Meetings of Import

Sjekyrta Niss had spent the greater part of her life under Irrum Vath, yet it was rare for her to come this close to the peak. She bundled her great dragon-fur cloak tightly around herself, trying to ignore the stinging cold of the wind howling across the mountainside. Yet the chill sliced through her chitin and into her sinew, making Niss feel the weight of all her many years more sharply. The sky was clear, and all around her was a sprawling view of the valley below and lesser mountains beyond. Yet the true peak of Irrum Vath still loomed above.
Next to Niss, the poor scribe she had dragged into this mad errand was trembling. He was a slight thing, standing more than a foot shorter than her. She did not fault him as weak, as at this altitude the thin air was enough to make any Irra dizzy. That the scribe had made it this far was something to commend. This was a part of the world not fully meant for her kind, Niss had no illusions about that. Venturing up much closer to the peak would likely be the death of both of them; an inglorious end by fading vision and asphyxiation.
A good thing, then, that their destination was in sight.
The heard the scribe chitter in surprise, the sound nearly lost in the wind. He could see it too, now. Niss, being well versed in all the ways magic could make a thing unseen, had been able to make it out for a while now.
It was called an anchor, and it could best be described as a massive three-pronged metal claw impaled in the stone. It was the size of a small hut, and as they came closer they could see how the metal itself practically hummed with energy. Coiled metal was wrapped about the hilt of the claw, anchoring a great cable that extended upward into the paradoxically clear sky. Somewhere up there on the other end, Niss knew, was Moth's airship. The forces hiding that damn thing from view were beyond even her perception.
The tingling on the back of her carapace made her halt. It seemed the buyer was punctual. Calmly, Niss turned.
The Moth was perched calmly on a rock, watching. With it's massive wings folded up behind it, shaggy windswept pelt of not-fur, and unreadable red prisms for eyes, the creature reminded her more of a giant bird of prey than anything else.
The scribe, having so far been enthralled by the sight of the pulsing anchor, realized Niss had turned. She caught him by the shoulder without looking, keeping him from tripping himself at the sight of their... new friend.
The moth made a sound. Perhaps it was supposed to be laughter.
"You came." It observed.
"Hmm." Niss grunted.
It was not accurate to say Niss hated Moths. She had met far too many things that more actively deserved hatred in her time. Murderers and slave traders and killers and dark lords and hypocrites, all those who she could hate becuase it was easy to understand how they were wasteful and stupid and dangerous. But Moths, no one knew things about them. All the insight Nis had about how they thought and how they lived was a seemingly random list of things they wanted. You couldn't get the measure of a moth, because how would you glean the measure of anyone when all you have to measure are cryptic riddles, unreadable faces, and wordless transactions?
No, Niss did not hate Moths. But she couldn't understand them, and some days that was almost worse.
"You brought the item?" The creature hissed, it's tone inquisitive. It ruffled it's wings and shifted on it's perch, seemingly comfortable in the climate.
Wordlessly, she gestured to the scribe. Sealbach - that was his name - managed not to fumble as he passed her the clothbound artifact. She held it, and waited.
Again, the Moth made a sound that might have been laughter. Niss didn't know a Moth could laugh. She decided she did not like it. Wordlessly, their new friend reached into the folds of their cloak beneath his hings and pulled out a small bag that fit comfortably in their wiry grasp. The moth tossed the bag in it's hand, almost playfully. More unprecedented displays of emotion. Niss briefly imagined it was gloating over a trap about to be sprung on them. She shrugged off the concern. If it was a trap, there was nothing to be done. Most likely there would be the instant flash of some inimical Moth relic-weapon, a new crater in the face of Irrum Vath, and one less fool of a knight in this mortal coil. But the Moth had agreed to her trade, and if nothing else she had never heard of any Moth breaking terms in matters of business.
The Moth stood, and approached her. Their kind were always hunched and cloaked and furtive; it made one forget huge damn tall they really were. Though still slightly hunched even when standing, this one stood taller than her. Niss knew that if the wings were unfurled it would make the creature seem three times her size to boot. Next to her, the poor scribe flinched.
The moth offered the bag. Niss silently prayed to any god of any race that might be interested in being the protector of those who did stupid things with the best of intentions, and offered her item in turn.
The moth handed her the bag, and took the relic. It tore off the cloth, revealing the shattered hilt of a stone sword. The item was inspected closely. Niss, for her part, sniffed the bag. It smelled like humans and dragons and old lingering death. So far so good. She reached in and pulled out one of the items inside. It was a piece of bone, inscribed with strange runes. It reeked of dreaming magic. Or maybe divination magic? She had always felt distinction was philosophical, though many academics would disagree.
"The bones of a bastard chimera. You hold what remains of a flesh-union of human and dragon." The moth muttered. She glanced at it, startled. Moths did not speak after a transaction. They vanished as soon as payment was exchanged. "Most called it a profane union at the time. Yet stories say it was a sad creature, unable to reconcile its own internal differences before an untimely death." The Moth let the words hang. Niss had no response. She was vaguely aware of her scribe scribbling something to her side.
The moth continued. "You are lucky, little Irra, and your bargains are... stiff. Many of my own will fault me for giving too much and gaining too little." It made that amused sound again, but this time a niggling voice in the back of Niss's mind wondered if it was nervous laughter. "Not one for words, hmm? Ever the reticent knight, just how tales tell it."
She regained herself. "The deal is done."
Ruby-red eyes met her gaze. "That it is. Go roll your bones that you might better divine your fate. May your kind illuminate the path forward that you so desperately seek in these uncertain times."
"My thanks for your words." She bowed, and gestured to the now-relinquished shattered hilt she had killed and risked her life for. "Try not to cause any undue chaos, hmm?"
The Moth studied her for a moment. "Worthy sentiment, certainly." And like that, the bastard simply vanished into thin air.
The wind howled, and the anchor hummed behind them. They were alone.
Niss chittered in annoyance, and passed the bag to her scribe. "We should start back to camp. If night catches us this high up, the cold will kill us both."