Hope in Darkness (IC)

[Tomaru]

OOC

It was midday and it was impossible to discern a more precise time of day; the thick gray sheet that had blanketed the world blotted out all the heavenly landmarks that travelers and astronomers had mapped. What was once the sun was now just a vague contrast in brightness, refracted and dissipated by the layers of smog. The streets were as bright as they ever were nowadays: a dim twilight with just enough light for people to go about their business. Likewise, the air was cool, but not fresh, as if it had stagnated in a bottle for several years. None of this seemed to bother the mortals though. The streets were brightened by torchlight and people were able to go about their day as if nothing was wrong. If anything, they seemed to have a bit of a spring in their step. The cold darkness was a welcome change for those with ambitious hearts.

Today was particularly lively. Aliat casually strolled through the streets of Cedarburg -- or Mastrixenburg, whatever the dragons were calling it these days -- with mixed emotions. Their local eccentric had called for an art festival today. There was nothing wrong with the quality of the art, but so much talent seemed wasted on glorifying that narcissistic lunatic they had for a neighbor. He let out a sigh as he passed a painting called, Our Guardian. Mastrix was shielding a cluster of faceless mortals with her wings from a volley of arrows of unknown origin. A discerning eye could catch a few gems, though. Aliat paused and grinned at a fine elvish painting entitled What He Deserved. This painting was a gruesome depiction of a volcanic dragon tearing into a man with his claws. The blood was particularly detailed, and this was where the true message of the painting dwelt. Most observers would miss it, but the blood splattering on the dragon formed ancient elvish symbols in a language that a select few dragons bothered to learn. On his eyes was written "blindness," on his arms, "leprosy," and on his breast, "revenge." Aliat paused in front of the picture, tapping his stick in thought as he looked to see if there were any other messages.

[Wernher]

“Introducing to her majesty Mastrix the Magnificent, Horatio Kain, guild master of the silk commerce within her most glorious city and Lublin Colner, merchant of silk.” The two men engaged themselves in the long hallway leading to Mastrix, her massive form laying on an enormous bed of silk, gold and precious gems. Horatio looked at Lublin and his reaction, he was visibly astounded by the luxury and the sheer scale of the construction, everything being built in proportion for the dragon with only some doors in and there to allow her servants to move around, unseen. He couldn’t blame him, he had the same reaction the first time he came here himself. After a walk of minutes, they stood in front of Mastrix. She didn’t bother to look at them for some times, too busy having her scales being polished by servants, it gave her a look of polished silver rather than the dull gray of most sonic dragons. While good personal care could have some part to do with this, most likely some of her magic was also at work.

After a while, she bothered to address the humans in front of her. “Myeeess… You two, you are the ones who fought over your trade, in the middle of my city, even damaging one of my statues. What say you mortal? You merchant. I have not heard your name before, I assume your business in my most glorious city is quite new, is it not?” Colner didn’t dare to look up and spoke, still kneeling before Mastrix. “Yes your majesty. I came from the town of Clearwater to trade here, as I heard your mercy toward my came to be only matched by your looks and intelligence. However, I found that the established merchants under the order of Horatio Kain did not think much of newcomers and tried to bully me into joining the guild, which would have placed unfair restrictions upon my trade. They sent their henchmen to silence me and I fought back, but the fight spilled in the streets I fear. All I ask, is a fair chance to do my business, in your glory of course.” A judge would have obviously considered Horatio to be the guilty one in this case, he tried to shut down the competition. Horatio however, could only smile to what Lublin had said.

“Is that all?” Mastrix finally bothered to look at the merchant. “Yes my lord, I do believe this sums the situation very well.” There was a silence… after a few seconds, Mastrix opened her mouth. Not a voice got out, only thing the assistance could hear was a sound similar to what a whale or a dauphin would do underwater. By looking at his left, Horatio could almost see the sound wave go through the air and hit Lublin who was transformed into a bloody pulp, staining the luxurious carpet he was on with his blood. Lublin, like many newcomers, had made a mistake. It was to consider Mastrix as an intelligent and rational being. “And you! Horatio, tell me, what do you make of this..” He smiled some more, she was a dangerous beast, but things were under control. “Your gracious majesty, I cannot express with words the terrible sorrow that afflicts me, to know that an effigy of such an incredible figure such as yourself was damaged in the affairs of mortal.” The fight in the streets over money and sales? Mastrix couldn’t care less, all of this, this summon and ceremony, it was only for her sculpture! Hunters still get benefits from when years ago she declared genocide over all pigeons for taking a crap on her statues and her palace. “How dare you mortals! To damage, nay, profane the sanctity of such perfect work of art! To desecrate this masterwork that took years to make, that shows the luck you mortals have to contemplate a being of such perfection as myself!” Her voice was thundering, almost deafening and even Horatio swallowed his saliva before speaking. “Of course my lord, Lublin and his men clearly had no idea of the act they did and on behalf of all mortals, I can only beg for forgiveness to my entire kind for these individuals who fail to appreciate such perfection. But perhaps… this is an opportunity to be used, to make things that while I know can never surpass such degree of splendor, even more grandiose, the size of this statue was too small your lordship, it should not be scaled down as the feeble mind of men could fail to take in your beauty and power, a new statue, to scale, should be built! Of silver and platinum, with the largest rubies of the world for the eyes.” Mastrix was silent for a moment. “Mmm… Yes, silver and platinum, to belittle, nay, dwarf all others! Not only to scale, but larger! I shall requisition all the belongings of this other merchant, whatever was your conflict, consider it solved… I expect you to pay for the rest of the sculpture if this is not sufficient.”

Horatio’s smile left his face, no doubt this would be a considerable amount of money. Still, he won, his monopoly over the silk trade was worth at least 3 of these outrageous statues. “Leave me now, merchant. And Gilbert, bring out a new carpet.” The servant next to Horatio (still by a couple of meters due to the scale of the place) bowed. “It is already on its way your magnificence.” Horatio got up and walked out. “Ah, I always know why I made you a Favored One. All the other dragons consider me crazy, but a good butler is so hard to come-by.” A dozen minutes later, he was out of the Palace and in the city.



Backward, the enormous palace blocking the very horizon, in every other direction an infinite city. Most of it was Mastrixenburg, but there also was Cedarburg who overlapped over it. This was the talk of the city along with the gray fog constantly hovering above the world: Mastrix the Gray and Dirilianox the Blue from old Cedar constantly fought to determine who was in charge of what, a zone dividing the two cities that either the two authorities considered theirs or that none bothered to care about. Well, the minds at the moment were somewhat at ease, the yearly Solstice festival helping the people to get their minds out of the problems plaguing their lives. He looked at a painter exposing his work and making quick portraits for a few coins. Exactly 1 out of 3 work showed Mastrix. This was the ‘Mastrix’s share’ unspoken law: Show Mastrix or she may doubt your loyalty and everyone knows that the crazy Wyrm enjoyed to shape change especially during festivities to look at the work of Mortals. Well, he’d better go to the tailor to find his costume for tonight: First day of the official celebrations, this meant costumed ball all over the streets, every musician alone or in group getting ready for the coins to rain from the pockets of those who would enjoy their music.

[Lydyn]

It has been too long since Aries had walked the streets of the capital city and the overlapping artistic town of Mastrixenburg had made the sight of old streets a thing of the past - she hardly recognized anything anymore. Her eyes darted as people crowded around paintings and portraits, the bustle of the city life almost making her uncomfortable as she was so used to being alone. Though she had not considered how much of an unusual sight she was, walking around covering in a strange black armor and cloak, but it seemed so long as she didn't seem to pose a threat, no one bothered to question her and to that she thanked the heavens that Oathseeker was easily disguised under her cloak. People were too busy enjoying the festival and all the bards that strung along the streets trying to earn their keep by the way of poems and songs, at least half of them seeming to be about this 'Mastrixen,' the mistress to half of the combined city.

Had they not felt it though? The shift in the air, the darkening of the overwhelming power that had blanketed the lands for what seemed ages now? Perhaps it was due to her affinity towards magic, but she could practically taste it - the waning of the draconic powers. Surely, others must of felt it, but to where would they gather and how could she find out? She pursed her lips in minor irritation as she paused in the middle of the street, glancing over to an elven painter and some man wearing a large hat that covered his eyes, holding a walking cane in his hand. 'Tch,' she let the sound resound in her mind. The man was nearly as outlandish as she was and he hardly seemed to need that stick in his hand, lest he was some sort of martial expert with staves. Slowly, she started to feel less worried about her presence though she was still at a loss to where or who she could talk to about the change.

Her thoughts were interrupted though as she felt a tugging at her waist. It was where she kept her coin purse and the thief didn't seem to expect it to be tied to tightly, but he was very fast regardless. Had it been some other commoner or another sword-arm, he probably would've gotten away, already beginning to jolt away from her with the small bag in hand. It had given her enough time though to raise two fingers as magic weaved it's way into the stone bricks beneath the man's feet. The loud yelp came from the thief's mouth as his face slammed into the street, sprawled out like he had tripped - and indeed he had, on a slightly raised stone brick. Aries had mastered the talent of calling magic to her without incantations, a trick she learned from her sword magic, even if her utility magics weren't the strongest. Bending down, she gently took her coin purse back and knelled next to the thief. "You should be so lucky that I have a kind soul ... seeing as I doubt the guards care for little more than worshiping their mistress." There wasn't any need to say much else as she stood back up and started to retie the bag to her hip. The man on the other hand glanced up with surprise and nearly scrambled to his feet before standing and staring at the armored woman. He didn't say anything, just stared for a few moments before getting the nerve to go into a dead sprint down the street, leaving a few people murmuring about what luck Aries had in catching the thief or who she was.

[Arbirus]

"Oh, of course, Vignus, it just disappeared on its own." Lydin reached out to smack the young man but thought better of it. "If you don't tell me where he stashed that ring, you're not going to tell anybody anything for a very long time." Well, that hadn't sounded half as threatening as Lydin had intended - but the human prostrated before him didn't seem to notice. A stream of tears flowed readily down his face, dripping now and again onto the planked floor, leaving fresh dark spots on the aged wood. Lydin turned and scratched his forehead. What could he say next? The boy was just a fool, it hadn't been his idea. Hell, for all the sniveling you'd think he was the one who had been stolen from. A squeak sounded behind him, and Lydin turned and offered his hand. "Oh, get up. I'm sorry, I shouldn't have been so cross. It is just a ring, anyway. You really don't know, do you?"

The night before, Lydin had performed in the corner club they now stood (and kneeled) in. Halfway through his first piece, the two gallivants Vignus and Daevin had started shouting about a woman they both claimed to have deflowered. Lydin recognized Daevin, a troublemaker who frequented the bar; just a fortnight past he had tried to con a traveling merchant out of two yoke of oxen before he was escorted out. This time he hadn't been alone - while the two quabbled, another man lifted trinkets and coin of the unsuspecting patrons. Of course, Vignus wasn't to blame. He was young and sensitive to strong drink, of which Daevin had been eager to provide plenty. Lydin suspected Daevin had never even heard the maid's name before that night, or even met the young man he contested for her.

"Sir, I'm so sorry - he - I-I-I-I...." was all the boy could say before he broke down into tears once more.

"Oh, quiet. It's all right." Lydin placed a coin on the counter for his drink and retired to his rented room, sorting through his other belongings and packing them into a trunk which he locked and tucked securely under the bed. When he emerged he was dressed simply in a green shirt with a patterned brown vest over it, long tan linens, and woven sandals. Though his clothes were modest, he held an air of dignity - an attribute of his privileged ancestry. Lydin thought in passing that perhaps he should have chosen something nicer for the festival; after all, this was a time to celebrate his profession and the noble artists of Mastrixenburg, but the motivation to impress anyone at this bacchanalia had recently and abruptly vanished. Certainly coin and wine would both flow freely, and praises to the great Dragon queen of the city would ring in the streets for seemingly unending days. The last bit was quite literal - the lights and music and dancing didn't heed the hour of day, and even in the thick of night it never seemed darker than it had been at the gloaming. With the days now half-bright from the ash, midday and midnight were almost indistinguishable. The most he could muster was to weave two loose braids into his hair and pull it back after the manner of elven lordlings. A simple trick, but it added to the foreign mystique with which many humans regarded his race. Their reclusiveness proffered few specimens for humanity to observe.

All preparations aside, Lydin ventured into the streets with his lyre. The festivities were only just beginning, few voices yet sounded in the cobbled streets, and now was the only time to find space where he could spend the festival seated rather than crushed in the continuous flow of eager enthusiasts.

[GreenGoat]

A festival.

A festival of arts they say. But to her it was more of an excuse to get people painting their likeness and singing false praises for them. But there wasn't anything a mortal can do right? Not in the face of overwhelming power. Not when they have such a huge advantage.

She slammed the tankard onto the table, spilling some of the ale.

"Amelia, lighten up there. Can have you breaking my table now, can we?"

"tsk," Amelia Fussen took another swig of the ale. She doesn't blame him. Everyone needs to eat, even if it means doing business with the damned lizards.

Finished with her drink, she dropped a few coins on the table, and left the tavern. There was more than a few coins left in her purse from the last fur trade she made, and there was some of her contacts she needed to meet. The dragons were getting complacent, secure in the knowledge of their powers. She had learned that they were not as all powerful as they may think.

She walked through the main square, shrouded in several cloaks, and her face hooded. She carried only a large length of wood wrapped in cloth, which she used as a walking stick. People were swarming all over the square, seemingly happy and content, but there was an uneasiness that seemed to plague their movements. The uneasy glance of the artist as he makes sure the dragon paintings are visible, the unconscious aversion of any draconic ornaments, many of them fears provoking the dragon that lives in this very city.

Sighing, she stopped and looked around. She needed to go to a certain statue maker for a certain item she had given him.

[RyuChi]

The sound of the man's last gasp for air sent shivers down Abyss's spine and the sickly slice of her blade as she pulled it out of the mans back made her feel a jolt of power. Every time she killed she became stronger and more deadly, each slice of her blades ended a life and when she came for you there was no escape. She watched as the man fell to his knee's and she took two steps to stand in front of him.

"By order of the Prime Dragons you are sentenced to death." Her soft voice rang through the empty room and the next noise was his body hitting the floor.

The room she stood in was a simple bedroom in an inn, she pulled out a cloth from the pouch on her belt and cleaned her blade in one wipe before placing it back in its sheath strapped across her back. She tucked the bloody cloth back in the pouch and walked the the cracked mirror against the wall. In the mirror she could see the red scales that had began to appear on her cheek had grown and now traveled down her face in a large V. She glanced down at her arms and saw that the red scales there had also multiplied into patches all the way up both her arms. She bit her lip and pulled her cloak up around her, growing scales was only a resent phenomenon and it worried her.

In a moment she leaped from the rooms inn on the second floor and landed lightly in a back alley, she quickly pulled up her hood to hide her face and took to the busy streets. There was a festival happening soon and the streets were filled to the max with people hurrying this way and that to go about their insignificant lives. She did not like cities, the constant noise and heat was the opposite to what she worked but she did as ordered and went about assassinating those who apposed the dragons.

[Telion]

It was many years since he had seen the city of Cedarburg, he hardly would have recognized it, if it weren't for the statue of Mastrix, A Dragon Lord he had met when reporting back to Master Salazar, was in front of the gates. Strange though, the welcome sign clearly says "Mastrixenburg" instead of the regular name, which incidentally threw Zelamir through a loop. Zelamir was certain that Dirilianox the Blue was in charge of this region. But then again, it was many years since his paths had lead him to this city.

Walking down the road with people stopping to stare at the man who's skin glinted with a sheen of gold, it was a oddity indeed, but they knew who he was by the way his eyes glowed in the poorly lighted city. Murmuring was always to be found when he was around, after all, Zelamir was a legend among the humans, as well as the Favored.

For his master, Salazar was greatly known in all regions. And the only Favored he had chosen was Zelamir, for Salazar despised humans more then he had hated his Overlords, The Prime Dragons, for being more powerful than himself. Salazar was quite the cunning one indeed though, he always made sure that Zelamir took on the biggest missions for the Dragon kind. Like disposing of an elf village, for a child that could have been a Favored refused to join them. Zelamir hated it of course, but his Master had gained rank for Zelamir's Mission. How selfish a Dragon could be, Salazar was exceeding in all aspects of Power-hunger that Elder dragons like he possess.

A small girl went up to Zelamir and said to him, "Sir, why does your skin shine like it is painted with a gold brush? Did a painter make a mistake in painting you instead of a canvas?" The girl was very innocent, which reached his heart, although he still had doubt he had one at all. He replied to her, hoping to make the point across never to cross the Dragon kind, "Well my young lady, I am a Favored, and I glint with Gold for my master has blessed me so. Remember that Salazar the Orange will one day be a Prime Dragon, and you would have heard from me first that he is marvelous." His words were poison to his being, Disgust overwhelmed him when each word of praise had left his mouth. The girl was astonished though, that Salazar was such a gracious being, that everyone else was wrong about the favored, as well as the dragons. He had only hoped that she would not be foolish like himself, to take on the very being that made him stronger.

Hunger had washed over him like the tide does to the cliffs near his home, so Zelamir searched for a small tavern, a little secluded from the main roads. He hated the hustle and bustle of the new life that was forming. It had seemed they were getting too comfortable with how things were and that they were being ruled over not by one, but two, ruthless and vile creatures.

Reaching for the door, he smelt insanity in the air around him. As if the air itself betrayed their hiding. Looking around the back alley he had seen only a glimpse of a red headed woman walking away. He ought to have followed her, but making a scene now would be faulty towards his goals. Going inside to enjoy himself for the little time left, he ordered Mead and Meat to soothe his downcast stomach who groaned for more than he could give.

[Wernher]

The Small Preparing Room was the official name of the room where Mastrix, in human form, would get tailors and estheticians to attend to her desire. She today would go in the streets, incognito, to take a look at the works of her subject without drawing attention like she usually did once in a while. She was standing before a red chair, although more of a throne by its size, servants were busy around her, preparing her nails and dress. “Ah, Gilbert, come to admire your overlord did you? I can’t blame you I guess.” He bowed, emotionless. “The beauty of this form, while incredible, pales in comparison with that of your true form my lady. I am however afraid that I am here to give you… worrying news. We have found a string of dead bodies lately. While this was not something worth bothering, things now appear as they were killed by a slayer sponsored by dragons, most likely Dirilianox.” Mastrix crisped, the servants seeing this as their cue decided to leave. For some time, Mastrix seemed to have self control, which was surprising for her. She turned around her chair to finally stop. She grabbed the chair with a strength that made the wood flinch and then threw it out of the window. Even in human form, she still had her draconic strength it seemed.

“How dare he! I’ll rip out his guts and hang him with them! I’ll remove his scales one by one and roll him in salt! Why by the Primes do these damned idiots still think they can be better than ME!” She turned around some more, cursing in many languages. Gilbert remained calm, in a century he saw it all and rage fits were common for this particular dragon. “Koris, bring me Koris and why not Kavanagh with him! God damn fools…” Knight of Mastrix Koris and knight of Mastrix Kavanagh, some of the chosen ones serving the dragon, they each won their place in tournaments. Mastrix had produced more Favored than any other dragon despite her still young age and with each and every one of those with different powers, these two shined for their particular abilities. Koris could feel the aura of people and determine their true natures, this included draconic agents like The Favored which would blend in more easily with the populace. Kavanagh on the other hand instinctively knew the location of the dead around him, often digging out dead bodies from the sewers, gardens and other places criminals may hide them. Together, as the agent of the dragons would no doubt leave a trail for body on its way, these two formed the best team to catch him or her, one following the trail, the other observing the crowd. “We are answering your summon your highness.” Mastrix stopped pacing around the room and looked at her knights. “YES! You, Koris, Kavanagh, I have a mission for you. Yet again this INFERNAL Dirilianox thinks he’s smarter than me! That he can hide his agents to murder my populace under my nose and I wouldn’t even notice it, annoying little whelp, I should crush him under my heel... But no, I can’t so you, my loyal knights, you will find me the little servant or servantssssss... he decided to send to annoy ME!” She paced again around the room, whispering inaudible insults destined for her enemies, real or imaginary. “Myes, yes... You will bring him here to me and if he raises the name of his master to protect himself from my wrath, you will still bring him here by ANY means. NO ONE comes in my city and screws around with MY people without MY approval! Go, get out and find this dog!” The knights saluted and left without much other ceremony. Mastrix paced some more around the room and stopped back on her original position. “Attend to me!” The servants got out of the shadows and began to again prepare her. Her pacing had somewhat damaged the work done, but they knew better than to talk about it.


Koris and Kavanagh, Knights of Mastrix

[Tomaru]

Aliat watched Aries from beneath the rim of his hat as she handled the thief with a fine balance of skill and mercy. Aliat could sense something in the woman. It was nothing magical, but rather an intuition nurtured by seeing the many modes of thought the world had to offer. She was quick, defending herself almost instantly, yet not being overcome by emotions and resorting to unnecessary violence; her mind appeared balanced. He sensed something else in her, though, something that was difficult to explicitly name. Perhaps her stature spoke unconsciously of her pride, or perhaps her magic leaked out a taste of her burning resolve. Whatever it was, Aliat simply knew it was there, but he needed to be sure if it was what he was looking for.

He began walking over to Aries, his stick clapping against the ground in a smooth steady rhythm. He coupled the display of magic he had just seen with her physique and her armor, and concluded that she was a trained warrior. The question was who was she fighting for. Now within proper distance for a courteous conversation, Aliat tipped back the rim of his hat, revealing a pleasant smile and a few small scars on his face. "Good day," he said, addressing Aries in bright tone. "You handled that situation with both skill and virtue, a rare thing to find these days. May I borrow you for a moment?" His speech patterns were refined and revealed a rare level of education. "You displayed good judgement just now, and so I was hoping that I could get your opinion on something." He turned towards the two paintings he had just been observing and motioned for Aries to follow. "Which of these two do you think is better? Our Guardian portrays Lady Mastrix in quite a gracious light, but I can't help but feel like there is something missing from it. Something that What He Deserved seems to convey a bit better."

He waited a moment to give Aries a chance to look over the paintings, one of the few mediums Aliat had left to speak out against the dragons. Still, there was no guarantee that she would understand the symbols in What He Deserved, and no guarantee that she would speak of it to Aliat if she did. So, as she looked over the paintings, Aliat thought of another way to both declare his position and give Aries a second chance to declare hers. "The elves have a saying," he said. "Speak carefully. The first words to leave your mouth define who you are. I'm no artist, but I have been known to weave a few quaint rhymes from time to time. If it is not too presumptuous, might I ask your opinion on one?" He then began reciting a brief poem. It was clear that it was practiced and that all the stresses were placed with care. He paused briefly after each line, as if each one was a new beginning.

"Dragons with their winged grace
Shall always fill my heart with awe;
Never would I dare displace
Rule by mighty tooth and claw;
Me, I'll always know my place."

At the conclusion of the poem, Aliat smiled quietly. Even if she was unable to perceive the slander that laced the art, he was sure to get some kind of reaction from such exposure to "pro-dragon" art.

[Lydyn]

The compliments were not lost on her as she smiled slightly, proud that someone besides herself was able to recognize her dedication to a higher standard. She was not arrogant though nor thought herself any better than the common man, but she did find value in a strong heart and an unshakeable resolve in one's beliefs and even if the most evil being in the world stood before her, she would respect his resolve far more than a nice man that wasn't sure if he should worship dragons or not - lukewarm was not a temperature she approved of. It wasn't long though until her thoughts were distracted by the man gesturing to the two paintings and asking her of her opinion. One was of the dragon-queen and the other was of a man being torn to sherds. This, and he was asking which one she liked better? The thought made her purse her lips in disapproval and before she knew it, he was reciting a poem to her about how wonderful dragons were.

The woman shifted a little and glanced around to let her mind mull over the questions. It struck her as odd when she started to think it over and returned her gaze to the man. On the surface, he seemed to condone the dragons and their rule, but something about his tone and body language made her think differently. The question was that if he condoned the dragons, then certainly virtue wasn't a thing you'd look for as she didn't know any dragons that displayed that trait. By now, it was obvious that she was thoughtful, her expression displaying less irritation than before and more curiosity.

"... What he deserves? Odd title for a painting that is more to the truth than some may admit." At that, she glanced around, taking particular note of a seemingly joyful crowd around one of the bards. She again returned her gaze and offered a subtle, but noticeable smirk. "As for your poem ... not all of us 'know' our place. Some of us are far too restless for that." Now she seemed to be getting the picture, that there was far more to this man than met the eye, poking and prodding at riddles with a walking stick when he needn't one. The only question now was - What was he trying to get at? And more importantly, why her?