Drache

[Ebonfort] Days of Grass and Dust

It was the sound of a crowing rooster that first roused Asher from the depths of sleep. For once he had made it through the night without his dreams being disturbed by the agonizing sense of loss that had plagued him for years. He had slept well and his bed was comfortable, and there was someone warm and soft beside him. Still lingering in that dozy half-sleep, Ash rolled over and pressed close to that soft, shapely someone in his bed. She fit neatly in his bare-chested embrace, his injured shoulder up so that his arm could drape over her waist, fingers twitching reflexively against her lower belly. Burying his nose in her hair, he inhaled deeply. It was a comforting smell. Womanly and mixed with flowers and...herbs.

Asher's eyes snapped open, his gaze staring blearily into the tousle of blonde hair inches from his face. Oops.

The day began awkwardly from there but once they were both up and dressed, things settled into a fast-paced but fairly predictable course. Together, Asher and Verissa packed up the rest of their (his) things and packed them into the cart, the last of which was the tent itself. It had the be folded just right, the long wooden support poles bundled together and lashed on top of the pile.

The Thunderfang camp was so large that once the first wagon and team of outriders started away on the dusty track that was as much a road as existed in the Kerawac, it was nearly two hours before the last one left the messy bare swath of earth. The signs of habitation were little more than discarded broken crates and tent poles, scraps of leather, and the scorched earth under now-dead fires. All of these would be reclaimed by the grass in a matter of a season or two.

At first, Asher steered the draft mule himself, sitting on the bench seat next to Verissa while Phantom trailed along behind on a pony line. But after patiently and methodically explaining to her how to use the reigns, which was pretty much the same as when riding, he mounted the gray mare and joined the scouts, riding up and down the line to protect the caravan and help when needed. The only hard part about Trix's task would be the seat she sat on. The mule steadfastly followed the back of the cart ahead, not really needing much guidance, except for when a particularly verdant patch of grass grew on the verge, which caused it to stop for a bite and required Verissa to put it back in line again.

The trail was dusty, long plumes billowing the hooves of the horses and the wheels of the carts, raising a gritty cloud over them for most of the day. At night the tribe slept in the same line as the order they had walked, congregating loosely with many small campfires blossoming out of the dead winter grass. It was good weather to start grass fires, so many went without.

And instead of putting up his huge tent, Asher blocked the wind out with crates and pulled Verissa under the cart with him to sleep, bundling them thickly against the cold.

The journey took several weeks, the land sloping and rising aain, and ever covered in the waving grasses. Occasionally there would be something interesting to see, such as a copse of trees or a lake, but after a while it just seemed that the valley was endless. the Thunderfang tribe was not nearly the first to arrive at the Gathering Place, but as they staked out a spot for them on the grassy plain, they nearly doubled the size of the existing congregation. The festive atmosphere was infectious, and Asher found himself nearly bubbling over with excitement as he lead Verissa through the colourful tents and strange faces. He reunited with old friends and was introduced to new spouses and babies and even slaves that had made a name for themselves. The gathering of the chieftains was held in a monstrous tent. Like Asher had said it would be, the Gathering was full of music and dancing and delicious food. Tribes traded news, slaves, and goods. Children played elaborate games that put them underfoot and different packs of dogs intermingled, humping all over the place. Shenzi and the other Healers made it clear to Verissa that she was expected to join them to help teach others. It wasn't all good, however. Several tribes had battles and there were fights between both sober and drunken revelers. There was much news about cities in the west, and the Thunderfangs enjoyed quite a bit of fame for their successful raid on Ruby Banks. Every day was a whirlwind, and Asher didn't always insist on Verissa being by his side. Here at the Gathering it would be even more clear to her that her own behaviour and skill reflected well on him, especially when he had her wear the wolftooth pendant that hung down to the center of her chest. Asher's arm healed quickly, and he was able to take the bandages off for the training of the youngsters.

It was the day after the Crimson Vines left that the Dance began. It was unofficially known as a sort of Bachelor night, because the wedding ceremonies would be held the following day. Night fell and a huge bonfire was started somewhat away from the groupings of tents, and everyone able to play an instrument was doing their best to get everyone riled up. The drums boomed hard and fast.

Asher was sitting on a half barrel that had been turned into a bench, drinking ale from a wooden cup as the heat from the fire washed reddish across his face. A pair of identical tattooed Swordmasters from another tribe was sitting near him, talking about a woman they had shared the night before.

"Wait wait...a dragonkin? You're full of shit, Miles."

Whatever retort the twins might have had was lost, because a trio of young women drifted by, wearing little more than coloured scarfs tied in ways that barely hid the essentials, and would float and swirl enticingly as they danced to the heavy pace of the drums. Watching them go with his head tilted a little, a wistful smile on his features, the broody Asher let his eyes dart through the crowds, looking for Verissa.

A Heart Frozen (Ebonfort)

In her creepy way, Ortha watched Echo with one head while the other focused on the other Moon Fey, the nostrils in her boney skeletal face sniffing at the 'almost but not quite Rilana'. Both of the balauradon's jaws were grimy with guano from where she had snacked on the way in, hungrily able to eat just about anything and delighting on the occasional fallen bat corpse half-buried in the acrid refuse.

The extraplanar monster hunkered down on her legs, creeping through the moss, grumbling as it slid across her leathery hide. Once she was close enough to Moira she stood straight and turned back towards the entrance in that classic non-verbal posture that meant "Let's go!"

--

Deeper in the cave system, Rilana looked around curiously as the group spread out into the rounded cavern, watching the light of their torches glitter across the ice, looking for anything that might help them solve the riddle Lady Moira had left them.

Turning, she glanced down thoughtfully at the Songweaver, listening to Alya's voice that no one else could hear. "A heartbeat?"

Follow thine heart?

"Do you still hear it?" But apparently it had died.

Just then, several things happened at once. Ortha was reaching out for her, but the eerie and unnerving hiss of plantlife moving at speeds that were unnatural raced towards them, the sounds echoing and rushing along the tunnel. This sound was nearly lost completely, however, as the walls of ice fractured and burst, the pressure and noise battering at Rilana's senses. The Moon Fey had nothing to hide behind, but crouched quickly, throwing her arm up to protect her face from the shards of ice she expected to wash over her.

It was this arm that Alya grabbed, and Rilana followed her friend readily, glancing over her shoulder to make sure that the others were following, her gaze sweeping over the tidal wave of purple moss. She never even heard Echo's howl shivering up from the depths, but as soon as Alya told her that the direwolf had found something, Ortha's sight flashed across her mind.

"It's Lady Moira. They've found her. She looks..." She didn't have to finish, her worried expression would relay the troubling condition of the other Moon Fey. Rilana berated herself.

How could I have been wrong, again! My instincts are terrible. There was no way to reach Lady Moira right now, not by going back the way they'd come, anyways.

Apparently Kona didn't have time for his Druid's poor self-esteem, however, because the gryphon replied simply, Heart must give life to ice, When heart is lost, become hare.

Rilana glanced back at Svarak again, her face grey with uncertainty and fear, but she didn't want to tell him what she was planning to do. What they were to each other, she wasn't sure yet, but she didn't want to add to his burden, and she didn't want to be the kind of woman who needed coddling and comfort.

"Alya, I'm going to change. I won't be able to talk except to you." And Kona, but the gryphon was nearly as mute s the flute-player. Rilana pulled her arm free of the half-elf's grasp but didn't quite stop running, just slowed a little as she concentrated.

Kona, if I die I don't want you to die with me.

If you die, I won't want to live! He protested angrily, and for the first time ever Rilana had to force him to un-Mark, until he appeared again in the tunnel, incorporeal at first but suddenly solid and as large as life, his wings tucked tightly to his back as he hurried along, tufted tail swishing.

But Rilana wasn't done yet. She clambered up on the grypon's leopard-spotted back and began to change. Her already-white skin erupted with snowy fur, and her ears crawled up the sides of her head to poke out her hair, which slurped back into her head like so many noodles. Her whole body shrank rapidly, her clothes blending in to a hide of solid white (except for black at the tips of her long ears), until the tiny round shape of the most adorable snowshoe hair ever (pic) was struggling to keep a grip on the gryphon's mighty back.

That riddle better be speaking figuratively, Kona grumped.

[Ebonfort] Days of Grass and Dust

Something about the creep of bright red across Verissa's cheekbones was endearing to Asher. Not that he'd meant to embarrass her, of course, or frighten her, but the Swordmaster knew she'd never known the touch of a man and the fact that just talking about it made her flush pink was a little fun.

The hungry fighter lapsed into silence, busily and wolfishly inhaling his stew. His eyes tracked Verissa when she got up to feed her pups, already used to seeing the grayish shapes lurking at the edge of his vision whenever he was with Verissa. Asher knew that the older children already had eyes for Remilia, hoping for a pup like her whenever the bitch whelped her first litter. Smirking privately, Asher imagined that feisty Verissa might have something to say about that.

Finishing first, Asher got up to clean up the rest of the meal, absentmindedly and automatically doing the dishes. It was very nice to have someone to cook for him, but it would take more time for him to relinquish control of all the daily chores to Verissa. Thinking about her, he wished he was a younger man. No, perhaps not younger, because he wasn't old, but definitely without so much loss behind him. He missed Wren every day, but if it wasn't for that...if it wasn't for the fact that he'd already looked across the table while sharing meals with a blushing virgin with plans to wed and bed her...he might have been more open to the idea of trying to win Verissa over, even before she went on the Hunt. But he'd been through all that once and had never wanted to do it again.

And that's when she pointed out that they had already packed her bedroll, leaving his as the only one in the pavilion. They'd have to share. Asher groaned inwardly, cursing himself for not noticing that they had packed it, knowing that they would have to unpack half the cart to get to it. They'd have to share tonight. Oooh boy.

Clearing his throat, Asher abandoned the rest of the cleaning, not that there was much left, and turned to look at the beautiful blonde slave girl sitting in the middle of his tent. He wasn't blushing, but he seemed uncomfortable, though it was for a different reason than Verissa. A decade. It had been a decade since he'd had a woman in his bed. He'd told himself he never would again. And right now he couldn't tell if it was better for him or worse that she didn't want to be there either.

"I'm not expecting you to sleep on the bare floor," he said. "I should have known better than to let you pack your bedroll, I just wasn't paying attention when we tossed it in the cart. There's room enough in mine for two."

He tried to give her what he thought was a comforting smile. "Give me a few slips before you join me. Whenever you're ready." Reaching up with his uninjured hand up to run his fingers through his dark hair, he left the girl in the main part of the pavilion and ducked behind the partition.

Once hidden from view, Asher changed from his thick leather trousers into softer, more comfortable linen ones and sat down at the edge of his cot. Steely grey eyes fell on the small trunk with the shrine-like collection of mementos arranged on the top. He quickly lit the small beeswax candle and gazed unfocused at the tiny orange flame, thinking of Wren.

Normally the memories played in his head like a story, the same pattern over and over, but this time all he could see was his dead wife's smiling face, one eyebrow raised and her head shaking as she laughed at something dumb he had done. Last night he had been in tears apologizing for failing to kill Brynmore for her, but tonight he couldn't seem to focus. "I miss you," he said finally, "I never thought this could happen." He reached out to brush his fingertips along a long coppery braid of hair, bound by coloured ribbons. "I wish you were here to tell me what to do."

Sighing, he lifted the supple leather blanket with the heavier furs on top and slid his legs under, scooting to the edge of the bed closest to the thick wall of the tent, and waited. He left the candle lit, only so that Verissa could join him without stumbling in the dark.

[Ebonfort] A Common Flame

"He slept for a long time after I found him. His sister...twin...is with a friend of mine. Or, someone who used to be my friend." The red dragonkin's face fell for a moment, her eye rolling thoughtfully towards Cinder, who turned to look into her face with an unhelpfully placid expression. But whatever troubling thing Drache was thinking about, she pushed it aside when Aussir continued talking.

"I suppose it depends on your definition of trouble, Aussee," she grinned, mispronouncing his name on purpose as a pet name. "There haven't been any mages since before three hundred years, until now. I was very excited to find that I could suddenly control my own firebreath." Something about the vehement intensity in her tone suggested that suddenly finding that she had magic at her disposal had given her a feeling of purpose. "I don't try to hurt anyone else, of course, but I learned a long time ago that I have to look after myself. No one else is going to."

Drache let out a short growly purr when Aussir admitted to envying her, grinning at the compliment. She reached up to touch Cinder, which involved letting the flames flickering from what made up his body float through her fingers. There wasn't much physical contact except for when her claws brushed the orb that made up his head, but he seemed to appreciate the gesture and leaned into it. She was still learning how to read the strange creature. "Oh, I'm not his Master," she argued, for some reason finding that comparison uncomfortable. "Cinder stays with me because he wants to, not because I own him. Calling myself Master makes it sound so much like slavery. Perhaps you could get a pet. The Merchant Square is always full of strange creatures brought in from all over the place. Or maybe," she glanced at him with a teasing sort of smile, "you could make some friends."

Falling quiet as the private details of Aussir's memory of his parents began to flow forth like water, the female watched his face with a certain amount of intensity, deciding then and there to make a sketch of his face in her journal as soon as she got a chance. "I said we should support each other. Your sire was a dragon, and as dragons will undoubtedly never fail to remind us, we are not quite the same as them. If it's in your heart to hold him accountable for his absence, I won't blame you."

She let him take her hand, though she seemed less comfortable about the quickly-shrinking distance between their snouts than her earlier flirtations and insinuations might have implied. Her fingers clasped comfortingly around his, her flesh very warm. "Don't envy my life too much, Aussir," she murmured so quietly it might have been a whisper. "Especially the last few weeks of it. But I'll take that as a compliment, even though I'd have been happier with a kiss." Her eyelashes fluttered hopefully at him, though somehow she suspected that her salacious insinuations would go un-realized.

"I'm glad you were at least wise enough to consider what I had to say without dismissing it all out of claw. I'll remember your offer. Both of them. I should be here in the city for a little while but I may be traveling again soon with a friend of mine."

They were together on the bench again, and Drache reached for Aussir's hand, and provided that he didn't resist, she lifted it and tugged it back around her waist so that she could lean against the larger dragonkin.

Cinder had nodded at Aussir's question and then hopped down from Drache's shoulder to the bench and then the ground. His fiery feet left tiny steaming footprints in his wake, but the leaves he stepped on did not burn. He wandered around curiously, inspecting the fresh green buds of tropical plants. In another season this whole garden would be nearly overwhelming with the perfume of lurid flowers.

[Ebonfort] A Common Flame

The red hybrid had edged very close to the precipice, the wind sweeping upwards from where it had struck the hillside and was now toying with the golden membranes of her wings. The tingling buzz of the spicy drinks had faded long ago, leaving her hot with anger rather than smoldering with lazy glee. Clearly she was a heartbeat or two away from launching out into the night sky, heavy bag or no, and leaving this conflicting creature far behind. For the most part, it was only because she genuinely believed what she had said about their kind, that being on the same side was important.

She listened to him silently, the wind making her long black hair billow around her shoulders in tendrils, her tail undulating slowly behind her as her eyes smoldered at him in the dark. Twin plumes of black smoke, tattered signals of her frustration, blew away towards the greater depths of the garden.

Aussir's long diatribe was difficult to follow. He seemed embarrassed but desperate to be understood, yet she resented his trying to puzzle out her private thoughts, and his woeful pessimism was exhausting. In spite of his tall, attractive frame, he seemed almost child-like, and she was starting to wonder if all of this discomfort was simply due to a more isolated upbringing than she had experienced.

Her wings folded behind her one at a time and with an exasperated sigh Drache moved to join him on the bench, her hips swaying with a natural swagger until she sat down. It was hard to keep her hands to herself so she settled on picking at the flap to her bag.

"Aussir, you may not want my advice, but I'm going to give it to you anyways. I think you need to relax. In my experience, people don't like it when you play guessing games about their past, their feelings. It's suspicious. You can enjoy someone's company without..." She waggled her wing joints, struggling for the word that would describe what she wanted without seeming insulting, "...the theatrics."

Her eyes trailed along the line of his snout, his horns. He was yummy enough to nibble on! Why did he have to be so dramatic?

"Just because you've been a little irritating doesn't mean I would never want to talk to you again, Aussir. Our kind live too long to put those kind of absolutes on each other. And I'm sure I've acting more like a fireball more than I needed to, but I'd hope you wouldn't hold that against me." In spite of the wind off the sea, the female was very warm, much warmer than Aussir himself.

"Perhaps if you're ever interested you can hold something else against me." She winked at him then, but she knew by now that he wouldn't take her up on it and turned her attention to the bag, lifting the flap to pull out a glossy black orb. It looked like glass, or possibly obsidian. There were many obsidian quarries in the area due to the presence of the volcanic activity.

She held it up in her hand. It was almost big enough to need two hands to hold, but wasn't quite as heavy as it looked. "I found him in the Heartchamber of an abandoned temple," she explained, letting her claws click glassily against it.

"Wake up, Cinder," the dragoness crooned, her voice almost sensually low as she raised the orb to her snout, letting her hot breath wash over it. In an instant, the surface of the orb erupted in flickering orange flames. Not only that, but it lifted out of her hand, hovering of it's own accord as little plumes of fire coalesced into the vague shape of a tiny bipedal creature. White-hot pinpoints of light turned, the semblance of sleepy blinking as the creature stood on Drache's forearm.

The warmth rolling from the torchlike sprite was tangible, and the flickering tongues that came up from his head were buffeted by the wind around the orb that had become his head, but somehow Drache's clothing seemed unaffected.

"This is Cinder. He's a fire sprite (link). I think he chose to stick with me because I'm...well...I'm a Firespinner."

Cinder glanced around to see who Drache was talking to and upon seeing Aussir so near, jumped up to Drache's shoulder and hid partly behind her head, his fiery little hand clinging to one of her spiral horns as he peered around at the other dragonkin. Drache's ear-frill gave a flick, as though listening to someone talk that Aussir couldn't hear.

[Ebonfort] Days of Grass and Dust

A troubled frown crossed Asher's face as Verissa tucked herself against him, her palms light against his built chest. How long had it been since he had held someone like this? The answer was 'a very long time'. He felt responsible for Verissa, protective, both qualities he considered good for a man in charge of a slave. But he didn't think of her that way, not really. He realized with a jolt that made his back stiffen that whatever these feelings were, they were close, dangerously so, to the way he had felt about Wren. And as soon as that connection was made, Asher felt a slimy shiver of guilt settle in his chest. What was he doing?

Thankfully, Verissa chose that moment to pull away, the mixed-herb scent of her hair lingering in his nostrils, his teeth gritted as he struggled with his emotions. Why were women so difficult to deal with? Exhausting himself through training and meeting the other tribe leaders to discuss day-to-day tactics and camp house-keeping was so much easier.

He swallowed and moved to sit back down where Verissa had put him before, his scarred eyebrow giving his face a grim expression. "I'm glad you feel that way. Talk to Shenzi. If she can't help you practice, she might know someone who can. It would be wise to ask around at the Gathering since there will be so many people."

He couldn't help but smile, his brooding banished temporarily by a beautiful smile on her face, the first he had ever seen. It suited her so much better than the haunting fear. "You're getting better at our words. We'll have to practice the hand-signals as well."

He took the food, automatically peering into the bowl to guess at the ingredients. He loved to cook, but it was proving to be fun letting her handle it tonight. "The Tribes are always on the move," he explained, slurping a little at the hot stew, nodding silently in appreciation of the robust taste. "Not only do we not believe in settling in one place, it's not a wise move on the grasslands. There are always Kvaren traveling between the tribes, but twice every year, we all come together at a massive Gathering. It's a way for us to share news, trade goods, settle disputes. There are a lot of ceremonies that wait until then. Marriages, memorial bonfires, naming rites for babies. The Hunt can be taken any time of year but many youngsters will wait to take it during a Gathering because the prestige of returning triumphant is greater. Fighters who have slain a Knight are honoured, and rank sashes and pins are thrown in a great bonfire." He gave her a pointed look, as he had returned with one himself. "Anyone who has killed a Sergeant Knight and returned with the sash and the body is considered strong enough to start a new tribe. It's much like one of your festivals. There is lots of drinking, lots of music and dancing, lots of...sex." He had been looking down at his bowl, but there was a liquid steel flash as he glanced up at that. "The Swordmasters and Shadewalkers host training for those who want to be like us. Craftsmen will hold their own competitions. Those in charge of the herds will lend each other their stallions and bulls for breeding. It's just a way for us to take advantage of having everyone all together, and when it's over we all go our separate ways again."

The Calm Before the Storm (Ebonfort)

A shy smile lit Rilana's face at Svarak's offer to teach her how to cook. "I'd like that. I bet there a lot of things you can show me. If I'm going to keep my position as Envoy I should learn how to hold a sword without slicing my hand open." She lifted her hand where the faint red line of the healing mark was still stark against her pale skin.

Rilana had avoided making plans, as she had said, but letting them coalesce anyways wasn't as painful as she had imagined. In fact, it was kind of nice. Her blue fey eyes settled on his feline ones as he revealed his feelings and he heart gave a flutter that made Kona ruffle his wings. New friendships? Perhaps she could safely take that to mean more.

She turned away from the huge charr, but took it upon herself to scoot closer until her leg and thigh settled against his. She was surprised to find that her dinner was gone, almost proud that after so much anxiousness she'd been able to eat it. Her slender fingers wrung together in her lap.

You're fidgetting.

I can't help it. But she stopped. You know what I'm going to do.

I know.

You're not mad?

There was a long silence, as though the distant gryphon were issuing a long melodramatic sigh.

You're going to get hurt, and you're going to regret it.

I might regret it more if I don't. I've doubted him so much. He at least deserves to know how I feel.

He doesn't love you.

That shut her up for a moment and she glanced up at Svarak's face. That was the risk, wasn't it? That her first time would be wasted on someone who didn't love her?

If so, I trust him to not let it go too far without saying so.

Suit yourself. Just remember, if he breaks your heart you still have me.

I know. I love you, Kona. It was a completely different kind of affection than what she was harbouring towards the Lord Knight.

Me too, said another voice in Rilana's head. If big cat makes you mad, I can eat. Much meat on that one. Hopefully plenty where it counts.

A look of incredulous shock made Rilana's mouth fall open, her eyes slightly unfocused in that way it always did when one of her Familiars was dividing her attention.

"Ortha!" The balauradon was lurking on the edge of the camp, practicing creeping through the snow, hoping to scavange for the travelers' leftovers as they abandoned their campfires and went to bed.

Somewhat scandalized, a pink blush rose along Rilana's cheeks. She cleared her throat, refocusing on Svarak's face with a flutter of her long lashed. "...and I'm very glad we did meet. I just want you to know that if we both live to see the other side of this...thing, and if you still feel relish the thought of something new..." It all sounded terribly awkward, which forced Rilana to straighten her back and make a visible attempt to force ahead, "...I've never been in love before but if there was ever anyone, it would be you."

Her heart was pounding with the effort of telling him, but she lifted her hand and rested it on Svarak's bicep, covering the crystal mark bestowed on him by the God of Ice.

[Ebonfort] A Common Flame

"You may claim that love is not what you are looking for, Aussir, but you're the one who brought it up." The dragoness pulled her hand back. "I meant only to warn you that I have no intention of ever making that mistake again. And if you think love was created by humans you are sadly mistaken and obviously haven't spent much time among other races. Your parents aren't the only ones who forged a bond with that particular emotion."

The longer he talked the more Drache realized that Aussir was incredibly arrogant, making assumptions about her feelings that were far from accurate, and contradicting himself more than once. The tolerance that she had carefully offered him in spite of her better judgement disappeared behind a mask of dislike, and as soon as he let go of her wrist she used her hand to smoothly reclaim her satchel, letting it settle across her torso and against her hip. Trying to marshal her simmering irritation, she lifted the flap to check the glossy black orb that had become so important in such a short period of time.

"Letting me touch your wings wouldn't mean anything more to me than that you trusted me to be close enough to do so, and that you might enjoy the company of someone else. You can enjoy closeness without giving away your heart, but only if you want to. Denying yourself is your choice, but don't delude yourself into assuming you know what I want or what I'm feeling."

Her expression soured further, her pupils constricting to thin lines within the fields of fiery amber as he continued to talk about her as though he had the right, or even more laughably, the ability to have a say in the course of her life. In this moment she realized that she missed the company of someone else. Someone with a fiesty attitude and an atrocious accent.

"Let me go? You say that as if you have some kind of hold on me in the first place. I can't even imagine the arrogance that would lead you to think that you have a choice in what I do with my life." Whatever secret prerequisites she must meet in order to simply reach out and touch her fellow dragonkin she found she was suddenly very happy that she had no fulfilled.

"I found a life that makes me happy a long time ago and haven't looked back. Perhaps I will find someone someday who can soothe those old scars, and I hope it's another dragonkin like me, but I can tell you that it won't be someone who acts as presumptuous as you do."

With a full-body shimmy, Drachiathoryx opened her own wings. They weren't as uniquely shaped at Aussir's, but they were long, strong, and apart from a tiny hole in one side that would be healed before long, they were perfect. "The shape of yours makes it harder fly, but the bones within aren't bent or broken. You could fly, if you practiced hard enough." She was angry, but more than that she was sad. She never expected to be friends with every half-dragon in Pyresia, but none had ever been so rude.

[Ebonfort] A Common Flame

The path took them through the mountainside city, and Drache avoided any of the subterranean short-cuts mostly because of Destiny. Like any large city, it was never truly quiet, and they passed more than one bustling dwarf or pair of meandering dragons in quiet conversation. But eventually, after coming down a sloping street of coopers and chandler shops, they reached a terraced garden where fountains trickled pleasantly in the darkness and they could sit among the greenery on benches carved into the sides of large blue geodes and look out over the harbour.

"I've been traveling through the mountains for a long time yes, but I was talking about the Peak," the red-scaled dragoness used her wing to point at the massive Ash Peak behind them. It was so high that there were low-lying clouds obscuring part of that terrible height, and the glowing openings to dragon lairs above that. "Everyone is talking about it. Most of the Xarzi clan has left the city, and the ones who are left are in chaos, fighting over politics and profits."

She didn't bother to explain that dragons separated themselves into clans based on breath weapon rather than family ties or scale-colour groupings. With most of the ice-breathing Xarzi gone, there would be a lot of scrambling. Most people who lived in the city knew all of that already.

Drache sat down on one of the benches whenever they reached the garden, lounging with her long sinuous tail draping over the edge of the seat. "What kind of things can you do, Aussir?" Her eyelids had lowered, but she was still watching him. "If you don't mind working for dwarves you can always try the Guilds. There's so much trade for livestock and metal into this city it seems like they are always looking for protection for caravans. If you like sailing you could put in a word with the Harbourmaster to see if any of the ships have room for fighters on the decks..." She shrugged her wings, trailing off.

But her conversational neutrality faded as he began to talk about his childhood, her face becoming carefully blank. Oh she listened well, but pointedly didn't comment on her own experience with the tough subject he had suddenly delved into. Her past wasn't one she wanted to think about, much less share with a stranger. It struck her suddenly how strange it might be, that she would rather sleep with someone than bare her soul.

"Dragonsteel? I can't say I'm familiar. All I know about the arena is that the fights are rumoured to be heavily rigged, especially recently. But I'm sorry to hear that she died. Both of my parents are dead." That was certainly strange. Most dragonkin tended to be outlived by their draconic parent. She reached out for his arm, gently curling her warm fingers around his wrist to draw him down next to her if he let her. When his words faded she didn't press for more, but privately disagreed that any one of their kind was lonelier than the next.

Drachiathoryx' ear-frills drooped a little, her eyes unfocused as she glanced out over the city. Aussir was sharing so much with her, and her first instinct was to withdraw, to hide from so much dangerous relatable emotion. For a moment she almost hated him for trusting her and opening himself up, finding it foolish for him to risk so much for her. She was just a stranger to him! In truth she just wanted to sit in his lap and let her fingers wander over his bare scales, but he had to get all sappy...

She heaved a sigh and looked back. "You flatter me with your trust, Aussir, and I'm not sure that I deserve it. You don't know me and I don't know you, and I certainly don't think I'll ever be in love with anyone, but I do believe our kind need to stick together. You don't have to apologize for taking your leave so quickly earlier, I understand. Perhaps someday I'll find out about the real you. I'm sure your birth name wasn't 'White'." She grinned at the soft tease, lifting her finger and running the tip down the front of his snout between his nostrils. Opening herself up, even a tiny bit, was distinctly uncomfortable.

[Ebonfort] A Profitable Death

Playing with the slave was far too easy for Keraunilath, and even as Gaulirax rose to his mighty muscle-bound height, smoke puffing from his nostrils and a hateful growl in his throat, the silver-eyed Shochra only peeled her lips back in a sneering grin, her uneven fangs glittering with a weird light.

"Oh will you? And how will you do that when you are to spend every waking moment in your tiny cell, worm? I should have thought that after all these years you'd have learned your place." Her voice was sibilant as she closed the distance between them, her shoulders rolling and her neck arched haughtily. She had the appearance of a viper ready to strike, just as pleased by Gaulirax' attempt to rebel as she would have been if he had prostrate himself before her.

"You will die with that collar around your neck, slave. Whether that happens on the sands of the arena or in some place of your choosing, you will die a slave. Any other destiny was lost to you the moment you were born and your slut of a mother let you live." Her tail was lashing angrily behind her, her scales hissing across the polished tile floor. The breeze from the open sky behind her rushed in, causing the various lanterns to sputter ominously.

Keraunilath's throat bobbed again and there was a popping sizzle as white sparks darted in arcs around the scales of her face.

"Let's see how confident you are about your future after a little reminder of who you belong to..." she growled, her thin jaws opening wide. The gathering flickers of white light jolting between her teeth was Gaulirax' only warning before the thunderbolt hit him square in the chest. White-hot pain lanced along his bones, forcing his mighty body to seize and jerk spasmodically as he crumpled to the floor.

Blinding purple-white light strobed and flashed, and the huge chamber filled with that chemical ozone scent and the stench of Gaulirax' charred scales. Keraunilath laughed, a sound that started out strangely high-pitched, tossing her head back and chuckling with vile glee. The slave girl had the presence of mind to slide down from her Mistress' back and cower behind a priceless statue, clasping her hands over her mouth as she watched the torture. Gurwik too shrank away, not entirely sure that the cruel dragoness wouldn't zap him too for the hell of it. The slave collar burned even the half-Ixen, scorching the scales around his neck. It would probably heal eventually, but would be terribly uncomfortable.

"Take him away," the dragoness snapped disgustedly at the dwarf and human who had brought Gaulirax before her, turning from him nearly as soon as her grumbling laughter had faded. Out of the corner of her eye she noticed the slave girl.

"Go with him. Make sure his wounds don't fester and keep him...happy."

As a final act of cruel humiliation, the spiteful she-drake opened her wings and let the grayish membranes fill with air, stepping almost lightly out off the balcony and into the night.