Drache

Ebonfort

Ringing in the New Year has been started between Asher and Trix! Check it out!

[Ebonfort] Ringing in the New Year

@Twhirtley

[Ebonfort] Ringing in the New Year

Starting Date and Time: 51st Day of Ceruleo, 300 DM, mid-day

Starting Location: Thunderfang Camp, Kerawac (Valley of Screamers)

CS URLs: Asher & Verissa Beatrix Greenlakes aka Trix

The wind whistled, split into twin zephyrs that shrieked in outrage as the keen edge of the sword sang through the air. Over and over again, the blade swung and pierced nothing, the motion humming through the ornate handle. On the outside the cruelly-curving falchion looked more like a decoration than a stout weapon for use in combat, but the rippling grooves were precise, lining up with the dirty creases in a fighter's callused hand, keeping the deadly thing in a solid grip through the horror and clamour of war. The naked blade was cold in the winter wind, as was the man who wielded it, though through the comforting and familiar burn and ache of his arms, shoulders and back, sweat trickling down the lines of muscle and sticking the tattered linen tunic to his frame, he did not notice it. There may have been a practice dummy dangling despondently from a post in front of him, so grubby and drab because it perfectly matched the dead winter grass growing all around. But if the blade touched the thing at all it was only a light touch to confirm a scored hit in the wielder's mind.

He was far from the strongest or fastest or cleverest fighter in the Thunderfang tribe, but he was practiced enough to no longer needlessly destroy practice dummies to keep himself in shape. The real fight was happening in his mind, as eyes glinting at him from underneath a helm of blackest night loomed before, the fires of which he intended to snuff completely.

"Ash!"

The loud, abrupt sound of his name shocked Asher out of his zone, causing him to dissect the dummy's face in the middle of wear the eye should have been if it wasn't dangling somewhere around the shoulder by a long, frayed cord. How fitting, Ash thought, a scar to match my own.

Bringing the blade up and out of play, the fighter turned to face whoever was calling him, feeling the training haze blow away and a dull ache in his muscles rise up to his consciousness. The sounds of the huge camp around him finally penetrated, having been kept out for over an hour by the hiss of his own breath as he practiced.

Children laughed as they chased each other through the tents and livestock pens where the animals bleated and fussed. On the other side of the camp, there was a shrill, high squeal as a riding raptor protested something-or-other. The occasional wagon lumbered by, carving a road through the flattened plain that wasn't there before and would be erased by the creeping grass as soon as the tribe moved on. The chattering of his tribe ebbed and flowed like the waves of the sea, and all was underscored by the deep, repetitive clanging of a blacksmith's hammer. It was this sound above all others that told Ash why Sedrik was standing just outside the chalked-off training pit and screaming his name like a cursed banshee.

"Mornin' Sed. Chief Ozlo wants me." It was not a question, and Sed, who had already opened his mouth to say just that, snapped it shut with a glower.

"How'd you know that?" Sedrik pouted unbecomingly, watching Asher slide the wicked blade into a leather scabbard and then sling the whole thing over one shoulder so that it settled against his back. The dark-haired swordman suppressed a shiver, feeling the winter's cold against his sweat-soaked skin.

"I can hear Gault pounding away," Ash replied simply, joining the other man as they both threaded their way through the haphazardly-organized camp towards the pavilion tent loosely located in the center. Every time the Thunderfang tribe moved there was an attempt at making sure the next campsite would be better organized, but with so many people to manage, so many slaves and livestock, so many differing needs and opinions, the camp always ended up splattered across the rolling grassland with only the barest hint at a pattern. It was something of a running joke now. Noting that Sed's sandy-brown eyebrow was still lifted questioningly, Asher sighed and ran his fingers along his jaw, making the stubble creak.

"You've gotta learn to pay attention, Sed. We were supposed to move camp tomorrow, and since Gault has all that heavy shit to load up on that wagon of his he usually starts in advance."

"Yeah, so? Maybe he's slacked off."

"Raptor tits, kid! If Gault's got his equipment out and he's usin' it, he knows we're not actually movin' tomorrow. But if he knows that for a fact and I don't, that means Ozlo told him directly. Which means now I have to go to a war council to find out who we're raiding and when."

With the rains sweeping the Kerawac every other day, everything in the camp below knee-high was splattered with chilly mud. The warlord's tent was no exception, the only difference between this tent and the rest, other than the size, was the huge shaggy dun horse standing immovably in front of the tent flap.

"Password?" The horse asked as the two men approached, lifting his huge head with a bob. His black mane was cut into a jagged mowhawk that was apparently supposed to be intimidating. Asher crossed his arms over his torso and the dark 'v' of damp linen left over from his workout.

"Hiram, do you even remember the password?"

The earth pony's ears flicked backwards and he snorted irritably, stomping a huge hoof. The gesture may have been more impressive had the hoof not come down with a rather obscene squelch in the mud, and had the horse not then let his ears droop as he realized he did not, in fact, remember the password.

With more sucking sounds of hooves in muck, the horse moved to the side, which meant that his rump moved while the rest remained where it was. "Swordmasters and Shadewalkers only," he whickered, regaining some of his decorum by at least making sure that Sed remained outside.

Ash grinned at Sed and ducked under the flap, his storm-grey eyes adjusting to the dim light inside. Warlord Ozlo's tent was divided into two parts. On one side was his sleeping room, and from that direction Asher could pick out the quiet voices of at least two women talking and giggling.

But on this side was the space the grizzled chieftain used for the day-to-day planning of the Thunderfang tribe's activities. A shallow brazier sparked and guttered, the pan hanging from a chain on a stand. The warmth it provided was a welcome relief from the stiff breeze outside, though the fickle light it provided left much to be desired. If the young Swordmaster hadn't been so inately used to it, he might have recognized the mixed scent of leather and woodsmoke that permeated everything in the camp. Instead, he noticed only the yeasty tang of ale in the wood mugs or horn cups those present were holding. Scattered around the edges of the impromptu room were various skills and tanned hides of fierce Kerawac beasts mixed with expensive or intricate objects of wealth looted from Ebonfort.

True to the somewhat dim earth pony's word, the people inside the tent, all turning to peer at Asher as he joined the circle, appeared to be all Swordmasters and Shadewalkers of his own tribe. The only person Ash recognized as an outsider was Jacko, a Shadewalker of the Crimson Vines tribe, who were known for their exceptional blood-thirst and their ferocious Warlord. Perhaps a dozen figures in all, including the Warlord, who sat with his elbows on his long legs and his thin fingers laced thoughtfully under his chin. He was peering down at an unrolled map on the polished slab of wood serving as a table. Asher had just enough time to note that the area depicted was not that of Scream Watch, which any Kvaren fighter big enough to weild a weapon would recognize, before he was being addressed.

"Ah, Ash. 'Bout time you got here. What took you so long?" The speaker was an enormous woman with her dark brown hair shaved close to her head other than a long rat-tail braid behind her left ear.

"Hello Ursha. I was just..."

"Training," Ozlo finished for him, and Ash gave a curt nod. "You're always training. It's a wonder that curved blade of yours hasn't grown attached to your arm. You're dad'd be proud."

There was a unanamous chuckle around the room at Ash's expense, but he just shrugged and waited. As the youngest Swordmaster he his voice had little weight compared to the others and it was best to just wait to see what this was all about.

"Anyways," one of the Shadewalkers continued, "there is going to be a huge festival on the grassy side of the river. Most of the town will be out there drinking and dancing." The slender young human speaking wore a plain leather coat over a blue shirt and green suede vest, and instead of a weapon slung over his shoulder, Ash noticed the distinctive shape of a lyre case. Many of the Shadewalkers were those who could wander in and out of Ebonfort settlements with skills that gave them a pretense to do so.

"They won't be unprotected," another Swordmaster who was idly spinning a huge hammer in his meaty hands pointed out gruffly.

"Of course not, Maz, but the knights will be stretched a bit thinner than usual protecting both the city and the festival grounds."

"Hmm." The stocky hammer-thrower grunted non-committally.

Ozlo was looking around at his council of advisors, shrewd blue eyes observing them all. "The timing is right. They wont be expecting an attack on Ruby Banks so soon after Silent Rise." He glanced at Jacko, whose grin was without any mirth at all. "Not on a holiday. We could strike the fairground and slip away before the knights can bring enough men over the bridges to hit us back."

"What good is hitting the fairground?" Ursha disagreed bluntly. "We could bring home many slaves but the meat of Ruby Banks is in the city itself. The craft shops and the store-houses."

"You've clearly never been to an Ebonfort Festival, Ursha," one of the Shadewalkers said with a laugh. "They'll haul so much in goods out for the festival that picking what we want would be like gathering apples after a windfall."

Having been a Kvaran warrior most of her life, Ursha conceded that she had never actually seen an Ebonfort festival and shrugged her masculine shoulders. The discussion was far from formal, which Ozlo preferred. Maintaining strict control was impossible, and he wanted the decision to be one reached by majority consensus.

Ash had little to add, though he felt the excitement building up inside him, and was a little surprised to find Ozlo's eyes on him. "This will be the first raid lead by the Thunderfangs in at least four years. You've been in charge of training all the new recruits in that time. Maz tells me you're a devil with your sword and that your men are right behind you. Are they ready?"

"Yes," Ash replied without any hesitation. "They could use better equipment, but you'll find each of them handy with a weapon and ready to test their mettle against Ebonfort scum."

A circle of grins greeted his words, though many of the eyes above them were silently calculating him.

--

"Swordmaster, wait up," a voice stopped Ash as he was making his way back to his own tent. Too intent on gathering his fighters to begin preparations for the raid, Ash only slowed his stride rather than stopped, taking a swift gulp of the Kvaren ale out of a horn of some kind of monster. So many of them had horns or tusks or other horrible features it was hard to identify for sure. Sedrik, who was walking beside Ash, looked over his shoulder.

"It's Marlow," he said, quite useleslly as the musician from the meeting arrived, slowing his pace to walk on Ash's other side.

"What is it, Marlow," Ash asked, turning to eye the shorter man. Marlow's eyes raked the faint scar down Ash's eyebrow.

"I wanted to let you know, Sergeant Brynmor is currently stationed at Ruby Banks. He should be there for the festival."

Everything stopped. Ash's breath caught and he stopped walking, turning slowly to face Marlow, his eyes so intent that the soft musician backed up a step.

Gareth Brynmor. The knight whose patrol had stumbled across a small party of Kvaren traveling between tribes to share news. A party that had included Ash's beloved Wren. He could still see her dark skin and black hair every night when he slept. He hadn't been present when the Lieutenant had stabbed her through the belly with his black sword, but he had imagined every excruciating, agonizing detail in the years that followed. He had cursed the man with every foul vitriol he could conceive of every time he wondered how life would be for him now if his wife and unborn child were still with him.

Every moment spent honing his skills and serving his tribe in the last ten years had been performed in homage to Wren's memory, and he had sworn at her funeral to kill Brynmor one day. Raiding Ruby Banks was exciting enough, but Ash was suddenly filled with a wild urgency.

"Sergeant Brynmor?"

"Aye. He was promoted earlier this year."

Ash turned to look at Sed, his friend who perhaps understood better than most how important slaying his wife's murderer was to him, and was surprised to find Sed frowning uncertainly.

"What's wrong, Sed? This is the best news I've heard all week. I'm finally gonna to get my chance!"

"Ash...I know what you want to do but...you should be careful..."

Something in Sed's cautionary tone only made Ash angry and the intensity in his face resolved suddenly into a scowl. "Don't give me that weak shit, Sed. I'm going to kill that bastard, no matter what it takes."

"That's what I'm afraid of, Ash. If you want to throw yourself against a sergeant that's all on you, but don't you have a responsibility to your fighters too?"

Ash's teeth ground together. "What about my responsibility to my wife, Sedrik?! I wasn't there to protect her when she needed me! I wasn't there for her or the baby, and the least I can do is get justice for what he did to them!" His voice had grown until his was nearly screaming in Sed's face, and Marlow was looking around nervously. Others in the camp were peering curiously.

"Ash, calm down," Sed held his hands up, palms out. "No one here is going to tell you that what happened to them wasn't horrible, but no matter who you kill, it isn't going to bring her back, mate. And killing one specific knight isn't going to make a difference."

Distantly, Ash realized that there was something else to this that Sed was concerned about, but he was too far into rage to examine it at the moment. "It makes a difference to me," he spat.

"Don't you dare try to convince me otherwise, Sed. It's been ten years. I'm not going to put anyone else in jeopardy to get at Brynmor, but no one better get in my way either."

"Maybe you should just think about getting another woman, Asher. Good-looking guy like you, you wouldn't even have to drag a slave back to get laid, eh?"

There was just enough time for Sedrik to mutter "Oh, no" before Asher's fist connected with Marlow's face, his nose snapping quite satisfactorily as blood splattered all over the musician's cheeks.

--

61st Day of Ceruleo, 300 DM, sunset

The day of the celebration was clear but cold, so cold that many in the Thunderfang camp were convinced that the snows of the north would arrive to suffocate them all. Most of these people had never seen snow, but Asher had once, and hoped never to again. Much of the day was spent traveling across the plains, following the various rivers and skirting around hills to keep out of sight to any patrols. Choosing a distance that was too far to be noticed but close enough to offer a convenient staging ground was always a challenge, since every time they raided they had to avoid using a spot that they had used too recently and might be checked by black-steel scouts.

Asher road his grullo horse, named Phantom for her grey coat, ahead of a line of his fellow fighters on their own mounts, some of which were Earth Ponies who were just as much a part of the tribe as the two-legged people who rode on their backs.

The Swordmaster was protected from the chill sting of his breastplate by a padded vest, though he had to simply deal with the same from the graves and vambraces shielding his limbs. He disliked the constricting weight of too much plate or chain, so a simple studded leather warskirt kept him slightly lighter in the saddle. The cloak around his throat kept the high, cold sun from glinting off his armour as they moved swiftly along.

"I can't wait to get my hands on a nice soft craftsman's daughter. They always scream so nicely..." a voice chuckled nearby. Preoccupied with playing out the inevitable fight with Sergeant Brynmor, it took Asher a moment to realize what the men ahead of him were talking about. The one on the right, Jasper, was sliding his tongue along the edge of a slender fillet knife. "It's a shame the one I bought from the Vines didn't even last the summer."

Asher could barely suppress a shudder. Most slaves captured by Kvaren were put to practical use, labouring or crafting for the betterment of a tribe's quality of life. But sometimes they met horrific ends at the hands of cruel-minded flayers like Jasper, though there was always some lame excuse when their bodies ended up in shallow graves. Ash had only taken a slave once, a young half-elf who had turned out to be so irritating that the Swordmaster had traded him to one of the herd-keepers for Phantom.

It was nearly nightfall when Asher's group arrived at the hastily-erected camp to wait until the revelers were well and truly drunk. They were close enough that when the wind was right they could hear the music. But all Asher could think about, as he polished his sword and quadruple checked his saddle and his armour and those of his fighters, was avenging Wren by plunging his blade in Brynmor's belly.

Ebonfort

Dragon, On the Rocks is complete and ready to be reviewed. Thanks Tuddums, I enjoyed this immensely! :)

[Ebonfort] Dragon, On the Rocks

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.

[Ebonfort] Dragon, On the Rocks

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."

A Heart Frozen (Ebonfort)

Notes:
Shouldn't it be a transition from deciduous trees (such as maple) to conifers (pine)?

@Foster

Not necessarily. Even if they are traveling further north, they did come down out of the mountains into a lower-lying forest, which could easily offer the landscape a relief from harsher weather that might allow deciduous trees, or at least broadleaf evergreens to grow.

Must figure out what sort of conversation occurred between Rilana and Chartose besides a re-hash of the one with Kladissa.
-Tricia

@Foster

I'd be happy to either RP this with you in a separate thread (prefer!) or hash it out over PM/Skype. :)

Final note: Chartose Treeshredder.

@Foster

lol. Who knows. Rilana may have been wrong in her assumptions. However, I did just get the mental image of Chartrose scratching on an Ent the way my cats go after their scratching posts. XD

A Heart Frozen (Ebonfort)

Whatever her misgivings, Envoy Rilana took her task seriously. It wasn't necessarily the repercussions of failing Svarak and his knights that worried her, but the simple fact of not being able to live with herself if harm came to these people under her care. Harm she might be able to avoid. Still certain that she was not the right person for this, no matter what Svarak has said, she lead the group into the wilds, using a lifetime of wandering to help her guide them. It was an interesting exercise, forcing her to put intuition and instinct into words when one of the knights or civilians asked her about her choices. Mostly she rode next to Alya and Echo, finding the diminutive mute's presence comforting even without the distraction of conversation. But sometimes she rode next to Svarak at the head of the line, though she did not speak to him much. Instead, she spoke to Kona inside her mind, her placid expression sometimes cracking to reveal a smile or a frown when the invisible gryphon said something exceptionally noteworthy.

The only thing that offered her a majour distraction in those first few days was Cartrose's scream-raptor, which the druid found fascinating even though she wasn't sure a reptile belonged in the icy Frostfell at all. When the trail was easy and clear, she had a million questions for the Charr mercenary about his mount, and was both disappointed and relieved that talking to him didn't make her nearly as uncomfortable as Svarak did.

At night, she looked after her horse before she looked after herself, brushing him down and scraping all the ice from his fetlocks, picking stones from his shoe-less hooves and wrapping him with a fur-lined blanket before she turned in. She curled up with Ortha in her tiny tent and slept fitfully, dreaming horrible dreams.

When the expedition crossed into the greener woods, the darkness under the trees didn't bother her at first. Snow always had a tendency to make things look grim and gloomy as it settled on high boughs and blocked out the light, muffling the world. But when the mounts and Echo began to fuss, Rilana watched the forest around them with care. She expected wolves or direwolves. Or a leopard. Even gryphons or bears or cave lions. But she saw nothing exceptional.

Kona?

I sense nothing that you don't.

You might if I let you out.

But she wasn't quite ready to perform that trick in public.

Ortha isn't bothered.

Her instincts mean nothing in this place.

It was true. The plate-skinned reptilian chimera was draped over Bruin's saddlebags, watching Echo with one head and the closest ram with the other, seemingly unphased with what was irritating the rest of the animals. Even the fjord-horse was tossing his mane, and when he looked sharply in one direction or the other, Rilana could see the whites of his eyes.

The moon fey's expression was stony in response to Svarak's words and she pulled Bruin off the trail.

How helpful he is.

Whatever it is, game passes through here often enough. But I don't see anything in the trees.

It was wrong for it to smell so stale and stuffy. The air should have been crisp and fresh with the scent of sap from the trees.

The trees. Rilana's eyes rose slowly, considering the woody limbs and trunks as though seeing them for the first time.

"They"?

Stars above, I hope that's not what he meant!

With a tone that was both calm and stern, "If everyone would just continue in single file, please. Slow and steady. Put your ram's nose in the tail of the one in front of you and keep going. No weapons, no torches, and no talking."

[Ebonfort] Dragon, On the Rocks

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.

[Ebonfort] Dragon, On the Rocks

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."