((OOC thread here. You don't need to join this group to participate in the rp, but it is recommended.))
The skies above Ceanndinas this morning were blemished by a dark cloud which drifted from the northeast; they churned down from the frosty peaks of the Windobrig. With them carried the cold of the mountain as well as flocks of birds dispersing from the rolling, suffocating smoke. Serfs and freemen alike in the province of Pennverne kept their families and animals inside; some preemptively retreated to the city gates. With those who arrived at the gates came a host of rumors regarding the omen; some thought that an invading force must have taken the nearby fiefdom by surprise and yet marched on the city. Others claimed that the smoke belonged to an ancient monster, recently awakened to find its mountain scourged by mortal interference. Some yet believed that this was the sign of an encroaching civil war; with the recent death of the king, perhaps some already malcontented lords decided to try their hand at overthrowing the queen's claim.
But nobody yet knew why the omen was there.
Before word could be sent to the reclusive queen a black bird with empty, milky eyes crested over the impressive walls of the royal castle. It drifted over the towering structures only to dip into the center of a massive courtyard, housing vibrant flowers of varied origin. Though the bird did eye some of these plants it did not dawdle there, choosing instead to rise again through the air and perch itself upon the railing of a balcony; the largest to overlook the garden, connected to the private chambers of the late king, himself. No light bloomed from within the porch's stained glass doors but the beast walked closer, its talons clicking against the barrier it crept along. It leaned its long head close to the glass and turned so that a single eye could fix on something inside; then it hopped down from the railing onto the deck and bowed its head.
The raven unfurled its wings and took to a steadily worsening episode of spasms, growing rapidly in size. Its inky feathers blended together to form a cloak while its legs lengthened and the limbs of its wings stretched into arms; the hand of one clutching onto a polished, straight wooden staff. Its beak disappeared beneath a well-made but plain hood; the man which stood in the bird's place soon straightened himself, free from the throes of his earlier transformation and raised a thin, pale hand to rap gently against the colorful window.
-
For those within the Windobrig, morning had yet to arrive; the smoke ensured it over their heads by their sheer density. Even as they blew toward the neighboring province their thick shroud ensured that the only light from within came from two places; the torches of refugees and the fires which scourged the alpine forest lower on the mountain.
Within their artificial night dozens of people climbed an ancient, poorly maintained path of cobblestone that reached across the mountain to connect to Pennverne's highways. Most of them had nothing but their arms to carry their remaining possessions but some had wagons and beasts of burden to assist them. Villagers were the bulk of the caravan, all of which originated from a place now engulfed in wild fire; but they were not without the company of the local lord's servants and men-at-arms. Their hushed voices blended into a chorus of uncertainty and grief.
Horsemen accompanied the civilians as they started their journey, monitoring the weaker villagers and the security of the carriages. Sergeants of varying health gathered at the head and tail of the group to ensure no surprise attacks would fall upon the civilians. Archers walked among the unarmed to further help some of them along. Yet altogether these fighting men did not even reach twenty in strength.
Among those on horseback was a tall man in plate mail decorated with brass, head protected by a similarly styled close helmet. He was the only knight among them, denoted by the craftsmanship of his and his horse's armor as well as the coat- of-arms on his shield; the colors of the Forheri, those who usually kept the mountain safe. In that hour he served only to usher the defenseless along the path, keeping a trained eye on the rocky terrain surrounding them.
For three hours they kept on track- climbing the trail as it lead them winding precariously through the peaks- until they found themselves in the cover of a cold woodland valley. Only then did the smoke thin enough to permit the sun's rays to poke through, shedding the light of a brilliant morning upon them. There, the cobblestone of the path vanished under the snow and moss but the path still tore a line through the forest, far enough for two wagons to ride alongside each other and no more. The fresh smell of pine hung in the air, undisturbed til their arrival; animals sprung from their hiding places in the brush around them to bound further away. On one occasion an archer loosed an arrow at the noise, winning the caravan a rabbit's worth of food but little else. The long walk stilled their voices as well as their hearts.
The bird song and creaking of wagons were all that sounded before a child near the front of the caravan gasped and ran for their mother. Their eyes cast upward to follow her's, finding a massive shape approaching them from the skies. The men at arms yelled for the refugees to flee into the woods, gathering together along the path, hoping their armor might attract its attention. Their knight shouted for the archers to loose a volley upon the thing and they did so, their arrows singing shrilly before disappearing into the gray-blue atmosphere.
As another ray of sunlight pierced the gray it fell upon the impending shape, revealing its skin to be a glimmering copper and its maw parting. The knight called for his men to disperse as well but the beast proved too quick, breathing flame upon the soldiers and in so felling the majority in a single swoop. Their deaths were not quick; many were left writhing on the group, running in panic while cooking inside their armor. His horse's quick dive for the trees saved the knight but availed him to witness the deaths of his soldiers; he cried out in grief and rage upon seeing it.
The dragon shrieked in its own rage, harsh and piercing enough to deafen the refugees and roll across the heights as surely as the smoke. It turned gradually in the air and shrieked again, its voice thankfully traveling elsewhere the second time. When it again turned its eyes on the pathway it found its own blossoming flame begin to eat at the trees. By then, panic consumed the remaining refugees and while most dispersed into the forest some reached desperately for the fallen men-at-arms, sobbing aloud.
The knight raised his drawn blade to the air; the scriptures of runic enchantment danced along its surface. He pointed it toward the drake and cried a command. causing the tip of the blade to gather the light of the morning. He kicked his horse's sides and it took off in a gallop, springing harmlessly over one of the grieving to rush further down the path. The dragon indeed saw the beacon of light he held and turned in the sky to make another pass. In seconds its breath-weapon, spewing it in a short line across the road at the knight. It barely missed, the energy staggering his horse and the heat licking their backs. Defiantly the armored one taunted the beast, urging his horse on.
The dragon swooped again; this time it did not use its breath alone. It spat some of its flame more in fury than with aim, lighting the treetops incidentally while it tried to snatch the horseman from the ground.
So he shouted again while its claws closed around him and the horse, holding firm until they all crashed into the pines. The wyrm growled and dropped them while trying in vain to climb from the canopy; soon after it crashed into the forest further off the path.
The knight only beheld the lashing branches of the conifers while being dropped, landing mercifully on another bed of moss. He could hear his horse writhing somewhere behind him, whinnying in agony from the puncture wound the dragon's talons wrought. With much of his armor dented and his sword yards away he could do little to stop the enraged beast but stood to try anyway. He stumbled along and picked up his sword, looking ahead at the copper-scaled dragon where it lay.
Before he could close in the massive creature found its footing and ripped away the splinters and trees which entangled it. In blind fury it spat flame upon the pines around it, flapping its wings rapidly to return to the sky. This gave the knight pause but brought his eyes to a tiny, squatting figure beneath the burning trees; a girl, likely from the refugees which fled into the wood.
Wind rippled through the wood, spreading the fire as surely as it slowed the knight's approach. The monster returned to the open air and flew off to orient itself; the man's eyes fixed solely then on the girl. The gap between them closed and the knight sheathed his blade, trying then to pick the child up. That was when a loud crack drew both of their gazes up to see one of the mighty trees falling toward them. The knight tried to run aside but the tree fell too quickly; in the seconds remaining he threw the girl away from danger.
The tree fell harshly upon him, both hiding the form of the knight under its thick, smoking pine needles and crushing his lower leg. His vision went dark, and the last thing he could hear was the screaming of the girl he endeavored to save while footsteps shook the earth and the weight of the tree seemed to lift.
The few, scattered refugees that remained witnessed the dragon return, unscathed to the peaks with the knight in its talons. Some stayed in the woods but a few followed the path again, vying to reach Pennverne before another menace could take their lives, as well.
The skies above Ceanndinas this morning were blemished by a dark cloud which drifted from the northeast; they churned down from the frosty peaks of the Windobrig. With them carried the cold of the mountain as well as flocks of birds dispersing from the rolling, suffocating smoke. Serfs and freemen alike in the province of Pennverne kept their families and animals inside; some preemptively retreated to the city gates. With those who arrived at the gates came a host of rumors regarding the omen; some thought that an invading force must have taken the nearby fiefdom by surprise and yet marched on the city. Others claimed that the smoke belonged to an ancient monster, recently awakened to find its mountain scourged by mortal interference. Some yet believed that this was the sign of an encroaching civil war; with the recent death of the king, perhaps some already malcontented lords decided to try their hand at overthrowing the queen's claim.
But nobody yet knew why the omen was there.
Before word could be sent to the reclusive queen a black bird with empty, milky eyes crested over the impressive walls of the royal castle. It drifted over the towering structures only to dip into the center of a massive courtyard, housing vibrant flowers of varied origin. Though the bird did eye some of these plants it did not dawdle there, choosing instead to rise again through the air and perch itself upon the railing of a balcony; the largest to overlook the garden, connected to the private chambers of the late king, himself. No light bloomed from within the porch's stained glass doors but the beast walked closer, its talons clicking against the barrier it crept along. It leaned its long head close to the glass and turned so that a single eye could fix on something inside; then it hopped down from the railing onto the deck and bowed its head.
The raven unfurled its wings and took to a steadily worsening episode of spasms, growing rapidly in size. Its inky feathers blended together to form a cloak while its legs lengthened and the limbs of its wings stretched into arms; the hand of one clutching onto a polished, straight wooden staff. Its beak disappeared beneath a well-made but plain hood; the man which stood in the bird's place soon straightened himself, free from the throes of his earlier transformation and raised a thin, pale hand to rap gently against the colorful window.
-
For those within the Windobrig, morning had yet to arrive; the smoke ensured it over their heads by their sheer density. Even as they blew toward the neighboring province their thick shroud ensured that the only light from within came from two places; the torches of refugees and the fires which scourged the alpine forest lower on the mountain.
Within their artificial night dozens of people climbed an ancient, poorly maintained path of cobblestone that reached across the mountain to connect to Pennverne's highways. Most of them had nothing but their arms to carry their remaining possessions but some had wagons and beasts of burden to assist them. Villagers were the bulk of the caravan, all of which originated from a place now engulfed in wild fire; but they were not without the company of the local lord's servants and men-at-arms. Their hushed voices blended into a chorus of uncertainty and grief.
Horsemen accompanied the civilians as they started their journey, monitoring the weaker villagers and the security of the carriages. Sergeants of varying health gathered at the head and tail of the group to ensure no surprise attacks would fall upon the civilians. Archers walked among the unarmed to further help some of them along. Yet altogether these fighting men did not even reach twenty in strength.
Among those on horseback was a tall man in plate mail decorated with brass, head protected by a similarly styled close helmet. He was the only knight among them, denoted by the craftsmanship of his and his horse's armor as well as the coat- of-arms on his shield; the colors of the Forheri, those who usually kept the mountain safe. In that hour he served only to usher the defenseless along the path, keeping a trained eye on the rocky terrain surrounding them.
For three hours they kept on track- climbing the trail as it lead them winding precariously through the peaks- until they found themselves in the cover of a cold woodland valley. Only then did the smoke thin enough to permit the sun's rays to poke through, shedding the light of a brilliant morning upon them. There, the cobblestone of the path vanished under the snow and moss but the path still tore a line through the forest, far enough for two wagons to ride alongside each other and no more. The fresh smell of pine hung in the air, undisturbed til their arrival; animals sprung from their hiding places in the brush around them to bound further away. On one occasion an archer loosed an arrow at the noise, winning the caravan a rabbit's worth of food but little else. The long walk stilled their voices as well as their hearts.
The bird song and creaking of wagons were all that sounded before a child near the front of the caravan gasped and ran for their mother. Their eyes cast upward to follow her's, finding a massive shape approaching them from the skies. The men at arms yelled for the refugees to flee into the woods, gathering together along the path, hoping their armor might attract its attention. Their knight shouted for the archers to loose a volley upon the thing and they did so, their arrows singing shrilly before disappearing into the gray-blue atmosphere.
As another ray of sunlight pierced the gray it fell upon the impending shape, revealing its skin to be a glimmering copper and its maw parting. The knight called for his men to disperse as well but the beast proved too quick, breathing flame upon the soldiers and in so felling the majority in a single swoop. Their deaths were not quick; many were left writhing on the group, running in panic while cooking inside their armor. His horse's quick dive for the trees saved the knight but availed him to witness the deaths of his soldiers; he cried out in grief and rage upon seeing it.
The dragon shrieked in its own rage, harsh and piercing enough to deafen the refugees and roll across the heights as surely as the smoke. It turned gradually in the air and shrieked again, its voice thankfully traveling elsewhere the second time. When it again turned its eyes on the pathway it found its own blossoming flame begin to eat at the trees. By then, panic consumed the remaining refugees and while most dispersed into the forest some reached desperately for the fallen men-at-arms, sobbing aloud.
The knight raised his drawn blade to the air; the scriptures of runic enchantment danced along its surface. He pointed it toward the drake and cried a command. causing the tip of the blade to gather the light of the morning. He kicked his horse's sides and it took off in a gallop, springing harmlessly over one of the grieving to rush further down the path. The dragon indeed saw the beacon of light he held and turned in the sky to make another pass. In seconds its breath-weapon, spewing it in a short line across the road at the knight. It barely missed, the energy staggering his horse and the heat licking their backs. Defiantly the armored one taunted the beast, urging his horse on.
The dragon swooped again; this time it did not use its breath alone. It spat some of its flame more in fury than with aim, lighting the treetops incidentally while it tried to snatch the horseman from the ground.
So he shouted again while its claws closed around him and the horse, holding firm until they all crashed into the pines. The wyrm growled and dropped them while trying in vain to climb from the canopy; soon after it crashed into the forest further off the path.
The knight only beheld the lashing branches of the conifers while being dropped, landing mercifully on another bed of moss. He could hear his horse writhing somewhere behind him, whinnying in agony from the puncture wound the dragon's talons wrought. With much of his armor dented and his sword yards away he could do little to stop the enraged beast but stood to try anyway. He stumbled along and picked up his sword, looking ahead at the copper-scaled dragon where it lay.
Before he could close in the massive creature found its footing and ripped away the splinters and trees which entangled it. In blind fury it spat flame upon the pines around it, flapping its wings rapidly to return to the sky. This gave the knight pause but brought his eyes to a tiny, squatting figure beneath the burning trees; a girl, likely from the refugees which fled into the wood.
Wind rippled through the wood, spreading the fire as surely as it slowed the knight's approach. The monster returned to the open air and flew off to orient itself; the man's eyes fixed solely then on the girl. The gap between them closed and the knight sheathed his blade, trying then to pick the child up. That was when a loud crack drew both of their gazes up to see one of the mighty trees falling toward them. The knight tried to run aside but the tree fell too quickly; in the seconds remaining he threw the girl away from danger.
The tree fell harshly upon him, both hiding the form of the knight under its thick, smoking pine needles and crushing his lower leg. His vision went dark, and the last thing he could hear was the screaming of the girl he endeavored to save while footsteps shook the earth and the weight of the tree seemed to lift.
The few, scattered refugees that remained witnessed the dragon return, unscathed to the peaks with the knight in its talons. Some stayed in the woods but a few followed the path again, vying to reach Pennverne before another menace could take their lives, as well.
Within the oppressive din of the king's bedchambers little moved. Heavy curtains blocked most of the visitors view of the room beyond the marbled glass. No one bore witness to his miraculous transformation, but there, in the silent alcove, a faint orange glow emanated from the barest pinpricks of light. Out of view, the queen lay napping or otherwise indisposed, her form draped inelegantly atop a chase lounge. At the very least, she rested soundly, paying no need to many a mothers' warning against wearing long necklaces to bed. Tucked to her breast was a simple yet lovingly crafted gray journal.
A constellation of shattered glass reflected in the shoulder cop of the king's armor as it kept solemn vigil over the chamber; an empty vessel, nothing more. Those innumerable specks, remnants of emptied wine bottles glittered against the candle light to decorate her sprawling limbs in their glow. Their distorted images shivered on the surface of those dense curtains as the sorcerer rapped his knuckles again against the balcony door.
Tap – tap – tap
The queen-reagent was not easily awoken from her deep slumber. Her delicate brow drew into a furrow, she struggled to ignore the infernal tapping. Time passed with what felt like an eternity: the knocking continued and would not stop! Outside, the visitor's cloak billowed in a soft morning wind.
A moment later, the calm winter morning was disrupted by the loud snap of the lock as it slipped out of place. Belgaer de Sommeil swept beyond the threshold with tired eyes, nearly walking face-first into the sorcerer's abdomen. Despite her misstep the looming newcomer remained, as still as the marble sculptures in the courtyard below.
“Your majesty.” She looked up, blinking against the now unfamiliar light of day.
The visitor took little time to await a response.
“I bring news from Fiondun.” and though he hadn't introduced himself, the sorcerer wound his forearm against her shoulder to guide her inside. The sudden movement made her wince as pain shot up her leg. The newcomer's cowl dipped down, his sight set on her ailing limb.
“Fiondun... news from the Forheri?” She rasped.
“Their last message. The Forheri are no more.”
“What...?” Before she could formulate a response, the cloaked man ducked low to sweep her abruptly into his arms; he carried her inside to seat her at the foot of the bed, despite her disapproving look.
“What was that for? Who are you?”
The sorcerer stepped back once she was settled to give a well-practiced bow. “Apologies; you may know me as Alterigos.”
“Then surely Fiondun could not have fallen. What of your brothers? What of Jalsinter?” A note of panic entered her voice.
“I do not know the whereabouts of my brothers, but I do know the fortress has fallen, as have our parents. It was a coup, though for what reasons I am unsure.”
The queen willed herself to stand, “Then we must send a contingency over the Windobrig. I will have my men search for survivors in order to bring them back to the capital. Our vassals will rally together their men; we will defend our brethren. A direct attack against so noble a house is an attack upon the crown, itself.”
To her decree the sorcerer bowed once more; his eyes remained on her legs, spotting a dried collection of blood between her discolored toes.
“Your majesty, might I suggest you call a medic?”
“I do not wish to detract attention from the matter at hand. There will already be a fuss when the servants arrive at my bedchambers.” Belgaer sucked on her bottom lip and clicked her tongue against the roof of her mouth with finality. “Enthlyi!”
Her call was met by an eager, if surprised voice from outside. ”My Queen?” the voice inquired.
“Let yourself inside. We have matters to discuss.”
***
In hushed murmurs, servants of the castle gossiped on the omen.
“But surely it could all just be a wildfire, no?”
“A wildfire? Stretched over the Windobrig? Do they grow so big? At this rate, it will reach Pennverne within a fortnight!”
“Oh, don't be daft. Smoke doesn't work that way!”
“How do you know? This isn't regular smoke!”
A third voice chimed in. “My kid brother and his wife live in the shadow of Fiondun! I hope they're alright.”
Toris Yaslana glanced askew, not daring to turn towards the gossiping women, lest they think she were inviting their gaze. Pale, thin hands kept busy, folding soft white linens and delicate embroidery. One sheet in her basket, then two. “Ohh, I'm certain they're fine,” one woman ventured hurriedly. “Erik is a strong, clever man. If any trouble reached the village he'd have them out of there quicker than you could think.”
The two other women exchanged knowing glances, trying to hide their smirks behind their work. The first woman continued as if nothing were remiss, “His wife and children were lucky to have him around. Any wo- anyone would be lucky to have him around.”
By the time the giggling broke out, the basket was already halfway full. The young scarred woman picked up her basket and delivered it to one of the guest rooms. The sound of laughter filled chattering grew faint behind her as she left the washroom behind.
***
The early night was cast darker still, turning the torrid gray of daytime to an ashen black that chocked the lungs and burned the eyes, yet that was the least of the problems the refugees faced. Small legs trudged onward, thorny vines caught between toes and worn sandles. Knees scraped from back and branch and thistle. Of all of three, she was certain – some where in her tired mind, numb from the day's events – that she had a rash forming on her left arm. She scratched at her arm idly as she followed the strangers who led her in a drudging line as they sought shelter from the encroaching winter storm.
Shiyal stumbled over a rock half buried in the dirt and covered by bush. It sent her sprawling into the dirt. The gentle hands of a stranger scooped up the girl, righted her messy orange hair, and perched her on his shoulder.
“There we are, little bug.”
Shiyal said nothing and chewed on her lips before sticking dirty fingers between her teeth and nibbling on them, as well. She stared at the stranger. Hours passed them by in weary silence until they found a small clearing, and settled down to make camp with what meager supplies they still possessed.
The refugees labored in the petering light of midday. Even the oldest and youngest among them worked their share in the chilly woods. As the gibbous moon at last began it's slow ascent towards the roof of the sky (it's light a dull glow behind sheets of smoke), they had managed a few small campfires which people quickly gathered around seeking warmth from both the flames and one another.
It is not quite certain who first began the stew, but eventually everyone who could contribute to it had given what they could. Potatoes, lentils, squash, fish and rabbit, wild root and onion, various animal bones - anything people were able to gather was placed inside a large iron cauldron. An elderly woman sat perched on a squat stool beside it as the stew began to bubble, chewing on a bit of leather and occasionally tugging her supply bundle a little bit closer as though to discourage any potential thieves.
The evening meandered on, and enticed by the heat of the flames and the warmth of a hot meal in her belly, the young girl (hearby known as Shiyal) was beginning to nod off. The thrill of the day's events, both dreadful and at times wondrous, had thoroughly exhausted her young mind. Nearby she could hear the sound of a gittern while it's owner plucked from it's strings a solemn melody. Her head began to bob as she nodded, quite literally, off to sleep.
***
The smell of smoke and stale beer lingered in the air like a squatter. The tavern was full that evening but the crowd was fairy tame, in spite of the shadow of the day looming over them. Men and women spoke quietly, a low murmur that rose up to a steady lull and interrupted only occasionally by easy exchanges with the solitary waitress as she took their orders.
Lana moved around the floor with familiar focus, a food-laden tray perched against the crook of her elbow, and another – loaded with drinks -- balanced delicately atop her free hand. Never missing a beat, the waitress doled out food and drink for the townsfolk who gathered there.
Behind the bar, a man with dark hair and deep lines worn beneath his eyes, filled mugs with their cheapest ale and slid them over to a small crowd of people who had gathered there. He lifted his attention towards Lana and gave her the briefest of nods before returning to work. Lana spared him a glance and began to gather empty dishes and garbage before returning to the kitchens to drop them off with the dish boy.
“-- so's, she told my Ma' not to go to the faire that day. And what did she do? She went, of course! An' I'm grateful for it. N'otherwise, I wouldn't be here today, you see? Now, I'm not sayin' that you should just run about ignoring everyone else's advice! Jus', well, I think Miss Lana would forgive you. If that's what yer worrying about.”
As Lana turned a corner into the washroom, she set the trays down and cleared her throat. At the sudden sound, the room's two other occupants jumped and glanced back towards her. The eldest of the two teenagers leaped the highest, emitting a short but highly audible squeak and pulling his hands so quickly from the basin that he splattered soap everywhere.
“We could use your help on the floor. Shara.”
With an obstinate groan and a small roll of her eyes, the small dark-haired girl pushed herself down off of the crate she had been sitting on while listening to her companion. “Yeah?” Shara scratched her lower back and then stretched with a small pop. “I mean, I guess I could swap places with the old man.”
Lana began to walk back out towards the kitchens and reached into the pocket of her apron, pulling out a small haggard box and a bunched up bundle of small papers. She tapped the bottom of the carton and out slipped a narrow cigarette which she casually placed between her lips before flipping through the pages in her bundle. When she found what she was looking for, she tore out a few of the slips and shoved the carton back into her apron before pinning the papers up on a line for the cook.
“His shift doesn't end until closing. Here,” Lana reached around back, the thoroughly abused booklet still clasped in one hand as she untied her apron. Shara looked up at her and accepted the apron and notepad once her aunt was done. “Remember to be polite to the customers. We don't need a repeat of last month.”
Shara rolled her eyes and waved a hand dismissively. “Alright, Gods. I'll be there. Just go do whatever it is you do when you're off work-”
“Sleeping.”
The girl made a face and walked out into the tavern. Once she was gone, her aunt proceeded to drop into the nearest chair and fumble for a light. Her strawberry-blonde hair was frayed and frizzy from working around the kitchens all day, but she didn't seem particularly concerned. Having found what she was looking for, she struck a match against her heel and lifted the flame to light her cigarette.
Everything accounted for, she remained slumped in that chair for the next fifteen minutes, until she worked up the energy to slog upstairs and into the room she shared with her niece.
***
He was in a large, circular chamber. Well, circular is a little too vague – the room, if you could call it that, featured a high, dome-like ceiling pitted with shallow grooves and the occasional crack. He could tell that much. It was dark, and what little light reached his eyes had to creep inside, snuck through the uneven gaps lining one side of the chamber.
Reaching his arms above his head, he could just barely touch the ceiling. The sensation was familiar, and he grimaced, lowering his hands to wipe them furiously at his deep magenta robes. He swore to himself, and then once more for good measure. “This is what you get when you try to help someone out. Ungrateful. Unrepentant. Thankless. Humorless. Cruel!”
A constellation of shattered glass reflected in the shoulder cop of the king's armor as it kept solemn vigil over the chamber; an empty vessel, nothing more. Those innumerable specks, remnants of emptied wine bottles glittered against the candle light to decorate her sprawling limbs in their glow. Their distorted images shivered on the surface of those dense curtains as the sorcerer rapped his knuckles again against the balcony door.
Tap – tap – tap
The queen-reagent was not easily awoken from her deep slumber. Her delicate brow drew into a furrow, she struggled to ignore the infernal tapping. Time passed with what felt like an eternity: the knocking continued and would not stop! Outside, the visitor's cloak billowed in a soft morning wind.
A moment later, the calm winter morning was disrupted by the loud snap of the lock as it slipped out of place. Belgaer de Sommeil swept beyond the threshold with tired eyes, nearly walking face-first into the sorcerer's abdomen. Despite her misstep the looming newcomer remained, as still as the marble sculptures in the courtyard below.
“Your majesty.” She looked up, blinking against the now unfamiliar light of day.
The visitor took little time to await a response.
“I bring news from Fiondun.” and though he hadn't introduced himself, the sorcerer wound his forearm against her shoulder to guide her inside. The sudden movement made her wince as pain shot up her leg. The newcomer's cowl dipped down, his sight set on her ailing limb.
“Fiondun... news from the Forheri?” She rasped.
“Their last message. The Forheri are no more.”
“What...?” Before she could formulate a response, the cloaked man ducked low to sweep her abruptly into his arms; he carried her inside to seat her at the foot of the bed, despite her disapproving look.
“What was that for? Who are you?”
The sorcerer stepped back once she was settled to give a well-practiced bow. “Apologies; you may know me as Alterigos.”
“Then surely Fiondun could not have fallen. What of your brothers? What of Jalsinter?” A note of panic entered her voice.
“I do not know the whereabouts of my brothers, but I do know the fortress has fallen, as have our parents. It was a coup, though for what reasons I am unsure.”
The queen willed herself to stand, “Then we must send a contingency over the Windobrig. I will have my men search for survivors in order to bring them back to the capital. Our vassals will rally together their men; we will defend our brethren. A direct attack against so noble a house is an attack upon the crown, itself.”
To her decree the sorcerer bowed once more; his eyes remained on her legs, spotting a dried collection of blood between her discolored toes.
“Your majesty, might I suggest you call a medic?”
“I do not wish to detract attention from the matter at hand. There will already be a fuss when the servants arrive at my bedchambers.” Belgaer sucked on her bottom lip and clicked her tongue against the roof of her mouth with finality. “Enthlyi!”
Her call was met by an eager, if surprised voice from outside. ”My Queen?” the voice inquired.
“Let yourself inside. We have matters to discuss.”
***
In hushed murmurs, servants of the castle gossiped on the omen.
“But surely it could all just be a wildfire, no?”
“A wildfire? Stretched over the Windobrig? Do they grow so big? At this rate, it will reach Pennverne within a fortnight!”
“Oh, don't be daft. Smoke doesn't work that way!”
“How do you know? This isn't regular smoke!”
A third voice chimed in. “My kid brother and his wife live in the shadow of Fiondun! I hope they're alright.”
Toris Yaslana glanced askew, not daring to turn towards the gossiping women, lest they think she were inviting their gaze. Pale, thin hands kept busy, folding soft white linens and delicate embroidery. One sheet in her basket, then two. “Ohh, I'm certain they're fine,” one woman ventured hurriedly. “Erik is a strong, clever man. If any trouble reached the village he'd have them out of there quicker than you could think.”
The two other women exchanged knowing glances, trying to hide their smirks behind their work. The first woman continued as if nothing were remiss, “His wife and children were lucky to have him around. Any wo- anyone would be lucky to have him around.”
By the time the giggling broke out, the basket was already halfway full. The young scarred woman picked up her basket and delivered it to one of the guest rooms. The sound of laughter filled chattering grew faint behind her as she left the washroom behind.
***
The early night was cast darker still, turning the torrid gray of daytime to an ashen black that chocked the lungs and burned the eyes, yet that was the least of the problems the refugees faced. Small legs trudged onward, thorny vines caught between toes and worn sandles. Knees scraped from back and branch and thistle. Of all of three, she was certain – some where in her tired mind, numb from the day's events – that she had a rash forming on her left arm. She scratched at her arm idly as she followed the strangers who led her in a drudging line as they sought shelter from the encroaching winter storm.
Shiyal stumbled over a rock half buried in the dirt and covered by bush. It sent her sprawling into the dirt. The gentle hands of a stranger scooped up the girl, righted her messy orange hair, and perched her on his shoulder.
“There we are, little bug.”
Shiyal said nothing and chewed on her lips before sticking dirty fingers between her teeth and nibbling on them, as well. She stared at the stranger. Hours passed them by in weary silence until they found a small clearing, and settled down to make camp with what meager supplies they still possessed.
The refugees labored in the petering light of midday. Even the oldest and youngest among them worked their share in the chilly woods. As the gibbous moon at last began it's slow ascent towards the roof of the sky (it's light a dull glow behind sheets of smoke), they had managed a few small campfires which people quickly gathered around seeking warmth from both the flames and one another.
It is not quite certain who first began the stew, but eventually everyone who could contribute to it had given what they could. Potatoes, lentils, squash, fish and rabbit, wild root and onion, various animal bones - anything people were able to gather was placed inside a large iron cauldron. An elderly woman sat perched on a squat stool beside it as the stew began to bubble, chewing on a bit of leather and occasionally tugging her supply bundle a little bit closer as though to discourage any potential thieves.
The evening meandered on, and enticed by the heat of the flames and the warmth of a hot meal in her belly, the young girl (hearby known as Shiyal) was beginning to nod off. The thrill of the day's events, both dreadful and at times wondrous, had thoroughly exhausted her young mind. Nearby she could hear the sound of a gittern while it's owner plucked from it's strings a solemn melody. Her head began to bob as she nodded, quite literally, off to sleep.
***
The smell of smoke and stale beer lingered in the air like a squatter. The tavern was full that evening but the crowd was fairy tame, in spite of the shadow of the day looming over them. Men and women spoke quietly, a low murmur that rose up to a steady lull and interrupted only occasionally by easy exchanges with the solitary waitress as she took their orders.
Lana moved around the floor with familiar focus, a food-laden tray perched against the crook of her elbow, and another – loaded with drinks -- balanced delicately atop her free hand. Never missing a beat, the waitress doled out food and drink for the townsfolk who gathered there.
Behind the bar, a man with dark hair and deep lines worn beneath his eyes, filled mugs with their cheapest ale and slid them over to a small crowd of people who had gathered there. He lifted his attention towards Lana and gave her the briefest of nods before returning to work. Lana spared him a glance and began to gather empty dishes and garbage before returning to the kitchens to drop them off with the dish boy.
“-- so's, she told my Ma' not to go to the faire that day. And what did she do? She went, of course! An' I'm grateful for it. N'otherwise, I wouldn't be here today, you see? Now, I'm not sayin' that you should just run about ignoring everyone else's advice! Jus', well, I think Miss Lana would forgive you. If that's what yer worrying about.”
As Lana turned a corner into the washroom, she set the trays down and cleared her throat. At the sudden sound, the room's two other occupants jumped and glanced back towards her. The eldest of the two teenagers leaped the highest, emitting a short but highly audible squeak and pulling his hands so quickly from the basin that he splattered soap everywhere.
“We could use your help on the floor. Shara.”
With an obstinate groan and a small roll of her eyes, the small dark-haired girl pushed herself down off of the crate she had been sitting on while listening to her companion. “Yeah?” Shara scratched her lower back and then stretched with a small pop. “I mean, I guess I could swap places with the old man.”
Lana began to walk back out towards the kitchens and reached into the pocket of her apron, pulling out a small haggard box and a bunched up bundle of small papers. She tapped the bottom of the carton and out slipped a narrow cigarette which she casually placed between her lips before flipping through the pages in her bundle. When she found what she was looking for, she tore out a few of the slips and shoved the carton back into her apron before pinning the papers up on a line for the cook.
“His shift doesn't end until closing. Here,” Lana reached around back, the thoroughly abused booklet still clasped in one hand as she untied her apron. Shara looked up at her and accepted the apron and notepad once her aunt was done. “Remember to be polite to the customers. We don't need a repeat of last month.”
Shara rolled her eyes and waved a hand dismissively. “Alright, Gods. I'll be there. Just go do whatever it is you do when you're off work-”
“Sleeping.”
The girl made a face and walked out into the tavern. Once she was gone, her aunt proceeded to drop into the nearest chair and fumble for a light. Her strawberry-blonde hair was frayed and frizzy from working around the kitchens all day, but she didn't seem particularly concerned. Having found what she was looking for, she struck a match against her heel and lifted the flame to light her cigarette.
Everything accounted for, she remained slumped in that chair for the next fifteen minutes, until she worked up the energy to slog upstairs and into the room she shared with her niece.
***
He was in a large, circular chamber. Well, circular is a little too vague – the room, if you could call it that, featured a high, dome-like ceiling pitted with shallow grooves and the occasional crack. He could tell that much. It was dark, and what little light reached his eyes had to creep inside, snuck through the uneven gaps lining one side of the chamber.
Reaching his arms above his head, he could just barely touch the ceiling. The sensation was familiar, and he grimaced, lowering his hands to wipe them furiously at his deep magenta robes. He swore to himself, and then once more for good measure. “This is what you get when you try to help someone out. Ungrateful. Unrepentant. Thankless. Humorless. Cruel!”
A deep, booming voice from beyond the dark chamber rumbled in concurrence. Its following words held enough power to shake the rock beneath him. "These mortals nowadays, they really don't have a sense of humor." On the outside of the robed man's chamber was another; much larger and comprised of jagged rock. A broad hole in the ceiling showered the place in gray-blue twilight, causing a dull reflective glow to fill the room as it bounced off of innumerable coins and jewelry.
Purrokien-- the Ancient, the Wise or the Jester depending on who you ask-- laid atop his hoard and fixed his eyes on the source of the smaller voice; a dusty old skull that had to have been there for quite some time, though the dragon didn't care enough to remember just how long. However long it was there it only started to speak to him upon his waking and, even after only half a day the massive lizard was developing a soft spot for the thing.
It helped to pass the time while the ancient being awaited the knight's awakening. The knight who he'd so casually picked up earlier after rampaging through the forest. The dragon still wasn't sure if he was going to eat him. "My minuscule friend, if that careless sorcerer were still among us I would enjoy him with some red wine. Just to be ironic."
Purrokien-- the Ancient, the Wise or the Jester depending on who you ask-- laid atop his hoard and fixed his eyes on the source of the smaller voice; a dusty old skull that had to have been there for quite some time, though the dragon didn't care enough to remember just how long. However long it was there it only started to speak to him upon his waking and, even after only half a day the massive lizard was developing a soft spot for the thing.
It helped to pass the time while the ancient being awaited the knight's awakening. The knight who he'd so casually picked up earlier after rampaging through the forest. The dragon still wasn't sure if he was going to eat him. "My minuscule friend, if that careless sorcerer were still among us I would enjoy him with some red wine. Just to be ironic."
The nearly disembodied sound of a faint giggle echoed through the dragon's cave. The acoustics of the cavern were such that a noise at the entrance would float and drift, waft and flutter to those deeper within, taking on a slightly eerie sound as it went, despite the sound being originally lighthearted.
The light smacking of bare feet upon stone followed the previous sound, as Prinna made her way deeper into the cave, her movements much like a dance. It was always so boring to walk normally. Much more exciting indeed to skip a few steps here, and twirl a few there as she moved toward her destination, airily, like a playful breeze.
Though any light which may have shone outside the cave dimmed as Prinna moved further into the lair, she allowed her own glow to light her way, not worried in the slightest about her presence becoming known. Currently, she kept to a roughly human height, around 5'2" , which was about as tall as she liked to go. Any taller and she thought her arms and legs looked... well just ungainly and flailing. No, petite was the way to go, but it was a woman's body nonetheless. Blue black hair was tucked into a wavy braid, and she'd entwined some of the hardier plant life she'd found on her way up into the dark locks. There was always time to add a touch of freshness to one's appearance. Her usual light blue dress had been exchanged for a different blue dress, but this one trimmed with a softer fabric, warmer, and covered her arms to the wrists. Under the dress she had on leggings of a lighter white/blue.
She didn't usually frequent colder areas, yet for the time being this place, and its occupant intrigued her. She had been drifting about recently and had come across it, only to keep returning. Her flighty nature could sometimes be tied down, if a topic or person.. or creature.. were interesting enough.
Her demeanor showed nothing of her knowledge of recent events, both within the valley, the forest, and the surrounding region, though it was likely she was well aware, being a creature of the forest herself. It wasn't like her to dwell too long on sorrowful things though.
She had come today from the valley, her wings no longer visible though they had carried her much of the distance. In her hand she carried a shiny bauble she'd found along the valley road. Her eyes gleamed with pride as she moved towards the dragon's hoard, as if she were about to present a king with something he'd long desired. Expectation was alite on her upturned face, and, though the item was of no more worth than what it truly was - a shiny bit of brass no doubt dropped from one of the fleeing refugees, Prinna danced toward Purrokien as if it were made of gold.
"Brought you something for your staaaash." She said as she arrived, her voice sing song as she lifted her gaze to behold the form upon his hoard. She looked at the piece quizzically for a moment, as if trying to decipher it, then shrugged and tossed it up to clink onto the rest of the gathered items. "I think it's something from one of those people who passed through recently, a.... a buckle? Anyway, it's neat so I thought you should have it."
Moving forward, unaware for the moment of the talking skull, she settled herself and her dress, perching atop a larger piece of treasure, sighing happily. "Anything interesting going on in here? Outside seems rather dismal right now, the feeling in the air is downright gloomy, which makes the winds much less entertaining company."
The light smacking of bare feet upon stone followed the previous sound, as Prinna made her way deeper into the cave, her movements much like a dance. It was always so boring to walk normally. Much more exciting indeed to skip a few steps here, and twirl a few there as she moved toward her destination, airily, like a playful breeze.
Though any light which may have shone outside the cave dimmed as Prinna moved further into the lair, she allowed her own glow to light her way, not worried in the slightest about her presence becoming known. Currently, she kept to a roughly human height, around 5'2" , which was about as tall as she liked to go. Any taller and she thought her arms and legs looked... well just ungainly and flailing. No, petite was the way to go, but it was a woman's body nonetheless. Blue black hair was tucked into a wavy braid, and she'd entwined some of the hardier plant life she'd found on her way up into the dark locks. There was always time to add a touch of freshness to one's appearance. Her usual light blue dress had been exchanged for a different blue dress, but this one trimmed with a softer fabric, warmer, and covered her arms to the wrists. Under the dress she had on leggings of a lighter white/blue.
She didn't usually frequent colder areas, yet for the time being this place, and its occupant intrigued her. She had been drifting about recently and had come across it, only to keep returning. Her flighty nature could sometimes be tied down, if a topic or person.. or creature.. were interesting enough.
Her demeanor showed nothing of her knowledge of recent events, both within the valley, the forest, and the surrounding region, though it was likely she was well aware, being a creature of the forest herself. It wasn't like her to dwell too long on sorrowful things though.
She had come today from the valley, her wings no longer visible though they had carried her much of the distance. In her hand she carried a shiny bauble she'd found along the valley road. Her eyes gleamed with pride as she moved towards the dragon's hoard, as if she were about to present a king with something he'd long desired. Expectation was alite on her upturned face, and, though the item was of no more worth than what it truly was - a shiny bit of brass no doubt dropped from one of the fleeing refugees, Prinna danced toward Purrokien as if it were made of gold.
"Brought you something for your staaaash." She said as she arrived, her voice sing song as she lifted her gaze to behold the form upon his hoard. She looked at the piece quizzically for a moment, as if trying to decipher it, then shrugged and tossed it up to clink onto the rest of the gathered items. "I think it's something from one of those people who passed through recently, a.... a buckle? Anyway, it's neat so I thought you should have it."
Moving forward, unaware for the moment of the talking skull, she settled herself and her dress, perching atop a larger piece of treasure, sighing happily. "Anything interesting going on in here? Outside seems rather dismal right now, the feeling in the air is downright gloomy, which makes the winds much less entertaining company."
The dragon's massive head turned as the fae strode whimsically into the chamber. Steadily it lowered and turned until his eye hovered just a few feet above the newcomer. His elliptical pupil widened as the light above failed to reach that side of his face. Still, some of the hoard reflected golden patterns on the beast's already illustrious scales.
"A buckle? How neat..." The pupil dipped downward to observe the treasure a moment and, once his curiosity was sated, rose again to watch her perch on another piece. "Oh, I suppose that's partly my fault, sweetheart. The skies were already smoke filled before I lit the trees of the valley aflame..." The serpent's neck pulled back to form its default, S shape. The dragon gazed upward.
"Oh, and, well, you are not the first visitor in my cavern this day. Was I so loud that all the realm comes to greet me post-awakening?" The wyrm glanced toward the skull thoughtfully.
"A buckle? How neat..." The pupil dipped downward to observe the treasure a moment and, once his curiosity was sated, rose again to watch her perch on another piece. "Oh, I suppose that's partly my fault, sweetheart. The skies were already smoke filled before I lit the trees of the valley aflame..." The serpent's neck pulled back to form its default, S shape. The dragon gazed upward.
"Oh, and, well, you are not the first visitor in my cavern this day. Was I so loud that all the realm comes to greet me post-awakening?" The wyrm glanced toward the skull thoughtfully.
The ascent up the coarse mountain was as harsh, ungrateful and exhausting as Aynor had predicted would be. Still... Taff Emris prophecies were known to be as accurate as truth itself.
The captive had spoken with solemn voice, when questioned, time and time again. The knight laid sound asleep in a dragon's grasp and, if there were any dragons to be found anywhere at all... this would be the place where they would hide and live. Anywhere else they might be killed.
Taff refusal's to confirm any more details on the matter such as the exact whereabouts annoyed Aynor very much, but in this battle of wills, Emris had final say. Aynor would have to content himself knowing the knight he was searching was sleeping nearby a dragon who had captured him, alive, for now but who knew for how much longer. Such thought greately alarmed Aynor who pressed on despite the harsh weather and coarse terrain.
No sooner he reached the cavern's entrance, Aynor paused to catch his breath a little, grabbing the discarded wood from his now broken walking staff and he made Taff light it up to make a torch out of it, lighting their way, venturing deeper and deeper until he heard the voices of a dragon and what seemed a pixie, fairy or fae of sorts, too gentle to distinguish well until he made his presence known and took in the surroundings of the treasure and the dragon.
"Greetings ... " saluted Aynor a little weary of the beast, tugging forward the captive
The captive had spoken with solemn voice, when questioned, time and time again. The knight laid sound asleep in a dragon's grasp and, if there were any dragons to be found anywhere at all... this would be the place where they would hide and live. Anywhere else they might be killed.
Taff refusal's to confirm any more details on the matter such as the exact whereabouts annoyed Aynor very much, but in this battle of wills, Emris had final say. Aynor would have to content himself knowing the knight he was searching was sleeping nearby a dragon who had captured him, alive, for now but who knew for how much longer. Such thought greately alarmed Aynor who pressed on despite the harsh weather and coarse terrain.
No sooner he reached the cavern's entrance, Aynor paused to catch his breath a little, grabbing the discarded wood from his now broken walking staff and he made Taff light it up to make a torch out of it, lighting their way, venturing deeper and deeper until he heard the voices of a dragon and what seemed a pixie, fairy or fae of sorts, too gentle to distinguish well until he made his presence known and took in the surroundings of the treasure and the dragon.
"Greetings ... " saluted Aynor a little weary of the beast, tugging forward the captive
Prinna's face pinched a bit in an unhappy frown at Purrokien's words, and she stood up to jump lightly from the shiny treasure seat she'd perched upon, climbing a bit higher until she felt she could decently address the magnificent dragon. Face upturned she lifted a finger and shook it as near the Wyrm's face as she could reach, the frown deepening into a scowl. "Was that you then?" Her arms folded over her ample chest and she tapped a foot, an odd mixture of woman and child in both body and expression.
"Because of your fire, many sweet and innocent creatures of nature died.
And I have a lot of work to do because of you! Nasty horrible stuff that fire - so choking and hot - it steals my beloved winds." She kept her suddenly anxious and disapproving attitude for perhaps another blink or two, before a sudden giggle bubbled from her lips and wings materialized from her back. Flitting up to eye level with Purrokien she pecked him on the snout, a quick kiss that no doubt felt only as much as the whisper of dandelion fluff drifting across one's skin, making a face as her lips touched his rough scales.
But I cannot fault you for your actions anymore than I could a viper for eating a poor little mouse. She slowly drifted back to her seat, wings disappearing in a puff of mist and gently arranged the skirts of her dress around her as she tilted her face back to the dragon. "Your nature controls you as it does any other. It's just too bad that that so closely involves hateful fire."
Then, tilting her head, curiosity registered on her face, her glow brightening a moment as she pondered another of Purrokien's sentances as if she'd only just heard it. Twisting around she craned her neck as she searched the gloomy depths of the cave with her own slightly slanted eyes. Oh? Is there someone else here then? How exciting who is it?"
With a surge of energy she was back on her feet even though she had only just sat down. "Is it a gnome? Oh I hope not, grumpy things those are... or.. is it. .. she tapped her chin, then looked put out, glancing up. "Oh DO tell!
Before she could pry further however she became aware of Aynor and Taff emerging into the cavern. With a small gasp her form shrunk until she was no bigger than one of Purrokien's eyes, wings popping back into existence as she flitted up to settle on the dragon’s snout, tiny hands grasping a few ridges thereon as she leaned over to stare down at the newcomer, eyes widening. "Humans... she whispered, then tapped the dragons snout, "Now don't go eating them before they have a chance to speak!" Her voice, though it had lightened, shrinking as well and resembled music more than voice, words could be made out almost a whisper upon the wind.
"Because of your fire, many sweet and innocent creatures of nature died.
And I have a lot of work to do because of you! Nasty horrible stuff that fire - so choking and hot - it steals my beloved winds." She kept her suddenly anxious and disapproving attitude for perhaps another blink or two, before a sudden giggle bubbled from her lips and wings materialized from her back. Flitting up to eye level with Purrokien she pecked him on the snout, a quick kiss that no doubt felt only as much as the whisper of dandelion fluff drifting across one's skin, making a face as her lips touched his rough scales.
But I cannot fault you for your actions anymore than I could a viper for eating a poor little mouse. She slowly drifted back to her seat, wings disappearing in a puff of mist and gently arranged the skirts of her dress around her as she tilted her face back to the dragon. "Your nature controls you as it does any other. It's just too bad that that so closely involves hateful fire."
Then, tilting her head, curiosity registered on her face, her glow brightening a moment as she pondered another of Purrokien's sentances as if she'd only just heard it. Twisting around she craned her neck as she searched the gloomy depths of the cave with her own slightly slanted eyes. Oh? Is there someone else here then? How exciting who is it?"
With a surge of energy she was back on her feet even though she had only just sat down. "Is it a gnome? Oh I hope not, grumpy things those are... or.. is it. .. she tapped her chin, then looked put out, glancing up. "Oh DO tell!
Before she could pry further however she became aware of Aynor and Taff emerging into the cavern. With a small gasp her form shrunk until she was no bigger than one of Purrokien's eyes, wings popping back into existence as she flitted up to settle on the dragon’s snout, tiny hands grasping a few ridges thereon as she leaned over to stare down at the newcomer, eyes widening. "Humans... she whispered, then tapped the dragons snout, "Now don't go eating them before they have a chance to speak!" Her voice, though it had lightened, shrinking as well and resembled music more than voice, words could be made out almost a whisper upon the wind.
The old man laid his gnarled hands against the walls of his unusually smooth prison and pressed an ear to the crack where the dim light shone brightest. There was definitely a stranger out there - more than one of them, too, if his senses weren't leading him astray. He smacked his lips and pursed them, straining to derive any meaning from the conversation he was overhearing.
"Humans? Pah! Impossible. Humans don't make nearly that much noise when they're out, galumphing about." He muttered to himself, scratching at his abdomen through his moth-eaten robes. "Greetings, nonetheless!" he called out, a bit louder this time.
To the naked eye, the faint vocalizations seemed to be coming from a yellowed skull resting on a mound nearby.
"Humans? Pah! Impossible. Humans don't make nearly that much noise when they're out, galumphing about." He muttered to himself, scratching at his abdomen through his moth-eaten robes. "Greetings, nonetheless!" he called out, a bit louder this time.
To the naked eye, the faint vocalizations seemed to be coming from a yellowed skull resting on a mound nearby.
"I'm Aynor... I come in peace to make a trade, I know you are holding ransom a nuisance of a righteous knight by the name of Jalsinter of the house of Forheri and I am holding ransom a warlock, known to be the last dragonlord, by the name of Emris... Taff Emris Gelligen.
"So hear me out... if you hand over the man who has a sway on my freedom and those of my men, I will hand over him who has a sway over your own freedom... what say you, mighty dragon, does it sound a fair trade for the both of us to own our respective captors and guarantee our personal freedoms?" asked Aynor looking up
"So hear me out... if you hand over the man who has a sway on my freedom and those of my men, I will hand over him who has a sway over your own freedom... what say you, mighty dragon, does it sound a fair trade for the both of us to own our respective captors and guarantee our personal freedoms?" asked Aynor looking up
Caenndinas - Castle Throne Room
A hum of words exchanged reverberated against the corners of the vast throne room. Noblemen and women living in the city congregated there and chattered just as surely as their serfs did outside about recent events. Word had spread regarding an ancient dragon which had awoken in the Windobrig and raged across the valley; though they didn't know why it did so, curious eyes saw its distant shape crest over the frosted peaks hours after the smoke filled the sky.
Already many of those present had made assumptions, connecting the beast to the smoke. Some of them drew plans with their fellows against the creature, gathering their fellows in preparation against other lords with different plans. Despite the looming threat many of them were still relaxed; laughter was a frequent note in the chorus of voices and many were still obsessing over those they adored or hated in the crowd.
_
The Windobrig - Purrokien's Hoard
Purrokien's serpentine tongue wagged beneath his beak, zipping in and out between his draconic lips as Prinna lectured him. He nodded and tilted his head at the same time, rumbling in brief interjection, "--My fire was only the second of two, darling. The first burned beyond that valley." He did not argue with her on the matter of his nature; the spectacle that morning proved her right. He simply tuned as the newcomers arrived, the scaley skin of his maw pulling into a grimacing snarl. The wyrm chose then to loom over the humans, rather than lower himself as he did for the fairy.
He did glance in the direction of the skull as he retorted and squinted, if only to glean sarcasm from those dusty old eye sockets. Failing to find any he returned to the most pressing matter at hand; Aynor and his captive.
"I'm Aynor... I come in peace to make a trade. I know you are holding ransom a nuisance of a righteous knight by the name of Jalsinter of the house of Forheri and I am holding ransom a warlock, known to be the last dragonlord, by the name of Emris... Taff Emris Gelligen.
"So hear me out... if you hand over the man who has a sway on my freedom and those of my men, I will hand over him who has a sway over your own freedom... what say you, mighty dragon, does it sound a fair trade for the both of us to own our respective captors and guarantee our personal freedoms?"
The dragon's head turned subtly as he looked between the two. Then he threw it back to let a guffaw which shook the rocky earth around them. He stopped to ask, "You provide me a human for a human? Well it's hardly much of a trade, is it? Dragons just love eating little humans and, well... This 'dragonlord' doesn't have much meat on his bones, does he?"
He leaned forward again until it was possible for the men to touch his snout if they so much as reached for it. Then he sucked in a breath through his nostrils, the wind likely to pull at their hair until it stretched toward him on its own. "And why? To take this man to his death at the fortress? I don't know if you're aware, little Aynor, but all form of humans fled from that place. Some silliness among your kind, I'm sure."
The serpent hesitated, eyeing Taff as he thought on the offer. "I'm more interested in hearing about what happened there myself. I am far too tired still to fly responsibly; why don't we all just wait and see? I'm sure the little knight will be glad to tell us what happened to cause that first blaze."
Nearer to the skull than to Aynor or Taff, Jal remained motionless, resting on his belly. It was just how the wyrm left him hours before. Though the wounds of their earlier conflict were tended he didn't wake; his body taking as much sleep as it could get after the event.
_
Caenndinas - The Bar
Sitting on one of the many bar stools, a lanky, pale man switched between chugging spiced wine and shoveling stew-stained bread into his mouth. Others spoke around him but hadn't yet addressed him-- that was, until seconds after Shara's emergence from the back room. A man much shorter than he raised his hand into the air and waved, trying to call above the atmospheric rumble awkwardly. Upon failing he regarded his taller neighbor with a scowl. "Y've been here longer than I. Why don'cha jus' finish yer stew an' piss off?"
The lanky one looked over at him but finished off the rest of his bread before bothering to respond. As he lifted his head to retort the image of rapidly approaching knuckles told him that he'd waited too long. They collided with his brow, sending the tall man to the floor as his stool tipped over from the force. Lights danced across the pale man's vision and he tried to rise slowly, his movements all the more sluggish due to his inebriation. "H... Hey, no fighting. Its not allowed, it'--"
He fell to the floor again, this time purposefully doing so to avoid another swing. Other patrons turned towards the commotion; most clearly disapproving of the conflict while others jeered, "Run, little Runner!"
Meanwhile the aggressive patron stood over him, red faced for reasons that evaded the taller one's understanding. He huffed, fidgeted and glanced toward the last location of the girl before cussing and saying, "W-w-well, you... shouldn't have gone an' been such a git! Blocking me like that!"
The pale man looked at the other for a moment, largely to try and remember what he was saying this time, but the dribbling of spiced wine from the edge of the counter drew his attention away. Near where the remnants dripped lay the ruins of his stew. His complacency faded away in the seconds after, followed by a reddening in his vision as he sprung from the floor and grabbed the smaller man's collar, forcing him against the counter.
Deaf to the alarmed shouting of the smaller man and other patrons he lifted a fist, ready to swing for his aggressor's solar plexus.
A hum of words exchanged reverberated against the corners of the vast throne room. Noblemen and women living in the city congregated there and chattered just as surely as their serfs did outside about recent events. Word had spread regarding an ancient dragon which had awoken in the Windobrig and raged across the valley; though they didn't know why it did so, curious eyes saw its distant shape crest over the frosted peaks hours after the smoke filled the sky.
Already many of those present had made assumptions, connecting the beast to the smoke. Some of them drew plans with their fellows against the creature, gathering their fellows in preparation against other lords with different plans. Despite the looming threat many of them were still relaxed; laughter was a frequent note in the chorus of voices and many were still obsessing over those they adored or hated in the crowd.
_
The Windobrig - Purrokien's Hoard
Purrokien's serpentine tongue wagged beneath his beak, zipping in and out between his draconic lips as Prinna lectured him. He nodded and tilted his head at the same time, rumbling in brief interjection, "--My fire was only the second of two, darling. The first burned beyond that valley." He did not argue with her on the matter of his nature; the spectacle that morning proved her right. He simply tuned as the newcomers arrived, the scaley skin of his maw pulling into a grimacing snarl. The wyrm chose then to loom over the humans, rather than lower himself as he did for the fairy.
He did glance in the direction of the skull as he retorted and squinted, if only to glean sarcasm from those dusty old eye sockets. Failing to find any he returned to the most pressing matter at hand; Aynor and his captive.
"I'm Aynor... I come in peace to make a trade. I know you are holding ransom a nuisance of a righteous knight by the name of Jalsinter of the house of Forheri and I am holding ransom a warlock, known to be the last dragonlord, by the name of Emris... Taff Emris Gelligen.
"So hear me out... if you hand over the man who has a sway on my freedom and those of my men, I will hand over him who has a sway over your own freedom... what say you, mighty dragon, does it sound a fair trade for the both of us to own our respective captors and guarantee our personal freedoms?"
The dragon's head turned subtly as he looked between the two. Then he threw it back to let a guffaw which shook the rocky earth around them. He stopped to ask, "You provide me a human for a human? Well it's hardly much of a trade, is it? Dragons just love eating little humans and, well... This 'dragonlord' doesn't have much meat on his bones, does he?"
He leaned forward again until it was possible for the men to touch his snout if they so much as reached for it. Then he sucked in a breath through his nostrils, the wind likely to pull at their hair until it stretched toward him on its own. "And why? To take this man to his death at the fortress? I don't know if you're aware, little Aynor, but all form of humans fled from that place. Some silliness among your kind, I'm sure."
The serpent hesitated, eyeing Taff as he thought on the offer. "I'm more interested in hearing about what happened there myself. I am far too tired still to fly responsibly; why don't we all just wait and see? I'm sure the little knight will be glad to tell us what happened to cause that first blaze."
Nearer to the skull than to Aynor or Taff, Jal remained motionless, resting on his belly. It was just how the wyrm left him hours before. Though the wounds of their earlier conflict were tended he didn't wake; his body taking as much sleep as it could get after the event.
_
Caenndinas - The Bar
Sitting on one of the many bar stools, a lanky, pale man switched between chugging spiced wine and shoveling stew-stained bread into his mouth. Others spoke around him but hadn't yet addressed him-- that was, until seconds after Shara's emergence from the back room. A man much shorter than he raised his hand into the air and waved, trying to call above the atmospheric rumble awkwardly. Upon failing he regarded his taller neighbor with a scowl. "Y've been here longer than I. Why don'cha jus' finish yer stew an' piss off?"
The lanky one looked over at him but finished off the rest of his bread before bothering to respond. As he lifted his head to retort the image of rapidly approaching knuckles told him that he'd waited too long. They collided with his brow, sending the tall man to the floor as his stool tipped over from the force. Lights danced across the pale man's vision and he tried to rise slowly, his movements all the more sluggish due to his inebriation. "H... Hey, no fighting. Its not allowed, it'--"
He fell to the floor again, this time purposefully doing so to avoid another swing. Other patrons turned towards the commotion; most clearly disapproving of the conflict while others jeered, "Run, little Runner!"
Meanwhile the aggressive patron stood over him, red faced for reasons that evaded the taller one's understanding. He huffed, fidgeted and glanced toward the last location of the girl before cussing and saying, "W-w-well, you... shouldn't have gone an' been such a git! Blocking me like that!"
The pale man looked at the other for a moment, largely to try and remember what he was saying this time, but the dribbling of spiced wine from the edge of the counter drew his attention away. Near where the remnants dripped lay the ruins of his stew. His complacency faded away in the seconds after, followed by a reddening in his vision as he sprung from the floor and grabbed the smaller man's collar, forcing him against the counter.
Deaf to the alarmed shouting of the smaller man and other patrons he lifted a fist, ready to swing for his aggressor's solar plexus.
The Windobrig - Purrokien's Hoard
Aynor huffed disappointed that the serpent had not accepted the deal on account of Taff's harmless, skinny appearance.
"Fine... suit yourself... no trade then" muttered Aynor leaning, arms crossed, against the rocky wall, thinking the words through in his mind yet again.
Aynor stood upright and grew all the more restless as he absorved and meditated the news from the dragon that destruction had already torn the fortress of Forheri and it was not of its doing. Perhaps lord Forheri had burnt his crew on the pire and the fire spread beyond restraint and control taking more than they had bargained for.
The thought of that made Aynor tense up and shudder lightly. He needed answers and he wanted them now, so he shot Taff a good look.
"Warlock... use your druid magic to restore your pet's strength and then do the same with the captive... I myself have questions to ask about my men and time is not on the waiting side" waved Aynor
Taff was rather hesitant at first, but the glowing collar around his neck getting hotter each moment he dared delay, reminded the powerful mage that he was but a slave at his master's command.
Taff let out a soft breath and stood up, hand stretched forth towards Purrokien, without even touching the dragon, speaking his celtic language to tame the beast with all but a few words.
"gwrandewch ac ufuddhau" "listen and obey"
"bod yn dal a gorwedd i lawr" "Be still and lie down"
After he had given the commands, he lowered the hand to busy himself gathering the required utensils. Taff didn't even bother to look at Purrokien well aware the dragon had no choice but to do, from then onwards, exactly as ordered. He dug around the obcene amounts of treasure, scattering it about, to find a large cauldron or pot of sorts, dragging it over to where they were all gathered.
Emris rested the cauldron it on top of a few well placed rocks and cast his hand over it, to have it filled with water, muttering more words to light up a fire beneath and bring the water to a boiling point, tossing dried herbs and roots from his travel pouch whilst he spoke more words.
He shot a glance at Prinna quite in need of some pixie dust, and then his eyes trailed off to Purrokien's snout with a wide smile of satisfaction, scooping up the small amounts of pixie dust that likely had fallen from the fae as she sat on the wyrm earlier.
"Thank you" murmured Taff at both, Prinna and Purrokien.
He carefully released the pixie dust into the cauldron and took a step back, arm raised to cover his eyes from the golden glow that would have blinded him otherwise. Once the glow died down, all what was left was a golden liquid, one gentle blow put out the fire and left the cauldron cold to the touch, though the liquid was warm and pleasant in scent and taste.
Without explanation as to what he was doing or what he was adding, he picked up two golden goblets from the wyrm's hoard and dug them into the cauldron, bringing the cup to Jalsinter, filling another one for Prinna if she needed to restore her strength too. He knew faes could grow form so there was no need for him to shrink it to size.
He looked up at Purrokien taking a mouthful to prove there was no poison or foul play, before staring at the wyrm
"Purrokien...mae'n rhaid ichi ei yfed i gyd" "Purrokien...you have to drink it all"
"Finish it and leave none behind, it is much too precious to see it land in dubious hands..." muttered Taff in a cough, eyeing Aynor as he made the unflattering remark, carefully coming over, past the skull, to feed the remedy to Jalsinter carefully. If the man allowed for it, he would soon wake up and the group would find the answers
Aynor huffed disappointed that the serpent had not accepted the deal on account of Taff's harmless, skinny appearance.
"Fine... suit yourself... no trade then" muttered Aynor leaning, arms crossed, against the rocky wall, thinking the words through in his mind yet again.
Aynor stood upright and grew all the more restless as he absorved and meditated the news from the dragon that destruction had already torn the fortress of Forheri and it was not of its doing. Perhaps lord Forheri had burnt his crew on the pire and the fire spread beyond restraint and control taking more than they had bargained for.
The thought of that made Aynor tense up and shudder lightly. He needed answers and he wanted them now, so he shot Taff a good look.
"Warlock... use your druid magic to restore your pet's strength and then do the same with the captive... I myself have questions to ask about my men and time is not on the waiting side" waved Aynor
Taff was rather hesitant at first, but the glowing collar around his neck getting hotter each moment he dared delay, reminded the powerful mage that he was but a slave at his master's command.
Taff let out a soft breath and stood up, hand stretched forth towards Purrokien, without even touching the dragon, speaking his celtic language to tame the beast with all but a few words.
"gwrandewch ac ufuddhau" "listen and obey"
"bod yn dal a gorwedd i lawr" "Be still and lie down"
After he had given the commands, he lowered the hand to busy himself gathering the required utensils. Taff didn't even bother to look at Purrokien well aware the dragon had no choice but to do, from then onwards, exactly as ordered. He dug around the obcene amounts of treasure, scattering it about, to find a large cauldron or pot of sorts, dragging it over to where they were all gathered.
Emris rested the cauldron it on top of a few well placed rocks and cast his hand over it, to have it filled with water, muttering more words to light up a fire beneath and bring the water to a boiling point, tossing dried herbs and roots from his travel pouch whilst he spoke more words.
He shot a glance at Prinna quite in need of some pixie dust, and then his eyes trailed off to Purrokien's snout with a wide smile of satisfaction, scooping up the small amounts of pixie dust that likely had fallen from the fae as she sat on the wyrm earlier.
"Thank you" murmured Taff at both, Prinna and Purrokien.
He carefully released the pixie dust into the cauldron and took a step back, arm raised to cover his eyes from the golden glow that would have blinded him otherwise. Once the glow died down, all what was left was a golden liquid, one gentle blow put out the fire and left the cauldron cold to the touch, though the liquid was warm and pleasant in scent and taste.
Without explanation as to what he was doing or what he was adding, he picked up two golden goblets from the wyrm's hoard and dug them into the cauldron, bringing the cup to Jalsinter, filling another one for Prinna if she needed to restore her strength too. He knew faes could grow form so there was no need for him to shrink it to size.
He looked up at Purrokien taking a mouthful to prove there was no poison or foul play, before staring at the wyrm
"Purrokien...mae'n rhaid ichi ei yfed i gyd" "Purrokien...you have to drink it all"
"Finish it and leave none behind, it is much too precious to see it land in dubious hands..." muttered Taff in a cough, eyeing Aynor as he made the unflattering remark, carefully coming over, past the skull, to feed the remedy to Jalsinter carefully. If the man allowed for it, he would soon wake up and the group would find the answers
At first sound of the odd voice coming out of the Skull, Prinna's flighty attention had been drawn to it, and she flitted down from Purrokien's snout to land near the skull itself. Peeking into the eyeholes, herself small enough to nearly crawl through, she cocked her head, looking about it this way and that, as if hoping to unlock the secrets of its speech. Oh! She hated secrets, and seemed rather impatient for a while as she flitted about, ignoring the dragon and his conversation with the humans.
After a time, she focused on the slumped knight nearby, exasperation brightening the light blue glow that surrounded her small form. Her mouth dropped open a fraction in facination as she drifted closer, turning momentarily to blink at Purrokien when the dragon’s laughter shook the area.
Bending over the knight, then, sitting on his shoulder, she reached out to gently brush a hand along his cheek, tenderly, a complex look on her face as she watched him. Inexplicably, she felt suddenly drawn to figure him out. Somethimes her own whimsical nature befuddled even her and she let out a huff of amused impatience, though she didn't move. She continued to stroke his cheek for a while, watching his face. Her touch might have registered to the unconcious of Jalsinter's mind in the form of a tingling warmth, light and feathery, and emenating the faintest hint of wellbeing.
Noticing Taff's approach she now abandoned her place on Jalsinter's shoulder to spring back, hovering in a bit of a shadowed corner, watching curiously, if a bit guarded in demeanor. She had very little experience with humans, having always avoided them and their cities as she tended to her own portions of earth and sky. She had an innate wariness of the creatures, yet found them facinating nonetheless.
When offered her own cup of the odd liquid, Prinna didn't move right away, but eventually her curiosity would drive her forward, wings vanishing as her form grew in a misty flicker until she was back to her roughly human size, dusky blue locks tumbling over her shoulders as she cautiously picked up the cup and gazed down into it, as if expecting something to leap out at her.
As she inhaled the scent of the liquid, she soon knew Taff had used her own dust in the concoction, which lent a faint scent of pine reminicent of wind gusting through a pine forest on a chilly day, fresh, wild, and natural. She slid her gaze to Taff and frowned, a bit put out that the human hadn't asked her permission.
Setting aside the liquid without drinking, she moved back to Purrokien's side and reached out to a stroke a scale or two, seeming to reassure herself as much as lend any comfort to the dragon himself as she watched to see how the knight would respond to the drink. She found herself suddenly concerned about him, yet she didn't want to move closer.
After a time, she focused on the slumped knight nearby, exasperation brightening the light blue glow that surrounded her small form. Her mouth dropped open a fraction in facination as she drifted closer, turning momentarily to blink at Purrokien when the dragon’s laughter shook the area.
Bending over the knight, then, sitting on his shoulder, she reached out to gently brush a hand along his cheek, tenderly, a complex look on her face as she watched him. Inexplicably, she felt suddenly drawn to figure him out. Somethimes her own whimsical nature befuddled even her and she let out a huff of amused impatience, though she didn't move. She continued to stroke his cheek for a while, watching his face. Her touch might have registered to the unconcious of Jalsinter's mind in the form of a tingling warmth, light and feathery, and emenating the faintest hint of wellbeing.
Noticing Taff's approach she now abandoned her place on Jalsinter's shoulder to spring back, hovering in a bit of a shadowed corner, watching curiously, if a bit guarded in demeanor. She had very little experience with humans, having always avoided them and their cities as she tended to her own portions of earth and sky. She had an innate wariness of the creatures, yet found them facinating nonetheless.
When offered her own cup of the odd liquid, Prinna didn't move right away, but eventually her curiosity would drive her forward, wings vanishing as her form grew in a misty flicker until she was back to her roughly human size, dusky blue locks tumbling over her shoulders as she cautiously picked up the cup and gazed down into it, as if expecting something to leap out at her.
As she inhaled the scent of the liquid, she soon knew Taff had used her own dust in the concoction, which lent a faint scent of pine reminicent of wind gusting through a pine forest on a chilly day, fresh, wild, and natural. She slid her gaze to Taff and frowned, a bit put out that the human hadn't asked her permission.
Setting aside the liquid without drinking, she moved back to Purrokien's side and reached out to a stroke a scale or two, seeming to reassure herself as much as lend any comfort to the dragon himself as she watched to see how the knight would respond to the drink. She found herself suddenly concerned about him, yet she didn't want to move closer.
((OOC I think we should put this RP on hold until Iltheyn is better ))
((OOC it's Iltheyn's turn or anyone else for the matter ))
The Queen and her entourage swept through the massive doorway that led into the grand hall. A comfortable chair was laid out, surrounded by great curtains of thick, vibrant, brightly colored cloth at the head of the room. The Queen herself bore modest dress, in the muted colors of mourning. A narrow circlet bound her hair away from her face and into thick plaits down her back. She seemed to glide towards the throne, her long gown trailing past her toes and disguising any sign of imperfection in her gait.
She turned first towards her visitors, tilting her head in a slight greeting. Her pallor was unmistakable. Then, she took a seat.
–
The dark haired waitress stepped out into the chaotic din of the tavern, still tying her apron in place at her back, with seemingly clumsy fingers. She took a brief glance over towards the bar, where the man tending it appeared to be slowly reaching down behind the counter for something just out of sight. She turned her head back quickly towards the fight and, with some attitude, grabbed a tray out of the stack resting by the kitchen door. Shara walked towards a recently vacated table and began to load the tray with the absent patrons old dishes as the argument spun quickly out of hand.
With a slam and the rattle of glassware, the first man crashed into the counter and sent the bartender retreating back in the direction of the liquor cabinet. Raising his arm, the exhausted man pointed a small loaded crossbow in the direction of the two men. “Hey now.” He barked, trying to get the pale man's attention.
Shara meandered by into the kitchen, unfazed, and dumped the dirty dishes with the dishboy, who quickly perked up when he saw her enter the room. “There's an awful ruckus going on out there.” He offered, nervously. “Yeah, just some sleeze trying to start shit.” She casually quipped, retrieving the tray and heading back outside, with a bit of a grumble.
–
The socket of the skull was dark and yellowed. Luckily, it's age meant that any foul smells it once bore had long since faded along with the rest of it's owner. Notably, the back of one of the sockets had a deep and narrow gouge in the bone that allowed for view deeper into the skull cavity, were one both small and inquisitive enough to find it.
Nestled in the cage of bone and dirt was a small figure who occasionally muttered to themselves and moved about listlessly. They seemed to notice the movement outside of their hiding place, and looked up, although there was hardly enough light for them to make out any details of the pixie.
She turned first towards her visitors, tilting her head in a slight greeting. Her pallor was unmistakable. Then, she took a seat.
–
The dark haired waitress stepped out into the chaotic din of the tavern, still tying her apron in place at her back, with seemingly clumsy fingers. She took a brief glance over towards the bar, where the man tending it appeared to be slowly reaching down behind the counter for something just out of sight. She turned her head back quickly towards the fight and, with some attitude, grabbed a tray out of the stack resting by the kitchen door. Shara walked towards a recently vacated table and began to load the tray with the absent patrons old dishes as the argument spun quickly out of hand.
With a slam and the rattle of glassware, the first man crashed into the counter and sent the bartender retreating back in the direction of the liquor cabinet. Raising his arm, the exhausted man pointed a small loaded crossbow in the direction of the two men. “Hey now.” He barked, trying to get the pale man's attention.
Shara meandered by into the kitchen, unfazed, and dumped the dirty dishes with the dishboy, who quickly perked up when he saw her enter the room. “There's an awful ruckus going on out there.” He offered, nervously. “Yeah, just some sleeze trying to start shit.” She casually quipped, retrieving the tray and heading back outside, with a bit of a grumble.
–
The socket of the skull was dark and yellowed. Luckily, it's age meant that any foul smells it once bore had long since faded along with the rest of it's owner. Notably, the back of one of the sockets had a deep and narrow gouge in the bone that allowed for view deeper into the skull cavity, were one both small and inquisitive enough to find it.
Nestled in the cage of bone and dirt was a small figure who occasionally muttered to themselves and moved about listlessly. They seemed to notice the movement outside of their hiding place, and looked up, although there was hardly enough light for them to make out any details of the pixie.
Caenndinas - Castle Throne Room
At the queen's emergence, the entirety of her court grew quiet. Perhaps there were a few hushed whispers, here and there, but largely everyone was too shocked by her appearance to do much else. At her left followed the enigmatic sorcerer, and to her right accompanied her loyal guard Enthlyi. The latter stood nearby as she nodded to the others while the former parted from her, to stand before them about seven paces from the throne.
He pushed his hood from atop his head, revealing grey-blue eyes, narrow features and a braid of hair which fell just below the curve of his robed back. He scanned the crowd closely, tucking part of his cloak to his chest.
_
The Windobrig - Purrokien's Hoard
Purrokien was already close to the ground when the order was given, so it did not disturb much for him to slink closer to it. His eyes grew wide as his body moved, surprised that the title the strange man gave to his captive was genuine. He watched with a mixture of blooming interest and exasperation as the reagents were gathered and mixed into the cauldron. When the pixie dust was added the wyrm reflexively shut his eyes as well.
When Taff gave his last instruction the dragon sluggishly shifted forward, dipping his massive, forked tongue into the cauldron. The heat which might burn a mortal's flesh failed to faze the massive serpent as he lapped the mixture up.
Meanwhile, Jal remained unresponsive, even as Prinna touched his cheek. When she moved back to Purrokien and stroked his scales the dragon rumbled with dry amusement. He finished the cauldron quickly and watched passively while Taff tried to nurse the knight.
And Taff would find that although the man did not stir, there was nothing that barred him from feeding the unconscious man the mixture.
"It seems that humans and dragons still share something. A fixation on power." The wyrm grumbled, serpentine pupils trailing back to Aynor. "Where did you find this one?"
_
Caenndinas - The Bar
The smaller patron would have buckled under the overwhelming feeling of being struck in the solar plexus if the taller one hadn't kept him braced against the bar. Unfortunately for the tired man behind the counter, it took a bit of time for his fighting patrons to take notice. Not that the rest of the bar hadn't, of course. Though the appearance of a weapon hushed many of the jeering patrons one called out, "Hey, idiots! Look up!"
There was no looking up for the instigator, lurching forward as he was post-assault. The taller of them did, chest heaving with aggressive, unexpended energy until he spied the glint of the bolt's head in the tavern lights. His eyes widened, at first with fear irrational to their circumstances before mellowing back to normal. His fists were already clenched around the bunched cloth of his opponents tunic but they squeezed tighter, until his knuckles were paler than he already was.
At the queen's emergence, the entirety of her court grew quiet. Perhaps there were a few hushed whispers, here and there, but largely everyone was too shocked by her appearance to do much else. At her left followed the enigmatic sorcerer, and to her right accompanied her loyal guard Enthlyi. The latter stood nearby as she nodded to the others while the former parted from her, to stand before them about seven paces from the throne.
He pushed his hood from atop his head, revealing grey-blue eyes, narrow features and a braid of hair which fell just below the curve of his robed back. He scanned the crowd closely, tucking part of his cloak to his chest.
_
The Windobrig - Purrokien's Hoard
Purrokien was already close to the ground when the order was given, so it did not disturb much for him to slink closer to it. His eyes grew wide as his body moved, surprised that the title the strange man gave to his captive was genuine. He watched with a mixture of blooming interest and exasperation as the reagents were gathered and mixed into the cauldron. When the pixie dust was added the wyrm reflexively shut his eyes as well.
When Taff gave his last instruction the dragon sluggishly shifted forward, dipping his massive, forked tongue into the cauldron. The heat which might burn a mortal's flesh failed to faze the massive serpent as he lapped the mixture up.
Meanwhile, Jal remained unresponsive, even as Prinna touched his cheek. When she moved back to Purrokien and stroked his scales the dragon rumbled with dry amusement. He finished the cauldron quickly and watched passively while Taff tried to nurse the knight.
And Taff would find that although the man did not stir, there was nothing that barred him from feeding the unconscious man the mixture.
"It seems that humans and dragons still share something. A fixation on power." The wyrm grumbled, serpentine pupils trailing back to Aynor. "Where did you find this one?"
_
Caenndinas - The Bar
The smaller patron would have buckled under the overwhelming feeling of being struck in the solar plexus if the taller one hadn't kept him braced against the bar. Unfortunately for the tired man behind the counter, it took a bit of time for his fighting patrons to take notice. Not that the rest of the bar hadn't, of course. Though the appearance of a weapon hushed many of the jeering patrons one called out, "Hey, idiots! Look up!"
There was no looking up for the instigator, lurching forward as he was post-assault. The taller of them did, chest heaving with aggressive, unexpended energy until he spied the glint of the bolt's head in the tavern lights. His eyes widened, at first with fear irrational to their circumstances before mellowing back to normal. His fists were already clenched around the bunched cloth of his opponents tunic but they squeezed tighter, until his knuckles were paler than he already was.
The Windobrig - Purrokien's Hoard
Aynor smiled broadly at the question.
"It took me quite some hard work to track him down. I finally found him living among druids and elves at the caverns deep in the forest before the fires laid their claim. I was hoping the mage would bring back my friends but since they are not dead yet they cannot be summoned back... wasted effort there, if you ask me.
But Emrys has predicted that this knight you hold, he can command my men released and the knights and the queen herself would be more agreeable to my crew's freedom if this knight petitions it, than if I were to try, for I would undoubtedly join their fate behind bars and at the gallows sooner than later." explained Aynor
"It turned out to be a much longer journey from those wretched elven forests and wilderness all the way up to the caves here but, it is as he forehold, a mighty knight sound asleep by a dragon's feet holds the key to my men's freedom... now tell me, where did you get this knight from? and why are you keeping him?" asked Aynor taking turns at the amiccable questioning.
Aynor smiled broadly at the question.
"It took me quite some hard work to track him down. I finally found him living among druids and elves at the caverns deep in the forest before the fires laid their claim. I was hoping the mage would bring back my friends but since they are not dead yet they cannot be summoned back... wasted effort there, if you ask me.
But Emrys has predicted that this knight you hold, he can command my men released and the knights and the queen herself would be more agreeable to my crew's freedom if this knight petitions it, than if I were to try, for I would undoubtedly join their fate behind bars and at the gallows sooner than later." explained Aynor
"It turned out to be a much longer journey from those wretched elven forests and wilderness all the way up to the caves here but, it is as he forehold, a mighty knight sound asleep by a dragon's feet holds the key to my men's freedom... now tell me, where did you get this knight from? and why are you keeping him?" asked Aynor taking turns at the amiccable questioning.
The Windobrig - Purrokien's Hoard
Hands lacing through her dusky locks, twisting and flitting as they wove the strands into a braid, Prinna glanced around, distracted for the moment by her task. Spotting small yet hardy tufts of green growing out of the side of the rock near the cave's entrace, where beams of light just barely touched it, Prinna skipped over and bent down to touch them softly, a smile on her face. The vines, for that's what they were, stunted though their growth was, grew quickly under her touch, flourishing and even bloomed several hardy purple flowers along its length. Plucking a piece of the vine, Prinna tied her braid, amd repositioned the flower in her hair until it was behind a tapered ear.
Dashing back to Purrokien, she stood on tiptoe to try and peer into his eyes. "Feel better now?" She asked once the Wyrm had drunk the concoction. She wondered why he'd bothered to obey the command of the servant, and turned her gaze to once more eye Taff, this time with a bit of suspicion. She stroked Purrokien's muzzle a few more times then looked at Aynor as he spoke, her brow furrowing.
"I don't like how you speak of him." She finally said matter of factly, her gaze flitting to the knight who still lay motionless. Her knight, for she had decided to take care of him, and she couldn't just let the others bandy his future about like a chicken at market. She moved to pick up the goblet that Taff had given her, untouched still, and wandered back to the prone man, kneeling beside him and stroking his face again.
The potion had seemed to work a bit for Purrokien, so perhaps it would make her man feel better too. Pushing him a bit, she rolled him until she could out the goblet to his lips. Holding his cheeks in one hand so his lips parted slightly, she proceeded to tenderly pour drops of the concoction into his mouth, her eyes wide as she did so, crooning softly to him in a sing song voice.
"Wake now my mystery,
Come to the mount.
The wind is calling,
Where shall we go?"
She giggled suddenly, finished with her task and after patting the knights head she rose and wandered back to the skull nearby, wings popping into existence as her figure shimmered, shrinking until she could wedge herself inside one of the hollowed out eyes.
"Ready or not, here I come!" She said, a happy smile of excitement and curiosity on her petite face. Something was in there, and she would find out what, or who, whatever the case may be.
Hands lacing through her dusky locks, twisting and flitting as they wove the strands into a braid, Prinna glanced around, distracted for the moment by her task. Spotting small yet hardy tufts of green growing out of the side of the rock near the cave's entrace, where beams of light just barely touched it, Prinna skipped over and bent down to touch them softly, a smile on her face. The vines, for that's what they were, stunted though their growth was, grew quickly under her touch, flourishing and even bloomed several hardy purple flowers along its length. Plucking a piece of the vine, Prinna tied her braid, amd repositioned the flower in her hair until it was behind a tapered ear.
Dashing back to Purrokien, she stood on tiptoe to try and peer into his eyes. "Feel better now?" She asked once the Wyrm had drunk the concoction. She wondered why he'd bothered to obey the command of the servant, and turned her gaze to once more eye Taff, this time with a bit of suspicion. She stroked Purrokien's muzzle a few more times then looked at Aynor as he spoke, her brow furrowing.
"I don't like how you speak of him." She finally said matter of factly, her gaze flitting to the knight who still lay motionless. Her knight, for she had decided to take care of him, and she couldn't just let the others bandy his future about like a chicken at market. She moved to pick up the goblet that Taff had given her, untouched still, and wandered back to the prone man, kneeling beside him and stroking his face again.
The potion had seemed to work a bit for Purrokien, so perhaps it would make her man feel better too. Pushing him a bit, she rolled him until she could out the goblet to his lips. Holding his cheeks in one hand so his lips parted slightly, she proceeded to tenderly pour drops of the concoction into his mouth, her eyes wide as she did so, crooning softly to him in a sing song voice.
"Wake now my mystery,
Come to the mount.
The wind is calling,
Where shall we go?"
She giggled suddenly, finished with her task and after patting the knights head she rose and wandered back to the skull nearby, wings popping into existence as her figure shimmered, shrinking until she could wedge herself inside one of the hollowed out eyes.
"Ready or not, here I come!" She said, a happy smile of excitement and curiosity on her petite face. Something was in there, and she would find out what, or who, whatever the case may be.
You are on: Forums » Fantasy Roleplay » Radiance Engulfed (DM to Join)
Moderators: Mina, Keke, Cass, Claine, Sanne, Dragonfire, Ilmarinen, Darth_Angelus