Drache

[Ebonfort] Days of Winters Past

Ebonfort Solo

Starting Date and Time: Ceruleo 2, 291 DM

Starting Location: Bahora Forest, Frostfell

CS URLs: Rilana Aurorime'

The frigid air was crisp in Rilana's nostrils as she crouched with her back against the dark bark of the spruce tree. It was so cold that some of the branches had frozen and snapped, dangling above while the hardened resin filled the air with the piney scent. The Moon Fey let her breath out slowly so that it would not puff in a white cloud on the deathly chill air, focusing on her heartbeat as though sheer force of will could keep it slow, keep her from needing to breathe as she waited for her prey. Like the rest of her people, she was immune the to life-draining, numbing cold.

Rilana's white hair stood up in messy spikes where she had cut it last year, the sides shortened almost to her scalp. Bannon had told her the change made her look like a man, and Rilana couldn't decide if she was glad she had managed to do something to curb the human's enthusiasm towards her, or if she regretted having to resort to butchering her hair into such a wild style to be rid of some of his affection. Fey mixing with humans was not unheard of, but Bannon's lack of ambition put her off. That and his almost suffocating clinginess. Rilana was a creature of the wilds, prone to wandering and leaving Frigmount without notice, but each time she came back Bannon seemed to have taken it as a personal offense and was even more firmly resolved to talk her out of going the next time.

Regardless, no hairstyle could distract the man from Rilana's long, shapely legs and narrow waist. Fortunately, there was no one out in the depths of the Frostfell to notice such things, and right now her body wasn't just half-buried in the snow, but sheathed in supple reindeer hide, the fur turned inwards to be soft against her fair skin. The grey light of dawn had turned the dark forest into an ethereal twilight, and the Moon Fey had been waiting in the same spot for hours. Tracking the dire wolverine had taken her farther into that Bahora Forest than she had ever been before, and she was surprised at how far the dying beast had come.

In the last few weeks, as she followed the slightly pigeon-toed tracks, the clumps of silver-grey fur caught in black underbrush, the remains of viciously brutalized vermin and the remarkably pungent scat, Rilana had almost called the hunt off, thinking that perhaps the creature would heal. But then she would catch sight of it as it scurried through the trees ahead and her resolve would strengthen.

A dire wolverine was normally twelve feet long and about two-thousand pounds of insane rage. This one was the first she had ever actually seen, and while it was as long as it was supposed to be, it's frost-resistant pelt was hanging loosely from its skeleton. It had the rusting remains of a harpoon in its shoulder, the wound festering and putrid with oozing gangrene that Rilana could smell from a dozen yards away. In addition to laming the beast in the front, the septic wound was slowly rotting the huge mustelid from the inside out. For the last three or four days the wolverine piss left in the snow was bloody and foul, telling her that its kidneys were compromised.

Chasing the monster down was supposed to be an act of kindness, but the longer Rilana followed it, stalking it like a deer through the the serene trees, the more it seemed that the creature would die of its wounds before she could do it the favour of taking it down. She suspected that it was aware of her presence.

The wolverine was whuffling around in a clearing ahead, scrabbling against the frozen pile of deadfall where some small creature was presumably hiding. Rilana watched the huge shape and tried to control her breath, not wanting to earn its attention. Normal wolverines were tenacious and fearless gluttons. A dire wolverine was as murderous as an animal could be.

Moving as slowly as she could, Rilana dipped her thin fingertips into the pouch she wore inside the waist of her fur pants, smearing a glob of whale fat out of a tiny stone pot. Her dazzling eyes never left the shadowy creature beyond as she slicked the yellowish oil up the length of her bowstring and then reached down to her hip to lift a long steel-tipped arrow from her quiver. She placed the arrow against the mammoth-sinew string and rotated the shaft so that the keen arrow was vertical, making it more likely to slide neatly through the wolverine's ribs to pierce the heart or a lung.

[Ebonfort] Four Little Orclings, Mean and Green

Djoth couldn't have cared less if Bula thought he was racist. Likely, he was. But it didn't really matter. Some of the people who hadn't run to ground at the mention of the words 'bounty hunters' were starting to appear. Hesitant faces around the edges of what passed for a square. Some of them, like Djoth, were glaring at the Orcs for setting up their camp in the middle of town without even a 'by-your-leave', some were simply curious, and one or two even looked hopeful as they observed the crude paintings on the sisters' tent.

The scarred old Screamer was glancing around at the slowly gathering crowd, as though their very presence was some sort of silent communication, and he finally relaxed a little, eyeing Bula and her sisters with slightly more interest than dislike, though he clearly didn't trust them yet.

"You're right to notice there's been some trouble here. We're having trouble with a...creature. Something keeps making off with children in the night. Started about three months ago. If you're looking for work hunting down a child-killer, we may have a job for you. Set up your tent so we have a place to talk and I'll be back."

With that, the sword-wielder turned on his heel and limped slightly as he moved towards the crowd, speaking quietly with a trio of human women who looked especially grim. He shook his head and walked away with them into the stone miller's cottage, leaving the sisters to see to their camp while a few older boys watched them.

[Ebonfort] Cave, Sweet Cave

The she-drake was almost disappointed that Genrit didn't come blundering after her into the woods where she, as a sleeker and partially camouflaged creature, would have the advantage. The thundering but fading wingbeats signaled that he had lifted into the sky, perhaps not the wisest move for a drake with a full belly, and the she-drake paused in the dappled shadows to watch the white male streak by. He quickly out-paced her and began belching flame down into the trees. The dragoness remained still for the moment, listening to the crackling roar of the fire-dragon's breath weapon and the hiss of the forest beginning to catch.

Un-opposed, Genrit was able to ignite several hundred feet of forest before he had no fire left, and indeed the dry underbrush and high pines began to smoke and crackle, a blue haze spilling outwards in all directions through the trees as a black plume belches up into the sky, visible for many miles. Birds and animals began to flee, scurrying and bounding through the trees in white-eyed panic, screeching and braying in terror. A white raven roosting in the high branches of a sycamore tree lifted from the thin branch and flew up into the sky as Genrit passed. It peered at him with a beady blue eye and gave a stern "Caw! Caw! Trouble!" at him before he was past, and was lost against the sky.

It was about that time that the sticky slime on Genrit's face and neck began to itch, the sizzling sound overpowered by the rushing wind in his ear-frills as he flew. And then it began to burn, a particularly worrisome sensation for a creature immune to the kiss of flame and unused to having his nerves scaled raw as his scales melted away and his muscle began to bubble and smoke. If he didn't do something it would slowly eat through his spine.

As Genrit circled around, he'd be able to see the she-drake's dark form as she emerged from the trees and took wing, a green arrow headed straight for him. Like most females, her wings were impressively long. The Viper powered towards the White, hissing. "Foolish drake! Your flame is spent! You think to awe me with such a display? Let's end this!"

Ebonfort

Dragon Bait has been started between Drachiathoryx and GM to introduce her into the New Vircastoria quest.

Also, the Frostfell page on the Wiki has been updated, highly relevant to anyone on the Frigmount quest.

Also complete:
Angel Dragons
Shadow Dragons
Wyvern
Balauradon
Toolkits
Half-Dragon

To Do (in no particular order):
Temper (magic)
Elementalist Techniques
Drakkoth
Faerie Dragons
Dryad
Earth Pony
Anuirean human
Chillborn human
Moon Fey
Underwyrm
Elemental races: Ifrit, Oread, Sylph, Undine
Elemental monsters
Hoard Scarabs
Unicorn
Pegasus
Hippogriff
Sphinx
Shadowcat
Thunderfang Tribe
Pyresian Wing Host

[Ebonfort] Four Little Orclings, Mean and Green

Djoth shook his head for a moment, trying to puzzle through Bulla's weird logic. Somewhere off in the trees, hidden by the woods, a woman wailed broken-heartedly, but the sound was quickly silenced.

"We've got our problems here, same as any village. But if you're looking to collect a bounty there isn't a soul here who would hire you." Mostly because it was highly probable that a shabby backwoods hamlet like this was populated by people who had reason to not be in nicer places like Ebonfort. Likely, half the people here would have fetched a bounty if dragged off to the right place, which was why Djoth thought Bula was less than wise for announcing her intent right off the bat.

"A dog who yaps all day and all night scares all the game away and no one takes it seriously. It's the quiet hound that knows when to stay silent who catches the most game," Djoth said sagely, not really expecting a brute like Bula to understand the proverb.

"No one asked for your help, and no one gave you permission to set up camp in the middle of our town either. Now you can flex and scowl at me all you like, but I don't see any reason why four orcs would be less trouble than what we're already dealing with. Especially three Orcs and one Orc who doesn't know when to shut her yap!"

Either Djoth was suicidal or he was confident in his skill with his sword, but either way he was armed and apparently not going to let Bula's glare scare him off. Just then, a much younger boy with black curls appeared from behind one of the dusty shop-fronts nearby and hurried to Djoth's side, whispering something in his ear. Djoth scowled more, though this time there was something thoughtful in the frowning expression.

"Is that so, boy?"

The lad nodded, glancing at the Orcs with mixed wonder and fear.

Djoth harrumphed and there was a long pause in which he processed whatever he'd been told.

"You may not be very smart about going after bounties, but ya said you hunt monsters?" His demeanor hadn't changed, suspicion dripping from every pore, but whatever the boy had said had given the four Orc-women a second chance with the stubborn old Screamer.

[Ebonfort] The Longest Night

Tonight is all about me? Rilana's glacial blue eyes shifted back and forth between Svarak's as she tried to puzzle out the hidden meaning in his words, her pale brows twitching together slightly as a confused frown met the touch of his hand. The frost on her face came away at the brush of his thumb and she leaned slightly into the warmth of his palm.

Why...?

Ask him yourself, Kona snapped, pacing angrily, suspiciously, behind her eyes as he watched.

"Tonight is important to me, certainly, but I don't see why that might matter to you, Lord Knight." The tenderness of his touch, his wistful smile, Rilana wasn't sure what to make of it. But she followed gracefully in his foot-steps as he drew her along. The wind was picking up slightly and the icy chill put a shiver down her spine.

This is dangerous, Kona warned.

When she sat down she let herself press against the charr when she normally wouldn't, the fellness in the wind making her bare legs feel more exposed than was normal. Perhaps it was the weird gleam of Svarak's ice shard of a sword that made her feel strange. It was hard to tear her eyes off it, though she had no desire to touch it.

Following Svarak's gaze, she looked up and sighed. At least the skyfire was something familiar and comforting in the face of...everything.

"My mother always told me that the lights were where the Feywild touches Tessanis, proof, or maybe a reminder of where my people come from. But I always thought of it as a kind of beauty, born into the sky to match all the things in the life that are beautiful but invisible. Like happiness and joy and music and..."

You don't know him.

Rilana shrugged. A moment later she was looking back up at Svarak's face in response to his sad tone. "I suppose I have been quite free to do as I wished in life. Until someone ordered a horse to Ebonfort, who no one has been to for hundreds of years and no one seems to quite recall why that might be. Except for you." There was an accusation in her tone, but it was playful.

The breeze blew curling tendrils of moonlight around Rilana's shoulders and she couldn't help shiver. Having never felt cold before, she equated the involuntary tremble with fear and lifted her hand to her throat, making sure there was nothing there. "Yes, they do seem foul. I'm worried that it might have to do with something I heard about in Stone Crest...." And the paige in Ebonfort.

He asked her about her magic and she stiffened, eyes flicking to the hilt of the sword on his back as if she expected him to draw it on her. The look would have given her away if she'd intended to lie, but Rilana wasn't the kind of person who could spin falsehoods, relying on ommission or silence to hide what she needed to conceal.

"I...have heard so much about what happens to outsiders and magic-users in Ebonfort. I've been afraid for my life for months now. To hear you say that I needn't worry is...either a huge relief or terribly infuriating, I'm not sure which." Her smile was mirthless. "If magic-users have nothing to worry about, why is there so much fear?" She recalled spending time with Trix in Green Falls and her near-descent into full-fledged panic and felt foolish for having reacted that way. But if Svarak was telling her the truth, then half of why she had feared him specifically was no longer a concern.

"I always had an affinity for Wildshaping and working with beasts. Wanderlust took me into the Frostfell early and I Bonded with my first Familiar a few years later. But that was years ago, long before I left for Ebonfort and met you." She was thoughtful, trying to recall what it was Svarak might have heard that had given her away.

You always talked to yourself, even before you Marked me.

"And when did you become a knight?"

[Ebonfort] Ringing in the New Year

The sun dipped, the colours of the world leeching into the sky as the year's final sunset seemed determined to go out with a riot of bright hues. Asher was privately glad for the dark, as it made him feel that his private bloodlust for a certain sergeant might not be quite so obvious on his face.

Steering Phantom with easy flicks of the leather reigns that queued the horse without ever actually putting pressure on the snaffle in her mouth, Asher rode in between his mounted fighters, offering last-minute tips and words of encouragement, reminding these men and women of their own skill to help them focus when the time came. They were loosely organized in this staging area, but each knew what their orders were. It wasn't just "Slaughter as many Knights as possible and grab what you can on the retreat." Tribes with that kind of smash-and-grab method didn't tend to last long. The Thunderfang fighters were assigned slightly more specific tasks. Distract, focus on higher-ranking officers, cover these other fighters, destroy bridges or gates to prevent Ebonfortions from fleeing before they could be captured, focus on looting from specific buildings to bring back the things worth the most. There was a plan, and even as Asher reminded his underlings of this plan, he knew that if he caught sight of an orange sash...

When shown on a map, the Krawac often appeared as a flat featureless expanse of grass, though it was anything but. There were rolling hills and deep canyons, especially where the waterways had cut down through the crust of the world. There were occasional copses of trees and flooding marshes and dry badlands further south. There were a thousand kind of grass, some so tall that it hid creatures that would put a dragon to shame, and often did. So while it wasn't with ease that the Shadewalkers gave the signal and the Thunderfang Swordmasters began to move the seething mass of horseflesh and armed raiders towards Ruby Banks, but just as the bottom rim of the sun kissed the horizon and the crowds of revelers began to chant, the thunder of hooves began as a low thrum and the screams began.

The attack had truly begun shortly before that, as stealthy mounted bowmen had snuck up on as many distracted patrols as they could manage and silenced them with bow and blade. But the main force arrived in a sort of trident, three main groups focused on the festival grounds. Asher was part of the right-most prong, bloodying his falchion through the neck of a squire as he simply rode past, Phantom's black mane bouncing in front of him as the horse galloped underneath him. Ash's blood was up, his heart thundering in his ears. Civilians were running, screaming, their tents and bonfires and stalls evacuated. Abandoned cooking pits began to belch blue smoke as food started to burn.

"With me!" Asher yelled, his voice barely heard above the screaming and the clanging. Two of his fighters, both women, spun their horses to follow him as he charged towards one of the bridges. There were knights everywhere, but every time he lifted his curving weapon to engage, one of his fighters moved in to do it for him. Somewhere behind the fury and the terror, he was proud of how far the warriors had come.

The bridge appeared almost suddenly, and Asher made a mental note to thank the Shadewalkers for their espionage. Many of the bridges were stone, but this one was wooden. "Burn it!"

One of the fighters, a dog-faced were with one floppy ear, slid down from her saddle and smashed a flask of oil across the well-worn planks. A moment and a flint-spark later and oily orange flame bloomed. Civilians running for the bridge stopped in their tracks and backed up, their faced panicked and pale in the hellish glow.

Burning the bridge was the first part of the plan. The second was to head back to the festival and take what they could. Turning to his compatriots, grinning, "Go!" They both smiled and kicked their horses back to the fray, one pausing to haul a young boy up onto her saddle as she passed by.

Asher was about to follow when he heard hoofbeats on the other side of the bridge. Glancing up, he saw the dark shapes of three knights pacing angrily. The bridge was ruined, they could not cross. Not in their heavy armour on their heavy horses. Asher sneered triumphantly, until he noticed the orange sash on one of the knight's arms. The three men turned their horses away and charged back up the river, looking for another way to cross.

All notion of sense escaped the young Swordmaster. He backed Phantom up a few paces and kicked her hard. The knights couldn't make it across, but Asher could. His stomach flipped as the light warhorse sailed through the air, the heat of the flames barely singing their legs as they flew over the destroyed bridge. "Oof!" he grunted as they landed heavily on the other side.

"Brynmore!" Asher screamed, anger and hatred welling up inside him, hotter than the fire, old grief fueling his desperation. "Face me, you murderous dog! You coward! Fight me!" He wasn't even sure what insults he hurled, seeking only to get the Sergeant's attention so that he could finally, after all these years, kill him. And when the orange-sashed knight turned, peering at him through the slot of his helmet, Asher knew that his moment had come at last.

[Ebonfort] Dragon Bait

Starting Date and Time: Jadeyan 13th, 300 DM, Mid-Morning

Starting Location: Pyresia, The City of Dragons

CS URLs: Drachiathoryx and GM

Pyresia only had two seasons. Hot, and rainy. The hot season was long, the bright sweltering monotony broken only by the occasional typhoon that lashed ineffectually against the volcanic mountain. The rainy season was humid and often overcast, and the beach on either side of the deep harbour grew swampy. But no matter what the season, Pyresia was a city of fantastic natural scenery. The frequent rains brought steam out of the lava pits to bring glistening dew to the bright veins of gemstone that sprawled all over. In the depths of the city the lava flows ran through a course of dwarf-made aqueducts, the orange glow reflecting on the underside of stone bridges and the fronts of shops as it oozed down the center of some of the larger boulevards. In addition to the lava itself, huge crystal geodes sprouted everywhere, mixed in with the dazzling and often phosphorescent jungle greenery that clung tenaciously to the elegant stonework. In some places, the coloured gemstone was underfoot, and pedestrians could look down through the street at the level below.

The upper half of the city, clustered around the steepest part of the peak, were the Balconies. Huge platforms clustered around the nearly vertical slope that served as the launch-pads for the dragons who lived there. Tunnels in the black basalt, some natural, some dwarf-craft, lead from those private homes deeper into the subterranean portion of the city, and were the only means of visiting by non-flighted people. At any time, day or night, colourful dragons patrolled the skies or strolled through the streets, many of them with simple markings painted on their wings.

Drachiathoryx lived in one such Balcony. It was a lofty residence for a half-dragon, but it didn't belong to her. Perhaps one day she would save up enough to afford a lavish home of her own, but for now she settled on being a continual thorn in Mojavico's side. But that was only when she was actually home, and right now she was not. The red-scaled half-breed was perched on the top of a large orange geode, legs and tail dangling as she watched people walking back and forth on the street below. Many of the streets were split-leveled, one half running over the roofs of the stone shops while the other was level with the doorways. This helped keep draconic feet from crushing human-sized citizens. The further away from the mountain itself, the less the architecture was designed to fit over-sized creatures.

It had rained the night before, so everything was damp with steam even though the clouds had cleared. As the day progressed, the sun would emerge from behind the peak and shine down on the western side of the city and the harbour beyond, but for now the foggy tendrils lingered. There was a play going on in one of the fancy amphitheaters nearby, and Drache could hear the uproar of the crowd as they laughed at the antics of the actors on stage. The Art District was enormous, the ornate roofs of museums and playhouses and the Artisan's Guild each trying to outdo the rest. But the budding Elementalist was focused on something much closer at claw. One of the elegant lava-flow channels coursed nearby. The air above it shimmered with the deadly heat, but Drache enjoyed it. Close to the smoldering stream was dryer than the rest of the tropical city. Perhaps one day she should visit a desert. There were supposedly all sorts of things to find in the mysterious wastes. Lots of fun ruins to explore!

Every now and then the glowing morass produced a tongue of flame, which was why the trenches were deep and there were few wooden structures in the city. Drache found that when these little sprites appeared she could capture them, mold them, hold them in her claws and bend them into all sorts of shapes. It was tiresome to do so, especially for very long, but if she was willing to endure the exhaustion afterwards she could form the most fantastic fireballs that either roared hotly or sparked with white zaps, depending on what she wanted. Or she could make the flames dance in long gleaming tendrils. It hadn't taken long to figure it out, though she didn't dare practice inside near her priceless books for fear of mishaps.

But even as she made a fiery pegasus the size of her hand flap around and prance along the cracking surface of the lava, she couldn't manipulate the ooze itself short of plunging her own hand into it. It was terribly frustrating and after an hour of trying to bend it to her will, she simply snorted contemptuously, smoke puffing from her nostrils, and slipped from the orange geode, landing lightly on her bare talons.

"Something to think about on the road ahead," she supposed, settling her loaded backpack against the small of her back where it wouldn't interfere with her wings.

[Ebonfort] Dragon Bait

@Twhirtley

[Ebonfort] Four Little Orclings, Mean and Green

The arrival of not one, but four armed and dangerous-looking Orcs into Millmont did not bring any sort of comfort to the faces of the people there. Suspicious eyes peered at them through the trees and shabby cottages.

At Bula's loud and bold announcement, fully half of those listening fled with the sounds of doors being bolted and barricaded from within. Anyone out and about seemed to disappear, except Djoth. Frowning as only a wizened old warrior can frown, the tall human sheathed his longsword into a worn old scabbard and approached the orcish quartet, limping slightly.

"Shut yer yap, Orc", Djoth growled when he was close enough to not have to yell. "You sound like a damn fool. How much bounty do you expect to earn when you come into a strange town and bray your business about so that anyone can hear?"

He took a look at Carrot and shook his head. "Take that beast over there by the peach trees. There's some good grass and it's not as muddy as down by the river."

"Listen, Bula, was it? Did you stop to consider that a lot of folks might consider Orcs to be the evil of the world? Your 'esteem' means little here. What is it you think you know about our problems?"

He folded his arms in front of his chest, scowling at the sisters. He wore no badge or sign of any official office, but apparently had elected himself as the spokesperson for this town and wasn't about to scurry off and hide until he was satisfied that these green-skinned brutes weren't going to cause trouble.

As Leshy lead the donkey off to the side of the town's dirt-packed "square", she would notice that the reason the grass near the peach trees was so pleasant was because it had been tended lovingly. And the reason for this was several fresh mounds of dirt. New graves, all of them small, all of them marked with crude headstones and decorated with small toys and mementos of the tiny children who lay underneath.