day, Krek took Vatch with him, who still had those funny dragon horns on his head. There were more arguments, scuffles, and foul language… of course, mostly from an impatient Krek, or people angry at an impatient Krek.

They spent the entire day processing Form 202, filling out a mountain of paperwork, and going from window to window. At the end of the clerks' day, Krek kicked a large ashtray, scattering ash and burnt clay pipes and bowls across the hallway. The ashtray cracked in half. - "Head Councilwoman Mirelle will pay for any losses?"

Day after day passed, form after form…

- “We need to change tactics, Krek…” Vatch rode on his back, yet he was exhausted from these wanderings. Worse still, Christmas was fast approaching, so the number of people overwhelmed the number of officials.

Krek finally caved and became a pleasant presence in the offices and at the bank. His muscles quivered with nervousness, but his vocabulary was untainted by any vulgarity. He didn't offend anyone, once he even said good morning and merry Christmas, which barely passed his throat. Finally, someone decided that a gryphon and an urd'thin with dragon horns looked so sweet and amazing that they needed help settling their case before the holidays.

After a few days, he finally met the bank's owner himself, Giacomo. After hearing, ‘Welcome to Cianfanelli Bank, where we look after your coin as if were our own and the customer is always right’ a vein popped in his eye.

After a pleasant exchange of words with the halfling, Krek exploded, growled, and pushed the trickster with his beak, which was the final warning sign and show of force for the griffin… - “Give me back my winnings. Now…”

…

Vatch returned to the tavern alone. - "Well, we have a problem..."

- “Hey Vatch!” Some guy in an afro called from behind the counter.

- “Hey Crabmen!” Vatch waved his paw.

- “What happened?” Mirelle shouted from behind the bar.

Urd'thin looked around the interior. Tavaat and Beka were helping with the evening cleanup. Golgaaryol was playing Gwent with Valyrym. - "Krek's been locked in the dungeon for 24 hours." Wearily, he climbed onto a tall bar stool and sank onto the counter with a sigh.

- “What did that feathered asshole do this time?” Valyrym shouted across the tavern.

- "He pushed the bank owner, Giacomo, with his beak, aiming between his legs. The halfling squealed, security, security... and then security came... I jumped out the window. Mirelle, is there any way to help him? They didn't look nice..."

- "I'm afraid not. Cianfanelli is a very powerful figure. In my situation, with a million tax matters to attend to, it's really best if I don't get involved." She rested her chin on her hand worriedly.

- “I see… I’m going to rest…” Tired, Vatch jumped off the stool and headed towards the fireplace.

…

The gears of the great clock pressed forward stubbornly. Our heroes' quests and struggles certainly didn't go well, but the story continued. Kari, Grant, and Tory tested various dragon myths. It's funny that they chose Vraal for testing, considering him the most stereotypical dragon, but I admit I don't understand what they were getting at.

It was quite boring waiting for Krek... Golgaaryol and Tinebress would disappear and reappear only briefly late in the evenings, saying that real life and work were exceptionally difficult, leaving them no time for anything at all...

The winter solstice, каляда, and the increasingly festive atmosphere in the taverna have arrived.

Finally, Krek returned, announcing that he had managed to cope with the difficulties of paperwork. - “I gained access to the account…” He announced, rather sad and stressed.

- “So we finally won something?” Vatch with his dragon horns continued to help Mirelle.

Everyone gathered around the table again, eager to hear the news from the bothered gryphon.

- “After a long conversation with Giacomo, we determined that the account balance was zero…” The gryphon’s ears drooped down.

- "Well... I'm so sorry." Mirelle looked around at everyone. "I'm sorry you got your hopes up over a stupid piece of paper."

- “It's not like that... We did win... but...” Krek clenched his beak.

- "Explanation?" Valyrym offered him a cup of lime juice.

He sighed. - "I took out a loan when I still had access to the account and... His family has kicked me out of the house... The winnings simply paid off the debt... And I have a bill for you, Mirelle..." He pulled a piece of paper from his bag with a trembling paw.

- “What does that mean?” Mirelle snatched the letter from him. “One hundred and twenty refuge crowns for repairing an antique ashtray? WTF?! KREK?!” She tapped her shoe on the floor.

…

- "Damn, I was hoping we'd get some funding, at least for coffee." Tinebress looked through the stack of papers and looked sadly at the crew. "Well, let's just say it's our staff Christmas party."

Rev chuckled. - "To cut costs, I combined us with the tavern's staff Christmas party. Mirelle was happy with the idea. After all, it is thanks to dragons and griffins that we have tangerines, oranges and even bananas here."

- “We lost, but we won. We probably failed in Big Bother, but we can publish the story because there was some literary action. And tomorrow... Tomorrow you will spend Christmas Eve just as you dream of. Look out the window, Val.” Tine pointed with his feather, which shone pearly white as if magical.

- "Ooooooh, woooaahhh. Snow!!! It really started snowing!" Val and the others were truly delighted as the white powder slowly covered the world around them.

- "Haha, I knew you loved it... Merry Christmas Valyrym.” Tine finally had the courage to at least brush the side of his head against the dragon's scaly shoulder. “You know what? It's time to actually wrap up what we've written."

Valyrym was so happy that he instinctively ruffled the fiend's furry head and covered him with his wing. - “So we’re not spending Christmas together?” He was a bit lost again.

- “No, Val.” Tinebress unwrapped and lit the Christmas candles. “My gift to you is that you can spend Christmas any way you want.” He jerked a thumb at Golgaaryol. “But we’re packing up and heading our way… To be honest, I never really liked this holiday. It was thanks to you that I discovered its magic a few years ago… You have time as long as these candles burn. There’s really enough for everyone.”

- “When will we meet again?” Vraal broke away from playing with Vatch and became serious.

- “And when do you want to?” The brownish dragon smiled at the series of questions about their meeting. “No one knows. In a sense, we are free to spend time together. But in a story? I don't know if such a chance will ever arise. It depends on the reception of the story. In our fantasy worlds, a meeting is possible, but very unlikely.” Golgaaryol looked at the contents of the bag, became serious, and visibly sad.

Tinebress glanced at the drawings from years ago, at the journals from years ago. - "These are difficult things." He whispered to the dragon.

- “I still can’t believe… what happened. And yet I miss so many things from those years.” He closed the bag.

- “And we keep writing new memories. Do you like it?”

- “It's okay.” He blinked his eye like a solar eclipse. “After all, the main thing that mattered was seeing this whole joyful cabaret live. It was quite a surprise that they were actually… alive.”

- “They are.” Tinebress smiled at the crew, always busy chatting and joking.

Mirelle reappeared at the dragonkind table and headed over to the two new ones. - "Well, Revaramek and friends are served here free of charge," she whispered. "Who should I bill? Kofi Tinebress?” A list of products and the total cost of the accommodation reservations unfolded from her hand.

At that moment, Tinebress's fur bristled strangely. He began cursing himself for not having thought about paying for all those goods, and for having spent everything he took at the Christmas market.

- “They are with us.” Revaramek said quite confidently, smiling warmly at Mirelle.

- “Okay then. Remember, you can sign the chronicle.” She enthusiastically pointed to a large leather-bound book with a red rose.

Christian Larsson - Mountain Hymn

https://youtu.be/g-B1tXckTF4?si=TzuODcDok7M9b8CH

- “This looks like the skin from something you had for dinner.” Val joked to Krek and did a few lines.

Thank you for this magical time.

Today we are alive again.

I will rise with the sun…

- Valyrym. 

- “I’ll definitely add something of my own. It really is a wonderful souvenir!” Revaramek shared Mirelle’s enthusiasm, rubbing against her hands while she stroked his beard.

Life is an exciting tale… Resplendent <3 

Golgaaryol seemed to have started writing a story in this chronicle... Vatch wouldn't be able to read his pawwriting. Who knows what language it was, anyway. At least it looked good visually. The dragon ended the entry with his name written in runes. To Vatch, this dragon was very mysterious, amusing, and withdrawn, but he played the role of a real, typical dragon from legends damn well, and his damn runic signature only reinforced that... Yes, it was a dragon straight out of a fairy tale.

Vatch was there.

Vraalasothinox saw this as an opportunity to leave something of value behind.

No matter how you spend this holiday season—with loved ones, friends, or completely alone—it's okay. No matter what you believe in or not, it's okay. This isn't a happy time for everyone, so embrace some of the Christmas magic, rejoice in the happiness of others, and use this time to relax. Remember that time alone is also a comfort that not everyone can afford.

Tinebress put himself at the end of the queue to make his entry. “I’d be happy to sign it.”

*

Tinebress