Riders of Verlendia | IC

[Verran]

An Exhausted Adoption
Kyen'delsia
Kyen'delsia slumped down upon the ground. Somewhere in the back of her mind, she knew that they, the group, were reaching the edge of her knowledge. Soon, she would have no idea where she was nor any method to find her way back home. But that wasn't important right now. Emptily, she stared at the egg. Her egg. Despite it lying permanently out of sight, she continued to know exactly where it was. Even when it had sped away from her as Oley escaped with the others while she, Elwyn, and Tiriok remained behind, the knowledge of where her egg was never truly left. Not a strange ability to simply know its exact location, but some way of simply following wherever the feeling lead and, eventually, she'd find her.

She had no recollection as to why the dragon was a she, but it simply snapped into the young Klerion's mind as she stared at the egg.

The dragon certainly took her time hatching. Half-an-hour trickled by with her simply staring at the still egg before, finally, a sudden crack broke into her empty, drained mind. For some reason, it was louder to her than the other hatchings going on. Perhaps because it was her dragon. Another rent the air, followed by another and another before a sudden shattering as china pushed off the table. Kyen'delsia hardly stirred. The dragon flopped about, unsteady on its newborn legs. Soft impacts in the ground that could be barely heard, let alone felt, as the baby tried to right itself. Suddenly, it let out a short, sharp screech. Piercing the air with its first sharp cry seemed to move Kyen'delsia no more than its actual hatching.

It cried again.

Kyen'delsia's body began to shake as fresh tears began to cascade down her face. Whether or not the dragon was about to cry again, she was never to know. But all who witnessed saw the little creature draw breath when Kyen'delsia, as if in response, launched herself forward with a sob. Dragging herself upon the ground, the Klerion scooped up the baby dragon into her arms before rolling onto her back and placing the dragon upon her chest. In that moment, the dragon immediately began to coo happily as Kyen'delsia still cried.

"I'm sorry, I'm so sorry. You've just been born, crying you needed me and I just wanted to sit there and just…oh it doesn't matter. Sister was right. Can't just sink into the dark. You need me as much Verlendia needs you, it seems. Elsha'fy. My Elsha'fy, do forgive me. Diamond of my eye, I hold you close and whisper that you are mine. You are mine."

With that, she fell asleep. The dragon, Elsha'fy, curled itself contentedly onto Kyen'delsia's chest. Cooing softly into her grief-ridden ears as the exhaustion from grieving, fighting, and thoroughly emotional day sapped the last of her wakefulness away. With the soft murmurs of the silver dragon in her ears, Kyen'delsia's dreams were, mercifully, empty for however long she slept.

 

[Custodiet Teh]

Oleander Dapplegrey


The Esquirian was starting to get frustrated. She felt as if she had just suppressed a mighty sneeze, her body was warmed up and ready to go, she'd been expecting to put many miles between herself and the previous night's stay yet here they were. Nary a stone's throw away from where she'd woken up. The run she'd had gone on was a full-out gallop but now with the waiting around just to be hailed by a red skin two-leg of Kynsei's brood, and injured upstart of a soldier and now the slow hatching process of the Rider's eggs unfolding, her blood had been run hot yet now there was nothing to do. No ambush to set for pursuers, no fleeing troops to hunt down and skin, just aimless trotting back and forth, back and forth. A rut was beginning to form in the hard earth of the sparse woods.

Just what was her purpose here and now. To act as a guard dog for the Two-Legs? She'd already been used as a means of transport, likely only a matter of time now before she'd be asked to pull a cart and wear a feedbag. She snorted in irritation before trotting off away into the woods to go think things on her own.

Once out of eyesight, Oleander pulled her hat from the confines of her bag and placed it atop her head. Hooking it right over the nubs of her regenerating antlers, she carried on at a slow pace, circling the camp the Two-Legs were making. From what she could tell, they intended to stay put until the scaled beasts she'd been carrying were free from their shells. Likely foolish in her opinion. They hadn't gone far and now they'd be hauling noisy biting things instead of silent eggs. Easy to find if those that had cornered them this morning came back with greater numbers and she was not keen on waking up to something like that again.

It was enough to make her thoughts start to drift back home to her Herd. They wouldn't have had time for such foolishness, all of them, even the newborns were capable of simply relocating to a better position at least twenty five miles away in a day. Even more, if the Herd was mature. Worse yet, Elwyn, the one who she'd taken into debt, was injured again. It was as if her body was rebelling against the cost to stay alive, trying to bleed out at least once each day. Oleander felt petty thinking such things but she was in no mood to feel guilty about her behavior. No, her Herd wouldn't have dealt with this situation well but at the very least her Father would have measured and weighed the options that were being presented.

She could leave now, relatively intact, and not even out a round of shot yet. Financially, she'd be gaining little and losing the cost of the opportunity she'd wasted. She'd be forfeiting the debt she was tenuously owed but what could an injured woman of faith offer to her now? Oleander coveted nothing she owned and wanted little to do with a winged newborn beast. If she struck out on her own, she could likely find another Two-Leg settlement with more beneficial employment and less restless dead wandering about. This all wasn't to be her fight, her kind had no stakes in the games of Two-Legs, they had a better destiny ahead, Oleander was sure of it.

But she could also stay with the group, they were after all, in contact with Two-Legs of means. A King had spoken with them at length, an Oracle was in their midst. It was a chance to maybe obtain standing and wealth befitting her kind, a way to start the process of establishing a new Esquirian presence that wasn't limited to poaching and squatting in the delineated lands of Two-Leg Kingdoms. An actual route to reaching her goal, with no more puttering about traveling from city to city.

Oleander rolled the decision around in her head as she kept of the trotting pace around the camp before dashing off towards deeper woods without a word.

Returning as the sun was reaching its daily peak, Oleander strutted as best she could back into camp with the carcass of a deer atop across her back. Getting to work stringing it up to be cleaned she loudly announced to anyone listening, her attitude a bit more positively adjusted than earlier.

"Cannae sit aroond ah' day a' peepin a' eggs cracken n' lessnen tae wee scalie beasts chirp n' greet. Ef ye arn't awready deid o' yer woonds, yer moor'n welcom tae a' mooch o yew'd lik o' th' book ere'" Having fastened the lower legs to a nearby branch so the deer was hanging head down, she produced a knife and began stripping it down to usable bits. Stealing bits of the raw meat to chew on while she worked. "Ah wullnae be daen' yer cook th' Tw'-Shanks, nae paid tae be a servant, nae paid at a'!" She gave another of her little barking laughs, slicing the last of the skin off and hanging it aside. A few more quick strokes of the blade and the usable cuts were separated from rest of the viscera, Olee forgoing cleaning the beast from nose to tail.

If she were to be staying with the group, she'd at least be doing it on a full stomach.

Olee Speak

"Sorry, but I can't stand sitting around all day, especially if I'm just going to end up watching eggs hatch. If you aren't already too injured, feel free to help yourselves to the meat of this buck. It's better off if you cook your own meat, I'm not a paid chef, not paid at all!"

 

[Owl]

Casimir

---

Casimir's eyes roved over the bloodied survivors until they landed on Hexar. The Hexar, King of the High Tower if the bloodmarked was to be believed. He scooted over a little, putting as much distance as possible between himself and the enemy without drawing unwanted attention. No amount of honeyed words could persuade him that the Klerion was their ally. It seemed far more likely that he was someone else altogether, though it eluded him why the man would've picked the name Hexar if he was indeed an imposter.

All the more reason to go home, he thought to himself. He couldn't even begin to imagine how he'd be received back in Stavinburg with a dragon at his side. Would they think him a hero? Some kind of saviour? The mere idea gnawed at him, he hadn't fought, he'd run twice now and judging by the battered looks of the survivors, there were no more enemies left to fight, unless...

His eyes pinned Hexar for a moment before he looked down at the egg placed in the soil before him. It hadn't hatched yet, and part of him wished it would remain so. The same question that had chased him in his dreams the night before reared its ugly head. Why? Why him? Why not Tiriok or Leander? Melindre would surely say it had something to do with Orestra, as if that made any more sense. The same Orestra who had not intervened in the square, who had not intervened when Eamon died, who hadn't stopped his parents from being carried to a pyre on the back of their shields when he'd been a head shorter than he was now.

He looked to the side and squinted at Milo as the Amalfi held a frail-looking dragon in his soft paws, an honour a low-life thief didn't deserve and a responsibility he clearly couldn't carry. Mist catcher... Casimir silently rolled his eyes and looked the other way. A childish name for a childish boy whose primary talent seemed to be crying. He should join with the Klerion woman whose fresh tears were retraced the path of the ones she'd shed not long before, they could sob and be useless together. The only redemptive thought that entered his mind was that he figured he was at least the most capable among Orestra's questionable decisions, though being better than a cat and a blind woman was hardly an achievement.

Shaking his head, Casimir could do little but wait for the dreadful moment his egg would hatch and some creature would emerge from it, stealing his freedom, demanding his attention, or worse still, expecting love and affection.

He passed his time observing the others and decided that he should stick close to Tiriok and Mae'lyrra as he imagined they would give him the least amount of grief. Oleander was decent company too, if difficult to understand at times, and he wagered he could at least survive being in the presence of Haloke. But Melindre, Elwyn, and Kyen'delsia could no longer be trusted since they'd brought back Hexar. It didn't reflect well on Tiriok either, but between the lot of them, he trusted the Phoenix Knight a greet deal more, if only for the familiar black and red he carried. That just left Leander and Milo, both of them immature children, though he harboured some sympathy for the latter at least.

He was shaken from his grim thoughts by the crack of a shell. Almost instinctively, he reached for the egg and sat it in his lap as it trembled from the inside. He spotted a fine line along the top of the egg when the movements suddenly stopped and the weight inside seemed to shift. Was that supposed to happen? He looked around to see how the others were fairing, but couldn't rightly tell how their dragons had come out. With a sheepish gaze plastered on his face, he gave the egg a little shake, then a knock, but nothing seemed to happen. Worry bolted through his veins. Had it died? Had he killed a dragon? It sounded good on paper but...

When no one was looking, he picked up a small rock from the ground, hid it in his hand and struck the top off the egg with it until it cracked, showering the dragon inside with shards of broken shell. An annoyed little whine emerged from the inside, but little else. What was he supposed to do now? Wait for it? He had half a mind to ask, but decided he would look rather stupid if he did and settled on giving the egg another shake.

Again the annoyed sound came, this time a little louder.

"Just what is wrong with you?" Casimir grumbled under his breath.

When he looked inside he was met with a sight he'd never seen before. The dragon was all black, save for it's bright, golden eyes. It looked to be curled up and for a moment, Casimir thought it was sick. But then it blinked at him, seemed to roll its eyes and curled up a little further, its chest rising and falling steadily. Was it... sleeping?

For a while he remained hunched over the egg, peering inside, waiting for another hint of motion. But when none came he decided there was no other option. Without much grace or care, he flipped the egg upside down until the pile of jet-black limbs had landed in his lap. The creature hissed, its back arching like cat that had its tail stepped on, then collapsed again, curled up in his lap and stared at him with one angry little eye.

Is that it? It seemed like more should have happened, though he couldn't rightly tell what. Mist catcher might be a stupid name, but Milo's dragon at least seemed to like him.

He tried to move his hand a little closer, but the dragon in his lap eyed every movement with such suspicion that Casimir feared it would snap at his hand. Thankfully, Oleander had just arrived with a solution. He sat close enough to the skinned deer to reach for a bit of stray meat without tossing the nameless dragon out of his lap. "That does the trick, aye?" he smirked as the small black dragon sat up, and sniffed the air. "Oh now you're all cute-like, eh?" said Casimir. "Alright then, have at it," he added as he put down some bits of bloody meat in his lap.

I guess I know what dragons eat now," he thought to himself as he watched the black dragon gobbled up its meal. But a name? He puffed his cheeks and sank back into his thoughts, hardly noticing the little dragon nuzzling up against his palm once it had finished eating.

 

[Morgan]

Mae'lyrra​

The relief she had felt had finding Oleander, Milo and Casimir was hard to describe. It only became greater when she learned that all of the dragon eggs were safe and intact. They had done a good job. Mae'lyrra reminded herself to tell them later. But there were several things that stole her attention. Slowly, the rest of their band joined them. Elwyn and Tiriok were wounded and she almost rushed to help them, but then her eyes landed on Kyen'delsia and then on the stranger they brought with them. She eyed him suspiciously, wondering if he could be trusted. Mae'lyrra stood and watched them for a good while before she decided that if Elwyn trusted him enough to bring him with them, then so would she.​

​

And then her attention was drawn elsewhere yet again. This time it was to witness the hatching of a dragon. Mae'lyrra stood and watched in awe and joy. Watching Milo greet his own little dragon made her smile. Later, the same happened to the exhausted Kyen'delsia who soon after fell asleep on the ground in their midst. Time wore on and the next dragon to hatch would be Casimir's. From time to time, Mae'lyrra would observe the young man. He seemed skeptical of, well, everything. Even as she watched him with the egg, he seemed skeptical. Until she saw him feed the dragon and finally smile, she wondered what he was thinking and if he might react negatively. His dragon was black as night. The two of them were a good match, she thought.​

​

Stepping away from her companions, she found her own dragon egg and placed it in front of her where she was kneeling. Her spear lay on the ground next to her and for a while, Mae'lyrra simply sat there, watching the egg before her. Her breath found its steady rhythm as it did when she called upon the spirits. Except now, she wasn't communicating with the spirits. No, she wanted to be right there in the moment, in this world, when her dragon saw the light of day. That didn't mean the spirits weren't there, however. Mae'lyrra could feel their presence all around her. It didn't surprise her. The spirit of a dragon must be a powerful thing.​

​

She sat for a long time, quiet and calm. Nothing happened for so long that she thought the dragon might not hatch that day, but it seemed the little thing could read her thoughts. Then again, who was to say it couldn't? As Mae'lyrra sat there, the egg began to rock back and forth. Then a tapping could be heard. Cracks began to form in the shell. At the same time, a smile formed on Mae'lyrra's face and she leaned down. In the matter of second after that, pieces of shell were flying and the dragon fought to break free. Mae'lyrra still did nothing. This was its first encounter with the world and she wanted it to use its own strength. When it was free of the egg, she could shower it with all the love in her heart. And the dragon did break free. With increasing strength and ferocity it tore at the shell and before lung it burst forth, landing on the forest floor.​

​

Breathless she reached out. She had no words. The dragon was a robust, scaly little thing and when her hand approached, it let out a long screech. A screech that would some day become a mighty roar. Mae'lyrra pulled her hand back for a moment before she smiled and reached out to touch the dragon. It eyed her hand warily, then raised its head to sniff her skin before it screeched again and let her touch it. Her hands traced over its scaled head and down its back. It was a dark brown color and it had deep green eyes. It stepped carefully toward her, sniffing the air as it did. Before she knew it, the dragon was in her lap and tried to climb higher.​

​

It was a strange thing to witness the hatching of a dragon. It was a creature she had only seen in paintings and depicted in old books. They had all heard the stories but it had been such a long time since anyone had seen one. Now she sat on the forest floor with her very own dragon. It had thick limbs despite its size and on the end of its tail it had small spikes. For a moment she wondered how big it would grow and whether it would maintain its stature. If that was the case, this would become an impressive beast.​

​

Mae'lyrra laughed with joy as she picked up the dragon and held it out in front of her. She stared into its deep green eyes and for a moment, the little thing stopped wriggling and looked right back at her.​

​

"By soul we are bound. You and I." The joy she felt almost overwhelmed her but she managed to control herself. Mae'lyrra set the dragon down in her lap where it nuzzled its head against her palm. "Baloryx." She tasted the name and then repeated it. "Yes, that is what I'll call you. Baloryx." Again she laughed, watching the dragon. Somewhere deep within her, she knew that they were bound for life. She knew that their souls would be forever entwined. She could practically feel the air around her abuzz with the presence of the spirits. In her lap, the dragon beat its wings twice and let out another screech.​

 

[KatSea]

Haloke Wildfire

Haloke was grateful to have Mae'lyrra walk besides her. The fighting spirit within her had dimmed, hiding away in her heart as reason took hold. Her egg. Caismir and Milo still had her baby. No matter how much Haloke wished to splay herself against the ground, limbs flailing as she twisted and turned to find a comfortable spot, she wanted to know her egg was okay first. Selfish, perhaps as there were other lives involved, but Haloke didn't care. At least...not externally. She wanted the boys to be unharmed, that was for certain, but her soon to be hatchling was her priority. A moment of anger flickered behind her eyes.

Guilt was smothered by this momentary rage. She wanted to skewer the brains of whoever dared to threaten her egg. Who ever threatened to separate her from her new found responsibility. She wanted to see the fear burn in their eyes once they realized their mistake. Haloke didn't know what lay ahead of her, but now it wasn't so aimless, so hopeless and grim, the idea of being alone. She wasn't, anymore. She refused to let that be taken away from her.

She uncoiled her fists. The emotion subsided. Nausea, fear and confusion piled in her stomach.

She was grateful to have Mae'lyrra walk with her. She hadn't known the tribal woman long. Still, despite all, through the near death experiences and insanity that was all in the course of a day...Haloke felt a connection click. She wasn't sure if it was the woman or the massive spear that made her feel safe. A humorless smile curled at her lips at the idea. The memory of Mae'lyrra's weapon cutting through flesh was still fresh on her brain. Haloke was grateful that the warrior was her ally, not the other way round.

The young Nera gathered her egg silently, the warmth pleasant against her scarred hands. Hugging the delicate creature to her chest, she found a small area to settle with it. Everyone had gotten back safely, save the blood spatter coating the knights faces. She grimaced. She would pull TIriok aside later and ask if he was alright, but she didn't want to bombard him. More truthfully, she wanted a quiet moment along with her egg. Normally Haloke's desire would be to surround herself with boisterous Neras and be merry with them. She missed grabbing her youngest sister's hand and teaching her to dance poorly, purposely directing her how to stamp on someone's foot if she grew uncomfortable. She missed being able to sit with her father and share ale, laughing at Istas for being prudish in that department. Her father may not have been the most welcoming to Haloke being chosen for the Suring, but he was still her papa, and damn it all, she missed him. She missed her tribe, her sisters, her mother, her neighbors and the children she taught magic too.

Her eyes closed. She wouldn't see that for a long time. The moment Melindre called her name, she knew. Being a Dragon Rider and taking this role would make it next to impossible to return home. She wondered if the bonfires had died down by now, wondered if her sisters slept soundly knowing she was gone. What was to happen with the Suring preparation now that she was gone? She knew father would be disappointed. That's all he ever wanted from his children.

Looking at her egg, her concerns melted. Her thumb traced the shell. "I hope I'm a good mama to you, little one. I'm a little much at times, or so Im told, I think Im a delight, but I hope you can handle it. I hope you can come to love me like I love you. If I'm not what you expected, I'm sorry. I'm not elegant, or knightly, or wise, especially the ladder...But I'm willing to put the work in, for you. You are going to be so spoiled rotten that I'd be surprised if you didn't gnaw my arm off..." She chuckled, her throat threatening to close. She never had problems with talking before today, but now forming sentences was like trying to swim trough oil.

Blood rushed through her veins with the sudden thud of her heart. A crack began to spiral through the shell. Small, at first. Thin lines grew like spindles, deepening with a resounding speed. Her temple began to pound, oxygen refusing to meet her lungs. The tip of a muzzle peeked through the cracks. Haloke froze, unsure if she should interfere as her hatchling struggled to shake off its shell. Tentatively, her finger gripped the sliver, pulling a thin portion of the egg. A small limb, webbed and scaly, wriggled through. With a resounding screech, the hatchling burst through its prison, covered in a slimy coating. Haloke, enchanted and dumbfounded by the creature, thoughtlessly reached for the hatchling to brush off the remaining shell bits. The creature tilted its small head, eyes wide. It's head retracted at Haloke's hand. Not fear. Fascinating. A rumble of coos escaped it as the creature's muzzle hit Haloke's hand. Stunned, Haloke remained still, the color becoming clearer now that her eyes could adjust to its glimmer. It felt like the familiar cooled iron that she had worked with in the blacksmith's home. The creature's eyes were the color of melting iron, a light but bright shade of red with speckles of hazel. It's wings retracted, briefly fluttering as it made contact.

Haloke's response was louder than the hatchling's as it tried to leap from her lap to her chest, claws extended as if to cling to her clothing. It reminded her of that damned cat Ayita tried to bring home so many years ago. Once latched, it's head leaned back, inspecting Haloke still.

"H-hello-love." Haloke greeted, shakily, overwhelmed with the emotion building in her chest. With a sudden vigor and violent shake, the creature's mouth snapped back and a roar escaped it. Well...a yawn. A long, sleepy, weak yawn. It's eyes drooped, head fumbling lazily to meet Haloke's shoulder. Haloke blinked. It's chest was rising and falling against her. A rumbling noise resembling a growl escaped it, but Haloke quickly realized what it was. The creature was snoring soundly, clinging to her with it's sharp claws. His sharp claws, Haloke realized after a moment. She just knew. It couldn't be explained, but she knew this was her little boy, now bundled against her and fast asleep after such a burst of energy. Tentatively, afraid she might wake the hatchling up, she placed her hand against its scaly spine, cradling him to her.

"Welcome to the world. My little Forge."

 

[Pupperr]

Leander and Melindre​

Leander walked alongside the Oracle as they approached the group hiding in the trees. His hands fell at his side, caked in blood from the archers with bruised and cracked knuckles from his assault on the one who tried to choke the life from Melindre. There was blood splatter in his hair and on his face, and even though he tried to wipe it away, it only smeared across his cheek and forehead. His lip was split open but the bleeding had stopped and all the remained was flesh beginning to scab over.

Hatching… Green eyes flinched at the word and Leander barely reacted when Melindre latched onto him for support. His gaze remained fixed on the small group of riders with their damned eggs and their damned destiny. Bloodied hands clenched into tight fists as he watched his purpose in life vanish as easy as the breeze swept through the small clearing. ...naming them..?

Leander stepped back despite the Oracle clinging to him just a bit harder. He pulled his arm from her with a slow motion and refusing to look at her, or the riders and their dragons, turned his back on the group and quietly walked into the cover of trees. His feet carried him through the brush until he could no longer will them to move. He collapsed against a tree, his forearm holding him upright against it and his forehead pressed into the crook of his arm. The sound of the others was distant behind him… it was safe. Leander's eyes burned and welled with tears, only a few managing to roll down his cheek. "Father… how… how did this happen?"

Her steps were slow… Not for her injuries, nor blindness, but a courtesy. After he'd left her side, Melindre waited. Eventually, Tiriok made his way over, offering to heal her injuries and Melindre acquiesced, grateful to the Artisan for his skills. When he had finished and only when the others had settled and she found herself standing alone did Melindre take off after the warrior. Tracking while blind was a funny sort of puzzle - relying greatly on intuition and sound, rather than sight, on instinct over effect. He wasn't a small man, and there was no sense of stealth to his exit. Branches were trampled, twigs snapped along the way… In turmoil, he would favor slopes down, rather than hills upward, and the depth of his footfalls left a series of grooves she could feel through her boots.

Should all of these skills have failed her, however, the sound of his voice, pleading and broken could not be missed among the forest's natural melody. Pressing down into the forest terrain, making her own steps heard before she made her approach, she came up behind the man, pausing when she was a little ways away.

"...Leander. May I ask you something?"

Leander forced what little tears he had to stop at the sound of the Oracle approaching, silly because she was blind, but he thought it necessary anyway. His head rolled in his arm to present the side of his face to her, though it was covered by dirtied blonde hair caked with sweat and blood.

"What do you want Melindre…" he was irritated, obvious by the tone in his voice. All he wanted was to be alone but there she was, the Oracle, the one who denied him his destiny… arriving to lick his wounds like he was someone she had to save.

"Why do you care so much what your father thinks of you?" Moving to lean against a tree, Melindre's eyes shifted skyward, pinpricks of light glancing through the canopy, illuminating what little vision she had with a welcome radiance.

Leander's arm on the tree retreated and the side of a clenched fist came crashing into it with a startling thud. He shot a glare at the Oracle and although she couldn't see the anger in his eyes, it was likely she could feel it.

"And what does it matter, Oracle? Gifted with the sight of vision but can't see a goddamned thing…" He wasn't yelling but he had raised his voice. "All you do is talk in circles, alluding to know anything about me… but it's obvious that you don't. Not with a stupid question like that…." The anger in his voice gave way to pain and a deep sadness. "...you don't know what it's like… to be standing right in front of someone but to never be seen… no matter what you do.."

Leander pressed his back against the tree, his eyes fixed on his boots sinking into the grassy blanket of the woods.

"Circles…" Frowning softly, Melindre gave a nod, "Very well. You want it plain? Most don't… so I offer them a sense of mystery, because the truth is, no one wants to hear what's real, Leander. Your father is a monster. He cares for nothing and no one but himself, and he's made it very clear that you are worthless to him. In ways you do not even know… in ways you could not begin to understand. My visions are not gifts. They are a torment… that I endure because if I can be of use then that is better than the alternative, but the things that I see cannot be unseen. And I know exactly what it's like not to be seen, believe me. The others? What do they call me? The Oracle. That's all I am, Leander. A thing. A tool. To Verlendia, to these people, to everyone. The difference is I do not strive to seek their favor, because if they cannot see what I am worth then that is at their own cost." Taking a step forward, she shook her head, "So I will ask again… Why do you care what he thinks of you?"

"A torment? Like it is a torment for me to wake up every day… a shadow of his dreams and virtues…" His green eyes lifted from his boots to Melindre and he stepped toward her to meet her. "I'm like you, Melindre. A tool, but not to Verlendia, to my father. The monster. This is my life. And my purpose. I know nothing else. I was raised for no other reason. A Kilnwood… we are meant for something. I learned that from him… but now. Now I am nothing." He paused, his lip quivering at the thought. "...not even a Kilnwood.."

"The thing is… you see that as a problem. But why can't it be an opportunity? Leander… Twice now, you have saved my life. Not because you are what your father expected you to be, but because you have followed the path you were meant to follow. And maybe he won't see worth in that, but I do. How could I not? That man today…" Pausing, Melindre reached her fingers up to touch the delicate bruises along her neck, "He would have killed me, and you stopped him. You didn't have to, but you did. And in the square… whatever your reasoning was, you came to my aid. And maybe that means you've disappointed your father, or maybe it means that you are not as ingrained to his will as you think. All you need to do to be free of his shadow… is step into the light."

Leander reached out and grabbed Melindre's arm between her elbow and shoulder. His fingers dug into the robe that blanketed her flesh as he looked down at her with anguish in his eyes. "I don't know how to do that, Melindre!"

"As young as I can remember…" he let go of her arm but didn't back away. "...this has been my life.. and who I am… it's not so easy to erase and forget and change.. the light just seems so far away.."

"Only because you can't see beyond what he's told you you are…" As his hand pulled away, she reached out with surprising deftness to catch it, "But where I lack vision in the ways that most see, I see what others cannot. You are… an impossibly stubborn, often ruthless and certainly irritating man at times… but there is a goodness in you that even he cannot stamp out. It is not a weakness, Leander… It is your greatest strength. And it is why he will never measure up. Which is why he hates you. Because you remind him of what he will never be. Your father is a wasted opportunity… and a coward. And you are so much more than that."

His eyes darted to Melindre's hand around his and as she spoke, they found their way back to her. He didn't understand the Oracle and why she insisted on being so nice to him. Her belief in him… it was hard to swallow. It was so foreign and strange. It didn't make sense. Leander ripped his hand from hers and stared at her with harsh eyes. "You're wrong… Melindre.. I saved you because I swore an oath to protect you. Don't mistake it for kindness."

He stepped back from her, looking over her shoulder in the direction of where the other riders were lost in the happiness and excitement that was watching their precious dragons hatch. It was a pathetic bunch… children, a blind woman, and savages from a different land. "I am what I am…" His eyes landed back on the Oracle with defeat in his voice. He sighed, and walked toward the clearing, his shoulder knocking against hers as he stepped past. "You should stop trying to save me… it is just wasted effort."

"Leander, stop." Without turning, Melindre sighed deeply, her fingers curling around the glove of her left hand. Pulling it free, she extended a small, pale hand outward, expectantly, "There's something you need to see… about the man to whom you are so desperate to prove yourself. Something I should have shown you before…"

"What do you mean.." He asked, turning three quarters to face her and staring at her open hand, confused.

Fingers splayed, she continued to hold her hand out, "Take it. Please."

Leander sighed heavily, and turned to leave again. "I'm not interested in your parlour tricks, Melindre... "

"You have a brother, Leander. N-not the elder two. A twin." Breathing in, her hand remained hovering, waiting, "Please?"

His feet stopped dead in their tracks and for a long moment he just stood completely still, his back to the Oracle. The silence was so deafening that it was almost if Leander's heart beating in his chest could be heard amongst the trees. "What… did you say?" he asked, turning to face Melindre and stepping toward her. "I have… a twin?" His voice told her that he was skeptical and yet, he stood before her.

His eyes peeled themselves from the Oracle's face and looked down at her snow white hand held out for him to take. "And you want me to believe that if I take your hand that I'll see every----" and as his warm hand met hers, his voice was robbed of the will to speak and his eyes widened in shock.

For a moment, the world seemed to spin in place, revolving faster and faster until color and light were a blur around them. When the sensation threatened to become too much, all at once, the revolutions ceased and where once were trees, solid and strong, needles brushing needles in the cool mountain breeze, there was a room - a small, sparse room in a dark cottage. A fire crackled in the corner, and a bed lay in violent turmoil, woolen blankets bloodsoaked and trashed about, the strong coppery scent astringent enough to claw at the back of the throat. Three figures stood by the door to the chamber, well dressed, but for cloaks that seemed to have been borrowed. At their center, another figure all too familiar to Leander - though perhaps a bit younger than he would remember his father.

Before Andross Kilnwood was a young woman on her knees, her clothing in the same state of distress as the blankets on the bed, her skin waxy and pale. Rivulets of red hair hung at her shoulders and tears streamed down her sallow cheeks as her shoulders shook with silent sobs.

"You thought you could hide it? That you could send it away and you would save it? That creature will not survive… no matter what foolish endeavors you've taken to spare its miserable life. And you…" Leaning forward, Andross's gloved hands curled into the red hair, yanking her head back, "You'll be dead soon, you stupid bitch. I knew it was a mistake, letting you carry them… letting you live. I should have killed the lot of you the moment I found out. But that is a mistake I will soon rectify, mark my words!"

Turning to the men at his sides, Andross's brow rose and he gestured to two of them, "What are you idiots still doing here? The midwife can't have gotten far. Fan out and find her. I want that cursed thing at the bottom of a river before sunup!" Pulling a blade free from his side, his darkened gaze shifted back to the woman.

"It doesn't matter if you kill me. You won't find them. You've failed… and I can die happily, knowing as much." Her eyes looked up, and where there was fear, there was also a note of defiance.

Bending low, Andross reached out, his fingers curling around her slender neck, "I will find that monstrosity, and I will end him. And he will burn beside you for eternity…" There was a gasp, a strangled cry, and the woman fell to the floor of the cottage as the blade was pried from her chest.

Another cry resonated suddenly, louder and sharper and looking up, Andross's gaze drifted to the cradle in the corner of the room. Slow steps carried him to its side and peering into it, he glared down at the infant, bundled within.

"What are your orders, sire?" Another man appeared in the doorway, looking to Andross expectantly, "For the other one?"

Wiping his blade on his cloak, Andross sighed, "Kill it. I've no use for--" But he paused, and looking into the cradle again, he studied the infant for a moment, "...No. On second thought… Leave it. Come back in the morning. If it survives the night, bring it to my estate. Otherwise, well… You know that to do." Swinging around, stepping over the body of the woman, Andross brushed past his guard and left through the cottage door, "Either way… when you've finished, burn the cottage to the ground. No one can know…"

With that same disturbing revolution, the scene dissolved, and once more there was the forest, the trees and the cool breeze…

Leander's hand tightened around Melindre's, trembling slightly as his fingers squeezed into her skin. His eyes were locked on their hands, shaky and unsure of what he just saw. He was afraid to look up at Melindre for she would see the terror behind his eyes. The colour in his face had drained away and all that was left was a lifeless man standing in front of her. Scared. And more alone than he had ever felt before. His mouth opened to say something, but there were no words…

He had a brother, a twin brother. But the woman in the cottage… she carried them. The realization stabbed him like a thousand daggers. Leander's knees buckled and they hit the cold forest floor with a thump. His hand remained tightly clasped around Melindre's but he no longer stared at their hands. Green eyes found the scattered leaves beneath him and his mouth hung in shock, bottom lip quivering. The woman he had been calling mother for twenty five years was not his mother… He wasn't a Kilnwood. He was a bastard. A bastard that was supposed to be killed like his twin brother. And like his mother. He was unwanted.

Leander was blank, all but for tears that now freely flowed from his eyes. His hand continued to tighten around the Oracle's and his other just twitched at his side. But he made no sound and his body didn't dare move. He just knelt there, at Melindre's waist, as nothing but a shattered shell of a man.

Her free hand raised, slowly, and hovered for a moment, over Leander's crown, her own cheeks damp for the tears she could not contain. She had seen it all before… when Orestra had seen to bestow upon her the vision, but seeing it now… experiencing it through his eyes… Gently, she let her hand fall, brushing back his hair.

Easing down, she knelt in front of him, her eyes unmoving from his face, even as he avoided her gaze, "Forgive me. I… I never wanted you to see that. I never wanted to see it. When you came to me in the square… when I recognized you… There was a part of me that wanted to tell you then, but… but I did not think you would believe me. I… I am so sorry, Leander."

"....then why did you show me.." his voice came weakly but he continued to refuse to look at her. The tears that had rolled down his cheeks had stopped but his blank, colourless expression still remained.

"Because as hard as it is… and as much as… as much as I had hoped to spare you… It isn't fair that you should go your life believing the lie…" Her hand shifting from his head, she reached out and gingerly lifted his chin to meet his eyes, "You owe that man nothing. The reason you are alive is because you were strong enough to survive… And you had a mother who loved you enough to die for you. You deserve to know that."

Leander recoiled at her hand on his chin, scared of what else her touch would reveal. His hand let go of hers and he just stared at her, shock slowly giving way to quiet suffering. "What lie… Melindre.. you act like I didn't… like I didn't know that man doesn't want me… and never has…"

His eyes fell from hers, looking down at his blood stained opened palms in his lap. He wasn't who he thought he was. All of the pain of his childhood was for nothing. He was alone then, only a small boy in the shadow of his family... but now that family wasn't even real. And he was truly alone, only a small boy without anyone who cared for him. It all made sense, why his brothers hated him, why his mother refused to look at him, and why his father…. used him. He wasn't their blood, there was no reason to love him.

"...I should've just died in that damned cottage.."

"Don't you dare." Unseeing eyes bored into him, as Melindre shook her head fiercely, "Don't you ever say that. What lie, Leander? The lie that you are beholden to him! That you have anything to prove to him. That he deserves any part of you. You've tried your whole life to please him… Let him go. Let him go."

She was asking him to let go of everything he had ever known. But everything he had ever known… wasn't real. Just who was he, if not Leander Kilnwood? The life he had before was not a life he could ever return to. He could never return to Atheno. He could never return home. He was a bastard, living proof that the noble Andross Kilwnood spat in the eyes of Orestra and had a child out of wedlock and an affair with a common woman. If that man ever found that he knew, Andross would have him killed. Melindre's vision had destroyed all that he was in a matter of seconds and now he sat in the wood with her, unknowing of what to do next.

"You should go back." His eyes found hers and his voice came stronger than before. "The others will be wondering where you are."

"Let them wonder." Melindre answered without hesitation, "I'm not leaving you."

"Go, Melindre!" Leander was quick to respond. "You've done enough here."

"I am not going anywhere." Pulling her glove back onto her hand, she stared, almost defiantly, "Hate me if you need to… I understand. But I am not leaving you alone."

"... why are you so annoying." Leander mumbled under his breath as he glared at her. He just wanted to be alone but she refused to leave him be. Did she find enjoyment in watching him hurt? He scoffed, looked away from her and relaxed into the heels of his feet.

Sinking back as well, Melindre's fingers curled around the amulet of Orestra, and a soft sigh escaped, "...Because…" She answered, but it was barely a whisper, "Because no one should be alone."

His eyes looked back at her but he didn't speak. He just watched her. He watched how her clouded eyes sat on his and how her small hands clung to the faith she believed in so fiercely. He watched as her lips whispered whatever ridiculous thing she said and how her hair blew in the breeze that passed through them. She was like him - nothing more than a tool that no one truly wanted. The Oracle. Melindre. But he was not like her… she was stronger. And kinder. And had found her way. Her path. But he was lost and whatever strength she saw in him, he couldn't find it.

All I need to be free is to step into the light.. His head fell back and he stared up at the speckled light filtering through the canopy of trees. ...but the light is in pieces.

Collaboration with @Elle Joyner

 

[ze_kraken]

ELWYN, DAUGHTER OF THE FAITH
​

The dragon egg's heat scarcely comforted Elwyn.

As she sat by the fringe of the group, all chattering in wonder as their eggs hatched, Elwyn noted a note of lingering exhaustion and hollowness that prevailed in even the normally self-assured Leander. She watched him for a moment, cocking her head and considering that brief moment of kindness he had shown her just before leaving with the others. To see him so distraught struck her more acutely than seeing it in the others: she had seen many of his ilk in Stavinburg before, but never like this, never truly mortal.

Thank you, Mother, she thought, clutching her amulet as she watched Leander. Please stay his pain, wherever it might be. Even if you cannot spare mine.

Though her muscles ached with soreness from the past two days, and the knife wound in her thigh still seared despite Tiriok's healing, hers was a hidden pain. One that tugged at the fringes of her mind with the jagged claws of memories of those she had lost, had failed to save. She had been spared the image of their deaths, but dead they were to be sure. It was not their death that ached, it was memories of times of their life that pained Elwyn the most. Days spent in Stavinburg as children playing at war with wooden swords, nights spent avoiding Sister Moira's dragon-like prowling as they broke curfew, and perils shared upon the fields of battle when they had come of age.

All that snuffed away in an instant.

What had it been she had said to them before they passed into Orestra's arms? Orders. Orders of a commander to subordinates, not the loving words of family. Elwyn sat there atop an overturned log, loosing a sharp sigh of agitation as the egg clutched tight to her chest began to splinter and discharge steam. She wished not to be torn from her foul mood, though in spite of her insistence to keep close to her dark thoughts, brooding and sorrow retreated before the pure wonder that came to replace them.

The dragon's head poked through the hole in the egg it had made, glimmering with a gentle golden glow as it swung its head about on its slender neck. Its eyes - a brilliant red - fixated on Elwyn's and it let out a joyful squeak, smoke trailing from its nostrils. Elwyn's hands fell to her sides as she watched the dragon crawl from its egg, fragments sliding through her arms until suddenly her fingers touched rough, scaly skin. At its shoulders the scales were smooth to the touch, reminding her of running her finger along the flat of a sword. Atop the crest of its head rested a crown of ivory horns more proud and regal than any crown in all the legends of kings and emperors Elwyn had read.

The red glow of the dragon's curious eyes brought Elwyn's mind back to Hexar, who swiftly became the object of her own focus. As she and Tiriok had walked behind the two Klreions, Elwyn had contemplated running the King of the High Tower through with Tiriok's sword and leave his corpse for the wolves and the crows. Why should it be that he should live when he let the likes of Augar and the traitorous Phoenix Knights use his name to commit their acts of tyranny and mass murder? Why should it be that she, just one orphan among many in the service of the Faith Militant of Orestra, be the one to live if not to cast aside the darkness?

Only as she had walked that trail, fingers clutching the useless hilt of her loaned sword so tightly her knuckles had shone through with a pale and taut white glow, she had felt the same presence she had in the duel with Augar stay her hand. It told her to be compassionate, to fall not to the very darkness she sought to end.

Why? Should evil not suffer for the harm it inflicts? She thought bitterly, averting her gaze back to the dragon who was now curiously nipping at the amulet about her neck, tugging at it like a hound might a length of rope. My life was spared - but should that alone assuage the voices of the dead? Should that alone make good the acts of one who would let terrible things go on in his name?

For now Elwyn heeded the wisdom of Orestra and kept both her tongue and her blade squarely to herself. She ran a hand along the dragon's horned crest like she might a dog's, wincing as its craggy tips pricked her finger. The dragon squeaked in protest, nipping softly at the woman's wrist, smoke flaring unhappily from its nostrils as it returned its attention to the amulet. Its mouth wrapped around it, enveloping it entirely.

"Stop it," Elwyn croaked, voice cracking from lack of use as she tugged at the amulet, attempting to wrench it from the dragon's maw.

The dragon, as if to respond, exhaled smoke once more and yanked, snapping the leather thong that kept the amulet in place. It gnawed at the amulet, clutching it in its front claws, looking at it and Elwyn in turn. Its head cocked to the side and it squeaked, nudging the amulet back to its owner before stretching its wings and yawning. The chaplain picked up the amulet, turning it over in her hand. Fang marks now marred its otherwise pristine surface, and with a smile Elwyn thought back to the story of Areila the Blind, a dragon rider of old who used her dragon to see for her. What had her dragon's name been? The name eluded her, lost swiftly as another thought occurred to her.

This dragon is my destiny, it will be a name for its own song.

Her eyes drifted down to the amulet, turning it over.

Iron...

Then it came to her.

"Ironjaw," she said on bated breath, gasping as she looked to the dragon. "That's your name, isn't it?"

The dragon squeaked joyfully once more before snatching the amulet from Elwyn's grip and fluttering clumsily a pace away on half-stretched wings...

 

[Custodiet Teh]

Tirok & Oleander
A somewhat shifty sort o' chat


As Oleander returned from her hunt, it was not long before the Phoenix Knight had come alongside the Esquirian. As the others focused their attention on their hatching dragons, the one introduced as Hexar had taken to seat himself at the feet of the Klerion woman and as Tiriok underwent the pretense of aiding in butcher the deer, his voice dropped to a clandestine hush, not quite meeting Oleander's gaze as he worked.

"Seems we've a common lot in life. This assignment from the Iron Lord. Don't take my meaning poorly, but I hope you understand it was a load of codswallop. That man would not piss on me if I were on fire… let alone bestowing an honorable title. And he's no love for your kind. There's something at play here, and I haven't quite figured out what that is, but you strike me as clever, even if I can't half understand what you're saying. You've an eye for common sense… an eye I could use."

Twisting his blade into the carcass, he sifted the flank of the deer free, pausing as the smaller squire sidled up to grab some chunks and left. When Casimir had gone, he looked to Oleander, "The red one… I don't trust him. I'm not quite convinced he's whatever the Bloodmarked said of him, but he's too keen on Kyen'delsia. His timing too convenient. He knows who I am… and he'll be cautious around me, but I'm not so sure he'd see you as a threat. Keep an eye on him, will you?"

Pleased that her hunt had made at least a sort of positive impact on the group, Oleander continued her processing of the buck. He'd been a noble beast and she suspected if she'd been using a bow he'd have managed to somehow dodge the projectile. With a grunt she slipped her hand inside the cavity that made up the chest of the deer and dug her nails into the sinew that lined the ribs, searching around for something. So focused on her task she was surprised to find herself looking down into the eyes of Tirok, the brash Knight who had punched the Lord many hours earlier. She'd written him off as anything more than the sort back in her Herd that galloped about all day, calling out her name and the names of the other mare-kin. A show-off thinking that a display of bravado was all it took to catch her eye. She'd judged him incorrectly then, she supposed.

Her fingers continued searching while he spoke on about the Iron Lord, letting his true feelings be known. He was playing to her pride, blowing a bit of smoke again like the lads back home but with a bit more subtlety. Just enough to make her suspicious of his intentions but curious enough to hear him out. Her fingers brush over what she'd been looking for. Pressing into the butchered flesh hard, her toughened digits pierce the sinew and collapse around the deformed metal ball that had been lodged against the ribs of the deer. It had gone right through the heart of the creature and bounced around a bit before lodging against the rib. She yanked it free with a wet popping noise.

"Ah' yew nae haf'tae woory nun. Dinnae a' eye tae fin' whitfir ah' lik'"* she examined the now mushroom shaped ball in her palm. "Nae hard tae see ah' red won aft ye pool et from th' blood, yew ken?"** She showed the shot off to Tirok before depositing it in a pocket, hoping her point was clear. She'd have to melt it back down when they found a working forge. Matching his tone and following the lead of the Phoenix Knight as he showed some surprising skill in cutting free strips of venison. "Ah' fir yer Laird O' Iron, ah dinnae sign nu contract. Ah hauf hearted acknooledgement is nae subsitoot fur ah contract o' service. Ah'm mair th' wellen tae be o' service tae ye. Tho ah ken th' need fur sum discretion. Suppose we'll hae tae dae as th' two-shanks dae n' shake oan et. Ah'll hulp ye n' ye'll hulp me n' equal bet?"***

Under the pretense of passing a bit of meat over to him, she extended a gore covered hand.

Looking to the hand and then to his own streaked in sticky red, Tiirok smirked lightly, before giving a shrug and taking her extension, giving it a hearty shake. It was a gesture he almost nearly regretted, reaching up to rub his shoulder, "And what favor can I do for you, Miss?"

Her turn to match the shrug, she did so with a bit of flourish. Bunching her shoulder up to her cheeks she smiled a little with a bit of a smug tone "Ah'm shur ah'll come oop wit something. Yew seem th' warld'ly sort o' man. Ah'm aff tae need th' hulp o' lord n' yer sort ef a'm ever tae mak' mah kind a real nation. Ye kin hulp mak' th' happen."

"You've got a lot more confidence in my importance than I do…" He answered with a small chuckle, "But I'll see what I can do, if you come up with a more solid need."

She withdraws her hand, wiping it off against the opposite. "Soo, whofir es th' Hexar enyway? I nae noo th' name. Seem's tae hav ah' fancy fir Kyen'delsia nae left 'er side" She peeks around the carcass, inspecting the calf of the deer while she glanced the Klerion over.

Without following her gaze, Tiriok returned to working on the other side of the deer, "He hasn't said much, other than he used to study under Omesh Kar. I can't say I'm fond of that notion, with as little as I already trusted him. But weird as it sounds, I don't think he means us harm. Not Kyensi anyway." Looking at the sleeping Klerion, he shook his head, "It's strange. The way he dotes on her. She seemed barely to know him and if I'm to take him at his word, they only just met. Yet… Ah, who knows. All I know is anyone folks proclaim as king who hasn't earned their crown by birth or right puts me on edge."

"Oooh-Mesh Kahr…" Oleander repeated to herself, tossing the name around in her mouth. Another name and another link in a chain that she knew not where began. Nor ended for that matter. By the way Tirok mentioned the man, he could only have been some sort of educated master with ancient knowledge or new ideas. Or maybe another just simply touched by magic. She hoped it was magic, much easier to write off as that being the problem. "Aye, ah least thay git tae hae ah kin o' thair choosing, even if tis'n tha' nae guid fur th' rest o' us…" She glances at the red man, proclaimed king of the High Tower. "Ah think mayhap he jes be wishen tae shag the lass n' cawl et fir tae guid o' thair kind" She smirks, attempting to seem a bit more cavalier about the whole affair. She really didn't know what the man was or what his character might measure up to be. For all it was worth, she didn't even know Tirok apart from any other two-leg, only that he was the first one that had actually made a reasonable agreement with her that wasn't predicated on some sort of faith or adherence to the wishes of a blind priestess seer sort.

Her eye was to be on the Klerion yes, but she didn't plan on letting it linger for too long just on him. If she was being approached for this sort of thing, by all rights there was a grander scheme in motion and Oleander didn't take well to being judged some sort of simple factor in it. "So yer th' kind o' lad tae be oon edge then? Nervous oan th' draw n' sweatin in th' wheesht afore action? Nay oofense by et, jes ah' shoock, had doon ye oaf ah somewhit ah bold sairt ah man." She prodded gently, judging his reaction as she focused on finishing things up with the deer, getting ready to start work on separating the usable organs with deceptively uninterested eyes.

"Maybe…" Looking back under the guise of wiping his brow, Tiriok cast a glance to the two Klerion, before shaking his head, "Feels like more than that, but then… It's been a hell of a few days."

As she continued, his expression shifted and for a moment, a brow arched upwards before a laugh escaped, "She slays without mercy, I see. Can't say it's not a fair judgment. Not my usual manner, but like I said… hell of a few days. Good to know I've got a pair of discernin' eyes I can count on though. No doubt we're in need of just that. Anything feels off… anything strikes you as odd, you let me know, aye?"

Returning the laugh for others to hear as if they were simply sharing a joke she nodded a few times. Speaking softly and quickly "Oh aye, nae a' ting tae report, jes a fellooshep oaf ah' batteraid boonch ah fawlk wit thair scalie beasties fahken aroond th' woods. Wee'uns cryen' oan me back, horned tw-shank kings, ah Nerra who'd keel oveh ded wit joy ef ah butterfly landed oan hair, ah blind oracle haunted by ah tw-shank th' seem a' ef he'd rather be daid en leave ah' pretty coorpse, a' tribal lass a stetchen flesh welly nelly... Nae a' ting ood ah' awl…" she counted off on her fingers just some of what she'd seen in her time with the party so far. A hell of a few days indeed. She'd seen amazing things in her short life, sunset on a harvest in the Painted Hills, the raw power exerted by predatory beasts snared in a dozen rope traps, countless magical clearings in enchanted glades. But what she'd seen and experienced in the last few days was getting close to rivaling the majority of her life experiences. She shook her head, removing her hat to scratch at her growing antlers and sighing. "Howfir lang do ye expect tae be en these parts? Cannae stay loong, most o' thes lot a' nae built fir th' wild."

Chuckling lightly, he nodded, as he sank his blade into the grass to clean it, before returning it to his boot, "Not probably more than a few hours. The deer'll help feed everyone enough we won't need to stop… Just need to find someone who can cook it without turnin' it to char. Give Kyensi another hour or so to rest, then give her a nudge. Mightn't be a bad idea, giving her something to take her mind off things, as it is. Strange lot we've got here, that's for sure. But if we're to believe the Iron Lord's orders, seems it's our lot." Looking to Oleander again, he gave a firm nod, "Worse folk I could work alongside. I'll leave to finish… Might be I need a bit of that skin and bone stitchin' myself, and I definitely need some answers. Anything comes up, you let me know."

"Guid lad, goan take care o' yeself, thank ye fir th' help." Oleander grabbing a last bit of meat and popping it in her mouth to gnaw on. She gives a look back to let him know she understood and need say no more. She turned away, collecting the discarded innards and trotting off into the woods to deposit them away from their camp. Satisfied they wouldn't attract any problems with the local wildlife, Oleander stayed away for a while, leaning on a tree with her arms crossed and staring back at their camp. The bit of meat being ground down to flavorless sinew between her molars as she ruminated deeply on her recent decision to stay before trotting back to the two-legs and their world.

Olee Speak

*You shouldn't have to worry then. I don't usually need to have an eye on what I'm looking for.
**It's never hard to spot something red when it's separated from the blood, you know?
***As for your Lord of Iron, I didn't sign or agree on anything with him. His half hearted acknowledgement of my presence is not a substitute for a contract of service. But I'm still more than willing to be of service to you, but I understand the need for discretion. Suppose we do what the two legs do and shake on it. I'll help you and you return the favor in equal measure?"
****I'm certain you'll come up with something you can do for me, you seem a worldly sort of man. I do guess I'll be needing the help of your sort of people if I'm ever to see my people become a real Nation. You can help make that happen."
***** "So who is this Hexar anyways, I don't know his name. He seems to fancy Kyendelsia though, hasn't left her side much."
****** "At least they get to have a king of their own choosing, even if it's not always the best for everyone else….I think he probably just wants to sleep with the girl and say it was noble and for the good of their people."
*******"Soooo...You're the kind of man that's on edge often? Nervous about things and sweating in anticipation of action to come? Nothing wrong with that, no offense intended, I'm just shocked. I had written you off as a bold sort of man."
********Oh, not a thing odd to report. Just a fellowship of a battered bunch of folk carrying dragons fucking around in the woods. Children crying on my back, Klerion kings, a Nera who'd probably die from excitement if a butterfly landed on her, an Oracle being shadowed by a man who looks like he would rather just die and leave a pretty corpse than be here, a tribal woman healing skin and bone with magic, no not a thing to report...How long do you expect to be out here in these woods, I don't think we should stay long. Most people here aren't really built for a long stay in the wild."

 

[KatSea]

Haloke and Milo: Wholesome @Elle Joyner

Forge was dead to the world. Ironic as a newborn, but there was something peaceful about the snoozing hatchling that set Haloke at ease. He was bigger than many of the creatures she had the opportunity to see as a kit or cub, his wings fluttered in his dreams and his breathing was steady. Haloke was nowhere near as enchanted by slumber as her new charge, eyes suddenly glued open. The adrenaline had kicked back in, heart firm against her ribcage. The short spark of energy would die away soon enough, but for now she found herself restless, unable to pry her consciousness from reality. She wanted to spend every moment possible basking in the glory and beauty of little Forge. Even if the occasional puff of air set fear into Haloke's stomach (she prayed the hardy cloth would not singe, as prideful as she would be of her dragon and his power.)

Shifting to her feet, she cradled the hatchling to her chest, careful not to wake it from its sleep. Curious now that she was steady, his claws slunk into her skin… she moved one hand, then the next, covering her mouth as the creature clung safely to her, his tail now wrapped partially around her torso. "Alright, cuddle bug. If you are going to steal all my heat, you owe me when you are big." Reaffirming her grip, just in case he slid down. She did not want scars from dragon snuggles gone wrong, although in retrospect that was something memorable to tell the tribe.

Turning her attention, she found her eyes locked with the small Amalfi boy, noting the hatchling he was bound to. A smile curled on her lips. The birth of so many was a delightful occasion. The bloodbath of the previous day was hard to digest, impossible to fully absorb as the shock created a temporary barrier. Being surrounded by new life? It was almost enough to mask the horror.

"Little one?" She called out, making her way over to him, keeping her expression gentle. "I did not have the time to speak to you earlier, but I am forever grateful to you. You protected our dragons valiantly."

Looking up, eyes wide for a moment, Milo pointed a paw at himself, "M-me? S-sorry. Did… Were you... talking to me?"

"Yes, little one. Milo, was it?" Haloke held out a free hand. "I apologize if we were not acquainted before hand. I wanted to show my appreciation for how helpful you have been. You and that miracle coat of yours~"

Rubbing the tip of his nose, he looked at the hand, before reaching out his free paw, giving her hand an awkward sort of wiggle, "You… You don't have to thank me. J-just did what anyone would."

"I know a fair few folk who would have given up the eggs, or turned tail at the moment of trouble." She returned the shake, feeling her hatchling rustle momentarily against her shoulder. "Not to mention there was not a scratch against little Forge's egg. Knowing myself, had I been in your position, those eggs may have...Well, I am not a woman of grace if that is any indication." Sending the Amalfi a playful and friendly wink, she retracted her hand. "Regardless of what you think, I wished to give you thanks for what you have done today.."

"Than-I mean… Y-yY-you're welcome, M-miss Haloke." Looking down at the dragon in his lap, he sniffed lightly, "C-can I ask you something?"

"Please, call me Hal." Her eyes traced to the baby dragon, her eyes filled with warmth at the small creature. "Hmm? What's the matter, dear?"

"Do… do you think it's possible that… That… Well…" Scratching the dragon between the thin curled horns, he sniffed again, and his arm wiped across his furry cheek, "M-miss Hal, I think I stole someone's dragon…"

"Hmm? What makes you say that, sir Milo?" Following his tone of voice, she tried to put him a little more at ease. "I do not know about the magic that goes on inside in an oracle's head, but I think most of what they say is truth. I do not think her information could be wrong. Besides. The dear looks like he's happy to be with you. I do not know if you know this, but the more restful a creature is with you, the more that it trusts you. He looks happy to be right where he is. I do not know if this answers your question, Milo, but I do not think you have stolen him. I think he's meant to be beside you."

"B-but… but I'm not a hero, Miss Hal. I… I'm a thief. The… That coat? That's not even mine. Stole it, too. And I… I can't sword fight or do m-magic. I can't even talk right. That… that Leander guy… or the knight. W-why not them?'

Shifting, Haloke peered around the rest of the group. Knights, warriors, healers and the like. "Do you think everyone here was born a hero? Do you think they started from the womb clambered in armor? If it makes you feel any better, sir Milo, I am not much of a hero, either. I've never seen...true combat before today other than silly magic tricks and spars. I've never been responsible for someone else's life and their safety. I do not know much about how Orestra thinks. But...she saw something in you, and I think I see it, too. You are a brave and kind young man, Milo. It does not take much to see it." She gingerly placed her hand on his head, ruffling his fur gently. "Leander and Tiriok have their own roles to fulfill. Believe it or not…" She lowered her voice as if to share a secret. "I do not think every heroic knight is prepared to take care of a hatchling. It is like caring for a child. Do you think Leander could handle a dragon nibbling on him, or crawling over him? I would fear for his glorious looks." She bit back a chuckle, retracting her hand once more to more properly cradle Forge. "We all start from something small, sir Milo. It is what we do with what we are given that makes us worthy."

Blinking, his gaze still lingering on the ashen creature on his lap, Milo gave a small, slow nod. Mist Catcher gave a deep yawn and a small plume of smoke unfurled, looping around it like a wreath and with a gentle huff of a laugh, Milo whisked it away with his paw, "Thanks, Miss Hal. M-maybe she picked me cause… cause she didn't want no one chewin' on Mr. Leander's pretty braids."

Looking up finally, bright eyes met hers and a smile curved, that solitary canine peeking out, "You're very wise, y'know…"

"Your hatchling is a beauty." She commented, smiling down upon the creature with its massive yawn. "Have you named him yet, sir Milo? I do not think for the life of me that is the only reason our beloved goddess chose you, although I can imagine going through the positives and negatives of each choice...she truly did not wish to ruin his hair." She let a small giggle escape her this time, lowering herself to sit beside him now.

"Do not expect me to be this way for long, sir Milo." She waved a hand dismissively. "Once I get a night's rest the exhaustion that is mandating how I speak will wither. But...for the meantime...I am glad I can help you find some peace with what has happened."

"M-mist Catcher…" Wrinkling his nose a bit, he shrugged, "It… it's probably silly. I know Casimir's gonna say so. But it just felt right." One ragged claw gingerly scratched his dragon between the horns again, "And I'm n-not so sure. M-most people who think they're wise, they usually sound pretty stupid, but people w-who say they're not, they're usually the ones you should be listenin' to."

"Oh, do not worry what Casimir is going to say. I think that is a fine name for such an adorable creature~" Watching how Milo cared for his dragon, even in an absentminded manner, Haloke could tell how gentle and attentive he was going to be. He was an excellent choice, whether he knew it or not. She did ponder how Milo was going to be able to handle Mist Catcher as he grew, although the image was enough to put a slight grin on her face.

"Oh, I know that to be the truth. Some of the wisest men in the tribe were just spewing nonsense to get women to fawn after them." She made a mocking fanning gesture with her hand, leaning her head back. "But do not mistake this, sir Milo. With every wise saying I spew out, there is bound to be stupidity on the horizon. Do not let this cloud whatever judgement you have of me."

Grinning wider, Milo shook his head, ears flopping side to side with the motion, "Don't worry… I'm plenty stupid, so I won't judge."

"Oh, first you aren't meant to be a dragon rider, now you aren't smart? Good Orestra, sir Milo, why do you think so low of yourself?" She tapped her temple. "I do not think I would have had the brains to outwit someone and steal such a valuable coat. If you are going to keep speaking of yourself this way, I demand that you find one positive with each negative." She grinned at him. "I think that is plenty fair."

"I… Well, I'm not dumb. Just plenty stupid." Rubbing his nose, he shrugged, "Never learned to r-read or nothin'. Only r-reason I'm good at stealin's cause M-ms. Merciana taught me. But it's'okay. I got stuff I'm good at an' bein' smarts not all that good anyway. Lotsa smart people are m-mean people, too. Not you, though. You're real nice."

"I don't think reading is something that adds to one's intelligence. I know plenty who can recite words upon words and still have rocks for brains. But...I mean, I do not know what is before us, but if you'd like, I can try and help you learn a few things. I'm not the heaviest reader. I personally think it's boring and time can be spent doing more important things, like sleeping or sparring." She chuckled, her complexion going slightly rosy. "Thank you, sir Milo. You deserve whatever kindness you can get. You are a kind boy and with your quick thinking for these eggs? You have ensured a bright future for these hatchlings, remember that."

"I… I'd like to learn." He answered, his voice a little smaller, "To read. B-but I dunno that we're gonna have a whole m-mess of time." Shifting, he looked up into the trees overhead, "Whatever happens, though, I'm just… it's not to be a part of somethin' more'n stealin'..."

"If we find the time I will try what I can to teach you. I am sure there are other...more intelligent folk in our group, but I will do what I can." Crossing her legs, she ran her fingers against Forge's scales. "I think whatever happens in the future, no matter how difficult, we are going to be better off for it."

 

[Morgan]

Mae'lyrra & Tiriok​

His conversation with Oleander had been… interesting, to say the least. Tiriok's instincts to approach the woman had not been misguided, and there was an odd comfort in knowing he wasn't the only one edgy about the latest acquisition to their small group. Granted, he was inclined to be grateful, as he knew well and truly that Hexar had saved his life, and probably Kyensi's, but something about the man put him on edge in a way to which the Phoenix Knight wasn't accustomed.

Mysteries in times of distress weren't enigmatic… they were terrifying. And the King of the High Tower was steeped in them.

Returning from breaking down the deer, he passed by the Riders and their newly hatched dragons and a sense of awe filled him, watching their interactions. Mere hours ago they seemed skeptics… afraid and unsure. Now whatever hesitation there had been had been carried away on the breeze. The Bond was magic that went deeper than anything Tiriok had ever witnessed… and it was truly beautiful.

Pausing near the tribal woman, a thought occurred, and crouching, he lowered his voice, "...Walk with me down to the stream. There's something I need to ask you..."

She almost flinched at his voice although he spoke quietly and only for her to hear. Her focus had been entirely on Baloryx. The hatchling seemed to focused on her entirely as well for a long while, but eventually it began showing interest in the rest of the Riders and, especially, the other hatchlings. Mae'lyrra had been wondering how the little dragons would get along when Tiriok had asked her to follow him.

While he was trustworthy enough, their general situation didn't feel safe. That was why she took her spear with her as she stood to follow him. Who knew what fresh terrors lurked deeper in the woods. Apparently, the enemy found them with ease, so being armed all the time seemed the better choice.

As her eyes met Tiriok's, she stood with her spear in hand and with Baloryx slung across her shoulders. The dragon eyed Tiriok with its green orbs. Mae'lyrra nodded once and then followed him as he led the way.

Wandering past the other Riders to the stream that lay several yards from their temporary camp, Tiriok bent down to the water to wash his hands, waiting until Mae'lyrra was close before looking up at the woman. Storm Strider had walked with them and bent to take a drink as the knight spoke, his voice still soft, just barely above a whisper, "...I'm right in assuming you're from Maglin, yes?"

Standing again, he curled the fingers of his good arm into Storm Strider's ruff, giving her a scratch as he looked past Mae towards the camp, ensuring they were truly alone, "I need you to tell me anything you've heard about the man they called King of the High Tower…"

Tilting her head she watched him, a smile tugging at the corner of her mouth. Mae'lyrra had wanted to approach Storm Strider again but didn't. She wasn't sure how her dragon hatchling would react. Either way, she was there to hear what he had to say and not to pet his griffin. The Sunfeather Lifewarden nodded her head slowly before listening to his next words.

"Oh, I haven't heard anyone talk about him for a long time." She fixed her eyes on the stream as she thought about it. "I know what everyone knows." Mae'lyrra said and sighed. "Though, my tribe often mentioned him as we too are nomads as he was. He is a great healer and a powerful leader." A moment passed as she fixed her eyes back on Tiriok. She glanced at his shoulder. He seemed injured. "Though, power often corrupts." She smiled brightly at the knight again, though her words were dark. "Why do you ask?"

"...I've heard similar myself. It doesn't add up…" With a sigh, his fingers found their way around to Storm Strider's beak, and the flat of his palm gingerly rubbed the space above her nostrils, as she nuzzled into his hand, "Why would a Bloodmarked psychopath like the one we've come across use Hexar's name as some sort of trumpeting call if Hexar has no ties to him? Why take up Hexar's banner at all if he's known for healing… for helping… to reap such destruction and violence."

Looking over to her, he chuckled lightly, wryly, "A damn conundrum, if ever I've found one." Eyes returning to Stormy, he ruffled her ears, "And I thought you were the most complicated thing to come out of Maglin, eh girl?"

Swatting at his hand with her head, she huffed out a wicker that was both gently irritated and good natured, "If you weren't hurt, my delightful fiend…"

Mae'lyrra chuckled as she heard what Stormy said, shaking her head. She liked the banter between the two of them. The griffin was a mighty beast and to her, she was beautiful. The brief moment they had flown on her back, had been an experience she was sure she would never forget. Approaching the two of them, she let her hand come to rest on Storm Strider's neck and stroked her gently.

"Sounds like there is something strange going on. Do you think we should trust this Hexar?" She asked the question to hear what Tiriok thought. Mae'lyrra didn't trust him. There was something about the way he had joined the group that felt strange to her. She would keep an eye on him for a while, for sure. And then she heard the words from Storm Strider again and looked at Tiriok from head to toe and back. Her expression was worried. "Are you hurt?" Mae'lyrra took a small step toward him, ready to help.

"I'm not so sure about trust… But he saved my life, so I'm inclined to believe for the moment he doesn't intend us harm. Too many questions, though. And not nearly enough answers. A good place to start is the benefit of doubt, I suppose..." Looking up from Storm Strider, a brow quirked at her question, "Huh? Oh. It's…" Chuckling, he gestured to his shoulder, "Nothing worth the time, really. Just need to pop it back in. Hell of a thing…"

"We'll need both your knowledge and your strength." She said and looked at him seriously for a moment. She wasn't entirely satisfied with Hexar and what Tiriok had said, but she didn't have an alternative in mind. Not other than sitting him down and interrogating him, but that would hardly be productive. No, they would have to wait and see.

Mae'lyrra leaned her spear up against a nearby tree and then returned, taking Tiriok's wrist. Baloryx had fallen asleep around her shoulders. It was endearing, though his weight was becoming uncomfortable. "I have been wondering for a long time, before I met all of you. I've met a lot of people and mended a lot of wounds. Before I came here, I visited the Painted Mountains. I was born there." Mae'lyrra placed her other hand above his elbow but didn't move his arm. "There was great need for healing hands, however." Her expression became sad and she sighed at the memory. "Lots of shoulders to pop back in." Pulling herself out of painful past experiences, she looked up and offered him a smile. "Will you let me help you?"

"I… I'm sorry." A calloused hand briefly rose, to cover the one on his elbow, "About the Mountains. Word came shortly before everything in the Citadel. We didn't know what they were after then, but we'd heard they were hit. Senseless…"

Lowering his hand again, he made a sound somewhere between a light chuckle and a groan, "Can't leave it much longer if I want to be of use. And let's be honest, Mae… I'm not functional for my knowledge. Go on."."

She paused and looked at him, bowing her head slightly to let him know she was thankful for his words. She appreciated the gesture. Sorrow had not yet left her heart, but hope had replaced grief as she had seen the people of the mountains begin to rebuild.

A smile didn't grace her features now as she was focused on his shoulder. With a firm but gentle grip she held his wrist and his elbow. "Straighten up." She said before pushing his arm close to his torso. Then she slowly moved his arm backwards while turning his forearm outwards. When she could feel resistance, she placed her right hand on his bicep, pushed in and backwards and turned his forearm further outwards. She could feel the shoulder pop back into the joint. Immediately she placed a hand on his shoulder and rubbed it gently. Although she had succeeded, it would have caused Tiriok some discomfort.

With a sharp cry, Tiriok slapped his palm to his shoulder, gritting his teeth for a moment, "Th-thanks. I think…"

"I have no words to heal the pain in your shoulder, but I have this." Mae'lyrra reached into one of her pouches and produced a dried leaf. She held it out to Tiriok and smiled. "It'll taste a little bitter, but it should help the pain."

Eyes opening again, he looked to the leaf, nodding as he took it, pressing it to his back teeth and biting down, "Won't argue with that. Thanks, Mae." Rubbing his shoulder, he smiled dryly, "Let's hope that's the last time we need to do that… but something tells me you're gonna be quite useful to have around…"

With a chuckle, she slapped his good shoulder and nodded. Healing those that needed it seemed to be the whole point of her existence. She was a lifewarden. She had been sent by her tribe - by her mother - to travel the world and lend a healing hand where she could. It filled her with a sense of pride and a great deal of happiness to be of use to other people. Mae'lyrra stepped away from Tiriok, took her spear again and looked at Storm Strider.

"You take care of him, hm?"

Storm Strider's head canted to the woman and the griffon chirped lightly, 'As I always have… Useless without me, this one.`

Another laugh escaped her as she bowed to the magnificent beast. When she straightened again, she moved her eyes to Tiriok. She wondered for a moment, if he too could understand Storm Strider. The bond between them seemed close, but she wasn't sure if he had the ability. It was something she had lived with for a large part of her life, and it was no more strange to her than speaking to a human or one of her own race.

"So, Tiriok." Mae'lyrra sighed as she spoke. "Shall we keep an eye on this Hexar? For our own peace of mind as much as the safety of our companions." The fact that this was a critical time seemed to loom over all of them. Their dragons had hatched and they were a band of strangers on the run. They had to be careful with every step they took on their journey.

A brow lifting as he watched the interaction, he glanced between the two before her question registered and he gave a small bob of his head, "Probably for the best we keep watch, but nothing too obvious. If he's on our side, he's a hell of an ally… but if he's not, I'd rather not risk him figuring out we're more suspicious of him than necessary." Running a palm down Storm Strider's neck, "It's my job to protect you lot…" He paused, and there was a note of depth behind the words that drove a spike of sadness into his gaze, "Wouldn't be doing a very good job if I got you hurt… or worse."

"Well, something tells me you're going to be quite useful to have around." Mae'lyrra smiled again before she nodded in the direction of the others. She agreed fully with him. For the time being, it would be best to watch Hexar discreetly. "Let us return to our friends."

"Go on… I'll be right there." Giving Storm Strider a pat, he grinned, but there was something oddly hollow about the expression, "Needs constant attention, this one."

---

Collab with @Elle Joyner

 

[ze_kraken]

CASIMIR THE SQUIRE AND ELWYN, DAUGHTER OF THE FAITH
Collab from Casimir's Point of View with @Owl
​

Casimir didn't know how much time had passed

before he looked down again, but when he did, he'd made his choice. Eamon. It was a good name, a strong name, befitting of a dragon no matter how small and innocent the creature in his lap seemed. It seemed fitting somehow and he thought he saw little Eamon blink once when he muttered the dragon's name under his breath.

Careful not to wake it further, Casimir shrugged off his cloak, patted it down into a bed and gently put the sleeping dragon on it. Once he was sure Eamon was comfortable and secure he set about gathering firewood, or so it would appear. In truth he lingered close to the group, listening in where he could, and keeping an eye on his pitch-black dragon. Yet there was little to be learned from what fragments he caught, and he certainly didn't hear a good reason why the red-skinned Klerion was allowed to stay.

Once he'd started small fire he decided a different approach would be needed, and though he was reluctant to speak to the dawn maiden, he saw no other option.

With the utmost care he collected Eamon and took a seat on a small rock beside Elwyn. While he warmed his hands to the fire he looked her over and scrunched up his nose. Perhaps her mismatched armor made it look worse, but the dirt and blood on her didn't lie; she'd fought hard, and she smelled like it too.

"You look dreadful," he said once he had confirmed that the Klerion was well out of earshot. "You must've killed a lot of them back there." It almost sounded like disdain. He leaned in a little and lowered his voice. "You haven't said a thing since you came back. What happened to the bloodmarked? And why is hehere?" He motioned his head in the direction of Hexar but kept his gaze fixed on Elwyn and expected she would have the nouse to keep her gaze away from the Klerion too. "If you're too weak to finish the job just say it. I can fight."

Elwyn stared at Casimir for a moment, biting her lower lip as if mulling over what to say. Her eyes flitted down to the golden dragon that had curled about the back of her neck, wrapping itself along her shoulders, head draped along its long neck which curled back to its rest comfortably on the chaplain's bicep. Her attention shifted back to Casimir, and a curt nodded affirmed his first remark as she cleared her throat to speak, her voice dead and lifeless.

"I know not," she remarked, eyes flickering to the Klerion in question. "But Augar is alive - Hexar banished him to some place. I wanted to kill him but…"

Her eyes narrowed, flashing with something close to anger but just as quickly gave way to somberness.

"My hand was stayed," she said after a pause through gritted teeth. "First with Augar, then with Hexar."

Casimir snorted. "Your hand was stayed?" It took a great effort to keep his voice low and he struggled to find the right response. "What happened? Did Orestra come down to tell you no?" He shook his head and scuffed the dirt with his boot. "Sounds to me like Hexar saved his bloodmarked for another time. I can't believe we're just letting him sit around here like nothing happened!"

"If you wish to mock me for my faith, your blade is there, your quarry just ten paces behind you," Elwyn said, tone laced with a dose of indignance. "You are free to, as you so offered, fight. I am not one to speak to what unseen hand might have put our path in line with his, but for now I shall heed my Lady's call."

Casimir arched an eyebrow at Oresta's puppet. She was every bit the cleric he remembered her to be from the first time they'd met. He couldn't recall another time he'd visited a temple voluntarily, and if he'd known she would've been there, he would've avoided it. "Are you suggesting that I just walk up to him and kill him? That's a brilliant idea, why didn't I think of that before!"

He eyed her darkly. "Except of course that he's a powerful sorcerer who just murdered an entire city, and I don't stand a chance of sneaking up on someone like that. Hells, I don't think even Milo could pull that off. Not without help anyway."

"So, then, you took the opportunity to offer your sword, but with no intention to follow through. I see," the chaplain replied coolly, cocking an eyebrow. "If you claim to know better than my Lady, then by all means young Casimir, let her blindness give way before the profound foresight you claim to possess."

"I would've done it if you people didn't insist that I leave," he replied hotly. "I figured there'd be some reason, some good reason why you returned with that maniac at your side, but it seems I overestimated you, Lady Elwyn. Now, tell me why you really didn't run them both through and leave your goddess out of it."

"You speak as if you would have done better - so, then, my fellow rider, when next fate deems it so we cross blades with Augar again, you might show me where I failed." Her tone was laden with the glibness and respect of one at court, undercut by what Casimir could easily detect as biting sarcasm. "You can show me, in your youthful wisdom, what it takes to slay monsters conjured straight from a firelight tale. I pray for your sake that such an endeavor will leave us without more dead to mourn."

Eamon let out a shrill noise as Casimir got up and woke the small dragon from its peaceful slumber. Pressing the annoyed creature to his chest with the cup of his hand he seemed conflicted between simply leaving or adding to Elwyn's injuries.

"Why don't you pray that Hexar won't slit our throats in our sleep because of you instead. If you won't help, I'll find someone else." He already had someone in mind, someone who looked equally unhappy about Hexar's presence. Leander Kilnwood might be a spoiled turd, but anyone was better than Elwyn who insisted on keeping her head stuck up her butt.

"Casimir." There was a change in her voice now - sharpness replaced with a soft touch, and for a moment even her stern eyes relaxed at their corners. "We are not so much separated by age you and I, but I remember loss as you have experienced. It is a powerful fire, one just as capable of destruction as it is warmth. Strive to find whatever solace you can in the fact you still exist to do good - even if it is not because of Orestra, I believe that Hexar has a role to play neither of us yet know. I have lost family same as you, and this man might well be the cause, but do not be swift to retribution. That way lies destruction."

Casimir hesitated, opened his mouth to speak then snapped his jaw shut. He squinted, whirled around and stomped off with only his foul mood and a grumpy baby dragon for company. Just you wait. Just you wait and see.

 

[Elle Joyner]

THEME

Marcellus;Quicksand;LB;

THE
RIDERS
of VERLENDIA

THE JOURNEY FORWARD...

Bleak had been the tone of the morning's events. By mid afternoon, their shells strewn about the forest floor, the dragons were curled amongst their riders, all properly named, and already their differences quite well established. The shift was nearly imperceptible, yet it was there all the same. Hope. Not a searing and effervescent hope of the unyielding variety… Fear and suspicion were still very much rank in the air, but hope, nonetheless… Hope that they had been called for a reason… Hope that they were heading towards something.

For most, anyway. Sometime after Olee's hunt had been tended by Kyen'delsia and was being passed among the companions, Leander and Melindre returned, the former's disposition noticeably diminished. Their meal was had in relative peace and quiet, and afterwards, their meager camp was broken down. As they began their way down the mountainside, the afternoon sun climbed higher in the sky, its warmth once welcome in the coolness of the peak now prickling and hot on the backs of their necks. Sometime after the ground leveled to lush fields of thick green grass and bright cone flowers scattered here and there, the subtle scent of lavender adrift on the occasional breeze, they paused for a rest near the stream that wound down into the valley, eventually pouring down into the Shorn river.

"Where are we going, anyway?" Milo finally asked, and he rubbed the pads of his paws on his pants before reaching up to give the dragon curled about his neck a gentle skritch. Tiriok was careful as he shifted not to jar the Klerion woman on his arm. He'd been leading her since they left the decline of the mountain and pooled into the open air of the valley, when riding Storm Strider proved far too warm for her, the griffon taking the skies instead.

"First things first, there's someone we need to talk to. Direstrine paid a woman to find the Book of Calling, someone I know personally. We need to find her and suss out who she told… Omesh Kar is involved and this Bloodmarked called Augar… But there's something deeper going on here, and we need to get to the bottom of it.`` His gaze shifted briefly to the Klerion man walking ahead of him before returning to the Amalfi, "Then it's high time we figure out what the next move is…"

"The bonding process is nearly complete…" Melindre interjected, an odd wariness to her tone, "The last step is the dragons' first flight… and their return. Once they've completed this there won't be much more to do besides wait until they've grown enough to be ridden, which, I'm told, happens significantly faster than you might think." She took a moment, before continuing with a much more confident timbre, "You are meant to be the protectors of Verlendia, and it is clear now that the opposition very much intends to pursue the wars of old. You will have your jobs cut out for you. In time, you will need to decide how best to proceed. All of Verlendia will look to you, now. It is no small task, and I don't envy you in the least. But I have seen in you all such insurmountable courage, and I do not doubt that Orestra has made the right choice."

Pausing, she looked to the man beside her, who had settled into stony silence since their conversation in the wood, "That being said, I understand that not all of you are seasoned warriors, and I feel it would be to your benefit to have some training. Thankfully, you've some very capable teachers at the ready."

"We'll break for Holiveil tonight." Tiriok noted, "It's not but a few hours away, and should be safer than the open road. We can stock up on supplies there, and be on our way to Atheno, tom--"

Whatever he was going to say was truncated, as an arrow suddenly embedded itself in the grass before his feet. He jolted to a stop and yanked Kyen'delsia behind him, as the sound of shouting erupted from the edge of the river ahead. From behind the boulders jotting the shore, several figures emerged into the open. Metal glistened in the sunlight, beacons of iron and steel… At first glance one's mind would assume they were wearing armor, but upon closer inspection, it appeared the figures themselves were nearly entirely comprised of armor. Behind them, two deep grey drakes appeared, their snouts peeled back in fixed growls, each step of their massive clawed feet drawing dust from the sandy bank.

The ringing sound of steel leaving sheaths sang through both groups, as blades and weapons were drawn and readied, and postures became defensive. Tiriok stepped to the front, an arm extended, "Hold! We mean you no harm…"

"Your company would suggest otherwise…" Came a deep bass, as one of the tallest of the dozen or so figures made his way forward, "You are trespassing on Nera land. Lay down your weapons and state your business, or prepare to die."

__​

GM NOTES

TAGS || @KatSea, @Owl, @Verran, @ze_kraken, @Morgan, @Pupperr, @Custodiet Teh

Synopsis and Interactive Elements |
After a long days walk, you've arrived at the crossing point of the Shorn river. Pausing the rest, the plan is laid out, and as you ready yourselves to leave, you are suddenly interrupted by a throng of roughly a dozen metal-clad warriors whose land you appear to have trespassed onto.

The situation heated, the Metal Nera have demanded that you surrender your weapons peacefully, or prepare to battle.

 

[KatSea]

Meeting the Breakers - @Elle Joyner

"Alright Forge, when I whistle, you puff. Blink if you understand." The young Nera wore her hatchling along her neck like a scarf, his tail curled around her arm and head pressed to her cheek. His wings fueled tightly against his back, his scales now more reflective in the light morning sun. He blinked several times. That must have meant his harmony with her was an absolute talent and profession, wove in the skin and crafted with utter care. Either that or Forge was still trying to blink away the sleep from his eyes. Either way, Haloke was ready to start her experiment.

"Eight little Nera men march bravely on, drinking mead with cheeks rosy red~ One little Nera boy goes on by sea, drowning blue with dread~" Softly she hummed this, remembering Ajei singing this to them when they were kids. Haloke was never sure where the nursery rhyme had come from, although remembered her aging, skeleton of a grandmother mumbling of similar fashion. "Seven little Nera men go on strong, one little Nera boy loses his breath as the wind stole his song~ Oh brave little Nera men~ keep on marching on~" Folding her lip under her teeth, a low whistle escaped her. She bounced Forge on her shoulders in an attempt to encourage him. Bewildered, the creature huffed his response, a light puff of smoke billowing from his nostrils. "Thatta boy!" When he was grown and able to expel a vicious roar, she was going to teach him how to harmonize. Fruitless? Perhaps. Amusing? Very much so.

She halted her musings. Hearing the oracle and Tiriok speak, she recalled where they were going. The metal Nera. Strong, wise folk from what she remembered reading in her studies. If she recalled correctly, there were the Breakers, who were strong and fearsome warriors. There were the book worms that she could not recall for the life of her, and then she figured there was something else she was forgetting. Not to fret. The Nera were...territorial. They shouldn't be, at least, not as long as they knew who she was. Fire Nera with the Suring signet...tucked into one of her braids, hidden by piles of tightly strung locks.

She quietly maneuvered from the group, keeping close towards the front when the time arrived. "Good men and women, the Nera are...just do not be startled. They do not like foreigners on there land." These words were directed to the main group, although her eyes flickered to the sword wielders. Tiriok in particular. As...encouraging and as bemused as she was when he struck the lord...having an outburst suddenly would not be pleasant. Not that he would, she didn't expect it, but she kept a close eye as to where the knights kept their sheaths. No weapons drawn. She had rarely seen an outsider in her home, save the trades that happened on the occasion. She remembered staying up past the moon's arrival to watch guardsmen apprehend a cloaked man, long long ago. She had to have been a toddler, as Chilali hadn't yet been born. It was an exciting night, worth the moment of punishment as her mother caught her peering out the window, body half way out of the house.

Thus, as she absentmindedly came to a stop, she saw the arrow plant itself firmly into the dirt. A tired smile pulled at her lips. The drakes. The armed men. She reached blindly for the bow that tied her mane behind her head, fingers fumbling until they found the signet hidden. Retrieving it, she clasped her hands before her, keeping the ring balanced within her palms.

"Peace, gentlemen. May Orestra grant you favor." She bowed her head foreward, a sign of respect. "I, Haloke Wildfire of the Fire Nera, come to ask for sanctuary. These men and women are with me. We mean no harm."

In that moment, something occurred that was both strange and incredible. The man who had stepped forward to speak looked to the token that Haloke revealed and without a word, held up a hand to his men, who seemed to pause in unison. As his hand lowered, so too did the men around him, dropping slowly to their knees until the only ones standing were their leader and another just beyond his shoulder… an uncommonly tall Nera, with broad shoulders and a squarish head, a massive metal pauldron on his arm.

"An unexpected honor. Forgive our severity." Waving his hand again, his men rose, and he gave them a quiet order to prepare for guests, before looking back at Haloke, "Please… come this way. Welcome, friends of the Wildfire, to the home of the Steelcoats."

 

[Elle Joyner]

THEME

Marcellus;Quicksand;LB;

THE
RIDERS
of VERLENDIA

NO SMALL HONOR...

The village of the Steelcoats was rudimentary at first glance, with homes raked together from bits and pieces of wood and metal scrap, but passing through the gates, with scrutiny, one could see the delicate intricacies of artistry within the structures. Woven strands of steel like braidwork, ornate beads of pearlescent chromatic metals and vibrant scarlet reds and cobalt blues in tribal patterns and arcs of color ran through the scattered system of huts and houses. Cauldrons of bright orange flame rose every few hundred feet, streams of pale smoke curling into the blue sky overhead. The acrid scents of iron and fumes mingled with more subtle savory notes of roasting fats and pungent straw and hay. Through the dust laden streets, metal-clad figures moved with purpose, but as the gate swung open several paused to look as the men from the river bank stepped through with their guests in tow.

"Well met, Breaker Thranik! Back so soon?"

"Aye! The hunt will need to wait! We have company!" Stepping forward, Thranik's voice rose above the hushed curiosity of the gathered crowd, "Today, my Steelcoat brothers and sisters, we are honored by the presence of Haloke of the Fire Nera! As our kin so honors our own Chosen, Breaker Osamer, so too shall we give all distinction and regard to the Wildfire and her company."

Slowly, as the men had by the river, the villagers began to kneel, leaving only the group of Riders, Thranik and the other solitary metal Nera standing.

"Now then! What food have we? Where are Dravasta and Lurine? We shall prepare a feast." Waving his people upright, Thranik turned then to Haloke, "Come! Come! Please. Seek what comfort you may find within our humble home."

The Nera moved throughout the village with a sudden and perceptible haste. In what seemed to be no time at all, metal beams had been set alongside thin sheets, and upon this was laid a spread of wild game and fish, of roasted vegetables, of warm bread and pies, of crisp pastries and sweet tarts and bowls of deep purple and red fruit, and at its center, a whole boar, its skin still crackling. Three Nera had gathered instruments and the cheerful sound of flutes and string interlaced through the chattering throng as the group was ushered to sit, wine and ale poured into metal tumblers, and passed among them.

"Eat! And be pleased by our bounty," Thranik's voice rose as he stood at the foot of the table, "All raise tribute to the Suring Chosen!"

"Whomever they may be!" The Nera repeated back, their voices echoing with warm exuberance. The toast concluded with a raucous cheer, before the villagers began to divvy out the remarkable meal.

Grinning lightly, Tiriok leaned close to Haloke, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper, "More to you than meets the eye, indeed, Morale Support…"

"That a dragon?" Across from the group, the Nera who had remained standing with Thranik spoke up, his voice deep and grave, as he jutted a solid finger towards the creature snaking along Haloke's shoulders, "Heh…"

"You find that amusing?" The red-skinned Klerion spoke up, his voice gentle, but his words prodding. The Nera turned to him, and his jaw worked around the question, before his shoulders rose in a shrug.

"Just a curious thing, is all. All those dragons here, in Verlendia. If it means what I think it means, then it's gonna be a real challenge, makin' it through the Suring."

"Or… quite clearly, Orestra has seen doubly fit to honor the Wildfire and does not doubt her capabilities."

"All of us start small…" Milo interjected, looking briefly to Haloke with a broken-toothed grin, "It's w-what we do with what we are given, m-makes us worthy."

"Well said." Hexar agreed, with a nod, his eyes catching those of the metal Nera. Lifting a tumbler, he tipped it in regard to Osamer, "Wouldn't you agree?"

"...Aye. Seems so." The man nodded, raising his own drink, "Seems so." And taking a drink, he rose from the table, wandering off into the village.

As the feast continued, the sun began to dip below the horizon and radiant reds and golds caught the metal structures, bathing the village in amber brilliance and for a moment, at least, there was a semblance of reprieve.

__​

GM NOTES

TAGS || @KatSea, @Owl, @Verran, @ze_kraken, @Morgan, @Pupperr, @Custodiet Teh

Synopsis and Interactive Elements |

Welcomed into the Steelcoat village, you find yourselves drawn into a hearty feast. The lure of frivolity is not lost on you after the unpleasantness of the last few days, and you graciously enjoy the delightful meal and warm drinks as the day comes to a slow close.

Haloke has been revealed as a chosen nominee for the Nera's Suring - a ceremony most know to be the method by which the Nera's tribal leader is chosen. An honor another among the Metal Nera, Breaker Osamer, shares.

As you eat and drink, you may converse amongst yourselves or with the metal Nera gathered. Should you choose to leave the table, Breaker Thranik, the tribe's leader will direct you to a metal hut near the shuttered gates you entered through where you will be offered lodging for the night.

The village also appears to have several shops, a kiln and forge, as well as a tavern, though only the latter appears to be open for the time being.

 

[ze_kraken]

ELWYN, DAUGHTER OF THE FAITH
​

How long had it been since Elwyn had feasted?

She could not recall when last she had taken to eating a meal finer than what the monetary had deemed appropriate for its caretakers and followers - potatoes, bread, and the rare broth with a bit of meat. Elwyn could barely protest, for she fared better than most in Stavinburg with three square meals a day. On the rare occasion a noble invited her to supper, or an event of state, she had always felt out of place, tending to the food given the servants more than the masters. Venison, steak, roasted chicken, garlic, wine - all were too fine for her, and a step towards wanton excess besides.

So it was when she found herself at the table with Nera, sharing in rich food and drink, she kept to herself mostly, taking nothing more than was needed to sate her lingering hunger from the road. Her meal consisted of half a loaf of bread, a hard tack of cheese that tasted as though it had been aged for some time, and spare bits of roasted onion, peppers, and potatoes. When servants offered her more, she declined politely, though she did snag a bit of venison and boar for Ironjaw.

The little dragon ate eagerly with Elwyn, but had trouble keeping to himself, often drifting about its rider's feet and nuzzling the legs of strangers. Though they seemed not to mind, Elwyn felt pressure to keep the dragon close, not fully aware of its capabilities if left unattended. Ironjaw, for his part, seemed disinterested in doing more than sniffing at strangers and snapping up bits of meat. He stayed close to Elwyn despite her constant tugs and pulls, red eyes curiously fixating on the strange metal men around him.

"Peace, little one," she muttered, stroking the dragon's shoulders gently.

Ironjaw let loose a sound much like the purr of a cat, fins along the back of its neck shaking and throat shaking as it loosed the noise, curling close to Elwyn's chest. Even after hatching, the dragon carried a fierce heat with it, palpable from an arm's reach away. Curled up as the dragon was, Elwyn felt as if she were sitting by the fire on a midsummer's day. Before long, she could feel sweat break out along her brow and set the dragon down, much to his displeasure. He huffed a plume of smoke, but was quickly distracted by the prospect of more people to investigate and waddled on four legs to sniff at the leg of one of the servants.

Tell me why, Mother, Elwyn mused to herself. Why a dragon of all things? What sort of test is this?

Still, for all her uncertainty, the drake was a welcome distraction from the past week. It was a poor comparison, she wagered, but it brought back memories of Old Tom - the ginger cat that used to prowl the training yard of the monastery she had taken care of as a child. Sister Moira had whipped her when she had discovered that Elwyn had taken the animal into her chambers to keep as a pet, and though Ironjaw was imbued with all the import and pomp of destiny and prophecy, when Elwyn looked to him wandering about, squeaking and letting loose puffs of smoke, she could not help but smile and recall Old Tom.

Before long, Elwyn began to tire, lured by the prospect of a bed the Nera had offered. She hauled Ironjaw up and carried him to the edge of the feasting ground, marveling at the sheer weight of the dragon despite its size. He weighed every bit as much as actual gold, only real gold did not squirm in an effort to stick its neck into every passing thing that caught its attention. Breaker Thranik pointed out her lodging for the evening, which was every bit as practical and down to earth as its exterior was.

A plain bed rested in the corner of a small room with a dresser and a silver-etched mirror hanging upon the wall. The attendants had even left a small bed possibly meant for a small animal or child at the foot of the bed, which she gingerly lowered Ironjaw into. The dragon immediately leapt out of its bed and began to explore the space, neck swaying as it looked for things to fit into its curious maw. Elwyn examined herself in the mirror for a moment, reflecting with some amusement that Casimir had been right. She did look dreadful.

The chaplain undid her armor and set it by the bed, wincing as the cuts and bruises that had accumulated over days of fighting made themselves known. The wound inflicted by Augar still pained her fiercely, and right as she undid the armor encasing her legs, Elwyn collapsed onto the bed, clutching her thigh, tears welling in the corner of her eyes. Ironjaw nudged her curiously with his snout, head cocked as she suffered the bout of agony, the lancing pain feeling every bit as violent as when first the dagger had stabbed her. The pain abated, leaving Elwyn in a clammy, cold sweat beading down her face and dripping to the covers of the bed below. With a grunt, she raised herself to her feet and finished removing her armor until she stood in soiled trousers and tunic, examining herself in the mirror.

A bruise had formed along her cheek, with an encrusted bit of blood at its center from where the skin had broken. Dark circles hung under her eyes, the corners of which were crusted. Her armors were docked in a series of shallow cuts and bruises which had just begun to heal, forming a veritable rainbow of greens, blues, purples, and reds that dotted her arms in a collage of battle scars. Mud and blood clung to her as well, accentuating her weariness.

Reluctant to leave her dragon by himself, for fear he might take to shredding the bedding provided, Elwyn hoisted Ironjaw up and ferried him out of the room, over to the dwelling's baths after consulting a member of the household staff. He escorted her to the baths, explaining that as his tribe of Nera were made of metal, baths were often reserved for guests of differing races for fear of rust, but that she should find the accommodations suitable. Elwyn nodded, assuring the Nera that anything would do and repeating her gratitude for her host's hospitality.

Once left alone, Elwyn stripped from her soiled garments and began to pull the tap to let loose a stream of steaming water. The monestery had operated with a similar plumbing system back in Stavinburg, and Elwyn muttered a quick prayer of thanks to Orestra as the water began to cast a thick film of steam into the room, much to Ironjaw's delight. The dragon pranced about, swiping at the steam with its claws as if trying to peel it back or dispell it. Elwyn smirked, until catching a glimpse of herself in a mirror by the doorway, staring in horror at the toll the last few days had extracted. Her legs shook, and where Augar had stabbed her was still an angry, brilliant crimson.

Just one more shade to add to the collection, she thought bitterly, pushing her attention aside and lowering herself into the water below. At first it felt just as uncomfortable as holding Ironjaw close did, but after a while the heat began to loosen her tensed and coiled muscles and ease the sharpness of the pain still lingering in her limbs. Elwyn let out a long, drawn out sigh as she leaned in and let herself relax for what felt to be the first time in years, closing her eyes and allowing herself to exist not as a person, but an empty vessel adrift at sea, mind as blank as the horizon before dawn.

Ironjaw coiled about the edge of the tub, head resting along its edge by Elwyn's. His eyes shut and he began to hum happily, settling into a shallow slumber. Elwyn herself struggled to stay awake, too comfortable in the tub to think of much but her missed sleep and accrued weariness. She gingerly stroked Ironjaw's shoulders, much to the dragon's delight, and swayed in the tub, letting her mind run blank once again...

Thank you, Mother.

 

[Custodiet Teh]

Oleander Dapplegrey


Finding herself almost instantly lost amongst the tribe upon their arrival, Oleander found herself the recipient of a rather surprising shock. Over the course of the last year, she'd found herself only briefly in what she'd consider small settlement on her way to the major cities of the Two-Legs. Making sure to stay clear of the wilderness and obviously avoiding anything remotely resembling her tribal upbringing in the Herd. The future of her kind wasn't to be found in the small people of the past.

So as the Nera in their group rapidly negotiated with the other Nera, Oleander rolling her eyes at the display of tribal customs, she decided to keep her mouth shut and find some shelter away from the what was sure to be a night of dancing around in the mud, a fire roaring with their heads swirling from whatever plants grew in these lands being tossed to cause visions. But as they crossed into the village proper, did her jaw drop a little.

These men, the Steelcoat Nera, a supposed Two-Leg tribe, lived like each one of them was a Herd elder. Houses made of metal and wood, artistry evident in the construction. Their people were clothed and not just in hide or leather but metals. Oleander found herself entranced, imagining how her Herd would look in such trappings. If this was what two-legs considered tribal, then what her Herd lived as was truly pitiable. Her tense demeanor and decision to act detached from the Riders fell by the wayside as slipped away amongst the throngs.

At first, she thought they were acting as other Two-legs did when first around normal beings like herself. Getting in close to examine her torso, wondering how she accomplished simple deeds like they did. But from the attention and chatter of the Nera closest to her they weren't put off by her kind but were instead apparently enamored with her musket. Not one to shy away from such positive attention, especially of the kind in regards to new technologies, Oleander indulged herself to the fullest. Passing the weapon around to the men nearest, making sure it didn't stray too far from her though, she extolled the virtues of it, explaining the principles she understood, and even showing how it was loaded. As the feast began to commence, It didn't take long before food and drink were being thrust upon her as her musket was still holding interest. Drink wasn't new to her kind, the Esquirian having been fermenting plants into drink since long before her time. But their draught was unrefined and often had bits of matter that would stick to your teeth while you drank and sang. Two Leg drink was sharp and clean and the taste was something else entirely. Whatever Ale and Wine were, it alone was something her Herd would need to have.

Grabbing her musket in one hand and two mugs in the other, she trotted off with some of the men to go clear a space to demonstrate the properties of her weapon. As the feast continued, sharp blasts would occasionally punctuate themselves over the music. Eventually, as the light began to fall, Oleander returned to the feast proper with the entourage of Nera that had gone to see the musket in action, all of them laughing uproariously as Oleander, now with the musket slung and both hands occupied with drink, tried to teach them songs in a broken version of the common tongue.


Farwell ye forest dark n' strong
Owr wretch'd destaeneee
Esquirian life nae' be long
Less we'h awl gawllop free

Sae rantingly, sae wantonly
Sae dauntingly owr wee
He played ah tune 'n dance aroon
Tell we'h awl gawllop free

Oh whit es death boot parting brreath
Oan mony's th' blood plain
Ah'f seen hess faece aboot thess place
Ah'n ah scorn hem yeht ahgain

Sae rantingly, sae wantonly
Sae dauntingly gaed he
He played ah toon n' dance aroon
Tell we'h awl gallop free

Ah live ah life of' grrief 'n strrife
Ah die by treachery
Boot et breaks me heart, ahmust depart
And not avengád be

Goan take thess boonds froom oof me 'ands
And brang tae me ah spear
There's nae ah Colt en all th' lans
Sae tell th' lad ah'l kess em 'ere

Sae farewell strrife 'n soonshine brright
'N awl neath th' sky
May caward shame disdain th' name
O' th' wrretch tha dare nae die

Sae rantingly, sae wantonly
Sae dauntingly gaed he
E' play ah toon 'n dance aroon
Esquirian gawllop free!

As the sun continued to wane, Oleander seemed determined to do the opposite. Carrying on a jaunty tune and teaching it to anyone that could stand to listen, she wandered through the feast finally coming to rest at the table where the two-legged riders had been feasting at. Kneeling down best she could, she continued to drink and eat, knocking over a finely crafted metal mug as she reached for more food. Swaying in place to both the tune and the slow rotation of the world, she would smile and laugh uproariously, seemingly with no intention of stopping anytime soon. The material assets and surprisingly civilized nature of the Nera was blending in with her own subconscious comforts at being back in a Herd of sorts. Oleander barely knew where she was this evening but wherever she was, every second was being savored.

 

[Elle Joyner]

THEME

Marcellus;Quicksand;LB;

THE
RIDERS
of VERLENDIA

BY THE LIGHT OF THE MOON...

"I'm close..."

Looking up into the pale light of the moon, Hexar's fingers wound around the gem tucked beneath his breastplate, thumb tracing the smooth face of the deep red stone. Following the feast, as most of the Nera either wandered off to sleep or were following the Esquirian around, begging her to show off her noisy weapons, Hexar had found a quiet space to withdraw. Now the silence seemed deafening, and his breath left in a shudder as the overwhelming weight of emotions clawed along his throat.

"...So close." A pause, and he breathed in again, the fingers of his free hands brushing beneath his eyes, "I found her. But she..."

Clutching the gem tighter, he grimaced lightly as pain lanced along his arm. Shaking out his fingers, his gaze lowered.

"She seems frightened of me. As if--"

"Give her time." A second voice responded, and Hexar looked up, his expression rolling from surprise to relief. The figure to whom it belonged stood shielded in the shadow of a Nera hut, speaking just above a whisper, "It's only natural for her to be afraid. Her memories, they'll return, and then--"

"I don't... I didn't think it would be this difficult. Being around them. They're... most of them, they're not what I expected."

"No. They wouldn't be. They aren't monsters, after all. They simply don't know. Understand. But they'll see in time. They will know what must be done. These things take time. Take sacrifice, my Lord."

"Speaking of…" His eyes shifted, narrowed, "The girl wasn't part of the plan."

"It had to be done. It wasn't intended, I confess, but Captain Slate got heavy handed, and I thought it better to use the child. She needed a reason to leave. A reason to trust--"

"She doesn't trust me. She fears me! They all do... And maybe they're right to..."

"If you start second guessing yourself, we're going to have problems. Besides, I've told you before, we can find another. We don't need the gi--"

"I NEED HER!" Pausing, flinching at the unintentional growl that escaped him, Hexar looked around, and only when he'd ensured himself they had not been overheard did he continue, "I need her."

"Then find a way to make her see."

"How? When she's afraid of me. After what happened… She'll never believe it now. Her heart is broken."

"Then find a way to heal it. It's what you do, isn't it?" There was a brief pause, "Show her something. Rebuild hope. Use the others if you must. A scrying spell might be wise..."

"I suppose I could. There's another problem." Glancing back behind him, he shook his head, "One I did not anticipate…"

"The other. I'm aware. He's stayed, then? Even after..." A deep sigh resounded, "If what Yaris has foreseen comes to pass... He can't know. He can never find out. It will destroy everything we've built. Everything we're working towards. If you have to, you know what to do."

"...I-I can't--"

"You can, and you will. Or we have lost everything we've worked for. Everything you have worked for. Calion can still be saved, my Lord. But you cannot doubt yourself. What it is you must do..."

"...You're right. I know. Thank you, my friend. I should head back. They'll be suspicious if I'm gone too long. The knight… he's been--"

"Knight?" There was a deep pause, a lingering, pregnant gap, "What knight?"

"...He's called Tiriok. From the Phoenix Order--"

"Keep your distance from him, my Lord." The figure snapped, "Until I return… That name, I…"

"What is it?"

"Nothing. Maybe nothing, but I'm wary."

"I'll do what I can. These variables are becoming tiresome."

"It won't be long, now. We've done what we hoped… in the open, things will be easier to control. Away from those miserable idiot despots… Go on. Your-- the girl. She'll wake, soon, no doubt. Her dreams will be unyieldingly cruel, tonight. Go to her. And Lord Hexar? Be cautious. Tiresome can quickly devolve into detrimental, and we cannot afford to fail this time."

"I know. It's best we don't have too much contact, after this. We're heading towards Atheno. I trust I don't need to remind you what needs to be done before we arrive?"

"Yes. I'll take care of it. But it will take me some time to craft new travel medallions. I've used the last for this trip. Any sooner than the weeks end and you'll need to stall."

"Send him… ahead of you. But he needs to be more careful. He nearly killed one of them. We cannot risk it."

"Might be best he take care of our… other dilemma, then?"

"...Only if needed. It's too risky. And they mustn't lose morale."

"It can't always be helped in times of war, my Lord."

"...Believe me, I know. But we must do our best, or we are no better than them. What happened this morning? The girl? It cannot happen again. I will not abide by senseless acts. Are we understood?"

"...My Lord, I--"

"Are we understood?" His voice carried with it a note of grim finality, and there was a hesitant pause.

"...Yes, my Lord."

"Good." Nodding, Hexar took a step away, "You may go."

 

[Verran]

It's Fine, Right?
Kyen'delsia

Kyen'delsia was happy to have a most gallant escort! Storm Strider was an excellent companion who was, thankfully, amendable to having her as a side-saddle rider. The majestic gait of the griffon hardly swayed, despite the mountainous terrain as the company well and truly left her home. Given the state of her clothes, which couldn't be good, Kyen'delsia opted to just let her hair cascade free. Silver hair shimmering in the sun she couldn't see. Thankfully, the smells and sounds were still, while they stayed within the hills, quite familiar. Pinesap teased her nostrils while the twitter of Fall birds added to the symphony of her laughter.

And there was cause for her to laugh. It was true that there could hardly be a better companion than Storm Strider, who Kyen'delsia was continually sure to thank, but the great beast didn't speak a tongue she could understand. Fortunately, Storm Strider's rider, Tiriok, did. It took a bit for Kyen'delsia's silver tongue to find its mark. Dancing around questions of friends and family while waving off her introductory apology for being a bit testy during the battle didn't lead to much beyond a few slivers of his origin.

Oh, but what a sliver. From the sandy dunes of what could have been home! Kyen'delsia knew her eyes flashed with eagerness as her head twitched with a tad too much eagerness towards him to listen. But, as if her Sister were whispering in her ear, the young Klerion steered away from the topic and alighted upon the great beast beneath her. And just like that, he burst forth with conversation as a jet of water from a shattering dam.

Elsha'fy scampered about freely, though stayed near the group, as Kyen'delsia and Tiriok's conversation wandered through Storm Strider's rescue from a horrid 'trader.'

"Slaver," she almost automatically interjected as Tiriok helped her down from Storm Strider before slipping his arm around hers. Escorting the woman as the mountains finally ended and the sweeping fields began, "and don't try to convince me otherwise. I won't hear it! Anyone who would dare mistreat such a majestic lady is nothing more."

Their stroll down memory lane took the rest of their stroll across the plains as Kyen'delsia absorbed and cheered through Storm Strider's raising from a baby, her first flight, pecking at Tiriok's hair, how his runic quill came from Stormy and that all such quills must come from magical creatures. And then the Steelcoats showed up and Tiriok immediately became the protector again. A protector who decided to treat her as a sack of valuable potatoes and hoist her behind him. It was rather sweet, but really! We'll need to talk about this. She huffed in her head. After all, it was hardly befitting of a rider if, every time something happened, she was stuffed aside. Fortunately, Haloke smoothed the matter over before their overreaction to accidental trespass turned to excess violence.

Which swept them up to the feasting! Getting there was a bit of a blur to her. Sound smeared through it all as what sounded and stomped as extremely muscular men led them to a delightful feast! By which, of course, Kyen'delsia, now separate from her escorting gentleman, engaged in the traditional task of figuring out how to eat the meal without making an utter fool of herself. Listening to where dishes were set down allowed her to, with minimal fumbling, find various bits of food. Trailing a finger across the table gave the appearance of mild daintiness and elegance. It ensured that she didn't send goblets and platters flying in her ravenous hunger. Devouring everything her hands found, added to her plate, and then transported to her mouths. While Kyen'delsia wasn't a betting woman, but she felt that she likely out ate half the people there. At least, she felt that way. Chatting amicably with anyone who felt like it, making sure to graciously thank Breaker Thranik for his greatly visible hospitality. Ensuring that she wasn't the last to leave ensured that she could hitch an escort with someone who was heading in at least the same direction and bade whoever she thrust the charge of guiding the blind woman goodnight. Taking her time, she stepped out the room. Finding out this new, unfamiliar geography of the room and committing it to memory as she found both bed and drawn bath. Elsha'fy, seemingly finally sapped of boundless energy from gorging on the feast as much as her rider, yipped in protest as Kyen'delsia, ensuring privacy, scooped her up and sank into the hot water.

"No, little lady, you are getting clean. I heard you, prancing around all day, I bet you're filthy."

The baby dragon whined.

"And I said you're getting clean!" she chimed, scrubbing away at the feebly squirming creature until she felt certain that her dragon's scales shimmered in the candlelight. Releasing her charge, Kyen'delsia followed the simple steps of bathing herself, dressing in whatever was cleanest, and flopping onto the bed. Elsha'fy seemed to care little for the provided basket, judging by the ripping sound. Laying upon some bed of furs and possibly covers, tears welled and silently spilled over her eyes.

Sister, she prayed, they're gone. Sister. They're all gone. Some dead. Some I don't know where and I … I couldn't help them. They, these riders I walk with, know I at least know some magic. And it did nothing! Nothing. Yet, I'm walking. Trying to figure out if anyone around me is trustworthy. Oley seems fun. A bit violent…but fun. Tiriok's gallant, but Storm Strider's more! She's a griffon. Elsha'fy hatched too. A real ball of energy! You'd tell me to look after her all myself, but I know you'd help whenever you felt like it. And Hexar…he's still creepy. I'll not forget what he all told me when we met and I feel…like something doesn't add up. But it's that way with everyone! I don't know who to trust, if I can trust, or what to trust. I miss you. I miss Alla. I miss Meldriss and have no idea if she's even alive! Stay alive, Sister. Stay alive. Lioris keep you safe. Lioris guide your way. Lioris give you strength.

And she fell asleep, repeating the end of her thoughts in a prayer ceased only by slumber. But she did not slumber peacefully.

Kyen'delsia was dancing at home. The familiar creaks of wood and the must smell of the attic filled her as she spun, twirled, dipped, and swept to music in her head. Her Sister, for teaching her any song, would hum every part until the young Klerion knew it by heart. But today, her teacher was silent. It was a test. Sweat streaked down Kyen'delsia's body as her muscles ached under the strain. Begging to rest, to sit down and do nothing. She ignored it. Right foot tapping forward, then back as her arms highlighted her body before shooting down as she crossed her legs into a dip.

The world exploded in fire. Searing through the spot, five paces away that she knew her Sister always sat. With a cry, she thought to rush towards the dragon fire.

Snap! She sprung straight, her back now to the audience as a coquettish smile teased her lips while the silken sash teased across her bare back. Kyen'delsia glanced over her shoulder, seeing nothing, promising everything. With a whip, she faced the audience again as she flitted up the stage with a sway as the veil fell back into place. As if her teasing smile were but a mere vision through a heat haze. Precisely stopping upon her toes at where she knew the very edge of the stage to be, she balanced delicately upon one leg. Sweeping down with one arm out and back and the other gently parting the veil as if to kiss the fortunate soul just beneath her before suddenly dancing back, saucy laughter upon her face and alight in her eyes.

The dragons roared with delight, blasting the stage with gouts of flame and ice as she felt her body being seared apart and shatter into frozen bits. Scattering her as a carcass of froze blood and burnt bone across an exploding stage.

With a whirl, the child, Kyen'delsia, danced upon a dusty floor of sand and earth. The symphony in her mind rang into the final stretch as she launched into pirouette, step-step, pirouette. All the while, letting her arms sweep free with the song in her heart. Then she strode across the floor, dancing her hips in time before, finally, sweeping down into a bow so perfectly paced that the shall upon her hair did not flip into her face. Soft clapping broke out and Kyen'delsia raised her head as the sultry satin of a purr spoke, "my my. My dear child, that was absolutely perfect. Now, let's have those vocal scales one last time."

Flushed with her success, but refusing to submit to her exhausted body, Kyen'delsia opened her mouth. Only to be blasted by a wall of sound, that tore apart the foundations of the abode. She couldn't even hear herself scream as her eardrums ruptured. Then her body came apart upon her as its cells failed to withstand the sonic assault. Her last memory was of her failing body breaking down into pools at her feet.

With a quiet scream, she woke. Frantically, the young woman pawed at her body as she sought to feel if any of it was missing.

 

[KatSea]

In the Metal Den - Uncle Breaker Thranik and Libscarian @Elle Joyner

Haloke didn't feel like herself. Watching the Nera soldiers kneel before her, watching those respectable enough to be coated in armor, to be wielding weapons and ride upon massive drakes was overwhelming. She peered down to her attire, expecting herself to be someone different. A tribal leader, perhaps, glinting in gold, dressed in the finest of silks. Someone that wasn't her. Perhaps if she glanced behind her, the true figure would be standing there, smiling gracefully, waving as if this was something to be seen every time she made herself known.

She merely expressed her gratitude, over and over again, feeling like her tongue was to fall out of her mouth. Each syllable began to taste like gibberish. Social grace had been lost. Anything the Wildfire patriarchy drilled into Haloke's skull had leaked from her ears. A blur later, she found herself seated beside her new found friends, hunger keeping her stomach captive, gnawing angrily enough to let a rumble escape her. To have a feast hosted by the clan was a mere dream an hour ago. She had lusted hungrily for the chance to be able to feast, to drink mead and to laugh among friends. It had been a miracle if she stumbled into an inn and found food and drink that was palatable. The bump in her journey made it nearly impossible to afford much more than a room and a serving of potatoes. Now? She could feel her cheeks growing merry. Stuffing some mutton into her mouth, she stripped a chunk of meat from the bone. She wriggled the treasure in front of Forge, molten eyes shimmering with mirth. Haloke threw back her hand before he was able to nibble her fingers. She grinned at him, nuzzling into his forehead before scratching underneath his chin. "Aye, you have the appetite of a true Wildfire."

Letting the creature crawl across her torso, she giggled as some of the Nera watched the small creature lose his grip and fumble feebly into her lap. Her arms cushioned the fall, curling around the hatchling in comfort. Hearing Tiriok, Milo and the party beside her, she felt her shoulders slump. This was not something she wanted to affect others outlook before they even spoke to her. Still, something about Milo's broken grin and words helped to relax her. She sent a smile his way before whispering back to Tiriok,

"Oh, do you think this is all I have under my sleeve~" A lighthearted wink was sent his way before she pulled from him, eyes scanning the Metal Nera before she found Breaker Thranik. The element of metal was one that Haloke was certain she'd never learn due to its...requirements. Yet...she sent a smile over to Milo. "Sir Milo I think our lessons will begin sooner than you think. If you gentlemen will excuse me…" Plucking the hatchling from her lap and slinging him haphazardly over her shoulder, she picked herself up from her seat.

"Breaker Thranik. A pleasure to be in your graces." She bowed her head respectfully, cupping her fist across her chest. "If you get a moment, may I have a word with you?"

Setting his tumbler aside, Breaker Thranik's gaze turned upwards and he gave a small, polite nod, "Aye! Wildfire. What is it I can do for you? Is everything alright? To order? Is there something else you require? We've plenty, if you need more!"

"Aye, many thanks for the celebration you have set forth. We are grateful for such kindness." A smile crept on her lips, although it remained subtle. "We are not going to be here long and I graciously ask for your wisdom. Our journey is going to be a long one, as you can imagine, and I graciously ask for any help you may be able to give me. I will be happy to give you anything in return for such kindness."

"Right, of course. As is the custom among our people. Ah…" Pausing, he looked at his cup and chuckled lightly, "Have to admit I'm used to a little more of a lengthy visit. Didn't realize yours would be so short. Perhaps then, tomorrow morning? Early? We've got a pretty decent library, as well, if you want to peruse it in the meantime."

"I apologize for such the short visit as it is against customs, but I promise to learn as much as I can while I am here and while I am travelling with my companions." For the first time, Haloke felt excitement bubble up within her about the Suring. Did Orestra intend this for her? Intend to make her feel less afraid and less alone on such a perilous journey? Did this mean she could truly and surely go home and make her family proud? She exhaled slowly, trying to keep her expression neutral. "Excellent. I would love to look and see what history and lessons your tribe can teach me." Words she never thought she would speak, but still, they rang true. "One more thing, Breaker Thranik. In the morning, is there a messenger I can easily access? I wish to tell my family I have arrived safely."

"No apologies necessary. I understand these are trying times in which to attempt a Suring for anyone. Not to mention the… other element." Nodding, he leaned forward and with a finger, pointed into the town to one of the larger of the metal hovels along the dirt road, "Straight ahead. Normally it's only open for the Readers, but they won't give you an issue." Pausing, he twisted again, and gave a whistle. As he did, a smaller, shorter Nera approached him, giving a bow of his head, "Our honored guest requires use of the libraries. Please ensure Reader Thalun is aware she'll be arriving. And find Cormik, would you? The Wildfire has a message to send."

"Aye, sir." And with another bow of his head, the Nera wandered off.

"There you have it. Anything else you require?"

"Life has an odd way of throwing us into bizarre situations. I am just grateful to have the help of your tribe, not to mention this little necklace." She scratched Forge's scruff affectionately, grimacing as his claws dug into her hair. He had fumbled along her neck, wing's unfurling before he curled securely around her face, tail sweeping across her back. She gently tugged him to his shoulders. "Many thanks," She bowed her head to the Nera as he wandered back off, putting both names into the back of her head for safe keeping.

"I believe that is it. All I ask is for prayers that I can make it home safely." She sombered, taking the moment to ground herself. She brightened. "And of course, a glass of mead for the road."

"Of course, Wildfire. And we will ask the same for Breaker Osamer. The journey ahead of you both is fraught with difficulties, indeed." Looking up, he chuckled lightly, "We've plenty for the road. Prove your worth tomorrow morning, and I shall ensure you leave here with a cask or two."

"I will be sure to keep him and his safety in my prayers. I hope the best for Breaker Osamer and the rest of your tribe." She granted him a smile, once more bowing her head. Forge tilted his, following her lead out of confusion. "Many thanks. I will be on my way to your libraries. I hope you have a good rest of your night, Breaker Thranik. I will see you in the morning and hope to do you and the tribe justice."

"Indeed." Nodding, he collected his tumbler again, taking a drink, "May your research be fruitful. I will find you just before dawn."

"I look forward to seeing you then." Giving him a salute, she turned from him, retreating tentatively from the celebration. The libraries weren't too difficult to locate, even with Thranik's vague direction. She found it fascinating how they constructed their entire lifestyle to their element, their buildings, their appearance, their equipment and crafts. A part of her desperately wanted to stay a few more days, to see what the culture was truly like, to feel at home with the other Nera. She didn't want to be chosen from the Suring, that was for sure, but as long as she could survive it long enough...the road didn't seem as long anymore.

Peering inside the massive building, she quietly made her way inside. It was breathtaking how many books were stacked into one place, lining the walls and shelves with countless colors painting the otherwise gleaming walls. She took a shallow breath "Hello? Reader Thalun?"

From inside, seated in a chair in a corner with a pile of books around her feet and one in hand, a female Nera looked up. She was smaller than the Breakers, thinner, with less metallic elements to her person, but there was no mistaking the hairless scalp and the sheen to her pale skin, "Yes? May I help you?"

Haloke hesitantly approached the Nera woman, still in awe of the appearances from the Metal tribe. It was different from the dark skin and bright colored clothing of her own people, but there was something...mesmerizing about the people of the Metal tribe. She shook herself from this trance, clearing her throat. "Peace, Reader Thalun. I am Haloke...Wildfire of the Fire Nera. I am here to learn whatever you may be able to provide me of this tribe. And...I have a minor request."

Her expression didn't shift, but there was a perceptive nod of her head, a gesture of respect before she closed the book, lowering it to her lap, "Of course. You may have use of whatever you require. Request?"

"I do not wish to take anything from your library that may have cultural importance to you and the people of the tribe. I am not staying here very long, however, and I still very much would like to learn what I can." She scratched the back of her head. "I am wondering if you may be able to loan a few of your books."

Shifting the book in her lap, her nimble, thin fingers rifling over the pages, the woman studied Haloke a moment, "You wish to borrow books from our library? To remove them from the village?"

Haloke swallowed. She shifted on her feet, almost forgetting about the dragon curled around her neck until he puffed against her ear. She gently waved him off, returning her attention to the Reader. "Yes. If not, I respect your decision entirely. I would intend to return them as soon as I am able."

"...What manner of books?" The woman asked, and there was almost a defensive note to her posture, as she folded her hands over the book she held.

Sensing the woman's defensive posture, Haloke attempted a comforting smile. "I do not ask for much. Might you have a book on magic practices in general? I do understand if you are not comfortable with loaning such a precious item...might you have some children's novels?"

Here, the woman could not escape the sudden look of bewilderment. For a moment she seemed to look at Haloke with an air of suspicion, before a narrow finger pointed, "You will find books on magical theory to the northwest. Those deemed fit for public viewing. As for your other request, we've a small collection of fables and poems for the young in the eastern wing. Forth shelf from the door." And without pausing, the woman scooped up her own book again, but not before her eyes once more scanned Haloke watchfully, "I know every book in this library by heart. If you try to take anything from this building without my knowledge, there will be consequences."

Haloke felt her throat tighten. The way this woman examined her with suspicion was how Haloke may have inspected blemishes in cooling metal. She shrunk, bowing her head once again in respect. She could feel her knees knock together. "I will respect every piece of literature you have in your fine establishment and I vow to treat them as if they were my own tribal artifacts." Her feet slid smoothly in retreat, eyes widened as she turned from the Reader.

How were Breakers, the warriors of this fine tribe, so lighthearted and cheery, while the woman wo had devoted her life to the pursuit of knowledge threatened to rip her heart from her chest? Inhaling, she calmed her roaring veins by scratching Forge between his horns. "I ask that you do not sink your teeth into anything, my love." The amusement was smothered by the shudder wracking through her body. "Otherwise I may intrust Milo with two hatchlings…" Swallowing, she found herself at the northwest wing of the library. Her eyes scanned through the first few shelves, her fingers digging between the creases to retrieve the thinnest book she could find. It's weight still drug her hands closer to the earth, but in comparison to the mammoths that surrounded her on ever end, this was a blessing. She cracked open the book, skimming past its frail pages. There was some mention of Nera magic overall, most of which Haloke had the faintest knowledge of, as well as books detailing other magical studies, some of which Haloke had never even heard. Studious was not a virtue she aligned with herself, but when it came to practicing the art, Haloke was happy to slog through the tedious words. She figured it would still be important to refresh herself. She was still somewhat unfamiliar with how some magic could be mastered, while others confused her entirely. How one could attain power by sleeping would always boggle her mind…

She rounded around the corner, making her way to where the Reader informed her the fables would be. She took a longer time inspecting these options, as she wished to get one that would be as high of a difficulty level for Milo. As much as she would like to think she could shove a book in front of his eyes and he could absorb the information...she realized it would have to be a slow and steady process. Finding one that seemed appropriate, one that consisted of several well known fables, she cautiously stuck it under her arm and made her way back to Thalun.

"Peace, Reader Thalun." Awkwardly, she plucked the two books from her grasp, presenting them before her. "This is all I ask of to borrow, dear Reader."
Reaching out, Thalun took hold of the books Haloke handed her and gave them a once over. She then looked to the Nera herself, and her eyes roved over the Wildfire a moment, before she gave a slow, firm nod, "Very well. You may take these. I expect that they will be returned… promptly."

"Thank you, Reader Thalun." She gingerly retrieved the books from her, swallowing as she was inspected like a piece of meet. For such a tiny woman, she radiated the intimidation of a full grown wyvern surrounded by undead knights. "I promise to watch over these with my life. I wish you a fine night." She bowed her head once more, making a knowing look at Forge, before turning on her heel and swiftly escaping the confines of the library.

 

[Verran]

What Dreams Shall Come
Kyen'delsia and Hexar
Collab with @Elle Joyner


"Kyen'delsia?" Coming around the wooden divider that separates each of the beds into small private rooms, Hexar looked at the frightened, flailing young woman with no faint light of concern, "I was just coming in… I heard you scream? Are you al-- No. No of course you're not. A foolish question."

Taking half a step closer, he paused, "I wonder if… I meant to ask you earlier, but… with all that happened, it didn't seem the right time. Now isn't much better, but you seem… you seem so sad. I… I think there may be something I can do. To help. To… to find your villagers. If nothing else, please let me try? To take your mind from whatever horrors it has subjected you to, just now?"

Her ears snagged the words and tried to make sense of them. Name Stealer! Without fully comprehending to what she was agreeing to, but willing to try anything to push through the horrors of her mind and have anything to hold onto despite not trusting the entity in the room, she said, "y-yes. Show me."

Continuing forward, he approached and cautiously, knelt down before her, laying both hands on the edge of her bed, palms up, "Take my hands. This will be a little more difficult, given your condition, but not impossible. Clear your mind of all thoughts and focus only on your friend. The… the woman I met. Think of her voice, the sound of her steps, the way she smells. Everything you can draw to memory."

Shivering as sweat streamed down her skin, Kyen'delsia tentatively stretched out her fingers to search for Hexar's before drawing them back. Her scattered mind rang with afterimages of her nightmares and distrust. But the rules of Shalmai magic clearly ensured that, as with most things, there must be a deal and that even the devil could be dealt with. It was time to begin seeing what this devil wanted. Half-against her will, she reached out and found Hexar's hands. The second part was far easier. Calling Meldriss to mind was as easy as singing. Her elderly laughter and maternal wisdom blended into memories of her simple dottering about the cottage flooded in. The maid was cooking breakfast as child Kyen'delsia swung her legs aimlessly with her Sister nearby. It was the first time she had met Meldriss and she was wondering why the woman was doing the task. A year snapped by and Kyen'delsia heard her caretaker's amazed whisper as she shot about the house.

"Amazin', you'd never even dream she's blind."

A final year slipped by and they were in the parlor, playing a clapping game. The soft smell of flour tickled her nose from Meldriss's long hours making bread for her family as well as the scent of soap from scrubbing every nook and cranny of the house. The door opened.

Eyes closing, Hexar fell into a sense of concentration. For a long moment, he sat in silence, the only sound that of his and Kyensi's breathing, which eventually fell into synchronous rhythm. As her thoughts revolved around those of the housekeeper, that concentration began a thread, woven between the pair, the linked hands the conduit for the spell's focus. In time, those images she'd drawn to mind… the sounds and smells and warmth and wisdom found root in his own mind. He allowed that root to grow, to spread, digging deeply into the recesses of his magical pull and finally, the thread caught on something… Something in the ether yanked at not only his mind, but Kyensi's… dragging them forward in time, forward through space until they spilled out in a cold, damp cell.

Meldriss sat in the corner, her arms around two small children, her face one of stone's resistance as she softly hummed, comforting the creatures under her fold. Her eyes, like steel, were trained on the cell door, beyond which was a tall, slender guard, standing with his back to them. Upon his head was a silver helmet with a bright red plume. For a moment, time halted, then the scene dissolved again, like rain along a window pane. As it spiraled out of focus, Hexar's eyes came open again, looking to the woman before him.

"...She's alive. I-I'm not sure where, exactly, but that armor… I've seen it before, in Maglin. It would make sense they were taken there. In your village, there was a bridge gate drawn… They're used to transport large groups of people over a great distance. It… it bodes well, strange as it sounds. If they wanted to kill them, there would be no reason to expend so much magical energy. I can find them. I will find them for you."

Kyen'delsia withdrew her hands as the vision ended. Eagerness pulsed in her chest at the thought, the feeling that Meldriss and at least some from her people from the village were still alive. Yet years of being under her Sister's tutelage and constant nagging about safety and utter caution narrowed her eyes in suspicion. "Why?" she whispered, "you hardly know me. Why would you sail across the straits to Maglin to rescue the survivors of a village beloved by some blind girl?"

"...I…" Shifting, Hexar breathed in and the hesitation crossing his face resonated in his voice as his fingers locked around the gem about his neck, "I want to tell you. By… by all the scales of Lioris, I do. But there are… there is an order to it. Complications." Pinching the bridge of his nose with his free hand, he rose, pulling his robes around himself, "You have… you have no reason to believe me. To trust me. I know this. And I confess, I… I was brash, when I first came to you. I… was misled to believe that it would not be so alarming. It was my mistake. I scared you, and I'm sorry. I… I never wanted that. All I can tell you is that… you are very important to me. To… to me and to what it is I am trying to do."

Kyen'delsia, without knowing it, stared directly into his left shoulder as she focused on one thing alone: listening. People sounded different when they lied. Often, it shifted for any given individual exactly what the tic in their voice was, but there almost always was one. Only a few entities she'd ever known seem to lack it. As of yet, Hexar had yet, through the conversations they had had thus far, displayed anything of the like. As he was right now, it was incredibly reminiscent of their first meeting. The hitches in his voice. The strain yet unwaveringly driven. Her lips pursed into a quill-stroke-thin line. It took a mere moment for her to make her decision.

"Very well," she dismissed as she lay back down, "I accept your apology and appreciate your, hmm, conviction. I suppose I'll see if it's worth anything. Goodnight."

Flinching slightly, Hexar took a small step back, before breathing in, his fingers finding the jewel on its chain again, "Th-thank you. Goodnight, Kyen'delsia." As he turned, however, he paused, and looked back at her, "Before I go… may I ask you something?"

Elsha'fy's silver scales matched her Mistress's hair as she settled upon the young woman's chest. The little dragon stared with unblinking eyes at what Kyen'delsia could not. "Ask."

"...Before… in your home…" Looking down, he watched the dragon with mild interest, before looking at the woman herself, "I asked if you danced and you said no. I understand, of course. Again, I know I was too eager. But… but I'll ask again, all the same… Do you?"

"I do." Kyen'delsia herself was as unreadable as a stone as she answered.

"...Ah. I thought you might." Pausing, he smiled faintly, and while she could not see it in his expression, there were notes, not explicit, but not entirely well hidden in his voice… a sadness, "My mother. She was a dancer. Remarkable, really. There's a grace to you that… that reminds me of her. It's why I asked." Clearing his throat, he took another step back, "...Anyway. Goodnight."

Then you must not have seen much dancing in Maglin. she thought, not responding to him. The queen had dismissed and had, begrudgingly, entertained one final question. The audience was over.

A moment later, his footfall could be heard leaving her bedside, but not before there was a softly whispered, "...May Lioris guard your mind from dreams."