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Hidden 9 yrs ago 9 yrs ago Post by Drache
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Starting Date and Time: 21st day of Vermillio, 300 DM

Starting Location: Ruins to the south of Pyresia.

CS URLs: Genrit’khaath and Drachiathoryx

The thermals of hot air were a welcome blessing after an entire pre-dawn morning of flapping hard over the miles of wild forest south of Pyresia. But now that she had finally reached the rocky uplands where the late summer sun baked on the exposed granite there was warm air billowing under Drache's wings, keeping her aloft with hardly any effort on her part. Her wing muscles would ache terribly, but not until tomorrow. And by then hopefully she would be on her way back to the volcanic city with shinies in her purse, not minding the walk with triumph lightening her heart.

Enjoying the pleasant weather, the red-scaled dragoness practiced a few rolls, tucking her wings so that she spiraled lazily through the air. The airborne acrobatics weren't at all necessary, but Drache didn't like the way that some half-dragons let their wings dwindle away to scrawny decorations with disuse. Not there were a lot of halfies around, mind.

Spotting a deep groove across the sun-warmed stone, Drache let air spill out of her wings and swooped down for a closer look. "Wagon tracks, excellent," she said to no one, her teeth bared to reveal twin rows of pearly fangs as a few hasty flaps took her up again. Not many people would get excited about a few wing-lengths of wagon ruts that had been nearly worn away by the rain of decades.

Following the curve of the land, ember-coloured eyes tracing the ground below in an attempt to guess where a civilization of long-dead humans would have laid their road, it was only an hour later that she came across the ruins. Had Drache been a traveler on foot in these lands she might have missed them completely, but from the sky there was no mistaking the unnatural straight lines that bespoke of the architecture that had once looked out over the expansive forest.

Not many people knew what kind of nifty loot might be found under those decaying remains. The half-dragon's bare black talons scraped on the ground when she landed with a slight hop, her red and gold wings folding neatly along her spine, long tail giving a swish as she put a saucy hand on her hip, glancing around. "Ah. Today is going to be fun!"

--

The sun was beginning to dip close to the horizon, red-gold light playing across the tomb raider's red-gold skin where she was perched high up on a crooked plinth of carved stone, ankles crossed and tail dangling over the edge towards the ground far below. Scattered around her were her prizes of the day: An ancient set of bronze pauldrons with an intricate feather pattern stamped into the metal, a small pile of dented coins (several of them gold but most silver and bronze), and a hammered gold circlet set with an emerald. The later piece was resting in her black hair, though since it didn't quite fit around her horns she had it set at a jaunty angle across her brow.

But in addition to the obvious trinkets, she had found a small stack of books buried deep in the remains of a wooden chest. They were in sad condition, so delicate and decrepit that she had wrapped them already in a piece of thick leather, afraid to peek at their contents until back in the safety of the balcony apartment she shared with Mojavico. If she couldn't transcribe them into fresh tomes herself, she supposed the rest of her treasures would earn enough to hire a scribe. The unfortunate consequence of what Mojave liked to call her "dead tree collection". She secretly hoped that the books would hold some knowledge of the arcane, but usually they turned out to be histories or ledgers and shipping manifests.

Her own book, a large journal bound in suede and fitted with ornate gold and ruby fittings, lay open in her lap. Rubbings of the coins and various engraved stone she had come across over the course of the day were folded and tucked between the pages. She always liked to write about her finds while it was fresh on her mind. Her script was thin and slanting, the flourishes sharp and fierce. She switched between Common and Draconic, depending on the subject. For this wasn't only a record of her digs, but also a personal diary.

As the sun dipped lower, Drache glanced up frequently, though whether it was for inspiration or to check her surroundings for danger was impossible to tell from without. It was during one of these fleeting breaks that she noticed a deep shadow under an overhang of rock that she had not previously seen. "Hmm! Looks like I missed a spot."

There was no hesitation as the dragoness began to gather her things, tucking her treasures into her backpack and then packing her hand-shovel and pry-bar in on top. Truly, she could have just waited until morning to investigate, but what was the sense in spending a sleepless night wondering when she could simply find out for herself?!

After a final swig of wine, still chewing on some beef jerky, Drache launched herself from the tilting obelisk and glided down towards the shadowy smudge, her tail trailing after her like a kite. As soon as she landed she knew that the space beyond the opening was large, the echoes of her flapping wings fading slowly down into the deep. Eyes glittering like coals, the darkness held no fear for Drache as she stalked forwards, snout lifting slightly to sniff through flaring reptilian nostrils.

Water dripped and the temperature dropped as Drache moved between stalagmites. It wasn't a particularly impressive cave, lacking the colourful seams of gems that permeated through the volcanic Pyresia, but the half-dragon continued on. There was little to suggest she might find treasure here, seeing no signs of civilized habitation. But it was interesting all the same, especially when she came across a damp chamber full of gleaming blue bioluminescent plants.

When the floor became uneven, Drache half-jumped, half-climbed from ledge to ledge, until one of them broke out from underneath her. She was suddenly careening down a sloping tunnel, the sides smooth where water had once flowed. She gripped the slab fiercely with clawed fingers, shrieking an inhuman shriek, half-thrilled and half-terrified by the wild ride. "Yee-aaaahhhhh!" Sparks flew every time the stone collided with the walls, and when the ride was finally over, she tumbled across the ground and landed on her tail with a loud painful "Oof!"

Panting for a moment, brief puffs of smoke wafting from her nostrils due to the excitement, Drache finally realized that she was cold. Not just cold, freezing! Her tail was touching something icy and the rough stone underneath her was slimy and chill. Shivering instinctively, hating the cold, the slightly mussed half-dragon stood up and straightened the vest that barely kept her generous bust under control. After a brief check of her backpack, she looked around. This chamber was very large, the ceiling obscured by shadows that even her eyes couldn't penetrate. Poised like a raptor on high alert, she listened for the subtle sounds of Underdark denizens. It wouldn't be the first time she'd run afoul of shadowcats or moody drow.

And she noticed something else. Deep gouges in the floor that could have only come from the claws of a dragon. Her ear-frills flattened against her head as she looked up, and found herself face-to-face with a solid wall of ice. "What are you doing here?" she wondered. The eerily regular sound of water dripping was much more pronounced in here, and her nostrils verily steamed against the wet surface.

With no small sense of foreboding, Drache swung her backpack down to her hip and rummaged around until she found her glow crystal. With the light shining from between her scaled fingers, she lifted it high, peering into the warped depths of the ice, eyes wide. It took a moment to realize what she was looking at, but when she did she jumped back with start, pupils narrowing and wings lifting in alarm. The pale light bounced dizzyingly around the room as the glow crystal clattered noisily to the floor.

"Well that's not something you see every day!" Approaching the ice again, lifting her hands to press against the hard surface (with just her claws, avoiding letting it touch her skin, of course) she let her gaze follow the curve of a dragon's face. "How did you get in there, I wonder?" Her voice echoed strangely.

She had to step back, retrieving and lifting the glow stone again to see where her darkvision couldn't, the light refracting prettily through the ice. Was it the frozen water that made his scales glitter so nicely or was the pristine whiteness a result of his rimey prison? She assumed he was male. His horns were quite more proud than most she had seen. He even had a Wild look about him. "If you've been there a while I suppose that's to be expected."

"Hmm. What to do! I suppose this is your cave, Sir White." Wandering away from the ice, Drache poked around, eventually coming across a deep trench that, while it appeared to have stripped completely bare, still emanated a faint tang of metal. Hopping down into the bottom, it was only the light of the glow crystal glittering on something caught under a chunk of rock that showed her the treasure. Grunting, tail waving high in the air with the effort, Drache managed to shove the piece aside and revealed a small crack filled with gold coins so old that their designs were effectively inscrutable.

"A-ha! Well I suppose you wont be needing these, will you!" She hummed a tavern wench's song under her breath, happily plonking each coin into a leather sack, the resulting load very nearly more than she could carry. "Oh my poor little wings are going to fall off by the time I get this lot home!" Returning to the flat spot near the frozen dragon's face, she sat down with the bag of gold as a seat, and brought out her journal once more. "Now don't you move!" She instructed the hapless ice-bound beast sweetly, chuckling as she began to sketch on a blank page.

It was about the time that she was filling in the details of the dead dragon's proud face that Drache truly began to wonder about him. "What were you like? How long have you been in there? What was the world like in your day?" A stream of muttered questions joined the reverberating plip-plop! of dripping water. Questions she would likely never know the answers to. A pity. When the sketch seemed finished, Drache closed her journal and got up, stretching in readiness to leave this place.

But she couldn't. Her tail undulated behind her legs as she looked up at the ice, her horned head tilted thoughtfully. "I suppose you really are dead. But if you aren't, it would be a shame to leave you in there. But how to get you out?" She would die of starvation before her flame-breath would even make a dent in the ice, and it would take a troop of dwarves days to get here, let alone the time it took them to chop him out. "And they'd want to be paid, the scoundrels."

Drache paced back and forth in front of the ice, trying to see how high the block went. She finally spread her wings and jumped, wincing at the cold as she landed, slipping slightly on the uneven ice. With her glow crystal still resting on the floor below, she could see the shadowy shape of the white dragon's body locked in the ice underneath her. But after a brief glance at him, she looked up. "Perfect."

The stalagtites hanging above were enormous. Nervous about causing a cave-in, Drache moved her stuff back near the tunnel that had spilled her out into this frosty tomb and flew up to the ceiling, hovering (with considerable effort) as she swallowed and opened her jaws, her belly clenching as she brought up a tongue of flame into her cupped palms. Breathing the fire was easy, but clutching it in her claws was something else entirely. The first time it had happened was a complete accident earlier this year, but she'd been practicing and discovered that she could do all sorts of neat things with the heat she had been born with.

The fire almost guttered out while she tried to shape it with her mind, but with a fluttering whoof! it became a ball, growing larger and whiter, more intense. Her eyes sparkled gleefully as she felt its strength. Heaving her arm back, the half-dragon threw the fireball at the base of the largest stalagmite, and then giggled madly as she retreated to the relative safety of the tunnel like a little boy fleeing from lit firecrackers.

The fireball hissed menacingly through the air, striking the stone roof with a concussive BOOM!, the bright flare of sparks and flame fizzling out against the unburnable stone. Fragments of rock and dust rained down on the ice and the cavern floor, but nothing else happened. Drache uncoiled from where she had crouched in wait. "Aw, rats and rust!"

And then there was a thunderous squeal, the kind that can only be made when stone rips apart like paper. The hanging spear of rock jolted suddenly, tearing from the ceiling and falling with an almost peaceful slowness down to the ice below. The silence during the fall was a start contrast to what happened next. The pointy spike pierced a good ten feet into the ice, a huge crack zipping through the solid block as fast as lightning. But when the rest of the untold tons of falling stone shattered against the top of the white dragon's prison, the entire mass blew apart under the strain, rock and ice cascading across the chamber in a cacophonous tsunami.

Watching with her mouth open at the results of her handiwork, the shapely dragoness only managed to avoid being crushed under the avalanche by turning to flee up the tunnel. The silence that followed was almost oppressive in its intensity, but at least she knew that the rest of the world wasn't going to come crashing in.

"Well! That was fun!"
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The attack came quickly. A shifting of movement followed by a relentless blast of ice. Genrit'khaath barely woke in time to even react. The power and intensity of the dragon's breath was greater than he had ever experienced, catching him completely off guard as he was engulfed in ice. A seething rage burst from him as he struggled and built up his powerful flame. But something was suddenly... Missing. The flame did not come with its usual strength. He panicked, the chill of the ice sinking deep into him, locking him in place. He could not move, could not speak, and could not breathe.

Within moments, Genrit was completely frozen, locked in time. In only a few minutes, his body completely ceased to function. The last thing he saw was the intruder watching him smugly through the ice, knowing that they had bested him with ease. A rage that he had never felt before was only amplified by the fear of death. But none of that mattered as he slipped away, losing consciousness.

Darkness.

Cold and empty, stretching on for infinity. Every moment devoid of any experience as non existence overtook Genrit.

It's over.

CRACK. BOOM. CRACK.

The ice around Genrit is destroyed in a display of complete destruction, ice and stone alike falling about him and crumbling against the floor. Genrit's body does the same as it slumps to the ground with a deep thud, limp and lifeless. For all intensive purposes, in this moment he is dead. There is a long moment of silence as he lays there motionless. But a spark of warmth comes from inside of him, slowly building up and overcoming the freezing cold. His hind leg twitches, claws creating deep gashes in a nearby chunk of ice.

Life.

A wing shudders and his leg twitches again.

Life.

A pained gasp comes from deep within his throat, the warmth returning.

Life!

Genrit's eyes snap open and his jaws widen. A blood curdling roar erupts from his mouth. It sounds nothing like the deep, proud roar that his race are associated with. Instead, this is raw terror, high pitched shrieks of pain as his body attempts to restore itself. He thrashes in place, his limbs lashing out blindly and digging into anything nearby, his muscles screaming in agony as he moves them for the first time in over 400 years. Even with his eyes open he barely even registers his surroundings as he thrashes, throwing his body against the floor over and over again.

Just as he appears to regain some control and roll over onto his stomach, shakily lifting himself onto his feet and digging his feet into the mixture of ice and rock below him, a heavy retch escapes his throat. Half melted ice spews out from inside of him, making him reel in disgust and fall over once more, screaming in pain again. A massive burst of white flame escapes his mouth, singing the stone that it touches and melting the ice. His entire body is shivering in pain, fear, and rage.

As his flame dies out he finally lays still on the ground, breathing heavily in exhaustion. His body shivers weakly and he lets out small whines every so often. He hasn't even noticed the other presence in his home, let alone the actual state of his home, too shocked by his own condition to see anything else.

Life...
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The red-scaled half-dragon chanced a peek out into the cavern, the wet sounds of slushed ice shifting against itself filling her earfrills. Impulsive but not entirely stupid, she eyed the massive but limp body of the white dragon from the safety of the tunnel. The fact that his wings seemed to sag loosely was promising. Somehow she thought that if he was dead he should have shattered along with the rest of the ice, or at least remained stiff as carrion while it dissolved around him. Promising though it might be, she couldn't help but think of the huge pale creature like a cold fish tossed onto a riverbank.

And it seemed as though he intended to milk that analogy for all it was worth. A flutter of excitement in Drache's breast when the white drake's leg gave a noticeable twitch suddenly bubbled over into a barely-suppressed snicker as he began to flop about like...well...like a fish!

Staying well back, Drache watched the creature come back to himself. Perhaps if he had been smaller she might have tried to comfort him somewhat, but one look at those lashing talons and sweeping wings earned a distinct Nope! in the back of her mind. Moving only to brush ice off herself when he flung it over her, or dodge a particular lage missile swept in her direction, Drache was content to wait him out.

Her snout twisted with fascinated disgust when the beast retched all over the floor, but she was glad to notice his fire. Her own immunity to that element offered her at least a small measure of safety against this trembling stranger. When he finally collapsed back to the floor, Drache judged it safe (enough) to make her presence known.

Dragging the huge sack of gold towards her, she bent down and grabbed a fist full of coins, lobbed one at the dragon's snout. When she spoke she chose the Draconic tongue that, as far as she knew, all dragons could speak, her voice distinctly not human but also far too small to mistake her for a creature the same size as he was.

"Hey, whitey. You hungry? I'd wager you should be after living life as an icicle." There was a smug amusement in her tone. She just hoped his gold-gizzard would kick in before his stomach. She had no intention of being his first meal in an indeterminate amount of years.
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As the coin hits his snout and then falls to the floor, his eyes flutter and look down. Gold. A grumble rises from his throat and he lets out a long, shaky breath. The heat has returned to his body, signaled by the wave that comes from his jaws. Genrit's eyes manage to focus just enough to see the half dragon before him. His mouth cracks open so that his long white tongue can slither out and retrieve the coin, bringing it back into his mouth. He doesn't respond to her just yet, taking some time to continue his pained breathing. Having settled down considerably compared to when he was first freed, he shifts in place, moving onto his stomach again but still too weak to lift himself. Some smoke comes from his nostrils as he replies.

"Do not call me 'whitey', half breed." There's a threatening edge in his tone, but it's overshadowed by how frail and ragged his weakened voice sounds. He even attempts to proudly lift his head off the ground, but it shakes feebly and droops to the ground again with a muffled thud. His eyes at least manage to maintain their gaze on her, attempting to keep at least some shred of dignity in this moment. He grumbles once more before wheezing. He's currently a textbook depiction of a wounded animal and he resents it immensely.
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The disappearance of the coin into the drake's shaky maw brought Drache a few steps out of the tunnel, tossing a few more in his direction the way a farmer might scatter chicken feed for his flock.

Drache's eyes narrowed at the dragon's tone, a shiver of wariness creeping down her spine so as to make her tail twitch and her wings flex cautiously. This creature, even in his compromised state, would bear watching. When his eyes settled on her she lifted her snout and turned to peer at him out of one eye, grinning mischievously.

"Then don't call me half-breed, drake. Just because you've got the worst case of shrinkage imaginable doesn't mean you get to take it out on me." She glanced down at the coins she was jingling in her palm and realized, to her chagrin, that by freeing the creature she'd forfeited her loot. Unless she wanted to fight him for it. Ha!

"My name is Drachiathoryx," she introduced herself with a flourish of wing and tail. "I'd take it as a kindness if you didn't make me regret setting you free," she suggested. "I'm curious to know how you got yourself in that mess." She gestured with a clawed hand at the slowly-melting slush around him.
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Genrit watches the coins hit the ground, slowly using his tongue to retrieve each of them. It's not until he has already had a few that he realises the nature of the situation. Is he really so desperate as to accept charity? And from a half breed, no less. He's at the lowest point in his life, having only just come back from the dead, and he's already being picky. Although...

He slides his snout across the ground, resting it in front of one of the coins. He breathes in deeply, searching for a scent of any sort. No, it's not his. At least, it's not been his for a while. His eyes flick around the cave a few times. Just how long has it been?

Her voice rouses him from his thoughts and he returns his attention to her. He grumbles in response to her retort and absent mindedly consumes the coin he tried to gather a scent from. He doesn't dignify it with a response, instead just listening to her quietly. Drachiathoryx, huh? He sighs slowly and grinds a claw against an intact chunk of ice, digging into it loudly.

He mulls over her words and watches her. His eyes are harsh and critical, clearly judging her despite her kind actions towards him. After gathering himself he responds, his words slow and methodical. "Genrit'khaath. I will tolerate you for now." He grabs a handful of crushed ice and holds it in front of his face, analysing it. "All I remember is cold. Sudden, bone chilling cold. And then a face. Smug and mocking. Blue scales. Then..."

Genrit crushes the ice further in his claws and wipes it against the stone beneath him. "Then the nothingness of death."
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Hips and tail swaying slightly, the half-breed moved closer, fussily picking her way through the worst of the ice with her bare talons and dragging the bag of gold along for the ride. She could only roll her eyes a bit at Genrit's snooty attitude and offered him an exagerated and mocking bow. "I'm so honoured to be considered worthy of your presence." Many of the dragons of Pyresia still looked down on half-dragons, and the rest of the bipedal races weren't often fans either. Drache didn't like it, but she was used to the disdain and took it in stride.

"Death, yes. I'm certain it felt that way. But yet...here you are." She grinned and crossed one leg primly over the other.

"I wonder how long it's been, Genrit." Shortening his name without permission was a bold move. "Perhaps you knew my sire, Sgarsiathoryx the Red? He's been dead nearly two centuries, shortly after the Death of Magic and the founding of the dragon city, Pyresia. Our kind, or rather I should say your kind as you so politely pointed out, had rather a rough time when the magic of the world failed."

She was oh-so-conversational, her tone as casual and light as if discussing the weather at a fancy dinner party, though there was sinister look in her eye as she watched the white, wondering which little tidbit would shock him the most. Pulling a short length of porcupine quill out of her bag, she put her hair up in a messy bun between her horns.
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Her wondering about how much time has passed gives him pause. His lips twitch into a snarl for a moment as she shortens his name but he lets it slip for now, focusing on the rest of what she has to say. The mention of the name Sgarsiathoryx rouses a short chuckle, but it fades at the mention of it having been two centuries since he died. The death of magic? A dragon city? His head tilts and his eyes look off to the side in contemplation. A large claw taps on the cool stone below him as he struggles to process all of this information.

He's unsure as to the nature of this half dragon's relationship with her father, but regardless he speaks his mind without hesitation. "Sgarsiathoryx was a hideous stain. In his death I sincerely hope he is no more than a footnote on history." His voice grumbles as he reflects on the time he spent alive before he was frozen. The rest of his questions and what he has to say swim around his head and he needs to shut his eyes for a moment. He takes a deep breath and refocuses on her, piecing his thoughts together before speaking again. "What do you mean when you say Death of Magic?" He feels compelled to also accuse her of taking advantage of his state to lie to him about the passing of time and an organized dragon city, but he settles with this single question for now.
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The lapses of drip-filled silence between their words was awkwardly long, but the half-dragon seemed to expect it, doing a bit of preening on her perch while she waited for Big White to process.

"Now now. I'm sure he never managed to accomplish anything quite so spectacular as getting himself frozen solid." She didn't bother to correct Genrit about the tyrannical, historical red. She doubted he'd believe her anyways until he heard it from another dragon. Even his next question was laced with suspicion.

Drache flared her wings and then folded them back again, settling them along her back to where they rested comfortably on either side of her backpack. "That was three hundred years ago. One day there was magic in the world and the next, there wasn't." The half-breed's eyes grew distant, her pupils contracting into thin lines, her tone changing to that of a story-teller.

"I wasn't yet born, of course, so I don't remember what the world was like. But after magic died everything changed, especially for dragons. There were wars. There were great dragon hunts. Many of the remaining dragons gathered at the volcano and struck a deal with the dwarves to build Pyresia. It's very beautiful there. Though mny of the oldest dragons prefer their grubby lairs and either robbing villages or scratching ores from the ground with their own claws."
She lifted her clawed fingers to mime a scratching motion that looked more like the rapid motions of a rodent, poking fun at those wild-living dragons, obviously suspecting that Genrit's preference would lay along those lines. Her thoughts on the matter remained unspoken.

"And so magic has been gone for three centuries...until this year." A self-satisfied sort of squirm in her tail suggested that the return of magic she spoke of was as much a personal matter as a universal one. On a whim, she stood up and moved even closer, even reaching out to touch the spot on his snout between his nostrils with her palm. As she approached, the feverish heat of a fire-breather radiated towards Genrit.

"You've missed much, it seems. But a history lesson while up to my ankles in ice is getting less appealing by the second. Laying in it isn't doing you any favours either, handsome. The sun is set by now but it's summer so the night is warm enough." She glanced up into his eyes, a crooked smile playing around the corners of her mouth. Her tone softened, growing less snarky and more enticing "Come join me. You've been down here long enough, I think."
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He remains silent in thought. Even as her hand rests on his snout, his eyes gaze blankly ahead of him. Three centuries without magic... He himself has been alive for 122 years. But... A sickening feeling hits his stomach as some of his memory returns. He had tried to break free, but something was missing. He could not gather the heat required to melt the ice. Does that mean...? He blinks a few times, only catching the last part of her offer to leave. His talons dig into the floor as he readies himself to stand, his body having eased up considerably.

"If that is true... I must be over four hundred years old now." He's speaking more to himself than her as he lifts himself up. Water drips off of his scales and wings, temporarily filling the cave with what almost sounds like rain. Now that he is finally standing he has regained some of the dignity of his appearance, as opposed to the sad display earlier. He shakes his head quickly, flinging some water off of his horns. "Though excuse my skepticism. I will need to see this all for myself." A long sigh escapes his mouth, coupled with an intense heat. He agrees that it's about time he left this cave.

Genrit'khaath smoothly exits the cave, dragging himself out the same way he has hundreds of times before. The warm air of the night prompts a small relieved sigh as he steps out into the open ground. The area around his home definitely looks the same, but the signs of change are definitely there. It's as though he has stepped into an alternate version of the world he once knew. A much older one. But this is only the immediate area that he can see, there is still so much more to investigate. His wings twitch as he feels compelled to fly, to see if what the half dragon had to say is true. It really can't be true...

But the pain still in his wings makes it clear that doing so will not be possible tonight. His body droops slightly while he looks around, temporarily forgetting about the presence of the small woman. He feels so lost in such a familiar environment. The pain and fear from earlier has clearly shaken him. To the point that he doesn't even stop to admire the ways his wet scales shine in the moonlight. He sits down on his haunches and looks up at the sky. Some white flame smolders out of the corners of his mouth as he contemplates recent events.
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Cold water sluiced from the large white dragon as he moved about, and Drache's snout twisted with dislike as she tried to shake the frigid drops off, her eyebrow raised balefully at Genrit until he began to depart. "Tch! Rude." With a disgusted huff, she gripped the heavy bag tightly and struggled after him, hopping from ledge to ledge on the way out, paying closer attention this time to avoid another sledge-ride down into the darkness. It was a miracle she hadn't broken anything the first time around!

"Maybe he'll fly away and I'll get to keep it. It's only fair," she reasoned wishfully. But she found Genrit sulking just outside with his eyes lifted towards the stars and plopped the bag down with a muffled jingle.

With her hands on her hips, Drachiathoryx sighed smokily, watching the big dragon thoughtfully and trying to decide what to do. Not that it was any of her responsibility of course! Crickets sang into the warm night and the long grass growing between the stone rustled against the breeze.

"There, there. It's not all bad, is it? You'll be full of fire and fury in no time, Genrit. Look, you've already got a nice shine to your scales." Vanity. A nearly universal vice among dragons. She may have patted him on the shoulder if she wasn't slightly concerned he might yet try to eat her. "It's a whole new world for you to explore now. Pyresia is that way." She gestured northwest with her wingtip. Whether he would chose to join the City of Wyrms or avoid it, he should know where it was. "The Skytalons and Duelists have laudi painted on their wings."

It occured to the shiny-seeker that with his knowledge Genrit might be able to help her find fresh placed to dig. Places no one else remembered. But she held her tongue on that subject for now.
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His head arcs to the side to look at her as she speaks. A whole new world indeed. He extends a claw out and observes the light shining off of his scales as he thinks to himself. A city of dragons... Definitely somewhere he should avoid, especially with her mentioning of there being an alliance with Dwarves. Dwarves! A race not worth trusting at all, by Genrit's standards. Let alone worth trusting enough to live alongside. He lowers his claw and his eyes slowly analyze her, taking a better look at the creature who saved him from oblivion. Sgarsiathoryx's daughter, huh? He can see the resemblance. Though for her sake he hopes she's not nearly as unsavory.

There is something he needs to mention now, however.

"When were you planning to ask if I'll allow you to take my gold?" His tone is more stern, challenging. Internally he admits that she deserves it, given her actions. But he needs to get back to how he was, and challenging her on this is a good way to start. He plans on allowing her to keep the gold if she argues in some way, but he will not reward submissiveness in any way. She may only be half dragon, but she must still have some backbone.
Hidden 9 yrs ago Post by Drache
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True to her word, the summer night was warm with stars twinkling above and fireflies drifting lazily among the trees in the distant woods. The half-dragon's eyes were mischievous always, especially as she watched Genrit watching her, spiral horns tilted slightly as if to ask if he liked what he saw, already knowing that he probably didn't.

In spite of that suspicion, she wasn't phased. Grumpy dragons were part of life and she tried to not let it get under her scales.

"Ohhh," Drache smiled slowly, slyly. "I wasn't planning to ask at all. I fully intended to make off with it all for myself, of course. Digging up forgotten goodies is what I do." Shameless, she gave him a salacious wink, implying both that Genrit had been quite forgotten by the world around him while he was frozen in ice, and that she considered him a 'goody', for whatever that might be worth. "Gold buys me meals and I get to keep the more interesting things I find."

Stretching a little, Drachiathoryx stood up and moved closer to the white drake, reaching over to pry one of the few chunks of ice from between his scales before walking around him, her palm sliding across his scales, just to see if he would let her get away with it. She could already feel the heat radiating from his skin, as it did her own, though much more intensely.

Hopping over his tail and coming around to stand at the other shoulder, she continued. "In this case I thought only to free your corpse and allow it to rot like it's supposed to. Unfortunately, you had to spoil things by being alive. I brought it up here both so that I could carry it off if you flew away, and also to have something other than my lovely tail to feed you if you got a hungry look in your eye. It occurs to me that I should expect at least a share of the gold...but I have a better idea."

She moved out in front of him so that he didn't have to arch his neck to look down at her, though she was well within reach of his teeth, which was perhaps why her wings were partly unfurled if she needed to flee rapidly. Her forked tongue slid around her lips as she considered him.

"Keep your gold. You can even have the sack I put it in. But in exchange for freeing you I want one thing. You'll owe me a favour in the future. Anything I might think of."
Hidden 9 yrs ago Post by Tuddums
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Tuddums I Am Blue.

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His judgmental expression doesn't change the slightest as he watches her. His pale eyes remain watching her face intensely. Judging by the way he looks at her it's clear that his interest in her is only kept because of the situation he finds himself in. If they had met before he was frozen he very well may have just eaten her if he found her too annoying to deal with. It's always good to put a half breed in their place every so often.

One of his claws digs into the earth when she touches him and his muscles tense, shifting his scales against her hand. Dangerous. But he lets it slip in order to allow her to finish what she has to say. His impatience mounts as she goes on her little spiel, some smoke coming from his nostrils. A scavenger indeed. He has nothing ill to say about scavengers, being one himself at the end of the day. But at least he doesn't feel the need to act so mischievous. Regardless, he understands what she's talking about and her reasoning.

The offer she makes, however...

Genrit'khaath slowly leans his head down, bringing it directly in front of her. His eyes practically start burning holes into her as he takes a steady breath, the exhale bathing her in heat. He's quiet for a few moments, glaring her down. Eventually he opens his mouth slightly, giving her a clear view of his rows of sharp teeth as he speaks, his words practically dripping with venom. "You have saved my life. I am not too proud as to not recognize this. Keep the gold as a reward." A deep growl rises from his throat as he continues. "Now, if you ask me for a favor I will consider it. But do not assume you have any sort of control over me."

Another wave of heat exits his bladed maw. "Understand?"
Hidden 9 yrs ago 9 yrs ago Post by Drache
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Even at six feet, including her horns, the crimson-scaled fire-breather has no size on the white dragon whatsoever. Her impish grin dissolved into a concerned wariness and she backed up a step or two as the deadly visage swung down to face her. Close, uncomfortably so due to the anger in Genrit's eyes. Strangely, the heat washing over her was of little consequence compared to the gleam of weapons lurking behind his lips. If there was anything in the brief staring contest for Drache to be proud of it was that she didn't look away, but the only reason she didn't turn tail and run is that she couldn't quite remember how her legs worked, and there was a thought that if she did run, it might only make him more likely to give chase, like a cat after a mouse!

Her usual exuberance cowed, Drache gave a tilt of her horns. "I never thought to control you, Genrit'khaath," her tone was somewhat hurt, softer now as the full name rolled off her tongue with ease. Whatever game she was playing with him, at the end of the day it wasn't meant to be a cruel one. "I just thought a drake in an ice cube might be a bit different than the ones I'm used to. Seems I was right, but not in the way I hoped."

She bent down and hoisted the bag of gold over her shoulder, moving cautiously under his fell gaze. He didn't have to tell her twice to take it. "And now I must say farewell, because I have a long walk ahead of me."

Stars twinkled as Drache turned without further ado and her talons carried her to the north and west. But after a dozen paces or so she turned in profile to look back at him. "You know...there are a lot of blue dragons in Pyresia."

Not expecting a reply, she turned and disappeared down the hill towards the forest.
Hidden 9 yrs ago Post by Tuddums
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Tuddums I Am Blue.

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His expression doesn't change in the slightest as she replies. If anything, it grows harsher. It's not until she takes her gold and starts to leave that he lifts his head up again, chin turned up. He is a proud and powerful creature, he refuses to waste his time on such a petty encounter, especially when she responds with such defeat.

But when she mentions Pyresia, he takes pause. A long talon taps against a rock in thought. "So there are..." His head dips and he looks down as he mulls this over. Drache finally disappears from view, leaving him to the silence of the night. He takes slow, deliberate breaths as he determines what he is going to do now that he's free, taking into account just how much time has passed.

It's in this moment that Genrit acknowledges just how alone he is. Before he was frozen he at least knew a few trustworthy dragons. But they could easily have died during the death of magic, let alone the other hazards dragons can face over hundreds of years. It could be an entirely different world now.

And he's alone.

Genrit's gaze turns up to the stars, his brilliant white scales shining bright as ever in the moonlight. At least the night sky hasn't changed. He holds onto this. He thinks of Drache briefly, wondering if he should have tried to keep her around long enough to gain his bearings. But it can't be helped, he needed to maintain his honour. Even after spending hundreds of years frozen, he holds onto this.

All he has now is his pride and the night sky.

He holds onto these things.
Hidden 9 yrs ago 9 yrs ago Post by Twhirtley
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Twhirtley The Appalachian

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Drachiathoryx


Skills
Aerobatics: 3
Bodybuilding: 1
Observation: 6
Archaeology: 5
Land Navigation: 1
Wilderness Survival: 1
Spelunking: 1
Acrobatics: 2
Tracking: 1
Drawing: 1
Elementalism: 3
Physics: 1
Persuasion: 2
Socialization: 7
Leadership: 2
Negotiation: 1
Intimidation: 1
Writing: 1

Knowledge:
Archaeology: Straight Lines are Unnatural in Nature
Tracking: Dragon Claw Marks
Genrit’khaath: Fire Breath
Location: Genrit’khaath's Cave

Other
Mysterious Book 1 - Written in what appears to be a dwarven language. If brought to a dwarf, and translated/transcribed, will reveal details that will lead to several dwarven supply depots in the Underdark around Pyresia.
Mysterious Book 2 - Written in Draconic, Journal of Dreusilliax. Tells the tales of a female black dragon that fought against a nation known as Ebonfort.
Mysterious Book 3 - Written in Common, a Merchant's Manifest and Travel Log. Shows a ceramics merchant's inventory and traveling between villages, prior to the Death of Magic
Mysterious Book 4 - Written in an unrecognizable language.

If you wish for anymore of these details to be revealed, Drache must seek them out in story, then I be contacted to reveal more. :D

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Genrit’khaath


Skills
Bodybuilding: 1
Observation: 4
Intimidation: 3
Storytelling: 1
Socialization: 2
Negotiation: 1

Knowledge:
Drachiathoryx: Half-Breed
Drachiathoryx: Sired by Sgarsiathoryx the Red
The Death of Magic: Three Centuries Ago
Pyresia: A City of Dragons and Dwarves
Magic has recently returned
Thought: I was frozen for over 300 years
Pyresia: Northwest of my Cave

Other
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