What was once a giant palace or temple is now the crushed bed of a monster. The steel dragon lies sprawled on its back across the structure, impossibly huge. Individual scales are large enough to show impact craters from cannon fire, and melted scars from dragon flame. The golden bodies of crushed dragons are littered around it, with one still impaled on the talons of one hand. Something reflects the frozen light from atop the monster's chest.

The only things that move in this tableau are an Eeee and a Jupani, which have appeared next to the head of the monster dragon, its dead eye showing them their own reflections. Despite the size, it is clearly the head of Vorgulremik.

Alptraum blinks repeatedly. "Well, at least we see where his ego comes from. What a huge head," Alptraum deadpans. Carefully, the Eeee steps back from the head. "Boy, you sure know how to pick friends. Hey, wait… "

"Holy Dagh on a stick," curses Arkold as he finds himself suddenly next to one gigantic dragon eye. He scoots back along with Alptraum and frowns. "At least you haven't met Blossom yet. Uh, maybe we're too small to eat, eh?"

"Heh, we're not even big enough to be finger food," Alptraum agrees. His ears flick. "Well, at least it's dead. Of course, now … consider what had to have killed it. Would you want to meet that?"

"Maybe it's indigestion. Y'know I had these red fruits in Abu Dhabi and I swear they could kill anyone – except me." Arkold edges forward and then, carefully, tries to poke the dragon in the eye. "We should be on our guard. 'Sides Vorg seems to have the habit of reincarnating left an' right."

"Why is it horrible and evil things do that, any… oh, right," Alptraum says then grins sheepishly. "Uh, I wouldn't touch that if I were you."

There is no reaction from the dragon, or from anything else. Even the reflections in the eye seem to flicker from one moment to the next, so that they appear delayed.

Emboldened by Arkold and the lack of reaction, Alptraum steps forward and places his hand, palm flat, against the eye.

It may as well not be there at all. Alptraum feels the pressure against his palm, but no sense of actual touch. It is as if they are the only real things in this world, or perhaps the reverse.

Arkold pokes the eyes a few more times for good measure. "I guess evil people jus' don' want to give up. Maybe they don't expect an easy time in the hereafter, or don' like not havin' a say in it, or maybe they're jus' stubborn." He also checks his reflection and adjusts his hair with his free hand.

"Weird. It doesn't feel real at all," Alptraum remarks, then glances around, ears flicking. His expression tenses and he asks, "Do you smell anything, Arkold? This place seems … wrong."

"Wrong?" Arkold sniffs at the air. "How do you mean wrong? Are we thinkin' wrong for a dream-that's-not-a-dream or wrong for an alternate world-slash-memory-slash-lesson? Eh, this whole thing gets a fat wrong bats." His head shakes. "I smell you, I smell me, bu' that's it."

"Right. Normally I … hard to explain since you don't. I'm used to hearing a lot of things. Creaking, light wind through whatever. Here I just hear, well, you and me. It's like we're in a void. We see it, but it's … not," Alptraum comments, absently rubbing his ears. "I … don't like it. I feel partially blind."

Arkold nods slowly through the explanation. "Guess tha' would be odd. I don' hear much, or smell much, bu' I guess it doesn't bother me. Get to be my age an' you take quiet as a blessin'." He glances at the head, gives it a rude gesture, then points down the dragon's body. "Maybe we'll find a wound that'll explain how he died."

"Well, think of it this way. I can normally hear peoples hearts beating and such. Imagine losing all sense of touch suddenly, I guess. Kind of like that. Everything feels off," Alptraum explains. "Want me to do a flyby and look for obvious wounds?"

"Sure," Arkold says. "See if there's any, ah, whatever the hell those," he points at the uniformed men loading weapons, "guys are firin' in the air. Maybe that's an answer. I'll take a stroll down his neck an' around his chest. I thought I saw somethi' that way."

"Heh, I always figured you were a chest guy," Alptraum remarks and smirks. His wings snap out and he tries to go airborne. Tentatively, though. With the strangeness of this place, he's a bit worried wings may not work.

Arkold chuckles as he begins climbing down. "Y'know Vorg," he comments to the corpse, "you even die evil. Right on the palace. What a waste."

Flying is possible, but is disturbing. The Eeee's wings generate lift in the stagnant atmosphere, but he still can't feel the air in any significant way. As Alptraum climbs he also notices something else: he can always see Arkold, as if everything around the Jupani is somehow in the background.

"Odd," Alptraum mutters and takes himself out in a slow arc to circle the corpse, looking for wounds. He goes slowly, so he can check out the body and the goings on around it in this odd place.

Vorgulremik is covered in minor wounds. Impact craters, scars and burns make up the landscape of his body, with patches of congealed blood resembling flows of lava. Nothing that looks as though it could seriously injure the dragon is visible though, and the only anomaly is the shiny figure at the center of his chest that Arkold can be seen making his way towards along Vorg's neck. Like the Jupani, the shiny figure is always in the foreground, somehow more real than its surroundings.

"Hey," Arkold calls out, "Hey! Out for a stroll?" He waves – and it looks like he's also trying to wave Alptraum over.

Alptraum tilts his wings and arcs toward the figure that Arkold is heading towards. He tries to curve his path so he'll reach it roughly the same time Arkold does. That way, if it's dangerous it has to decide whom to attack first…

Up close, the figure is obviously another dragon. Unlike the golden ones, this one is hardly larger than the current incarnation of Vorgulremik that Alptraum and Arkold are familiar with, and it is primarily blue with feathered wings. Ornately etched armor covers most of its body, made from different kinds of metals, and it leans forward gripping the pommel of a black iron sword that must be at least eight feet long, but is half-submerged into Vorgulremik's chest. Above all else though, the figure seems real. As real as death.

"Not one of my friends," Arkold whispers aside to Alptraum. "Considerin' he, uh, she… it killed Vorgy here I'm thinkin' we should go the nice route." He clears his throat and louder says, "Hey! Good job on killin' Vorg here. We don' like him much either. Nice sword."

"Smooth," Alptraum mutters. He lets out a sonic chirp at the figure, trying to see if it sounds real as much as looking real.

Very slowly, the dragon's head turns towards Arkold. "Who are you?" it asks, its voice a bit deep and hollow sounding, but recognizably feminine. The echo of the ultrasonic chirp reflects properly off the dragon's' armored chest.

"Why, uh, I am Arkold! Adventurer. And this," the Jupani reaches over and pats Alptraum's shoulder, "is Alptraum. He's kind of a death gypsy."

Alptraum gives Arkold a look. "Ah, yeah, kind of that," Alptraum agrees. "We kind of have a dragon problem of our own. Well, this dragon, kind of dragon problem."

"Vorgulremik has escaped then," the blue dragon says, and releases her grip on the iron sword. Sitting back on her haunches, she also removes her silver helm, and shakes out a long mane of golden hair that makes Arkold's own look a bad dye job. "That is unfortunate."

"Don't consider pinching the bottom of this one," the old wolf whispers to Alptraum very quietly. "Yeah," Arkold agrees in a louder as he walks over and sits on what is probably an artillery fragment wedged in Vorg's chest. "Good news is he's abou' as big as you. Bad news is he probably found a source of sinister power an' he's not about to give it up."

Alptraum walks over to the sword and runs a fingertip along the flat part of the exposed bit of blade. "And he still seems to have a collection of whomever he killed before," Alptraum remarks absently. "Met them after I got the doorway opened into that bit of himself."

"I am impressed that you could come here," the dragon says, and cautions, "Be careful of the edge, it is sharp. What sort of help do you seek? Do you want to subdue Vorgulremik, or unmake him and all he holds captive?"

"My thought woul' be that he needs to, ah, go. Forever. For the good of pretty much everyone," answers Arkold. He follows Alptraum's gaze to the sword and stares at it consideringly. "'Course that's easier said than done. We've got him an' a necromancer runnin' aroun' and quite frankly sayin' we're a match for either one by themselves might be a bit much."

"Heh. Well, I don't know that we're not a match for the Necromancer, at least, Arkold. We do have a few tricks," Alptraum remarks and shrugs. He turns to look at the two. "But yes, we'd prefer to remove him forever. If all else fails at least imprison him if unmaking him isn't possible."

"Both are equally possible, it is the choice that is difficult," the dragoness says, focusing on Alptraum now. "You have met some of his prisoners on your journey here. Can you sacrifice them, and uncounted millions more, and live with that knowledge?"

Arkold rubs his chin. "Well, ah, aren't they already dead? Or I suppose undead. Still most of 'em died to get where they are. Can't say I like the idea of preservin' the undead an' sacroficin' the livin'," Arkold answers thoughtfully.

"Heh, appropriate for me to have to make that choice," Alptraum replies, looking quite uncomfortable. He draws a breath and glances away, considering. "I would say, 'what life do they have now?' Living their end in an endless circle and being forced to do his bidding whenever he chooses," he begins. "If it were me, I would choose oblivion. Heh, if it were my mother to make the choice, I know the path she would also have me tread." He nods towards Arkold and finishes with, "For good or bad, their time has passed from our universe. Better to prevent any more from sharing their fate, ever."

"Looks like we're agreed. He's goin' down," says Arkold with a nod.

The dragon continues to stare at Alptraum, however.

Alptraum shrugs lightly and squats down. "Could I live with it? What choice do I really have? Could I live with him destroying more? Were there time, I would offer those within him to tell me their stories, so their memories would remain. But … heh," he says and shakes his head. "I'm supposed to have a similar power to his. I'd liberate them if I could, but … then what? As I said, their time is gone. Where would they go? To the mortals sea of souls?"

"They would be reborn on new worlds, with other immortals," the dragon says. "They are not dead, as you think of death. Billions of lives were sacrificed to bring down Vorgulremik, but we stopped at sacrificing souls. That you are here, is vindication that we were right. I have been waiting for you."

Arkold folds his hands behind his head and leans back against Vorg's ruined chest. "What about me?"

"For me? For someone who might be able to free them?" Alptraum asks, eyebrows raised.

"He brought you here?" the dragon asks Arkold, almost sweetly.

The wolf eyes the "sweet" dragon carefully, then answers, "Er," followed by a more useful, "yeah, why?"

"Then you are the proof that he can do what I need him to," the dragon says to the wolf, smiling.

Arkold jerks back suddenly at the smile. "Oh. Well. Uh. Glad to help." He eyes that look a little more and adds, "Ma'am."

"Well, the theory is I brought him, anyway. I've done similar once, a long time ago now," Alptraum says, fidgeting. "But that I assumed was fallout from a … anyway. Maybe I should try to bring someone else, to be sure. I want to make sure it isn't a reflexive thing, or I might mess up what you want me to do."

The dragon's look is bit like that of a mother listening to a child's excuse for not doing his chores. "Do not think that Vorgulremik will not become aware of your trespass. You will not be able to return here while he remains unbound. Pledge to try and rescue these souls, and I will help you bind Vorgulremik, so that your world is safe from him."

"If you believe there is a way to free them, then I do so pledge. I would prefer not to destroy anyone other than him. And if you can offer advice on how to do so, then please do. My instinct says the binding would just need to be severed, not unlike severing an corpse from the animating spirit when dealing with undead," Alptraum says firmly. "Just, well, on a very grand scale."

"Hope he stays bound. I can think of a place to store whatever binds him if, ah, whatever it is can stand some serious heat. Otherwise there's a few other places to hide somethin' like that. Ocean, space, a few planets work too. It'll cost us though," adds Arkold.

"Perhaps so, there will be plenty of time to find out," the dragon says. "I am the binding spell, and the spell that will also unmake him, when the time is right. I have his true name, and that of my creator. All you need to do is bring Vorgulremik to the brink of death, and strike him with the binding object, and I will do the rest."

"Bringing him to the brink of death will not be simple," Alptraum replies grimly. "But, we really don't have a choice. Can any object be a binding object, or does it need to be a specific sort of item?"

"The object should preferably be a bladed weapon of unique origin," the dragon says. "Given that Vorgulremik is as yet still weak, it may be possible to use a more mundane object. I'll let you know when I see it."

Arkold reaches over and draws his sword. "How about this? Alptraum's got a … er, bladeless dagger too, eh. Looks like it only wounds the magically animate, if you know what I mean," suggests Arkold.

Alptraum's eyebrow arches. "How will you let us know? Are we to take you with us?" he asks, then glances at Arkold. "There is that. It reacts to me, it really reacts to him. It has a blade only he and I can feel. There is also the Light of Nala, of course."

The dragon eyes Arkold's sword, but perks her ears at the mention of a bladeless dagger. "A spirit dagger would be appropriate, if that is what it is. And of course you will be taking me with you. How else can I be cast? Not from inside here."

"Yes, but how do we remove you? Do you er, expect me, to, er … sort of absorb you into myself like Vorg does?" Alptraum asks warily.

"It's somethin'," says the wolf, shrugging. He glances at the other man. "Hey bats show her the dagger? Did'ja bring it?"

"I am not a spirit or a soul," the dragon explains. "I am a spell, albeit an extremely complicated and self-aware one. Perhaps that does make me a spirit? I have no Name of my own, only those that I carry."

"In here? The object exists in the other world. I'm not sure it will have a representation in this one," Alptraum replies, then goes to dig into his side pouch where he put it before going on the mission.

The dagger hilt is there, but is, after all, just a representation of the real thing as Alptraum suspected.

Arkold scratches his head at the spell's explanation of itself. "Do we need a book then? Or, ah, scroll? Hate to say it but not a one of us we can trust is a mage," he considers aloud.

"It's really quite simple," the dragon says, and gestures Alptraum a bit closer while leaning her head down, as if to whisper something to him.

"Mages always say that and it's always not," remarks Arkold.

Alptraum cants his head. His wings flick slightly out of nervousness. He's currently considering side effects it might have to act as a weapon host. Will be become snooty too?

As the dragoness puts her muzzle to Alptraum's ear, two things happen. From Arkold's perspective, the twenty-foot dragon crawls into the Eeee's head without either of them changing size. From Alptraum's perspective… he feels a twenty-foot dragon crawl into his head, curl up and make itself comfortable somewhere in the back of his mind.

"Wait," Arkold says as it suddenly dawns on him, "we gotta stick him with a sword? Uh, hey, how're swordsman lessons comin' Alptraum? Uh, Al … woah." He leans forward. "That, heh, looks rather painful bats."

Alptraum gets the most uncomfortable look on his face he's probably ever had. Imagine, if you will, eating one of the spiciest dinners in your life. Then imagine how it revisits you in a couple days. This expression pales in comparison.

"Cozy," the dragon says in Alptraum's mind, although in this realm Arkold can hear it as well. "I was expecting cobwebs and torture devices for some reason, though."

"Y'know when I said a Drokar could crawl into your ears I was jus' jokin'," Arkold insists. He looks a bit queasy.

"Er? Why would you be expecting that? And are you going to be chatting at me a lot? That's going to be … strange," Alptraum remarks uneasily.

Arkold taps his own head. "Why can I hear somethin' in your head? That's not right. This isn't goin' to happen a lot is it, yeah?"

"I promise not to touch anything," the dragon says reassuringly. "And it's only until you use me to bind Vorgulremik. Besides, don't men your age always have women in their thoughts anyway?"

"You're going to make it really hard to get a date, aren't you?" Alptraum remarks dryly. "And yes, but not dragon women."

"All women are dragons deep down," the voice claims. "We can leave whenever you're ready."

Alptraum mutters, "You better not try to get me to wear a dress, or something." He looks at Arkold and comments, "Why can't the weird stuff happen to you?"

"I guess I'm jus' blessed," Arkold answers with a shrug and a grin.

"You do know how to get out of here, don't you?" the dragon asks.

Alptraum briefly considers what would happen if he imagined tickling the dragon in his head. Deciding that's not a good idea, he says, "We should probably be going. This place is getting to me. The silence is disconcerting." He then chuckles and says, "Well, the way out is closed, more or less. I think I need to summon the exit gate. Like the one that let us in. Hm."

"Hold on," the dragon says, and something goes click in Alptraum's mind. "That should do it. We don't need a gate, just face each other and hold hands first."

"Er, what did you do?" Alptraum asks.

"Well it's been nice dreamin' with you. Not as nice as dreamin' with someone else," Arkold winks, "but at least it's progress. Wasn't expectin' that. By the way I crashed in the forest, heh, and won't be back until tomorrow some time." He eyes Alptraum's hands. "Hold hands, eh."

"Modified your gestalt slightly, for expediency," the dragon says. "Right, hold hands, then stand up on your toes with your feet held close together."

"I thought you weren't going to touch anything," Alptraum comments, brow furrowed. He looks at Arkold and holds out his hands, "I won't tell anyone if you don't."

"I guess with a dragon in your head you've got the worse deal anyway," says Arkold. He grabs Alptraum's hand. Hard. It's manlier.

"Nothing private," the dragon clarifies. "Now comes the easy part. Just knock your heels together three times and repeat 'There's no place like home' each time."

"You're making that up to make us look silly," Alptraum remarks dryly. He glares at Arkold and says, "You'll get it for that."

"It's manly," Arkold insists. "Can't have you gettin' all girly-dragon headed on me." He grins wide. "She'd kidding about the heels part right?"

"This is a time-tested, efficient method, honest," the dragon claims. "And much less noticeable than forcing your way out by summoning a gate."

"It's not very manly," Alptraum argues.

"Yes, it does have that added virtue," the dragon agrees.

"You are not going to make me girly," Alptraum argues more.

"Sure it is," Arkold insists. "The solid handshake is the very avatar of manliness. Well, except for Primus an' that other cat god guy."

"The heels and holding hands part however is not manly," adds Arkold.

"You're a tall, lean fellow with really long hair and colorful clothing, and you're worried about looking girly by doing a little dance on top of a dead dragon's chest?" the dragon asks, sounding exasperated.

"Well, I have to draw the line somewhere," Alptraum replies, bemused. He sighs and shakes his head. "Fine, fine. We'll do it. Arkold, if you ever tell anyone this, you'll never dream of women again, got that? I'll stuff you into the biggest spirit dung pit I can find," he warns.

Arkold considers this a moment, then says, "She's got a point though." He shrugs. "Are you kiddin'? I'd have to explain why I'm dreamin' of this instead of who I'm with an' that's somewhere I don't want to go."

"As long as we understand each other," Alptraum remarks to Arkold. Taking a deep breath and raising up onto his toes. He lets out a long sigh, then taps his heels together. "There's no place like home," he says three times. Each time, he sounds rather pained.

The world goes black and white, and the wind can finally be felt again. Somewhere a little dog barks, and everything fades to black. But there is also a tiny draconic voice giggling. "I can't believe he actually did it… "