Drache

Death's Cold Embrace

Four days after her skirmish with her back-stabbing compatriots, Drachia prowled down a familiar street in Greenpool with her hood drawn tight over her head. Every other step dipped in a pronounced limp, and she paused frequently to glance over her shoulder. Her passage over the rolling woodland had been considerably hampered by the first of the autumn rains, and her crimson skin held no great love for the icy winds rolling down from the mountains. Even now she held her wings clamped tightly to her back under her damp cloak, and the tight wool steamed faintly in the gloomy light.

Her claws gripped her pouch warily. With a sneer and faint rumble in her throat, she couldn't shake the feeling that someone was following her, and as yet she hadn't decided if she was still simply angry at Tarvick's uncharacteristic betrayal or if there was a genuine threat.

She allowed herself no sense of relief until she had reached Max's abode, her face twisting with distaste at the prickle of rune magic that crept across her flesh as she drew up to the front door, which opened to admit her immediately.

"Drachia?" The deep voice preceded its owner as Maximus came down the wide staircase to meet her. "I almost forgot what it's like to have you arrive by the front door." He was wearing his usual charming smile, but it faded into a frown as his eyes traveled the length of her storm-tossed figure.

"What happened to you?"

"Tarvick and his apes have a new financer," she snapped with a hiss, sweeping past him into the parlor where the flicker of orange light promised warmth. "I don't know who it is. But I am sure I will find out when I get back to Nautilus."

Maximus didn't miss her wry, rueful tone. He drew close, more than willing to help the half-dragon peel out of her horrible, soaked garments. "Oh? You sound certain."

"Well, only because I have what they were looking for!" She retorted. But the smug glitter in her eyes didn't last for long. Her wounds had gone untreated long enough and her onerous tenacity was no longer enough to keep the pain at bay. The broken-off crossbow bolt glinted grimly in the hearthlight and the gash across her stomach was weeping blood that trickled down the pattern of her scales.

"And paid for your trouble, I see," Max remarked, using the same disapproving tone she had employed when admonishing him about the scarification of his skin.

She looked at him with narrowed eyes. "You have your hobbies, and I have mine, Max. If you don't mind, I am going to need a healer before this gets much worse. I'd appreciate a recommendation."

--

Two days later, Drachia lounged pensively on the floor of Max's modest library with books scattered all around her, each open to a different page. There were scrolls also, unrolled and held open by random knick-knacks from Max's desk or her pack. The winding script of a dozen different hands from a dozen different authors was exposed to her prying eyes.

She shifted slightly, flexing against the linen bandages twining around her thigh and midsection. She had been sitting there for hours, hunched like a buzzard over a piece of meat as she tried to piece together the story of the three books she had recovered from the old castle.

The tip of her tail twitched as her mind worked over the intricate puzzle, forgetting all else in her continuing quest for knowledge and magic.

At length, Max came to join her, looming darkly in his place deep in a wing-backed armchair slightly further back from the fire than Drachia enjoyed. She was vaguely aware that she was missing meals, but she didn't stop turning pages, her cat-like eyes snatching words from the mouldering parchment as she read paragraph after paragraph.

Finally, even the patience of the dark-skinned nomad was no match for her and Maximus dared interrupt, but not without bringing a piece offering of food. "So, my shining ruby, what have you discovered amid all those scribbles?"

Sighing and stretching her wings for the first time that day, Drachia looked up, blinking slowly. Before she answered, she took the time to pick a few choice mouthfuls from the tray Max set near her, momentarily basking in the knowledge that she could keep him waiting for quite some time if she wished.

"I think I have riddled out some of the puzzle of these three tomes, but every page I turn gives me more questions than answers," she began, gesturing to the first book. It was the thickest book of the three, and seemed to be the oldest. Bound in a blue-dyed leather with the silver emblem of the old kingdom stamped on the front.

"This tome is a History of the old kingdom. It follows the line of the royal family for over three hundred years, as well as the most notable actions of their chosen Champions. One of the last was this...Belamica Darkthorn, whose tomb in which all three books were hidden."

As she spoke of the books, her fingertips traced almost lovingly across the thin vellum. She moved to the second book, which was the smallest most fragile, having the somewhat battered and well-traveled appearance of a personal journal rather than a sturdy tome.

"This is the journal of the old kingdom's castle Maestor's. There are five who contributed, and it contains more or less what you would expect. Everything from recipes and healing remedies to religious parables and philosophical ramblings meant to be passed down from one Maestor to the next. From this, I learned that Belamica's tomb never contained her body. One of the Maestor's took her away across the Crescent Sea to entomb her at Starfall." She re-read Maestor Jaemon's confession again as she lifted the book into her lap, a mixture of pity and wonder at the strange actions of a man's grief and unrequited love. Love was an impulse she had squashed in her own life with a fierce determination lest such temporary and useless distractions impede her personal progress.

"It seems that the elfmaid Belamica was entrusted with information about the location of the Durandana."

Recognition of the name dawned slowly in Max's eyes, and his stern brows knitted together. "Isn't that the enchanted sword, the one that Fentauk the Elder recovered from the hoard of Targaskoriax the White along with the..."

"...yes!" the fire-drake hissed, "The Flameheart Collar." Her excitement was almost palpable. She had never been this close to discovering what had happened to the Collar after the warrior Fentauk had slain the white dragon.

"Do the books tell you where it is?" He was struggling to remain aloof and out of the influence of the half-dragon's enthusiasm.

"No," she replied, her chagrin obvious. "But then there is the third book."

It was the only book that did not lie open on the floor, because even the impulsive and ambitious half-dragon felt a chill when she gazed upon those pages. The cover was a leathery brown, and at first Drachia had thought it to be nothing more than animal hide. But as her hands stroked that tough cover the residual prickle of vile workings crept across her scaled skin, and she tasted the fetid reek of corpseflesh. Only then did she realize that the binding was crafted entirely out of human and elven skin.

"This is a book of the Bloodmages of Nerull," she murmured, her voice low and wary. "It contains several intricate rituals and spells. It was apparently recovered at the sanctum of a Necromancer called the 'Dark Father', who was ultimately destroyed by Belamica Darkthorn, even though the effort cost her life."

The red bloodmagic runes caught the firelight as Drachia looked down at the book, shining darkly like wet blood. Once again, she surveyed the clutter of paper across the floor. But the web of information kept leading back to one thing, Belamica Darkthorn.

Assuming a somewhat smug resignation, Maximus sighed, folded his tattoed arms behind his head, and leaned back in his chair, "Too bad she's dead."

"...yes...too bad..." the dragoness replied, her gaze falling back to the vile book.

Death's Cold Embrace

Once the wall had been breached and the crumbling sides shored up Drachia joined Tarvick and his crew in the chilly vault and realized that it was more than a single room. Her eyes glinted red in the poor light, able to see farther into the all-encompassing gloom than her human associates. She noted the cubbyholes along the walls and here and there could spy the dark eye sockets of humanoid skulls.

Cautious, she approached them, looking for placard or engraving to hint at the identity of the ancient corpses tucked neatly into their tombs. Places like this were notorious for traps.

"This isn't just a treasure vault, Tarvick," her voiced hissed out of the darkness, catching the man by surprise so that he nearly dropped his torch. "See that your men take care."

Over his shoulder he could see the lads wrenching the lids off large trunks that lined one wall, already shoveling the glittering riches into thick leather bags. Bags that, Drachia noted with a soft sniff, she had enchanted to carry more than they seemed in exchange for information long ago.

Drachia's wings shifted uncomfortably and she struggled inwardly, fighting the urge to seize the jingling, shiny riches from these pathetic humans and keep them all to herself. They didn't deserve the gold. And it was so...so pretty...

She stopped herself with a shake of her horned head, fighting he dragon-sized lust for treasure, reasoning that there were better things in store is she kept a good grip on her patience. In the impromptu entryway, Drachia saw nothing that held her interest, so the began stalking along the row of shrouded bodies, shaking her head or wings when they happened to catch on the wispy draping cobwebs that crisscrossed the darkened space.

Many were draped in what once had been colourful banners, or sealed in engraved stone or golden caskets. These, Drachia reached out to touch, unable to deny the pleasure of solid gold under her fingertips. She wasn't above grave-robbing. Many of the enchanted artifacts she had acquired in her time had been buried with their former owners. But she was far too practical to bother with the effort of looting an entire golden casket.

When she got to the very last cubby, far out of sight of Tarvick, she realized that she had found the original entrance to this sacred place. The original door had cavern inwards under the force of millions of tons of mountain rock. There was no way out this way. But it did mean that the body she was standing near was likely the last to be buried. Curious, Drachia's eyes found the placard over the head of the golden shroud.

"Here lies Belamica Darkthorn, elfmaid, champion of her Lord King Daramus and protector of the realm, sworn paladin by the grace of the Father of Light."

An elfmaid paladin championing a human king? That was a tale worth legends. Curious, the half-dragon reached for the golden shroud and pulled it back, a layer of dust sliding from the shining cloth to swirl in the air around her.

The yellowed bones and permanent leer of the skull that greeted her held no terror for the dragoness, but she was surprised. The skeleton wore no armour, the clawlike fleshless fingers gripped no might sword or other great-weapon, and the skull itself was large and blocky, missing both the small perfect teeth of an elf and the thin, refined cheekbones she would have expected.

"This is no elfmaid," she hissed quietly to herself, replacing the shroud with a flick of her wrist. Perhaps she and Tarvick had both been wrong and this tomb had been looted before. Disappointment etched into her demeanor, she turned to go when something caught her eye. Underneath the resting place of the mysterious skeleton, a panel of engraved stone jutted out from its surrounding mortar. Beyond it was nothing but the shadow of a small niche in the stone.

Crouching down, the mage gripped the panel with her claws and worked it free until there was enough space for her to look within. Her excitement grew and when she reached in, her fingers encountered not one, but a small stack of leatherbound tomes.

Working fast, she tugged them free and tucked them into the enchanted pouch at her hip. One final sweep of the tiny alcove with her hand and she recovered a small golden amulet, an intricate symbol of the God of Light that many simply called 'The Father'.

She didn't miss Tarvick's suspicious looks when she returned to the group and immediately put up her guard.

"You found something, didn't you?" He accused calmly, blocking the exit, his crossbow pointed at her heart. "I need those books."

There was a fierce determination in his tone that Drachia had never heard before, and in her surprise it took her a few moments to understand that it was a determination fueled by fear. Not fear of her, but of the mysterious others who had cornered him in an alley a fortnight ago.

Those few moments nearly cost her her life. One of Tarvick's mean swung at her head with a hammer while another seized her pouch and tried to wrench it free from her belt. She spun quickly, taking a glancing blow to the side of her face that darkened her right eye. She kicked the snatcher free and called on her magic to send a roaring fireball from her palm into the face of the one wielding the hammer. Both men staggered back and the flames jumped from the flailing human onto the dried, shattered wood of the ancient chests on the ground. The air was instantly full of smoke and simmering heat. A third man slashed at her with a sword, cutting a slice through her vest and her scales. The wound was deep and stung terribly, she slapped a hand to the bleeding cut and was thankful that she wasn't feeling her own entrails in her palm.

Gesturing with both hands at the ceiling, she melted the stone above the swordsman's head, bringing a torrent of lava down on his head. The glowing liquid splashed across her bare feet, and while the heat didn't bother her she knew that it would hamper her movements. The room was crowded with screaming men, smoke, and flame, and she knew there were more men with Tarvick. She turned for the door and ran, bowling the man down under her sharp talons, but not before taking one of his crossbow bolts in the thigh. Her angry roar rattled dust from the ceiling and it coated her scales as she limped away with her precious tomes.

"They'll find you, Drachia! The same men who find me wont stop until they have what they are looking for!" Tarvick, his angry face lined with oozing claw-marks, screamed after her as she fled the scene.

As soon as she reached the grand hall she opened her wings, launching herself up through the broken roof and away from her pursuers.

Death's Cold Embrace

Grumbling with resentment, Tarvick clambered down a rotted staircase to join the dragoness, his handheld crossbow hooked back on the loop at his hip. He was a thick, oily-skinned man with hawk-like features and yellow, jaundiced eyes. Drachia suspected, as she had many times in the past, that he would have been a much more successful adventurer if he didn't waste so much of his treasure on drink and whores.

"I see that Sebastian gave you my message then?" he asked, eyeing the dragoness disdainfully. His scowl didn't improve when she gave a nod of her horned head and stepped with cautious feet towards one of the many hallways branching off the grand hall.

"I got the message, Tarvick. And that message was that you didn't want me to know where you were going."

She could hear his heavy boots following her as she began to explore the castle. When he didn't respond she went on to say, "...and I find that disappointing considering how often you've benefited from my help. So what is different about this time, hm? Did you forget how to share? Is someone else paying you to bring them my share? Or were you simply hoping to collect everything and sell me what you know I'd want?"

No reply. She turned back to find the man with his arms crossed defiantly and a sneer on his face. In a flash of anger she lunged towards him and seized the front of his leather tunic. He was a sturdy man, equal in height to the red-scaled mage, but still she was able to hoist him rudely off his feet.

"Do not test me, Tarvick. I know more than one spell that will loosen that tongue." Her sinister growl echoed down the muffled, dusty corridors.

"Alright! Alright!" Tarvick gasped harshly, his dirt-crusted boots scuffing against the stone beneath him. "Two men found me outside Mizzy's Tavern a fortnight ago. They told me where I might find some treasure, and that me an my boys could keep it all if we brought them any books or scrolls with this sigil on it."

He fumbled in his pocket and brought out a piece of old blue silk with the symbol of the old kingdom, but it also had a ring of seven stars stitched in an arc across the top. Drachia stared at it as she lowered the idiot to his feet, struggling to remember where she had seen the halo of stars before.

"So you thought that you'd be likely to walk away with more loot if you gave your new pals what they were looking for than if you brought me along, hmm? Well, I'm here and they are not. If we find anything, you can just tell them I cursed you into giving it to me instead."

As they moved deeper into the castle, Drachia began to hear clearly the sounds of picks and hammers chiseling into the stone. "It sounds like your lads have found something after all."

They followed the trail of smoky torches until they came across Tarvick's team. They had already broken through one wall into a chamber that was littered with the remains heavy chests and racks. Whatever had been hidden here had been looted long ago, probably when the treacherous winter weather had sent ruinous earthslides to wipe out not only part of the castle, but much of the kingdom around it. But rather than looking into the faces of disappointed treasure hunters, the half-dragon saw them busily working to widen a rift in the far wall, breaking into another space behind it. Her nostrils flared slightly at the cold, musky scent of ages that came rushing out.

Grinning, with her wings lifted slightly from her back, she turned to Tarvick, and saw her excitement reflected in his human eyes. Whatever was behind that wall hadn't been touched in many long years.

Play with Fire!

Added some plot ideas.

Death's Cold Embrace

The following morning Drachia let herself out of Max's estate just as the sky was growing light over the eastern forests. After reviewing the now-crumpled missive written by Sebastian, she set off over the city of Greenpool on her own two wings. The creeping debaucherers and ambitious business-men stalking the streets early, or later, wherever their perspectives lay, glanced up to see the reddish shape scything through the air.

Not only was there a great amount of freedom in flying, but it was a faster method of travel than anything else in her arsenal of resources, except for Teleportation, of course. But she couldn't 'Port to anyplace she had never been before, and such conjurations could be risky under even the best of circumstances.

So with golden membranes stretched taught and reptilian eyes scouring the nearly unbroken evergreen forests rolling below her, she tacked and bent her course towards the mountains. The snow-capped peaks were much higher than the mist-spouting calderas she was used to, and she hoped with an instinctive shudder that she did not have to endure those frosty heights at all during her trip.

As the hours swept by with the consistent whooshing of wind in her ear-frills, she began to see signs that she was getting close. From her dragons' eye view she sailed effortlessly over the tumbledown ruins of a farmhouse here, a cluster of homes from a tiny hamlet there all overgrown and drifted over by mossy earth, the shattered bottom half of a watch-tower on the jutting precipice of a cliff. The mountainsides rose up to meet her and as she sailed over a bare-rocked rise, she spotted her destination on the other side.

The gray-granite castle was difficult to distinguish from the surrounding crags, but even at a distance Drachia's vision was supreme. As she swooped closer and made a wide circle around the ruins, she could see where the avalanches of lifetimes ago had washed not only the winding road that had lead to the castle's main gate but also most of the west wing and part of even the inner keep. The walls and battlements that remained were largely crusted with moss and ivy with only dark slots where the windows had once likely contained the beautiful stained glass humans were so fond of.

Banking around, she spotted a cluster of seven horses milling about, eating the winter rye grass sprouting through the flagstone of the castle's inner bailey.

"Axun-ra!" the magus hissed her triumph in draconic. Tucking her wings, she twisted into a dive and dropped lightly through a gaping hole in the roof of the castle's main hall, snapping her wings open to land with a soft thud on the mouldering remains of a blue carpet.

Her snouted face twisted back and forth to take in her surroundings, but before she could step out of the shaft of sunlight she heard the tell-tale click-Thump! of a crossbow being fired. She threw up a clawed hand and dodged to the side, trailing a crackling arc of fire after her palm. The incoming bolt deflected to the side a mere inch from striking her scales, and thudded into the decaying mortar of one wall with a quiet hum.

Loudly, both out of surprise and to prevent another shot being fired she called into the dusty shadows of the ancient castle, "Tarvick, is that any way to treat your friends?"

She couldn't help but smirk when the nasally voice of her hook-nosed competitor came wheedling from a balcony above.

"Gods-damned dragon bitch, how do you get here so fast?"

Death's Cold Embrace

Greenpool was the closest major port to the isles, so it was there that Drachia went, expending quite a bit of energy to telaport herself across the ocean. The trip left her more exhausted than she had hoped, and she resigned herself to having to spend the rest of the night in the city before striking out to follow Tarvick's trail.

She pulled her hood over her horned head as she prowled down the street. It couldn't hide her face from everyone, but Greenpool wasn't Nautilus and Drachia had no intention of dealing with riff-raff who were offended by red scales and ear-frills.

Just as she was thinking that a meal would be nice and her eyes flitted up and down the street at the menagerie of creaking, poorly-spelled shop signs, a tall figure in a gray robe fell in step beside her.

"So lovely to see you back in Greenpool, my Lady," came a low voice that Drachia recognized right away. "I had just about given up hope that I would ever see you again. You are the sun, and my heart is turned to ice in the shadow of your refusal. Have you come to bring light back into my life?"

She chuckled and turned to look up at the man without breaking her stride. "How dreadful for you, Maximus. Perhaps you should go back to Rhemes. If it's the sun you're pining for I'm sure the desert would do you some good. I don't have time to dally."

The man sighed dramatically. "You wound me. It's as though you haven't gotten any of my letters."

"I did," she retorted with a swish of her tail under the back of her cloak. "All one-hundred and twenty three since the last I saw you. But I am not interested in being your paramour, Maximus..."

She was cut off sharply when he reached for her wrist and pulled her up short, moving in front of her with her wingbones backed up against the stone building behind her.

"You can't deny that we've had good times, Drachia," the affectionate lilt in his voice had vanished and was replaced with something more insistent and desperate. The magus narrowed her eyes and glared up into his.

"I never denied it," she spat back. "But I wont be another pretty flower on your arm at the next royal gala. I have better things to do, Maximus. And you should know better if you think that looming over a half-dragon is going to do anything more than make her angry."

Her face inched closer to him and she stepped forward, forcing him to edge back a step. With a twist of her arm she broke her wrist free of his grip and reversed the hold so that his forearm was bared to her sight, the billowy sleeve of his robe falling back to reveal his chocolaty skin. Skin that was thickly etched with intricate runes. Her cat-like pupils widened and their little lover's quarrel was forgotten in an instant.

"Oh Max! What are these? You're not still dabbling in rune magic are you? You're going to get yourself killed, or worse." Her voice became an urgent hiss. "Is this why you keep begging me to recommend you to the Mage College?"

The dark-skinned man grew shifty eyed and snatched his arm back, folding his hands back into his sleeves. "It's easy for you to be so righteous, dragon. Not all of us were born with magic in our blood."

She shook her head slowly, knowing that nothing she said was going to turn him from the path he was on. They stood in the shadows, glaring at each other to the uncomfortable silence of their differences until Max lifted his hand and stroked his fingers along the outer phalanges of one of her wings. "Stay with me tonight? At least so you don't have to rent a room and eat week-old gristle instead of fresh meat and good wine."

Drachia turned to look north, her eyes following the road out of the city and towards the distant mountains. "I have to leave early. I'm following someone up to the Malcrists."

"Then you should get some rest."

"With you? Somehow I don't think I'll be getting much sleep."

He grinned, and so did she.

Death's Cold Embrace

The Port City of Nautilus glittered like a jewel under the kaleidoscope of colours in the sky over the setting sun. Even far after the blazing bronze disc slid under the waves and the stars began to peek through the veils of purple, navy, and eventual black, the streets and thoroughfares remained lit with wide, shallow braziers and oil lanterns.

Seated on the largest of the Smokerim Isles and by virtue of being the largest city, Nautilus was the capitol of the island nation. Only a three day journey by ship to the mainland in the north, Nautilus was a melting pot of humanity and a popular destination for those of Hembath or Duruhl who wanted to enjoy their vices away from the disapproving eyes of their own governments. Bordellos full of exotic women and markets full of forbidden wares were displayed openly along the winding, cobbled streets. In some ways, the lax attitude towards controversial subjects like whore-houses, slavery, and intoxicating substances made the city dangerous. But in other ways there was a more equal opportunity out there for the cast-offs and misfits from other parts of the realms. And Nautilus was farm from lawless. Nestled on a high cliff in the middle of the city was the Jade Palace, home and seat of the Crown.

The young Prince and his Imperial Advisor ensured the protection of the small nation with the might of the Jade Armada, so named because of the greenish patina the ships took on once their copper-armoured hulls had spent a few years at sea. The Armada was generally touted as the fiercest naval force to be found.

Like all of the cities on the isles, Nautilus sloped upwards from the harbour through the thick jungle towards the steep sides of the volcano at the island's center. Most of the isles were volcanic, though there had been no significant eruptions for centuries. Even so, an instinctive love of the heat and underground magma was Drachia's inspiration for setting up shop here. The local societal climate worked in her favour, and she was away from the prying eyes of the full-blooded dragons who plotted and schemed over the centuries in the northern territories.

But in spite of her carefully-plotted existence in Nautilus, at the moment the red-scaled half-dragon was in a towering rage. Having been fearfully interrupted by her human servant Rhoderick to inform her that she had company, she had then received some news that had irritated her very badly.

In one of the large sitting rooms of the obsidian and red marble villa, she paced back and forth in front of the massive hearthfire, her amber eyes blazing fiercely, her clawed, talon-like feet clicking harshly against the floor with every step. No matter the warm summer winds bringing the scent of lurid tropical flowers in through the gauzy drapes across the arching windows, that bonfire was never dim when the Mistress was home.

Tail lashing, she rounded on the half-elf in grimy clothing, brandishing the parchment missive she had clenched in her fist. Her voice carried with it both a grumble and a hiss. "I thought I paid you better than this, Brent! Do you mean to tell me that Tarvick's little crew of half-wits found out about the location of one of the Forgotten Tomes and you waited three days to deliver the message?!"

The slender, boyish Brent gasped at the sheer ferocity in her visage, shrinking back against the door-frame in an attempt to escape the heat. He imagined himself being burned to death by her fire, or shredded by her claws, and only managed to stop himself from turning tail and fleeing because he suddenly forgot how to use his legs.

"N-...no, Miss Drachia! I came soon as I got the note. Tarvick bribed the Harbourmaster not to say nothin' until a whole day had passed, then it took Sebastian another day to find out where they was goin' after they landed in Greenpool. They found an old castle buried up in the Malcrist Mountains near them elflands. Covered by avalanches for a hunnert' years, he said. And they bringed back a banner with a sigil on it like the one I drew there."

He pointed shakily to the charcoal scrawling on the back of the parchment, and Drachia looked away from the trembling lad to examine it, smoothing it with her clawed fingers on a nearby table.

"...I see," she hissed, calmer now while she considered the meaning of all this, mentally cursing her bad luck. "This is the sigil of the old kingdom. They ruled in that area for hundreds of years. The tome must be there somewhere, curse it. And I'm three days behind Tarvick and his jewel-sniffing imbeciles."

Her ire was so much that when she snorted in disgust, a ribbon of dark smoke billowed from her thin nostrils. Turning, she glared into the fire, wondering what Tarvick could have found that made him so wary of her presence at the dig site. He had only a passing appreciation for what old spellbooks and mouldering yellow tomes could be worth, preferring tangible goods like gold and jewels. He never liked her competition, but he had also never gone to any great lengths to avoid her either. While she pondered, her tail undulated back and forth and the great ribbed wings at her back flexed.

Finally, she turned to find Brent still hovering by the door. Rhoderick was wise enough to have vanished out of sight, but she trusted that he was within earshot. He was a good servant and over the years had learned to anticipate her moods, the good and the dreadful.

"Brent, you did well, all things considered, but tell Sebastian that I want to see him as soon as I return." She wasn't cruel enough to punish her messenger...most of the time She reached into a black leather pouch attached to the belt around her shapely hips and tossed a trio of gold coins to him. It was triple what she normally paid him, and perhaps it was the shock that caused him to let the question tumble out of his mouth.

"Return, Miss?" His green eyes followed the dragoness as she prowled around, lifting a thick traveling cloak from a rack and twirling it back over her shoulders and wings. "You can't be thinking of leaving the island now, no ship can leave the harbour after nightfall."

Rhoderick appeared silently out of the gloomy hallways leading into the rest of the manor and handed his Mistress a sturdy pack. The handsome, if quiet, man gave Brent and almost pitying look. Within a few moments, Drachia looked ready to depart. No blade hung from her waist, though she didn't generally need one, did she. Her lips twisted with amusement, peeling back into a sinister grin that revealed a multitude of sharp fangs and incisors.

"My dear..." she almost purred as she stepped backwards into the towering flames, until her figure was completely obscured by the flickering blaze. Except for her eyes. "...who said anything about taking a ship?"

And with a crackling roar and a shower of sparks tumbling out onto the wide stone hearth, she was gone.

Death's Cold Embrace

Name: Drachiathoryx aka. Drachia S'garsiath
Race: Half-dragon (red)
Class: Magus


The Femme Fatale!
Orphaned at a young age, Drachia is cunning and ambitious with a thirst to increase her magical skill and her social standing amid the secretive society of dragonkin. Somewhat renowned for her assistance in combat, her fame has earned her contacts and favours with the human culture that surrounds her, sometimes with less than savoury characters. Using these, she travels far and wide to collect magical artifacts for study and trade. She has many acquaintances but few true friends, preferring relationships with power-play. She is impulsive, stubborn, and frequently short-tempered and holds absolutely no loyalty to king or country.

Play with Fire!

Bump because I'm back!

Chronicles Of Enduwin ~ Fantasy RP ~ Roleplay Thread

I'll pass. Thanks anyways! :D