[IC] [Skybreaker] Royal Wings [Glaw]

[Skybreaker]

Some people think the desert is void of life. There are hot, dry winds, and sands that burn hotter than any Northern fire. There are harpies and other terrible creatures that prey on humans. They say water is scarce, and the people there are ruthless and cruel. He thought that this was funny.

As the youngest son of the land's only ruler, he spent his whole life in the desert. Though he had a vivid imagination, it was hard to picture a land that would be more beautiful. There were oasises of cool, fresh water, cacti taller than any palace that grew the most tender and sweetest of fruits, and hidden treasures in abundance. The people lived good lives, from the members of the royal court to the vagabonds that herded livestock.

He lived a cushy live in the palace, eating figs and taking baths with the most fracrant of oils and essences. He walked barefoot on the gold-tiled floors, and wore robes spun from the silk of the fire moth- very warm. He had three older brothers, that didn't like him very much because he was favored by their father for having a strong heart and soul. He was the one who was elected by the Royal Council to be the one to take the coronation trial and inherit the kingdom. This was partially due to the fact he was the only prince in the family who didn't go around calling people 'peasants'.

Even now, Cyrus was smiling from ear to ear. It had been a week ever since he had been given his first task by the Royal Court- to bring a feature from the fearsome winged lion! He had traveled to the mountainside village of Hamza,
in high hopes the villagers would give him useful information on the elusive and regal beast. Hamza had reportedly been attacked by such a creature, and they believed that the winged lion had a home somewhere high atop the mountains. Cyrus was by himself. It was against tradition for him to receive any royal help. Only the common man could help him now.

Hamza hadn't been attacked in years- with good reason. They left thirty of their prized livestock in a large pen near the edge of their town and at the base of the mountain as a tribute for the creature, and in return, they were not attacked. They had begged the prince not to be so headstrong, but he was more stubborn than any animal they had seen. Cyrus had decided to wait with the herd, in hopes he could encounter the lion.

Cyrus was a beauty. He had tanned honey skin, much lighter than most desert people. His eyes were a fiery golden color, and his amazingly soft dark hair crowned his look. He was wearing very light leather armor no more than an inch thick. He wore a silk hat reminiscent of a sailor's. He had but a single rapier.

Sitting amongst the sheep, the teenaged prince held his breath, afraid the lion would come any moment. It was very dark

[Glaw]

He waited until the sands were cool under the deep moonless sky; he waited, watching from the crags of the dusty mountain, until the last firelight darkened in the village. He waited until he was certain there would be no tricks, no heroes, no schemes of landslides or hidden spears in the weeds. The majority of villagers feared him too much to defy him, but every once in awhile there was just one young brat with an idea and an ego, and a very pleasant night of feasting could very intolerably be ruined.

So he waited, and he watched the glimmer in the stars and the rustle in the weeds. And then, when there was only stillness, he pressed his tawny wings against his spine and crept between the rocks.

He was a shadow, the color of the sand, soundless and careful, dark eyes fixed on the rustling livestock pen. The villagers had called him Ralarulash for the fiery gold of his mane and a roar as deep and far-reaching as an inferno. His shoulders rose and fell with every soft step. He could almost taste the steaming blood of a properly fattened goat as it bleated and writhed under his claws. He suppressed a growl at the want of it; he would have it, soon.

The goats began to bleat nervously, and he paused in his approach until they calmed, their tails flicking, pressed together and away from the gate. Carefully again, he moved silent over the sand.

[Skybreaker]

The musky scent of the goat, cattle, and sheep would have been enough to hide him, but Cyrus underestimated the lion. Though he hadn't struck yet, Cyrus had the feeling that if he wasn't he one who made the first move, he would die. Slaughtered along with the livestock that served as the beast's tribute. Running a single hand through rich dark hair, the prince wondered just how he was going to take the lion on.

Ultimately, he could one of two things: hide or strike. He might be able to strike at the lion, maybe get a hit or or two in. The villagers had warned him that this deity- Rala, something of that nature- was not like any ordinary animal. This creature was all the more fearsome. Then, Cyrus recalled something imprtant- he didn't have to kill the lion!

As the goats began to bleat and shriek, his body tensed. His hand wrapped around the gold handle of his rapier, ready to pull it out at a moment's notice. There was no way he was going to let himself die to this lion. Biting the bottom of his lip, golden eyes shifted around nervously. They cattle ahead home back to normal.

Suddenly, he had the urge to yell out. To due,and to know where the winged lion was hiding. Maybe it already knew he was here? Naturally, his heart beat faster and he took deeper breaths.

[Glaw]

There was a rush of air, a flap of feathered wings, the soft brushed landing on the trampled ground inside the pen. The goats and sheep and cattle skittered and bumped in quiet terror; they parted like the sea before the winged lion as he loped forward one paw at a time, his head low and grinning.

There was a different kind of fear huddled here, oh yes. An intelligent fear, a fear saturated not in hatred but in want. It was a curious smell, a sound like rapid heartbeat and an open mouth. His hunger could wait: this was new, this was interesting. That heartbeat hitched and that breathing caught, as if that human who thought he was unseen had begun to cry out but second guessed himself.

Ralarulash thought he might help him out just a little with that pesky indecision.

He arched his spine, bared his teeth, and released a mighty, shattering roar.

The cattle broke into a stampede; the goats skittered and fell on each other's horns; the sheep bounced and bleated; the flimsy pen walls crashed to the ground, trampled beneath a thunder of hooves. Dust and stones roiled like smoke, and through it the winged lion paced, snarling, waiting. The goats and the sheep and the cattle hurtled past him out of the billows of sand, but he only had eyes for the human. The human with the fear of failure.

[Skybreaker]

It was hard to be silent when the world around you was being so loud. There was no beautiful or elegant way to put it- Cyrus was scared. Though he was the most valiant amgonst his siblings, he was, of course, just a young man. Perhaps just a child.

Suddenly, the livestock began to once again fall into a state of mindless panic. Of course, were the prince in their shoes, he would have done the same thing. Gritting his teeth, Cyrus tensed once more. There was nothing as horrible as the anxiety that ate at him. If he was to die...

There was no more time for idle chat, it seemed. There was a fierce roar, and if course he couldn't stop the, admittedly, shrill scream he emitted. The force of the shattering roar was enough to push him back a few feet, landing on his hands and knees, and his rapier fly in further away. He though he could run and retrieve it, but one look at the mighty beast told him he could not. Rala really did look like something from a temple.

Gritting his teeth, Cyrus stared harshly at the winged lion- what else could he do?

[Glaw]

The human was on his hands and knees following the most feminine scream he'd heard since he'd startled a shepherdess on the plain. The dust and sand clouded like fog all around them, the thunder of hooves pounded farther and farther away, and the winged lion grinned down at the would-be hero. His eye caught the glimmer of a rapier, much too far to be of any use now.

"What will you do now, warrior?" His voice was like the stillness before the storm, quiet and clear yet powerful as his roar. He set one paw in front of the other, and he walked slowly around Cyrus, circling him as he would stalk his wounded prey. A low growl rumbled in his throat -- or was it laughter? "You've waited this long to find me with your weapon, and now you cower before me. I haven't lifted a claw against you. Yet." He grinned, and his teeth flashed in the darkness.

His circling brought him to the rapier in the sand. He paused a moment -- then he swiped a paw and tossed the blade clattering back to Cyrus' hands. "I don't kill cowards," he hissed, and he continued to step slowly in a circle around the prince. "Pick it up. I am generous -- I will let you fight while you take your last breath."

This human appeared unusual, compared to the ones he was used to dealing with -- he was dressed differently, and his skin was healthy and clean. Rich boy, he thought to himself. Not a villager. But what was he doing here, throwing his life away for a village he'd never lived in?

[Skybreaker]

Narrowing his eyes in a fierce glare, Cyrus refused to back down, even thought the normal person in his shoes would be terrified. He had a heart of steel, but since he was just a kid, he forgot sometimes. At least, that's what he convinced himself. No one really knew what the prince was like. Aside from when he attended public events, he was very elusive. It would shock many to know he was as stubborn as he was valiant, and determined as he was silver-tongued. He kept his expression hard, not wanting to expose any weakness. He had already screamed like a maiden, there was no more room for mistakes! He didn't say anything.

That is, until the lion flicked the rapier back at him like it was a toy. The prince combed a hand through his swept dark hair. Quickly, he picked it up. There was no more room for failure. If he died, then the kingdom would have a tyrant in one of his brothers. He had to fight with every fiber of his being! "I... I am no coward, leon." He said, using the royal word for lion. Cyrus was unfamiliar with the habits of lions, especially the winged variant, but whatever this deity was planning couldn't be good for his well-being. What could he do? Fighting it...

The people had fought it as a village, but there were hardly any survivors. How did he expect to fight it with a solid gold rapier? The thing belonged in a vault room, not a battlefield. Though he held it tight, there was little point in hanging onto it. He stared up at the desert night sky. A star flew across it, which amazed him. It was the small things like this that helped him calm down. He kept a steady glare on the beast before speaking once again. Pride and honor meant more than life itself. This was the basic fundamental of what he was taught.

"I want one of your feathers, Mr. Leon." Cyrus said both respectfully and honestly. Suddenly, he dropped his rapier. "This toy is no match for you, and we both know it." Cyrus said through his teeth. Honor and pride, could still be earned if he returned without a sword. He lunged forward, and desperately tried to grab a feather. It might have ended in failure, but Cryus wouldn't die without a fight! It was what proved the fire in his soul.

[Glaw]

He hadn't expected an unarmed attack. Ralarulash had puffed his chest, ready to reply to the boy's articulate yet feeble request -- and to mock him for throwing away his only means of defense -- when his adversary suddenly leaped forward with the precision of a practiced swordsman, a hand outstretched for a feather.

Ralarulash whipped his wing up toward the sky, flapped with a swirl of dust, and leaped backward a few feet, his paws skidding; he had only just escaped the boy's greedy hands. He would have to keep a careful eye on him. He grinned sharply.

"A feather? Ha!" He lowered his head and resumed circling the boy. "A feather plucked from my living wing has a potent power -- but you knew that, didn't you, alchemist?" He snarled, and his claws flashed as he walked. He stretched his wings to show off their articulate undersides, the tawny down and plumes. "You've come here without a plan, without a hope of succeeding -- I would kill you before you could touch me." His throat rumbled in a thoughtful growl. "But I might give you what you want, if you will offer something in return. Like the villagers give me food in exchange for their lives, you will give me freedom in exchange for a feather."

[Skybreaker]

Letting out a frustrated yell at failing, Cyrus paused. He looked up as the lion ascended into the air, hiding some of the bright stars that he used to find his way across the desert. A pang of fear resounded against his heart, as he saw the beast's mouth curl up in a wicked smile. Clenching his fists and tightening his jaw, the prince was smart enough to walk backwards a bit. It was hard to keep a steady gaze against Ralarulash, but he managed to somehow.

There was no way he would show any weakness. However, he couldn't help the flinch that graced his features when the lion spoke. He had been expecting an attack, or maybe a ferocious roar that would shatter his eardrums and make blood gush out. Instead he was given a sly offer. The prince's golden eyes shone in the night like twin stars. It was a captivating offer, and if he was smart, he would take it. Freedom... As a prince, he had all the freedom he wanted. He couldn't imagine how a mere animal could take that away from him. Winged lions were once hunted by sorcerers and alchemists for their pelts and feathers, but Cyrus grit his teeth in irritation as he was called an alchemist. Didn't this animal know anything?

"Power, you say?" Cyrus said, held held high, despite the situation. He then glared fiercely. "I don't care what your so-called potent and powerful feathers can do, I only care for your feathers, Mr. Leon..." He said with a huff, crouching in a fighting stance. "Deals... They are for the weak, aren't they? You should have known by now..." He said, crouching even further to scoop a bunch of sand onto a muffler, which he promptly removed. Then, in one defiant motions, he flung it at the deity, spreading the sand all over and hopefully creating a makeshift smokescreen. Then he lunged once more, determined to grab at least once feather. But he had another plan...

Whenever he saw a desert avian take off, a feather would usually break off and the bird would grow new ones. So far, he hadn't seen a feather come out of Ralarulash's down, but he was determined to try. He had no right to kill the creature, and he knew it. Having a ruler who killed the land's true kings and queens would only rub the common people the wrong way. Not to mention the spirits.

[Glaw]

The lion's ears pricked. Before the sand had even left Cyrus' hand, Ralarulash churned his great wings and leaped high over the young prince's head. He spun in midair and landed neatly behind Cyrus, facing him, his eyes no longer amused.

"I grow tired of your infantile logic," he snarled while the cloud of dust and sand settled around them. "We could dance all night, but you won't touch a single feather as long as I don't wish it. The only reason I haven't eaten you is the fact that you're too pathetic to bother with. But I might yet rip you apart because you annoy me."

He pawed the ground, snorted, and gave Cyrus a cynical sneer before he turned his back on the boy with a dismissive flick of his tail. "I would have agreed to trade with you -- as kings and emperors must sacrifice men and resources in order to gain land and allegiances -- but I see that you, godlike, are above petty exchange. Surely one as powerful as yourself can simply take everything he wishes to have, with no consequence." His voice dripped with sarcasm. "I will have nothing to do with you. Attack me again and I will remove your head."

[Skybreaker]

Cyrus roared in frustration at the sheer unfairness of it all. Taking deep breaths to calm down, the Prince shot a death glare at the lion. There was no point in fighting, he wasn't powerful enough. "Kings and emperor's are just men, Monsieur Leon." He mused aloud.

But Ralarulash had a valid point. It hurt that he was worth less than the goats and cattle in the pen. Maybe a soul of steel didn't protect him from the words of a mighty winged lion. "I will not attack you this night." The prince stated firmly, golden eyes flickering.

Hough honor was worth more than his life, the crown was more important than such a matter like honor. "Mr. Leon, I'm not sure how you will do it, but I'm willing to give you my freedom. In exchange for a feather, that is. You shall take my freedom..." The thought mortified him. What would happen? Would he become a slave to the lion? No, that couldn't be...

Picking up his muffler, Cyrus dusted it of any sand and wrapped it around his neck.

[Glaw]

The lion stopped, and his tail swished thoughtfully. His wings shifted, the feathers ruffled and soothed. "Not your freedom," he growled quietly. He turned his great head, and his eyes flashed in the darkness. "Mine."

Slowly, he turned around and padded through the sand toward Cyrus, and he peered at the boy carefully, reading his intentions and worth. This was a young man dedicated to what was right -- but he simply went about fighting for it in all the wrong ways. One day he might be a respectable leader. Someone worth trusting. He was, after all, the only human to have bothered speaking to him. Ralarulash had nearly forgotten the language before Cyrus had replied to his call.

He stood before Cyrus, and he showed his teeth in quiet warning. "Lay your hand on my head," he commanded. "Do not touch my wings or I will rip your throat out." He waited, quiet and uncertain, for Cyrus to do as he asked. "Now close your eyes and open your mind to me."

There was silence. Ralarulash did his best to calm himself down, once he was sure Cyrus wasn't about to go back on his word. He wasn't even sure this would work -- but he felt their minds linking, if only faintly, and he knew instinctively Cyrus' name, where he came from, why he was here.

The thoughts and memories that appeared in Cyrus' mind were slow and dim, like something long forgotten: blood and fear, a curse, loss and rage.

"Repeat after me," the lion growled -- and he began to recite an incantation in the old language. He spoke slowly and clearly, and he waited for Cyrus to echo his words.

It was the spell that would break his curse.

[Skybreaker]

The prince's eyes flashed with confusion. The lion wished to be free? The almighty deity of Hamza? He had wings tough as dragon hide and the strength of a demon! What more freedom could he possibly receive? If Cyrus was a winged lion, he would be more free than he could even think about being while a human. Hastily, he nodded.

While his hand was placed on the lion's head, he couldn't help but notice how soft it was, even after being worn by the desert. As their minds became one, Cyrus thought of a story he was taught as a child.

He was sitting in an adobe room full of light. He was listening to his grandmother speak, her golden eyes glowing with wisdom. Once, she told him, there was an owl and a fox. Fox spent all his time foraging and hunting while he could, because he was on the ground. Owl, on the other hand, has wings. His life was easy. He spent his time dancing with the moon, napping on clouds, and sipping starlight. 'What a waste!' Fox said. 'If I had wings, I would be doing things to help the desert!"

So one day, Owl stopped at an oasis and took a drink of water. Fox came and swallowed him whole. Owl had clusmy feet, and couldnt run away. He took owl's wings, and he could fly. But once he saw how fun and easy it was to fly, he forgot about helping the desert. He spend his time sleeping in clouds and drinking from rainbows, until he forgot how to walk. There was a thunderstorm one day, and fox, who had forgotten the ground, died in the sky...

It was a sad story, but had a good moral. A sad one. And right now, he could feel a forlorn sadness coming from the lion, Ralarulash. Mindlessly, the stunning prince repeated words he did not know, in a language he didn't understand.

[Glaw]

Ralarulash grinned as he spoke: he was the fox, condemned to be what most humans only dreamed of. Strength! Flight! The power and will to destroy and conquer.

And all it took to take that away was a noble heart.

There was no flash; no puff of smoke, no shimmer or sound. But the moment Cyrus spoke the last word, the head on which his hand rested was no longer that of a lion.

His long coarse hair was the color of the sand, but his naked skin was browner than Cyrus', as if long exposed to the desert sun. He was thin but strong, like the weeds that survived in the dry rocks, but his age was unclear. Years of sleeping on the dunes and feasting on lizards made him appear to be a man -- but when he looked up, his astonished brown eyes were very young.

He shifted backward on all fours, balanced like a cat, and he stared at his skinny limbs as if he'd never seen them before. He lifted his hands and watched his fingers flex and his wrists turn. He pushed against his knees, and slowly, wobbily, he rose to his feet, his arms spread for balance. He tottered there for a moment, dizzy with the vertigo of standing so tall, and he looked at Cyrus with a curious expression. He smirked a little, the expression unfamiliar on his face, and he gestured with his head toward the ground. At Cyrus' feet was a long, tawny feather as long as the prince's arm.

[Skybreaker]

Was it silly that he expected there to be some kind of ritual? Some sort of special act, some heavenly gathering of the clouds? Was it that ridiculous that, for one instant, he has believed that maybe the winged lion more than he appeared? It was strange, but as their minds brushed against each other, the contact was no rougher than the tiny, wind-veiled particles of sand dancing against the wrinkled, rich fruits suspended high above in hardy desert botany. Yet Cyrus felt as if their mental tracks were being fused together. However, the sensation only lasted for half a second before it ceased, and there was peace. Cyrus, who had closed his golden eyes sometimes during the process, dazedly blinked them open.

The entire experience had left him more than a little bit cautious of ever breaking curses in the future, to say the least. Letting out a tired groan, the blue-blooded young man clutched his left eye in his palm, trying to get it to regain focus. His eyes felt so dry and itchy- it was a very unpleasant feeling, but Cyrus was raised under the iron rule of his Father, and he could go without any vocal complaints.

When the blurry, foggy world cleared, the boy hummed a few notes in approval. He had little regret with lending a hand, for the first thing he saw was an elegant fountain-esque feather that was more than enough. Snickering happily, the prince temporarily let his emotional and mental armor fall. His eyes sparkled with the light of naivety, though just as fast as it had appeared, the prince regained his composure. He sighed in relief, as he was just about ready to squeal with joy.

Cyrus' first task was all but complete. Now all he needed to do was take it. As he leaned down, his eyes focused on the lion- or rather, man that was before him. Jaw dropping and golden eyes widening, Cyrus jolted up at what he saw. What in the world? How? Why? What he saw before him was not, in fact, the lion but rather a young man with typical desert attributed. There was also the fact he lacked proper garments. Being the prince, Cyrus quickly averted his eyes and unbuckled his cape. "Here, Mr. Leon, please use my cloak to cover yourself." He said as smoothly as he could, but given the situation, it was very difficult.

[Glaw]

Ralarulash stared at the cloak for a moment before he slowly stretched his hand out to take it. Experimentally he felt the fabric in his fingers, then draped the cape around his shoulders and closed it in front, hiding all but his head and feet. He looked down at himself, wriggled his toes in the sand, shifted his arms beneath the cape, then finally turned his frown on Cyrus. This hadn't been the wonderful, glorious transformation he had hoped for. He just felt weak and cold.

"You can stop calling me Leon," he said in distaste. "I'm neither lion nor noble. My name is Rulan, of the Casseion clan."

Everyone in the land knew the name Casseion -- centuries ago they had ruled the entirety of the continent with their bloodthirsty armies and their tyrannical laws, which they forced upon every civilization they conquered. Wherever they marched there had been rivers of blood. Those that resisted were slaughtered; those that surrendered were enslaved. They had spread throughout the continent like a plague, leveling civilizations and building weapons and fortresses, never to rest until they had claimed the land from sea to sea. It was at that time that the leaders within Casseion began to covet the land of their brothers, and the clan collapsed into a civil war. In the end, without organized governance the Casseion clan had destroyed itself with its own greed, and the current empire rose up and stamped them out. All surviving members of the clan had been gathered up and executed publicly, as a symbol that violence should never again rule this land.

The tyrannical Casseion clan had disappeared so many centuries ago, and yet Rulan lived.

[Skybreaker]

There was a lump in his royal throat as he watched and listened. That was something he was good at doing. There were desert beetles that made the faintest of clicks and clacks. They were very charming creatures, as some of them were known as 'scarabs' and had shells of precious metal. However, in a sense, they were useless. They were nothing but pests- and didn't rid the desert of gnats and flies. What use were they?

Admittedly, Cyrus was thinking more about the elusive scarab beetle than the winged lion feather he had twisted between two fingers. For some reason, he felt a little lightheaded and allowed his thoughts to wander off into the stars.

But something did bring him back into focus. That being mention of the Casseion clan. Golden eyes widened a bit in disbelief more than anything. That name... that cursed wretched name of a cursed wretched people. They had ruled the desert more or less a millennium ago, but the scars they had bore into the land and its residents remained. Fear, anger, and other dark feelings... That was all the cruel civilization had struck into the hearts of everyone who came into contact with them. Struggling for what to say, the prince stammered.

"Y-You're lying.." He muttered.

All knew of the infamous clan, that had stained the sands red with blood. They were near-invincible, and to defeat them, it required harnessing the very essence of the desert's spirits. The secrets to do such a thing was lost with the advancement of time, however. But Cyrus was taught the Casseions were executed. Why, then, did this man claim to be a member of such a group? Even if he wasn't telling the truth, who would lie about coming from such a dark heritage? Then again, Rulan was just a lion less than a few moments ago...

Could it be... this man... was telling the truth?

Cyrus simply looked with wide eyes at the man in front of him, searching for an answer.

[Glaw]

Rulan's eyes were cold. He watched Cyrus for a long, silent moment while he accustomed himself to standing on two feet. Finally he took a breath, opened his mouth, and showed the young prince his teeth: the sharpened teeth of the Casseion, filed to points on every child's sixteenth birthday. Just to drive the point home, he dropped the cloak to his waist and turned around in the dust, so Cyrus could see the faded tattoo of a gnarled old tree that stretched its roots over his back. The image had repeated throughout history, in every Casseion mural and sculpture, a symbol of ancestry, wisdom, honor and loyalty to the clan.

"I escaped my cell in Lothray the night before my execution," he said in a low voice, factual and unphased. It had happened so long ago, it only occurred to him as a passing memory. "But I was hunted. There was a dagger around every corner, an arrow on every rooftop, no matter where I hid. So I went to the Dragon." He shrugged the cloak over his shoulders again and turned to face Cyrus. "I offered her my memories in exchange for my safety, on the condition that I could continue the hunt. So she gave me claws and wings, and she took everything I knew before the night I escaped. I've been playing god to idiot villages ever since." He gave the young prince a sharp grin. "I might as well tell you this, because you're stuck with me for awhile. You just made an oath, in the old language, to never leave my side."

[Skybreaker]

Though the brave shouldn't shrink from danger, only a fool would be unresponsive to sharp teeth that shouldn't even belong to a human being. The prince realized something was up- the practice of sharpening teeth was lost when the Casseions fell. It was a strange and horrid thing to do in the opinion of most nobles and general populace alike. Cyrus, however, thought it would be kind of cool. How would they clean their teeth?

He raised a hand to his head and slipped off his silk hat, making him look a bit older and much more practical. The tattoo, or the 'Tree of Hours' was the symbol of the Casseion clan. Though they couldn't be sure, the kingdom's historians believed the tree to represent the passage of time and the futility of cheating the fates. It was a sign used in dark alchemy.

His grip on his cap loosened and it fell to the sand as he heard what Rulan said. "No... you... can't be serious...." He seemed dazed, too dazed to process anger. Now that his cap was off, it was easier to see the fiery, tiny, stat-shaped jewel the prince wore on his right ear as an earring.

After a few moments, he regained his composure. Why didn't he realize the feather was trouble? It was tucked safely in his robes, and he made sure it was secure. "Rulan... why? What have you done...?" How could he go back to the palace with a sharp fanged Casseion??

[Glaw]

So the young noble was older than he had at first appeared, but still fresh-faced and shielded from the workings of the world. That jewel at his ear was brilliant enough to attract the blindest of bandits -- and Cyrus was obviously not as experienced with the sword as he thought. Rulan paused a moment, unsure whether this had really been a good idea. There was only so much of youthful incompetence he could take.

"I've abused a loophole in my contract with the Dragon," he explained with a fangy smirk. "I can continue to live in human form as long as I'm near someone of moral worth who has shared responsibility for my actions. If I wander too far from you, I'll go back to paws and wings. If I kill a human being, both of us -- you and I -- will become winged lions, no matter how far apart we are. You've cosigned my contract; if I fall, so do you." His eyes narrowed. "So it's in your best interest not to lose sight of me, isn't it?"

Cyrus could only blame himself, Rulan mused with a grin. Only a fool would say words aloud when he had no clue what they meant. All this, a lifetime of strife and anger, for the sake of a feather.