Forums » Fantasy Roleplay » Bathed in Flames We Held the Brand

(Private 1x1!)

Dreshdae. It was quite the Elven settlement on the surface at least. The buildings were beautiful, immaculate structures of ivory and gold which seemed as if they had no equal. The streets were lit by magical lamppost created by talented mages who blessed the city with their influence. Of course though the wizards themselves wouldn't be found staying in the town for their ilk had far more pressing things to attend to. Dreshdae was a brilliant gem on the coast of Zeragon, but it was far from important.

That was perhaps, in part, due to the cesspool of corruption that ran like a raging river beneath the deceptive beauty of the settlement. The mines of the Gjallahorn Mountain were responsible for the luxurious image presented by Dreshdae, but with them came a considerable amount of greed. Anyone who stayed in the city long enough would quickly come to the realization that silver was the blood of the town. It ran as thickly through the Elven oasis as the crimson liquid which coursed through most beings. The only difference was that the silver had to be acquired from somewhere. That was the origin of the seedy underbelly everyone knew about, but knowingly ignored in Dreshdae.

Daunte wasn't here to deal with the pitfalls of the Elven city though. As a human half-wolf he wasn't exactly welcomed fondly in place whose population was predominantly Feyfolk. They often viewed werewolves as savage beast who should be put down without hesitation. As one might imagine a city which produced the largest silver export on the western side of Zeragon was doubly against werewolves. One need not look far on the coast, especially so within the walls of Dreshdae, to find a silver blade. The result of a werewolf and human mating was not exempt from the weakness to silver nor the general hatred given off by the general populace.

That was one of the things he hated about his short month in the city. Everywhere he went there was always someone reaching to touch their silvered weapons at the sight of him as if he was some sort of a lowly monster. It was insulting and quite honestly a repulsive prejudice. A few had even gone so far as to press the metal against him threateningly, generally followed by cruel words. The fact that the settlement was thick with criminals only made keeping himself save even more troublesome.

Dreshdae did have it's benefits though. Finding work for someone in dire need of adventure hadn't been hard at all. There was always a silver shipment in need of another escort or a creature which needed slaying. The mountains were rather famous for the creatures of the depths that often poured forth from them. In the last month the hunter had already slain a full fledged dragon on his own, or as alone as one could be when they carried around a deify dragon in their sword. Daunte was never truly alone for Razi'kel the celestial dragon was always with him. Together the pair had annihilated countless enemies and if the Gjallahorn mountains kept up their pace it would no doubt be countless more. The rush of combat was what drove the male to reach newer heights though so the monstrosities of the dark were more than welcomed, and the gold for a job well done was particularly enticing as well.

It was one one of the exhausted nights post fighting that the dragon hunter found himself relaxing in one of Dreshdae's more accepting taverns. Most denied him service on account for his 'corrupted' blood, but there was at least one place. Incidentally it was also the most popular due to the influx of non-Elves that showed up. The Silver Serpent. It had quite the intimidating name yet the atmosphere couldn't be farther from it. It was a rather upbeat establishment with live music and dancers funded by the working class, and it had a particular fellowship unlike the rest of the city.

Daunte found his night of drinking interrupted by the door to the tavern swinging open loudly with a thud. An Elven guard belonging to the city rushed in with a panicked expression which betrayed the confidence such gaudy golden armor was meant to provide. Words spewed forth to quickly for the hunter to catch over the loud music playing, but what he caught was more than enough. Rumors about the demonic portals cropping up all over Zeragon had fallen upon the male's ears several times before. In all of his travels within the last few years though he'd never encountered one personally. Well, it looked like things were about to change. One such gateway had opened up in the center of the city which unfortunately was mostly unguarded.

The half-wolf shouldered his seemingly broken greatsword and released a tired sigh. The day had been particularly long already, but he couldn't simply let the innocent ones who knew nothing of life outside the immaculate stone work. It wasn't their fault that the settlement was run by power hungry Elves who wished to seat one of their own upon the throne as High King. There were plenty of them who were perfectly nice people. To let them all die to a horde of demons without even so much as a chance to defend themselves was something even the jaded lupine half-breed wouldn't allow. With determined if slightly swaying movements from the alcohol consumed moments before, he pushed himself past the guard who uttered a few choice expletives. "Let the professionals handle this city boy," the half-wolf growled before flashing a confident smirk to the tavern goers as he exited the wonderful establishment. His eyes emerald eyes widened at the site of the portal in the distance. It wasn't as big as some of the ones he'd heard stories about, but it easily dwarfed the buildings surrounding it. The rush of a new challenge was certainly a welcome feeling.

Themearion wasn't particularly fond of cities in general. Living for hundreds of years now, he'd become weary of the kinds of beings the city produced. He took to the woods, where he could lead a more peaceful life and not be harassed for his worship of Elune. The city-goers were usually ones of blood-thirst and a need for chaos, in the purple elf's view, it was disgusting. Even more, the elves of Dreshdae tended to not take kindly to those that did not look like them and Themearion, while still an elf, did not fit in well. Long ears peeked from his hood, where he had to cut and hem himself as attempting to hide them tended to lead to pain and an awkward feeling in general. His skin was not just purple, but a deep purple, and it made him a sore thumb in the crowd of a mostly Elven tavern.

Throw that with his active practice of druidism, and it didn't make for a very welcoming experience. Sitting on a table in the back, his amber gaze moving carefully from one patron to the next, he set his hands on the table and toyed with the single gold coin he had, ready to pay for another drink. He had been there to meet with his sister, whom he rarely saw these days and due to his nomadic nature, he strayed far from their home. Dreshdae happened to be a sort of middle point in their locations. By now, she would have left and he was staying in town for another day before taking back to his woods like the grumpy hippie he was. He raised his hand slightly, ready to call over the bartender when the abrupt entry of a guard pulled his attention to the front of the tavern.

His eyes narrowed as he attempted to understand what the guard had been saying, but he fared better reading their lips than trying to hear over the noise. A benefit of living so long, he was able to become adept at things many would never even be decent at in their lifetime. And boy, reading lips was quite a hard thing to practice when you mostly lived on your own. Still, he was able to understand what the panic was about. Whether or not he cared about those around him, Themearion knew demons loved to create chaos. They loved to destroy nature and kill the balance. Standing, he left the single coin on the table beside the small amount he still had on him. Maybe a few more, but he had no use for it. He wouldn't be in the city much longer, and he hadn't been planning on getting more than tipsy. He wouldn't give it away anyway.

Muttering a quiet 'excuse me' as he passed several people, he moved to the front of the tavern and stepped out after Daunte, immediately looking for the rumored portal. His brows furrowed, lips twisting as if he had caught the scent of something awful. He pulled something out of his cloak's inside pocket, it appeared to be just a large seed until it began to sprout. It grew to the length of a staff, appearing to be dark-wood with tiny vines wrapping around it and interweaving to create a decorative piece at the end of it. Tiny flowers bloomed from it, pink and blue in color. It might not have looked like it could do much, but with Themearion's mind behind it, it could do some damage. Without much more than a glance at Daunte, who seemed just as ready to do something about the portal, the elf began a determined march toward the foul creation.