Drache

[Ebonfort] A Common Flame

A heavy click of glass against the stone drew the she-drake's eyes for a moment and she lifted the cocktail slid to her by the dwarf, sipping the cinnamony rum as she fished in a pouch on the black belt around her shapely hips for coin. A black shiny orb larger than her fist was tucked into the leather purse, and in the few moments it was exposed to Aussir's sight it seemed to flicker orange like a fire-brand.

A knowing look passed over Drache's face when Aussir admitted his line of work, and she nodded her horns a little. "I've been...traveling for over a season. Only been back in the city for a few days, but I hear that many of the Xarzi clan have left the Peak. I'd be willing to bet that those who remain might be feeling a need to protect their interest in the Guilds or along the trade roads."

Drache took another sip and scooted closer to Aussir, leaning close enough that their scales nearly touched. "Dragons say they don't like us but you might find that some would rather be in our company than that of dwarves or humans."

There was a silence between them, two half-breeds happening upon each other in a rowdy tavern, but after a while the pause seemed excessive and the pretty red looked up questioningly. For a brief moment Drache thought that Aussir had found his gaze captured by her ample bust, which would have been flattering as well as amusing. But a glitter of purple was reflected in his eyes and she understood that he really was entranced by the necklace.

Before she could say anything to stop him, the male dragonkin with the self-given name had hopped from his seat as though it had turned to ice under his tail. Drache's brow furrowed and she turned, her lips forming the word "Wait!"

But he was gone.

---

And Aussir would quickly find out that regardless of how passionate and justified his anger at the world felt, one did not simply incinerate trees in the middle of the night on the jungle-infested outskirts of the city without attracting some attention.

Just as the half-breed finished packing his tent, a loud leathery flapping like a ship's canvas sail whipping loose on the wind, followed by a heavy thud, announced the arrival of a dragon out of the night sky behind him. The large leaves of nearby trees rustled wetly against each other in the wake of the large creature's passing.

"Halt, nou'ara." The voice was business-like and authoritative, belonging to a male drake peering at him through the darkness. He used the Draconic word for 'half-breed', which was thankfully a bit more polite than the usual term that meant 'mongrel'.

Whenever Aussir got around to facing his challenger, he would find a small but well-muscled copper drake peering at him sternly, his long frilled tail twitching back and forth. He didn't fold his wings back until he was sure Aussir had a chance to see the blue stripes painted on those coppery membranes, which identified him as a Harrok of the Wing Host. Most of his scales were as bright as freshly-forged copper armour, though some of the thickest ones were tinged with a green patina.

"You're causing quite a lot of noise out here by yourself, half-Ixen," the Copper Harrok accused, eyeing Aussir's sword. "It isn't wise to set fire to anything this close to the city. Care to explain yourself? What is your name?"

[Ebonfort] A Common Flame

The jaunty and mostly off-key music from the stage faded to a background haze as Drachiathoryx continued to slowly twist the tiny jar in her fingertips, claws clicking lightly on the glass as the purple powder sifted around inside. A little vial, an urn, the substance she had no name for; all that was left of her friend.

Distantly she was aware when Aussir slid into the chair beside her and she shifted her wings and tail automatically to keep them out of his way, all without ever glancing in his direction. Warmth radiated off of her like a sun-warmed stone, moreso than most other Ixens, as though whatever inner turmoil causing the tense scowl on her features simmered tangibly under her skin like hot coals.

To say that the dragoness had been through a lot recently was an understatement, but her ear-frill gave a flick when Aussir spoke to the bartender. Something about his presence began to work through her private fog, a combination of the sound of his voice, the scent of a drake, and the pattern of pale scales on the edge of her vision.

Her fist clenched protectively around the necklace when he mentioned it, and her ember eyes blinked as her snout turned to face him, her pupils widening and constricting as she took in the sight of the first dragonkin she'd seen up close in a long time. His scales were pale and some small part of her expected him to have frost in his veins, especially when she noticed the blue blush along the trailing edge of many of those white plates, though her cutely flared nostrils told her otherwise.

One of her eyebrows lifted as she looked him over, the corner of her mouth rising to match it as a grin attempted to banish the cloud of tumult she had worn a moment before. The hint of a sly grin suited her much better.

"Thank you," she replied, letting the new amulet settle back against her generous cleavage and letting her hand come to rest on the polished countertop. "I tend to prefer red," she offered, her wings giving a tiny flex behind her in a motion meant to refer to her own scales, "but every now and then I a make an exception."

She watched him as he turned to face her, letting her eyes follow the line of his wings behind his shoulders. They were an interesting shape, but she wasn't sure they looked strong enough to mark him as one of the few dragonkin who, like her, could fly.

"I'll have a Drakespur Cider," the female ordered, glancing side-long at the sour-faced dwarven barman until she was sure he heard her. She had switched from Draconic to Common with ease, and switched back again as she turned on her seat to face Aussir.

"Well, it certainly isn't the view," Drache replied, not even bothering to spare a glance to the rest of the crowd. "Though tonight I'm finding it more difficult to complain." Her grin spread across her refined snout. The dragoness was hardly in the mood to make new friends tonight, but coming across other half-breeds, especially well-spoken and polite ones who were a treat to look at, was such a rare thing.

"I'm Drachiathoryx. I'm waiting for a friend of mine," she went on to explain. "And you? You're looking for work as a bodyguard? If so, I hear this is the place for it." Her eyes flicked observantly to the hilt of his sword peeking over his shoulderblades.

Ebonfort

Welcome @VoiD and @iisbor!

Ebonfort

The RP A Common Flame has been started between Drachiathoryx and Aussir.

[Ebonfort] A Common Flame

@Krinos Solstice

[Ebonfort] A Common Flame

Starting Date and Time: Jedayan 40th, 301DM

Starting Location: The Labourer tavern in Pyresia

CS URLs: Aussir Denthanus & Drachiathoryx

Light and raucous music poured out of the open windows to the busy tavern onto the sandstone pavement beyond, mingling with the chatter and shouts of the crowd within. Beyond its windows a light breeze blew up the slope of the mountainside city from the sea, bringing both the scent of salt and the fragrance of jungle blooms to compete with the stink of sweaty bodies and stale ale. Looking down the slope to the harbour, many parts of the city glowed with a hellish light where the ornate stone culverts channeled lava safely down to the water.

The heavy stone door to the bar swung open with surprising smoothness, dwarven construction of course, under an engraved basalt sign identifying the place as The Labourer.

"Dwarves," Drache smirked a little, part exasperation, part fondness for the gruff stoneworkers and guildsmen of Pyresia. She was forced to bow her proud spiral horns under the door-frame to join the crowd. Thankfully the ceiling inside was a good bit more forgiving to non-dwarves.

Tucking her strong wings tightly to her back as she threaded her way through the crowd, the crimson beauty was unsurprised to find that she was far from the tallest person in the room. The Labourer was a known hangout for mercs and head-hunters and retired or failed arena fighters. Her amber eyes skimmed the low stage, her ear-frills catching the frantic and almost grating sound of fiddles, flutes, and drums being played at maximum volume. No doubt there was a different group of entertainers in here every night.

Not seeing the person she'd come here to meet, the shapely dragonkin made her way to the end of the bar and the last two free seats. The counter had been constructed out of a huge slab of rock, polished and finished with glass so that the spires of green gemstones glittered prettily within. Much of the decoration in any building in the city incorporated the natural seams of gems and geodes threading through the stone.

Sighing smokily, Drache lifted her tail and sat down on a wooden barstool with one long leg crossed over the other, drumming her black-clawed fingers on the smooth counter, her gleaming amber eyes following the dwarven bar-tender as he served drinks and cheap stew to patrons at the other end. other eyes followed her to her seat. There weren't many women present, other than the ones serving drinks or gradually losing their clothes in the laps of other patrons, and certainly none of those had scales.

Her hand lifted to touch a tiny quartz vial hanging from a chain around her neck while she waited. Purple wasn't normally her colour, but the tiny bottle contained a glittering purple powder that shifted as she spun it round and round.

Even in such a crowded place, Drache couldn't help but feel a certain oppressive loneliness. It was a feeling she though she'd outgrown long ago, but for some reason had returned to plague her full-force since the tragic events of the Vircastorian ruins. The voices around her seemed to fade and hear ear-frill twitched, her eyes growing unfocused, and she could almost hear the hiss of the slug-God's breath... turned it absent-mindedly. Apart from the necklace, the half-dragon wore a brown suede vest and a long black skirt slit up to the hip on both sides.

[Ebonfort] Days of Grass and Dust

Asher didn't move until the pale purple glow of Verissa's magic shield blossomed up between them, his fretful grip around her wrist broken by the Swordmaster's sense of self-preservation as he stepped back to watch it warily as it glowed and then gradually disappeared.

Up until that moment he had worn a wondous and thoughtful expression as he looked into her pale face, his shocked concern fading once he realized Verissa wasn't hurt. He quickly came to grips with the power she had kept hidden, and was not terribly surprised that she hadn't been up front about it. He naturally paused to consider the repercussions, what this meant for his Tribe, what it meant for Verissa's life among them, what it meant for him, what it meant for them, together. His mouth formed a small circle and his breath came out in a silent whoosh.

"That's amazing," he breathed, watching the patch of invisibility with the fascination of someone who appreciated magic but the caution of someone who clearly had never and would never weild it himself. But after a moment he noticed Verissa's panic. Her pale face and wide eyes, her tense and defensive posture, her rapid, shallow breathing.

"Verissa, what's wrong? Are you hurt? What are you afraid of?" He resisted the urge to step forward to comfort her, stopped by both the recent presence of the violet apparition as well as some subconscious suspicion that it was him she was afraid of. He had no way to know that the shield was still between them even if it was invisible, but fortunately did not sweep forward and crash into it.

The fighter noticed when her pretty but terrified eyes darted to the door like a frightened animal and Asher moved back, crossing his arms across his bare chest as he smoothly blocked her path, his expression growing stonier. "Don't do it, Verissa," he warned. "Please, what's wrong?"

He didn't bother translating into Kvaren right now, the situation far more tense for the trouble.

Ebonfort

Greetings to @Krinos Solstice and anyone else who is currently interested in joining! :)

[Ebonfort] The Edge of the Map

The small shadow of a fairy, as well as the occasional flutter of Dain's wings as he moved about on the ship, was not something that the men before the mast had yet learned to recognize. Their ears were attuned more to the hard crack of a man's booted heal upon the wooden decking and the clearing of a grog-wetted throat. So when the fairy rapped hard on the smooth polished door he received no answer from within, though there were certainly voices beyond. Closer at hand, however, were the surreptitious murmurs of at least two male voices down the hall. A flickering lantern cast their shadows on the wall, and even those seemed furtive and crafty, though the men they belonged to were just out of sight.

"Are there enough of us on board to make a move?" The first voice sounded young.

"I'd say so, yes, but it's not a matter of just numbers, boy," came the reply, this voice far deeper, older, and somewhat slower. Also meaner. "It was a given that Donnie would have to go, and that stick-up-his-ass Darfellan as well. But we were all expecting Ricko to be hired on as first mate so we'd have access to the armoury. What do you know about her?"

"I've never shipped out with her 'afore but I hear tell she's been on the wrong side of the black line before. Mayhap she'd be willing to throw her lot in with us if the price is right?" The third voice was quieter and more thoughtful. "I hear she likes a good game of cards. Might be a good chance to talk to her."

"It's too big a risk," came the second voice again, and one of the shadows shook its head. "Soon as she refuses we'd be forced to kill her."

"Well then we'll send her to the bottom."

"Agreed. I'll tell the others. Blow that lantern out, boy."

The tallest of the shadows lifted the lantern, causing the flicker of light to jump and warp, and then it was gone, the three men moving down the cramped hallway the other way.

Just then, foot-steps approached the captain's door from within, and Blaine's own voice could be heard from the other side.

"Ye have a job to do, you know," he said, a reluctant grin in his voice, "Much as I enjoy the company of as lovely a lady as yerself, I can't spend this whole voyage with you in my lap."

"..mmm...your loss, Captain." The sassy, purring tone of a female sounded strangely like it was coming from somewhere near the floor. The doorknob twisted and opened inwards, the newly-oiled hinges barely squeaking.

"Oh, good evening Mr. Crest. Did you knock? I certainly hope you weren't waiting here long." Blaine looked down at the moth-winged fairy, a lop-sided sort of smirk on his face. A sleek gray shape threaded between Blaine's boots and oozed around the door-frame as supple and silent as a scarf in the hands of an exotic belly-dancer. Two emerald green eyes glanced up, framed by a set of ashen stripes and long whiskers. Slightly bigger than the average cat, the female licked her lips, and the owner of the second voice was suddenly revealed. "By your leave, Mr. Crest." And then she was off down the corridor of the gently-swaying ship, her long tail held up high behind her, the tip bent haughtily. After watching her go, Blaine moved to the side and turned back to Dain. "Care to join me for a drink?"

--

Kira's fiddle wouldn't be the only one on deck that evening. The excitement of the first night out on the open sea was always a bit of a celebration in and of itself. But most sailors didn't have anything nearly as fancy as an instrument crafted in Green Fall.

And most of them were lingering on the main deck, while Jharnia seemed to have made a home for herself as close to the bowsprit as possible. She was a pretty girl, barely into adulthood, with dark brown skin and long black hair secured down her back with a set of thin bands of carved coral. Her clothing was made out of something turquoise and gauzy that covered her chest and her legs but kept her midsection bare. Probably not the wisest choice on a ship crewed by salt-hardened seamen.

Kira's heavy bootsteps on the deck behind her caused Jharnia to look around, her brown eyes startled. She had been busy with what appeared to be a turtle-shell bowl full of seawater and shells.

"Oh! Ehm. Gud evening madame Kira," she replied shyly, her own accent was almost as thick as Kira's but vastly different. "Yas, I am Jharnia." Her eyes darted over Kira's intimidating clothing, seeming to pause on the various silver flourishes on the way down to her boots. She stood up and held onto the railing tightly, clearly still unsteady on the rocking deck. She frowned a little uncertainly, guessing that Kira hadn't come to talk to her on a whim but unable to figure out what it was she might need.

"What does the first mate do? Did you need something from me?"

Ebonfort

So anyone interested in a small group/1x1 roleplay?

@SouffleGirl123

Just now saw this. I would love to play with you. What did you have in mind? Feel free to PM or IM me on Skype. It would be nice to get a small group together. :)