Starting Date and Time: Jedeyan 28th, night

Starting Location: Kerawac, Crimson Vines Scout Party camp

CS URLs: Drachiathoryx and Raffey Silafin

Before arriving at the Kvaren Tribal Gathering, Drachiathoryx' had traveled primarily on foot to match the pace of her new friends. But now that they were under the burden of a new mission to find some sort of murderers in the west and were making good time on horseback, the fiery half-dragon had once again taken to the skies.

Not that she didn't want to travel alongside Laurel and the others, but she just didn't get along with horses. Perhaps somewhere in the world there existed saddlebeasts who would tolerate a fever-hot scaled carnivore sitting on their back, but with wings of her own it had never been something Drache had any interest in learning, and she wasn't about to start now.

If the scouting party had been riding at full gallop, they would have left their winged friend far behind, but being unhindered by the natural roll in the land as well as the constant wind she could use to her advantage, Drache managed to keep pace rather easily, making herself little more than a kite-sized shape in the cloudless blue sky while she kept an eye on the party below. After the fun of the last few days it was rather boring to be all alone, but the break gave her time to organize her thoughts, re-establishing the importance of Peridiath's Mission, and reminding her not to get too attached to these people.

It also gave her an opportunity to scan the grassy landscape for signs of ruins or anything else of interest, and while she didn't really have time to investigate, she did occasionally land to update her map and her logbook, dutifully keeping track both for Peri and for her own interests. Whenever the half-breed fell behind, she could stiffen her wings and dive, using gravity and momentum to bring her back in line with the Kvaren. They used her to scout ahead, and she felt a flicker of pride at being trusted to do so, even though it was completely logical.

When darkness crept across the sky, Drache circled and landed among them when she noticed them stopping to make camp for the night. Laurel had been kind enough to let the half-dragon put part of her gear on the Alufiend's saddlehorse to carry, and the half-dragon recovered it, her wings hanging loosely from her back and catching the firelight in a radiant glitter as she arrived within the circle of warmth around the fire. Most of the travelers were busy setting up their tents already, or scrounging through their rations for food since they hadn't taken the time to hunt anything fresh.

Raffey knew they were going to be making camp soon, as he steered his horse away, as had been common as of late. He'd not been very talkative to any of them, in his mornings for having lost Dibney. They'd been best friends since she was the size of his hand. He'd rescued her from a particularly hungry lizard, raised her, trained her. And now, she was gone. He'd welcomed the new mission, gave him something to focus on, to take his mind off of things, since he had no drink to dive into. He was used to going long bouts without wine or ale, but that was when his spirits were high. Now, he craved the sweet darkness the drink often brought about. His other vice though, held no interest with him currently. There were two voluptuous, beautiful women who seemed quite open to the idea of many lovers, much like himself, in this scouting party, but Raffey found nothing within him. Maybe when he was in better moods.

Having broken away from the group, he'd made his way for one of the many woods, looking for something worth tracking. Once in the trees, he gently pulled on the reins and slower the horse to a halt, and tied her to a tree. His eyes scanned the wood, already looking for signs of anything. He saw barren berry bushes, having long since been picked clean by the many birds in the area. Moving along, he eventually came across what he'd hoped to find. In the dirt, he saw fresh, deep prints. Two elongated arrows over two points. Likely a type of deer.

He drew one of his javelins, and slowly followed the tracks, eyes always scanning the wood before him. He stepped slow, watching his footing, rolling it from heel to ball so as to stay silent. He continued onward, until he could make out the sounds of a babbling brook, likely the very one that gave life to this copse. As he grew closer, he saw it. A young male yale, bending to drink from the brook. It was just out of throw's reach, and he slowly stepped closer and closer. The creature stiffened, head raising up, sensing something. It looked around, Raffey staying completely still.

Seeing nothing, it went back to drinking, but was more alert, ears perked. Raffey took another step, and a leaf crunched beneath his boot. The yale heard it, and immediately took off away from the sound. Raffey stepped forward, arm pulled back, and then took a heavy step forward, twisting at the waist. He let loose the javelin, it sailing through the trees. But it passed just over the top of the deer, embedding in a tree. But Raffey didn't stop. He drew another javelin from his back as he ran forward, knowing he didn't have much time until the creature would be gone. It turned away from a particularly thick set of trees, running across Raffey's field of vision. Raffey turned off to the left, looking to intercept. He saw a large log ahead and knew what was about to happen. He stopped and planted himself, waiting a few long seconds, javelin readied.

Then the yale jumped, looking to clear the log, but the javelin was already loosed. It flew threw the air, and struck the deer hard in the ribs, piercing through to the lungs, sending it off balance as it flailed to the ground. It was dead by the time Raffey reached it. He quickly retrieved both of his javelins, then picked up the heavy carcass. They'd eat well tonight. Draped over his shoulders, man and food making their way to the horse. He hung it over the front of the saddle, and rode back to camp.

Upon arriving, he strung the deer up in preparation for cleaning it, eyes looking around the camp, seeing those kvaren hard at work, the newly freed slaves milling in their own little groups, and him, all alone. He sliced from neck to tail, and began removing the organs, tossing them to the grass. He sighed loudly. With Dibney he was alive. Now he was just surviving. And it was all so... boring.

The half-dragon didn't always put her tent up at night. For one thing, there didn't usually seem to be a shortage of bedrolls open for her to share, and for another thing it seemed such a monatonous waste of effort when she would have to just pack it up again in the morning.

But tonight it seemed that her usual more-than-friends were preferring to cluster among themselves, the kvaren and former slaves more seperate than before, leaving a lovely half-dragon a bit lonely. It was still winter and the cool, steady breeze toyed with her black hair and the loose membranes of her wings.

Busying herself, Drache set up her own tent between the trees, which was just as plain in colour as those used by the Kvaren, though the silk clearly marked her as an outsider. As she worked, she could feel it when the others started their fires, a few smaller ones rather than one large communal one, plus the occasional lantern or torch. Practicing daily with Laurel had sharpened her senses dramatically. The hungry heat of the flames was like a voice, a pull.

The half-dragon's head jerked up sharply when the thick iron scent of blood hit her nose, her nostrils flaring. More than just meat ready for cooking, it was the gory smell of someone stripping a carcass, and it brought the hybrid's hunger into focus.

Fire-amber eyes found Raffey and she watched him work for a while, sitting in the entrance of her tent with her journal open in her lap, casually sketching a likeness of the human on the thin parchment. She considered what she knew about him, which wasn't much. A slave, freed at the Gathering by Keelie, armed but apparently missing much of his things. She didn't even know his name.

Drache shoved her journal aside and prowled quietly until she was standing across from the foreign human, eyeing the dangling deer with her horned head cocked slightly, tail weaving back and forth behind her. Her claws drummed softly against the thick glass of a bottle of red wine tucked neatly against her scaled hip.

"There's a lot of meat there for one man," she started, her voice low. They both knew there wouldn't be time to smoke it before the group broke camp in the morning. "I'm weary of dried trail rations. Perhaps we might make a trade?" Her claws drummed on the bottle once more, but there was something about her posture that implied she might have more to offer him.

Raffey looked over at the feminine voice, his hands continuing to work, cutting flesh from skin. He'd never caught this one's name, or if he had, he'd already forgotten it. His eyes studied her for a long while, trying to discern more about her. Clearly she was some sort of dragon, like the tales of old, but not quite. Maybe she was a halfbreed or some sort of accident gone wrong. He'd seen her drawing and taking notes throughout the journey. Perhaps she was a cartographer. Except this was known land to most. Some sort of academic that was for sure.

With as many of the tents he'd seen her enter, she was clearly a woman with tastes similar to his own. Not terribly picky, can find the fun and beautiful in anyone, yes, much like himself. She had quite the exotic look, voluptuous, with meat on her bones that he liked. Many of the women he'd spent time with in Ebonfort were slender. After finishing his long, hard look at her, "Nah needt fah a trade. Ya can ea' wit meh. Waste nah, wan' nah an' all dat."

He beckoned her over with a half smile, before remembering something, "Doe, eef yah go' some wine, mayhap we share, no?" He continued to cut away strips of meat, long cuts, before hanging them over a nearby branch. He cut down a few more branches and began rigging a make-shift spit. This was a still spit though, not a rotating one, with a few extra rods, set above the fire. He then dangled the meat over the sticks, adjusting them several times, taking in a deep whiff of the newly cooking meat.

He leaned back, looking around the camp, wanting to smile, but his heart just couldn't quite let him. He was a terribly distracted man, dazed and distant. Mumbling somewhat, "Aye 'ope she okay.."

Their trade started with long looks from them both, it seemed, though the only conclusion Drache came to was that Raffey wasn't unused to travel, clearly wasn't unused to hunting, and wasn't hard to look at. Her pupils widened and contracted visibly as she looked him up and down. He wasn't nearly as big as some of the massive walls of brawn she had met among the Kvaren, but with a grin she told herself that size wasn't everything.

"I'm not one to pass up fresh meat." Her ear-frill flicked at his thick accent, the dropped articulations making it tricky for her to understand. She didn't move until he beckoned her, and then her bare talons carried her quietly over to where he was working. "As a matter of fact, I do. I also have a tent and bedroll that is plenty big enough for two." It was stated encouraginly. An offer, if he decided to take it. She dug a black claw into the waxed cork and unstoppered it with a glassy pop before setting it down within his reach.

It was hard to not drool at the scent of the roasting meat, and Drache's nostrils flared widely as it started to smoke. But she would have considered it rude to eat before the hunter and waited for him to begin, reaching out only to help adjust or turn the pieces as they cooked so that he could finish with the carcass. She paused only to poke through the entrails to find the heart Raffey had discarded, and added it to the rest to cook for herself.

There was something lovely in working close to the flames, and the firespinner directed the flicking tongues with her mind so that they cooked the meat evenly without charring some pieces or leaving others still raw in the middle. It probably wasn't necessary, but any excuse to play with fire wasn't something she would pass up.

Crouching down, she finally sat down near the human, perched mostly on one hip as it was more comfortable that way than trying anything fancy like sitting cross-legged. Her tail twitched idly in the grass, and her scales glittered red like blood.

"She? Someone you were separated from?" She knew he had been a captive but it hadn't occured to her that some of his party might have eluded the Kvaren. The nomads seemed to be incredible good at acquiring slaves. To avoid staring, Drache unfolded one of her wings and inspected the membranes, scratching fussily at a spot that tended to get dry in the cold wind.

He smiled at her willingness to join him, and was unsurprised at her offer for some nightly fun. If his mood improved, he might take her up on that. As the meat cooked, the pair of them picked and prodded at it, to cook it just right. Raffey had been around many a campfire in his life, having found the sight calming. But something kept... seeming off with this one. Occasionally it would curve one way when he expected it to go the other. There wasn't really any wind tonight, but his mind couldn't really find any other explanation for it. Just an odd fire he guessed.

He let out a deep sigh as the woman had pressed against his muttering. It was his own fault he supposed, he did mention it. "Aye, Dibneh. Me an' 'er travelt da worl' togedduh. Know 'er seence aye were a wee tot. So pretteh, shineh een da sun. Crazeh smawt too. We hun' monstahs fah years. When tha' vines witch capcha' us, I tol' 'er ta run. We always agreet dat eef da udder couldn' be safed, dat we'd leave duh udder behindt. She all alone nah, probably scaredt, hungreh."

He looked at the food, grabbing a few pieces, offering them to Drache first, before chewing on one himself. They were good, even unseasoned. Nice and fatty. "She were dah cutes' leetle ting when she hatch frum 'er egg. Bes' auric beetle evah."

Looking up at her, eyes a bit wet at the thought of his missing companion, "Ah'm Raffey. An' who migh' ya be? Aye've nu' meh a she-drake buhfow." Offering a hand to shake over the fire.

The dragonkin swigged some of the wine. It was a dry and smokey red, most of the fruitiness overpowered by the tannins from the barrel it had been vinted in. When she sighed, a greyish wisp of smoke threaded out from between the half-dragon's teeth.

Wondering if the bearded human would comment on the unnatural fickleness of the campfire, Drache finally reached for the cooked shape of the yale's heart, biting into the tough but bloody flesh and chewing slowly. Her tail curled around her thighs and she listened curiously, become less and less enthralled by the strange accent. Her eyes wandered, hinting at her rapid loss of interest in what he was saying. He was talking about some woman being lost or...something.

"I hope for both your sake's that she's well then. I'm surprised she didn't get captured along with you." The half-dragon was hesitant to say anything negative about her new friends' leader, but the cold murder of the slaves had been a bit more cruel than Drache appreciated. At the very least it was a waste of potentially useful slaves. If her own life wasn't filled with so much travel she might be tempted to acquire a slave or two of her own. Her reptilian eyes darkened and she looked around surreptitiously to be sure none of the others were close enough to hear them.

The ear-frills on the side of her face gave a little flutter as the man handed her some choice pieces of meat, and they ate in silence for a moment. "Beetle?" She wasn't sure she had heard correctly, and made a creepy-crawly motion with her clawed fingers like a bug walking through the air. "Like a beetle beetle? Is she like a pet?"

Was he crying? Drache looked away almost uncomfortably, unsure what to do in this situation. How did one comfort a person crying over a lost insect? Fortunately, the monster hunter provided the means for moving the conversation forwards.

"Ah...A pleasure to meet you, Raffey. I'm Drachiathoryx..." she paused, not wanting to find out how badly he'd butcher it if he had to repeat it, "...but you can call me Drache for short." She eyed his hand suspiciously. Shaking hands wasn't a terribly common gesture for dragons or dwarves in Pyresia, and even among those who did practice it, it was rarely offered to her. She reached for Raffey's hand and shook it, her skin hot but the scales smooth. Using the motion as an excuse, she scooted closer, tucking a wing around behind Raffey's back.

"I'm not surprised. My kind aren't terribly common. And what about you? You look human, but you're not like these Kvaren or the other people from the Ebonfort." She looked more closely at his clothing, undressing him with her eyes.

"Isn't Auric the name of the desert in the south?" She hadn't missed the reference and ventured the guess, waiting for him to reply while reaching for another piece of cooked yale. The night crept on around them and most of the rest went to bed, either slipping into their tents or huddling in bedrolls. Even in winter the grass seemed to be full of the sounds of whistling and droning crickets, quite different from the trilling tree frogs and nightbirds of the jungle.

"Aye, she are an Auric bee'le. Beeg as a 'ouse." It was a matter of fact statement, as if anyone would've instantly known what he was talking about. "Ees a plehjure ta mee' ya, Drackuh." He found her hand quite warmer, warmer than one might expect from a lizard. Lizards were normally cold in his experience, no matter the shape or size. He noticed the differing types of scales upon her hand, these ones thinner, smoother. Whatever she was, it was quite unusual. And interesting. So very interesting.

He felt her move closer, finding some comfort in the wing draping around him. He found it quite evident how amorous she was, for it was just like himself. And it was pleasing to be the one pursued rather than the one chasing. A breath of fresh air, so to speak. "Das cuz ah'm no' 'uman. Ah are Keereemiss. We are da people of da san'." Most people never guessed that he wasn't human, and it seemed likely that his kind may have been human at one point, and the sands of the deserts changed them enough to make a whole new race.

"Aye, Aureec ees one of da deserts. Ees da one ah'm from. Ees an ocean of gol'en san'. Can walk much tendays an' onleh see da sans. Ees... much..," he struggled to find the word, "more 'arsh dan dees lan's. Ees why der are nah slaves der. Ees too danjuhroos tah nah work togedder."

As he finished a piece of meat, he scooted just a bit closer, giving her what she wanted, and that was more of him. For the first time in a while, he found some pleasure in another's company. "An' yah's from where? Ah've nah seen yah kin' een udder lan's. Wah are yah kin' call?"

"A beetle as big as a house? That sounds more like some of the things I have seen with the drow in the Gem Deeps. Giant spiders and such things. Yick." The dragonkin clacked her teeth and gave a shudder which started between her shoulders and jolted down her spine and across her wings until they shivered and her tail twitched crookedly and curled into her own lap. Drache was not fond of spiders.

But her moment of squicked-out-ness only lasted a moment before there was a smile back on her snout. "A pleasure indeed." There was something suggestive in that, of course. Her forked, black tongue flicked out to lick her lips, which was totally natural and not at all suggestive, right?

Peering at his face, she seemed to consider something for a moment. "Well, you look human to me," she announced rather flatly with a shrug of both wings and shoulders. She hadn't traveled far outside of Pyresian lands, and when she was on the wing, or plundering dangerous depths or scaling tricky obelisks she didn't meet too terribly many people. She'd never heard of the Keeramis or whatever Raffey called them. Of course, it was entirely possible she'd run into one and never known them to be "not human."

She polished off quite a bit more food while listening to Raffey describe the desert, and her pupils gradually widened in a lazy way that seemed to suggest she was trying to picture it in her mind and reconcile it with what little she had heard of the vast wastelands to the south. An entire ocean of golden sand sounded pretty boring and lifeless, but the dragonkin knew a moment of confusion because she also knew that there were quite a few rare spices, metals, and other high-value trade goods that came out of the desert, and here was a man telling her that people lived there. Her snout gave a twitch and her tail tip flopped back and forth. "I think I would like to see this place someday. At the very least I'm sure I will enjoy the heat." A grin.

She realized at some point that both of them were neglecting the campfire, which had consumed most of its natural fuel and was surviving simply because Drache was almost instinctively feeding it with her own energies. Turning to it with a lifted eyebrow, she essentially cut it off, causing it to gutter low as she tossed a couple more sticks into it.

It was then that Raffey scooted closer, and the half-dragon's grin widened. Her tail coiled loosely around his leg and she rested a warm palm on his thigh. "I'm from Pyresia, the dragon city, though it was mostly built by dwarves. It's all mountains and jungle on the coast. The city is a giant volcano, some say the tallest in the world."

Her attitude changed somewhat when he asked what she was. Not so much the question as the way it was phrased. "What I am is a dragonkin. A half-dragon. Some dragons can change their shape to look like humans or elves or whatever and sometimes leave children behind. My mother was human."

Drache looked away and sighed smokily. "As for what we're called, that's an entirely other list of words. Freak. Abomination. Mule. I guess the last one's somewhat true since we can't have children of our own."

In a brave attempt to steer the conversation away from shipwrecking on depressing thoughts, the hybrid lifted her hand to gently poke Raffey's chest. "Which is why you haven't seen many of us around." She couldn't help but think of his accent as simply awful, but it made her wonder what his native tongue tasted sounded like. Her own Commonspeach wasn't too bad, though it was accented as well, primarily with a gravelly guttural inflection, an emphasized sibilance, a slight purr on her "r's", which she was probably accentuating on purpose when she murmured Raffey's name.

"Sssay sssomething to me in yourrr own language, Rrraffey."

Raffey smiled at her, listening to her words of things he didn't know. He'd heard of drow, was fairly sure he'd met some in Ebonfort, but they simply didn't exist in the deserts. He wondered why that was. When she mentioned some place called the Gem Deeps, he was mildly interested at first. Gems were pretty, women loved them, one needed gems to get the high class women to sleep with them. Well sometimes. Sometimes they enjoyed slumming it with the dirty drunk. And the fact that there were giant spiders, and probably other large insects there enticed him. Large gems were nice, but large bugs were nicer. Their carapace often made better armor and weapons than metal. Lighter, stronger, naturally curved, weather resistant. And spider silk robes fetched a fortune in the bazaars back home.

He smirked at her flirting, it was so constant, that it clearly was second nature for her. Never ceasing, and Raffey had to admit, he enjoyed the chase, even if he didn't wish to be caught right now. Listening to her further flirt, with her enjoyment of the heat made him smirk. Very few non-natives came to the deserts, and those that did either left quite quickly or died. It was a very harsh place. But he suspected that Drache might be able to survive, if he were there to guide her. The problem was that he knew of his strengths in the land, but not of her weaknesses.

Huh, a city of dragons and dwarves. An interesting combination to say the least, and again, neither existed in the deserts. He remembered seeing mountains as he'd traveled north out of the deserts, but wasn't sure if he'd seen this Pyresia or not. And she was a dragonkin, a half human, half dragon. Most interesting. So dragons had the camouflage to disguise themselves as others. That was very good to know. Monster hunting was his primary profession, but sometimes that led to bounty hunting too.

At her sighing, her self-degradation, Raffey smiled. "Een Ahreec, we have ah wurd. Svechwau. Ah Svechwau ees yah." Nodding at her, "Eet mean 'Bes' of both deser's.' Dat ees yah."

He wondered if she was sad about not being able to make children. Raffey didn't have any of his own, that he knew about at least. But it never occurred to him if he could do it or not. Then she asked him to speak in his native tongue, rolling her own language, similar to the snakewalkers back home. He smiled at her and obliged.

His language was deep and guttural, smooth, velvety, sounding much more natural coming from him. It was similar to her own. His r's were rolled, his z's and s's slithering, his o's like something hot in his mouth, every sentence dripping off his tongue sensually. "Drache, Svechwau of fire and air. A woman that flattens dunes and scares Kavinog. The Ruby of Pyresia." Drache would be able to pick out her name and Pyresia, as well as Svechwau. The way he said her name in his native tongue was much nicer in his own opinion. Drrrahkuh. Peeressssya.

Speaking his own language relaxed him, smiling genuinely now. "Drrrahkuh, Ah take yah dere one dah."

"The best of both deserts," Drache repeated. "I have heard similar sayings. It would be nice to think they made it easier." She smiled back, showing her white teeth, but her flashy exuberance seemed to have dropped to a simmer.

When the man spoke in his own tongue, Drache searched his face intently, as if there was some clue about what he was saying. The language was pleasing to her ear-frills and her eyelids drooped until her gaze was a mere sliver of orange-red. He would learn eventually that this expression meant she was pleased, the throaty rumble making it more obvious.

"I have no idea what you said, but I'll let myself think it was flattering." She chuckled throatily and gave his knee a squeeze. "I like the way my name sounds on your lips, Raffey."

Sparring seductively with him all night would have been fun, but she could tell that there was much on his mind, and in spite of her eagerness she didn't want anything more if he wasn't all in. The food had been eaten, the fire was burning low, and the night was creeping on. The dragoness sighed smokily and rose sinuously to her feet, yawning.

"Everyone else is asleep except the sentry. We would be wise to follow suit, yes? Come share my tent and rest." It was possible he would decline, given her earlier flirting and his apparent reluctance, but as she held her hand out there was something genuine in her face at her offer to just sleep out of the wind next to someone warm.

Raffey found himself wondering just how hard of a life it was being a half-breed in Pyresia. He didn't understand racism. In his deserts, life was so difficult, so dangerous, that no one cared about other races. What mattered was staying alive, no matter what. No one cared what race a dead person was.

It must be sad to be hated so much for something you couldn't change. Though, perhaps his own race wasn't the best to be thinking that. After all, everyone thought them to be human because that's how they appeared outside of the deserts. He watched the curvaceous woman rise, and heard her offer.

He knew from her earlier advances that she was more than willing for a roll in the hay, but his heart wasn't in it. But falling asleep with another nearby would be nice, especially considering how lonely the nights without Dibney had been.

He smiled and nodded, taking her hand and standing up. He found it strange how warm her skin was, but it would be nice to sleep against. He kept a gentle grip on her fingers, letting her lead him to her tent. When they got cozy and comfortable, he whispered in her ear, "Than' yah, Drrrrrakuh." And for the first time since he'd lost Dibney, he slept entirely through the night.

Skills
Aerobatics: 2
Observation: 2
Wilderness Survival: 1
Drawing: 1
Stealth: 1
Seduction: 5
Negotiation: 2
Elementalism (Fire): 1
Cooking: 1
Socialization: 5
Knowledge:
Raffey: The Hard to Understand Foreigner
Dibney: Raffey's Auric Beetle
The Keremis: People of the Sand
The Keremis: From the Auric Desert
Auric: Svechwau - Best of Both Deserts
Other
Auric Language: 1
Offer From Raffey: Visit the Auric Desert Together




Skills
Riding (Horse): 1
Observation: 4
Tracking: 2
Stealth: 2
Hunting: 2
Ranged Weapon (Javelin): 2
Tactics: 1
Bodybuilding: 1
Butchering: 2
Skinning: 1
Negotiation: 1
Cooking: 1
Socialization: 5

Knowledge:
Tracking: Yale Deer Prints
Drachiathoryx: The Voluptuous Dragonkin
Pyresia: The City of Dragons and Dwarves
The Gem Deeps: Home of Drow and Spiders
Dragons: Can Change into Human Form
Other