Drache

[Ebonfort] Ringing in the New Year

Shenzi listened with her head cocked to the side in a very doglike fashion. Her gaze was piercing as it darted all over the place, as though she not only noticed everything but perceived far more than she should.

This slave volunteered quite a bit, not at all grimly monosyllabic as many slaves were. She showed promise, and Shenzi believed her when she spoke of her occupation. Beaming, fangs showing, the aaenshi wandered over to the table under the mirror, not at all shy about rummaging through Asher's things until she found a copper basin and a kettle, filling it with a waterskin and setting it on the cute little potbelly stove.

"Very good! Anyone who knows the art of healing and finding the power in growing things is very valuable here. If you want to continue healing there will be plenty of work for you." She slung the bag off her shoulder and handed it to Varissa with her paw before folding her legs and sinking cross-legged to the floor. She eyed the pups curiously, making a short "whuff" in their direction. "There will be plenty of work for you anyways, but it can be something you know."

How interesting that Varissa was quick to show her concern for her kidnapper. Was that the genuine concern of a Healer, or a show to earn Shenzi's trust?

"Of course he's weak. The fool will probaby feint before Ozlo stops patting him on the back. The Swordmaster is as stubborn and proud as any young man," the jackal-faced woman said, rolling her eyes. "He's expected to show his face at the Warlord's tent after a raid. Not doing so would be losing face, especially if he's not there to receive congratulations for killing a Sergeant." Shenzi tut-tutted again. "Men, tch. They might give him a pass if he was missing a leg."

"But tell me, if you're so concerned with Asher's wounds, tell me how you would treat the man. You talk while I take a look at your back." Testing more than just Varissa's knowledge, Shenzi waited while her deft paws dug quickly through her own kit, producing dressings and corked ceramic pots that filled the air with the familiar astringent scent of antiseptics. "He was quick to tell me you needed tending." Even if Varissa wasn't looking, there was a wink in the Aaenshi's voice.

"You're a brave girl, I think. You'll do well here, if you want to. I'm sure you'll have many questions when the shock wears off." It was a soft prompting for the human to speak.

A Heart Frozen (Ebonfort)

Rilana too, flinched at the sound of the scream, guessing it to be Lyle's as the foolish drunk met with an unfortunate end. The burden of leadership was heavy on her shoulders as she forced herself to believe that her responsibility was to the group as a whole and getting involved in such a one-sided fight over one man would have been courageous, but a disservice to those she had promised to lead. The argument sounded good in her mind, but she still felt guilty for leaving the man behind.

Entering the cave was of no particular concern to the Moon Fey, as she'd been spelunking some in the past, and watching the glowing sword (as well as Svarak's powerful back) was a pleasant distraction from the monotanous walls. Bruin was nervous in these close quarters, but Rilana reassured him often, knowing that these hard floors would be better than slogging it through the snows. Ortha in particular seemed to be happier in here than the outside, sliding from the saddlehorse to slink along on the ground, investigating.

It struck her as odd that the temperature seemed to plummet around them. Protected from the wind and ice, caves were usually a bit more pleasant than the outside. Paying slightly more attention to the path ahead than the sounds of those behind, Rilana missed the moment when half of the party vanished. She was too concerned with the roots above wondering if they belonged to treants like the ones they had recently left.

When the walls opened up into a larger cavern, Rilana turned back to say something to Alya, only to discover that the mute musician was no longer there! Startled, her breath catching in her throat, the Envoy reigned Bruin to a halt. "Alya?"

"Stop!" Her exclamation was not overly loud, but urgent with her concern. "Alya and the rest are missing. Did anyone see if they turned off back there?"

When it inevitably turned out that no one had, Rilana wheeled the horse around, ready to plunge back into the root-filled maze.

"Check the entrance and tell me what lies beyond. Are we almost to the other side here?" She eyed the suspicious drow woman, at least glad that this one wasn't the one who had looked daggers at her in Stone Crest. Perhaps Drisceya had killed the other one while they were scouting in the woods. Rilana had no way to know how much of this underground passage they had left to traverse and had to rely on the dark elf to tell her.

Moving her horse around to stand near Svarak's ram, the Moon Fey glanced at the charr, frowning worriedly. "We should look for them. I didn't see any side-passages on the way but the roots were so thick." She couldn't stand the thought of Alya wandering around in the darkness, even if she was with some armed knights.

Rilana considered sending Ortha to hunt them down, but the balauradon was still terribly young, and their Bond was still too new.

Send me?
Not unless I have no other choice. I'd rather go myself.

[Ebonfort] Four Little Orclings, Mean and Green

The woods showed signs of occasional habitation the occasional remains of a burned out croft long since overgrown, a half of a wagon wheel, trees whose limbs had been neatly sawed off, the stumps healed but permanent. But other than the occasional rustle of native wildlife, the path through to the forested valley was uneventful.

Until Pasho walked face-first into a spiderweb because she was busy snacking on her beef jerky. The second-youngest orc sister flailed noisily, snatching the clinging strands from her face and where they had tangled neatly around her prominent tusks. The creepy-crawly sensation of a big nasty spider skittering around in her corn-rows didn't help, and the composure of Bula's small band shattered as the girls either tried (only partially successfully) to help, or nearly busted out of their leather from laughing and snorting too hard.

They had reached the edge of the murky forest, the trees more gnarled and ancient than closer to the river. The low branches were thick with fuzzy lichens and toadstools, festooned with clumps of gray moss. And in the gloom the dew-glittered strands of cobwebs clung to everything, the eight-legged denizens creeping along branches, waiting for tiny prey to blunder haplessly into their traps.
Something pale yellow in the roots of one of the older trees caught Pasho's eye and she seized it eagerly, partly to make up for her earlier silliness. "Look Bula, a child's toy sword." The unfinished wood hadn't yet faded with the work of the elements.

[Ebonfort] Ringing in the New Year

Asher spotted a familiar face coming his way as he moved somewhat haltingly towards the bright festive glow of the Warlord's tent, intercepting the Aaenshi.

"Shenzi. I would have expected you to be at the Healer's tent," the Swordmaster remarked, fighting the sharp pain in his side that kept him from taking a full breath.

The jackal-like muzzle looked up at him with a grin, the experienced Healer letting her yellow eyes flick over the tall man, picking out his hurts, the slash at the crook of his neck the most serious. Brushlike tail wagging slowly behind her slender, slightly crooked legs, she gave a nod. "I was heading back there just now, as a matter of fact, when Izzy told me you needed someone to come patch you up."

Asher scowled irritably, opening his mouth to protest, but Shenzi shushed him with a wave of her paw. "Actually, I heard her tell some of the boys that you had a slave who needed watching while you went to see Ozlo, but that you looked like your head was cut partly off." The canine woman lifted a paw-like hand to tilt Asher's face away from the wound, tut-tutting him as she did so. "I can see she wasn't far wrong. You need stitching, my boy."

The Swordmaster shrugged her off, frowning stubbornly. "Paws off, Shenzi. I wont take long and then you can slather me up with whatever foul-smelling goo you like. I just want someone to get my new...girl...set up in my tent. It's good you decided to come. She says she's a Healer herself but there's cuts on her back she won't be able to reach herself."

Shenzi nodded thoughtfully, her expression flashing with keen interest at the mention of Verissa's supposed skill. Healers were always of high value anywhere they went and a Kvaren tribe was no exception. The grey-muzzled old Healer was also quite interested in the fact that Asher had, finally, brought himself home a woman.

"Got a little rough with her, did you?"

Asher's eyes blazed at the implication, a flush of anger and...something else...rising in his sickly pale face. "I wouldn't..." It was only because he respected the sharp-tongued Aaenshi that he didn't draw his sword. Once again, the Healer lifted her paws to ward off the surly man's ire.

"Don't look at me like that, Ash, I think better of you than that." But it was clear she was very interested in his reaction.

Asher slung Verissa's bag off his shoulder and handed it sourly to the Aaenshi. Chuckling with some private humour, the short canid moved towards the shape of Asher's tent.

--

The woman who arrived to take Asher's place uttered a curt "Come on, girl," and gestured her into the Swordmaster's tent at the end of a short spear. The space inside was dark, quiet, and cool, smelling of animal hides, smoke, and sawdust. Until the spiky-haired human started a fire in a small iron potbelly stove the only source of light was the flicker of an open candle on the other side of a linen partition. As the light blossomed, smoke escaping up a pipe and through a flap in the roof, Verissa would be able to see the spartan abode of her captor/rescuer. Every single item was stoutly made but plain, and constructed in a way that would make it reasonably portable for when the Tribe moved again. An empty wooden armour stand stood in one corner next to a trunk, and on the other side a folding table rested next to some other boxes and crates that held things like food and cooking implements. A chipped but serviceable mirror hung loosely against the soft side of the tent. The only item present that seemed to hint at any sort of personality in the man who had claimed her was a large orange and black pelt spread out on one wall. Thick ox-hide mats on the ground separated her from the dirt and grass of the prairie as the business-like woman reached for her chained wrists, securing her to the thick post in the middle of the tent. It was sunk deep into the earth below.

Unable to speak Common, the woman moved back outside and stood guard at the tent flap. It was only about five minutes later that someone else approached and there was a brief conversation outside. The big woman departed and the tent flap opened, admitting the thin, rangy frame of the Aaenshi, who wagged her tail as she took in the new slave.

"Tut tut, well don't you look mess. Been a rough evening for you I'm sure." Her narrow muzzle bared a grin as she moved closer, reaching across to un-hitch the human from the post. "I am called Shenzi. The Swordmaster is under the impression that you are a Healer. Is that true?" The Aaenshi's eyes were shrewd, watching Verissa's every move with a calculating intelligence.

The canine woman was dressed in a short-sleeved tunic with a large satchel over her shoulder, as well as Verissa's bag. She had leather breaches protecting her legs, cinched tight with long straps of leather. A curious set of sandal-like shoes protected her paws. She carried no obvious weapon.

[Ebonfort] Ringing in the New Year

As soon as Trix seemed to get the hang of it, Asher returned his hand to the pommel of the saddle, listening to the jingle of horse tack and the sound of hooves on grass until Trix spoke again. He was glad that she caught on quickly, his temper even shorter than usual with everything that had happened. Adrenaline had burned out.

Having his injuries pointed out seemed to galvanize Asher, and with a shake of his head that tossed unruly black tendrils around his face he managed to gather his composure somewhat. "I am. But it can wait until we get back to Camp." His tone was just as matter-of-fact as Trix's, shutting her down swiftly as he straightened in his saddle.

But then, as much out of regret for turning down the offer of help so soon and to have something to occupy his mind and keep him alert, he adjusted his tone. He was glad that his slave had some practical skill. If he was going to be stuck with her for now it was better than having someone useless. "I thought you might be. Only Healers and Cooks keep that many plants drying. What are you called?"

They passed through some rocky outcroppings and suddenly the Kvaren camp was laid out before them, the hazy glow of cookfires flickering across the grassland amid the angular shapes of tents and the dark silhouettes of the inhabitants. There was a lot of activity for this time of night, the entire place roused with the returning of the brave raiders.

Asher finally reigned Phantom in to a walk as they approached the camp, passing a gaggle of mounted sentries who were fresh and ready to fight off any Knights who might have followed the war party. There was a swirl of talking as news was passed between those coming and those who hadn't left, most of the voices calling out in Kvaren with fragments of Common mixed in.

One of the largest tents they passed as they moved through the camp was the Healer's tent, many lanterns and braziers lighting the space inside while the medics worked their craft, their patients groaning or screaming with the pain of either their wounds or their treatments.

There was a commotion behind Asher as the resident dogs took offense to the powerfully-built pups following the gray and black horse, and Asher stopped to look back. The Kvaren dogs tended to be brownish with black ticking and blonde highlights to help them blend into the long grasses, their long lean bodies similar to coyotes or jackals. A pack of six or seven had surrounded Trix's pups and were menacing them with bared teeth and a cacophony of shrill barking and howling, snapping at the pups ankles and faces. "Fredarik! Call your pack off, would you? Those two are with me. They're no use to all mauled!"

A man so stout he might have been half-dwarf waded in amongst the dogs, laying about with a club made of some kind of polished femur, knocking the sandy scruffy hounds aside, cursing at them all in general until the gray-black pups could pass. They seemed fairly unharmed, though even more terrified than before.

Once the two dogs were at Phantom's ankles once more, Asher continued through the camp towards the bigger tents until he found his own. There was slightly more space between the tents here, and the common areas were a little bit further away. Most of the big tents were quiet, unlit, except for the huge one in the middle. Asher finally reigned Phantom to a stop and took a few deep breaths before sliding out of the saddle.

When his feet hit the ground he winced, pain shooting through the bruises on his legs that had been forgotten until now by the mercy of their ride. Leaning slightly against the horse until the light-headedness passed. A girl in her late teens approached, waiting at Phantom's head until he was ready to lead the horse away to be unsaddled, rubbed down, and put up for the night. "You're wanted in the Warlord's tent, Swordmaster," the girl informed him, telling him nothing that he hadn't expected as a matter of course. He nodded, tugging Trix's bag from the saddle and slinging it over his uninjured shoulder. "When you get to the remuda send someone back t keep an eye on this one until I get back from the meeting."

"Give me your hands and I'll help you down," the Swordmaster said, reaching up for Trix's manacled wrists.

[Ebonfort] Ringing in the New Year

While Trix got to her feet and started to pack, Asher found something made of cloth and cleaned the blood off his sword so that he could sheath it neatly in the scabbard strapped to the belt around his hips. He was perhaps not paying as much attention to Trix as he should, his thoughts bent on the fact that his defeat of the un-named Sergeant, while it should be counted as a great personal victory to overcome such a skilled foe, tasted like nothing but ashes in his mouth.

Watching Trix out of the corner of his eyes, mostly to make sure she didn't pick up something dangerous and try to take him out, Ash went to the window and peered out. The fire was spreading. Even in the house the noisome, threatening haze of burning buildings was starting to rise. The Swordmaster knew that it would only be a matter of time until the Ebon Knights gathered their forces enough to sally, and didn't intend to be caught in their return charge. The shadows of running figures, both mounted and not, wavered and wriggled in the orange glare of the fires, and even in here the screaming and clashing of weapons, the panicked shrieks of horses, could be heard all around.

Asher's steely grey eyes glanced around the modest home and couldn't help but be impressed by the practical but homey feeling he got from they way Trix had organized her home. Even the mixed scents of the drying herbs seemed to soothe his frustrated anger and sense of failure. He almost felt sorry for having to steal this woman away from her life, and if not for Jasper and Dunkan he likely would have pretended he'd never seen her.

At the sound of her voice, tremulous and terrified as he'd expected, the armoured barbarian glanced back at Trix, seeing her tear-stained face for the first time, and wondering for the second time if he'd arrived soon enough to keep Jasper from doing more than the bleeding slices on her back. He had thought her young from what he'd seen of her naked back, and her pretty face confirmed it. How strange for him to notice! After a pause, he glanced down at the dogs. "They're handsome beasts," he remarked, his finger tapping on the hilt of his sword as though he was considering cutting them down in front of her. "Dogs like that would be welcome in our tribe, but only so long as they can keep up and don't cause trouble. Now let's go."

He gestured with his hand for Trix to lead the way out of the house, lurking bodily behind her to urge her into the front room rather than yanking her along by her wrists.

Dunkan was waiting in the front doorframe, watching the chaos in the farming village warily while waiting for Asher to reappear. He held one set of reigns in his hand but there were two beasts standing in the yard. One was Phantom, shifting excitedly from hoof to hoof as though proud of herself for causing mayhem of her own accord. The other was a white Earth Pony with a green mane and tail decorated with black feathers. He lifted his head and whickered at Ash when he noticed the Swordmaster emerging from the shadows of the house with Trix.

"H-h-hey Asher! Well done on this Ebonscum here. I convinced Dunkan to let me h-h-haul him back to camp for you. Good thing too, your h-h-horse might be tough as turtle tits but three h-h-humans might be a bit much!" The equine seemed overly cheerful, tossing his mane and swiveling his ears as though chatting in the middle of a siege was perfectly normal. Asher could see that between the two of them, Dunkan and the Earth Pony had already strapped the dead sergeant, armour and all, onto his back.

"Hoy, Shaya," Ash nodded grimly, watching Dunkan's eyes alight on Trix and then flit away while he fidgeted nervously, obviously intimidated and worried about the part he had played in Jasper's cruelty. "I appreciate the help, friend. You'll want to take that one straight to Ozlo for me and I'll find a lump of sugar for you later."

Apparently pleased by the arrangement, the moss-maned Earth Pony named Shaya turned and trotted away into the gloom, the dead sergeant flopping grotesquely where he had been unceremoniously tied, blood staining a huge swath of the white creature's fur. Turning back to Dunkan, Ash held out his hand for the orange sash, which he looped through his belt.

"You'd do well to stay away from Jasper," he advised, his tone dark as he spoke to his junior fighter in their own tongue. "You're good with your short-sword. I'd hate to see you kept back at camp during raids because of that snake." Dunkan too had a hard time meeting Asher's stern gaze, looking at Trix instead. Asher moved closer to her, taking her bag and attaching it to his saddle. Turning back, he set a callused hand settling on her shoulder.

"I hear you, Ash. It...it won't happen again. Just watch your back. Jasper was pretty pissed when he took off, and if he wants this one...you being Swordmaster wont scare him."

There was a sudden concussive sound as a grain silo a few streets over caught fire and went up in a towering inferno, flaming debris landing all around them. In the fresh bloom of light, Asher and Dunkan both spotted a larger company of mounted Ebon Knights massing down the street.

"We'll see," Asher said in Common before turning his attention to Trix as Dunkan hurried away. There was a jingle as Asher reached behind his hip and pulled something metal from his belt. He slipped the manacles around her wrists, the little snick as they locked audible even over the sounds of the city and the fire that was now licking across the roof of her house. The fire that glittered across Asher's dented breastplate and put a liquid fire in his eyes as he worked.

"I'm sorry..." he muttered in Kvaren before bending swiftly at the knees. With her back slashed up he knew this would sting, but more than that, there was a reason he had neglected to ever take a slave. With one hand under her ass and the other between her shoulder-blades, he scooped Trix up and hoisted her neatly up onto Phantom, literally sweeping her off her feet. The horse shifted skittishly under the weight, threatening to toss the novice rider, until Asher put his foot in the stirrup and swung up behind her. The entire front of the forbidding Screamer was pressed against Trix's backside from the calves up, the slope of the saddle keeping them neatly together as Asher nudged Phantom with his heels. Holding the reigns in one hand that rested on Trix's right thigh, he guided the smokey warhorse out of the yard and onto the street, turning in his seat to look back for the dogs.

Sure enough, they were scurrying along in the wake of the horse, watching with ears pricked, their attention focused on Trix. They would put the rangey mongrels of the Screamer camp to shame! He couldn't help but like them. Their colour was quite similar to Phantom's.

Behind them, the roof of Trix's house and shop suddenly buckled and collapsed inwards, unable to withstand the flames spreading rapid and unchecked across the shingles. The windows blew out, one after the other, glass sparkling as the panes practically vaporized under the pressure of the heat. Pulling back on only one side of the reigns to bring Phantom around slightly, Asher looked back at the city.

The last of his fighters thundered up the street towards him and there were Ebon Knights following. "H-yah!" Asher snarled, and Phantom leapt to join the retreat, surging in a rolling canter that threatened to bounce Trix right out of his lap.

The wind streaked by, stained with ash and blood as the heat of the city faded. The sounds of terror lessened until the world was full only of the sounds of horses thundering over the long, dry grass. The path back to camp would be long, designed to confuse their pursuers. Raiders who fell might be left behind if it meant protecting the current location of the Tribe.

It was only when the cool wind across the valley slid icy fingers down the gaps of his breastplate that Asher felt the fatigue wash over him. He was hurt, bruised and bloodied, his thoughts muddied from the loss of blood. A cold sweat stained his brow and his grip on the saddle-horn trembled slightly. Growing frustrated with the way Trix seemed to slip around in front of him, Asher let his hand find her hip.

"No," his voice was a short, pained groan. "You're too stiff. Roll your hips with the horse. It will be easier, not so painful when the hooves hit the ground." He was already tight to her body, but to give Trix an example he exaggerated the motion that had become second nature to a man practically born in a saddle, rocking his abdomen in a way that matched the movement of the horse so that he never bounced jarringly in the saddle. As soon as they were both doing it correctly, even Phantom seemed to relax, speeding up and smoothing her gait now that she didn't have to anticipate every painful jolt long her spine. Other than that, Asher spoke little. Now and then a warrior would ride up next to him and give a report, their eyes dancing curiously across the slave in his lap, knowing that this was a first for the young Swordmaster. Asher responded with nods and the odd curt monosyllabic reply, struggling to endure the weakness that threatened to drag him to the ground.

[Ebonfort] Dragon Bait

Tyler screwed up and posted the paydays in here. XD

[Ebonfort] Dragon Bait

The half-dragoness laid out on the bench, draped languidly with her various limbs dangling lazily, like a leopard snoozing in a tree. Her tail curled and flopped back occasionally, and her hand traced abstract patterns over Peridiath's naked skin, and the slitted fire-amber eyes watched the flush of excitement slowly fade from the human flesh.

When Peri slid out from under her grasp, Drache rolled onto her belly and stretched sinuously, her wings fanning the steamy air before settling sloppily along her spine. The very longest wingbones crossed at the bottom. The half-breed yawned, knowing that the sweltering lull of the baths, as well as the delicious fog of sexual satisfaction, was clouding her judgement. Out of the corner of her eye she watched Peri speak to the attendant and raked the claws of one hand through the steam idly while she waited.

When Peri returned, Drache sat up to make room on the bench looking down at the other human. Her brow lifted at the odd request relayed to her through Peri. Record? Either this patron had a great deal of faith that Drache would make an accurate account of her mission, or was exceedingly unwilling to meet in person to hear a report himself. It seemed quite unusual, but then, what was ever usual in the life of a half-breed? At least if she found something she would rather keep for herself she could always elect to not record it.

"I'll do my best. I'm already in the habit of keeping a log of my travels, not that anyone will likely ever read it." She winked, her smile slightly rueful.

The hybrid cupped the goblet by the bulb, claws clicking against the glass as she sipped. Her hot breath steamed the curved side as the blood-red liquid swirled across her tongue. It was a fine vintage, and to her pleasure it was a dry wine rather than a sweet one, as she did not like sweetened foods.

By the time she had finished the glass, Drache had prepared mentally to emerge from the lazy mist of the baths and head out of the city, her original plans drastically changed now. Standing, she turned to bid a farewell to Peridath, only to find the woman hovering close already. Surprise flashed in Drache's eyes. "I should hope to find you to bring these tomes back since I have no other way to contact your mysterious patron..." she reasoned, as though deliberately ignoring the personal nature of the comment.

In spite of their activities today, it was only at Peri's apparent concern over her safety that Drache seemed uncomfortable. She was hesitant to return the fervor that Peri put into her embrace, but did finally curl one arm around her naked waist, a wing curling around to settle over that as well. She didn't miss the guilty look that flicked across Peri's face, but didn't bother trying to puzzle out what it meant.

"Thank you," the half-breed replied, both to Peri's farewell comment and for their lovely late-morning tryst. "I look forward to seeing you again, Peridiath." When she left, she didn't look back.

--

Drache didn't leave Pyresia immediately, rather after trading her token back in for her clothes and leaving the Baths, she walked and flew down the tiers of the city, making a few stops along the way. One was to a Cartographer so that she could purchase a map of the area where she was supposed to be going. With as many flying citizens as a city with Pyresia had, maps made there tended to be extraordinarily detailed, though the map-maker shrugged nervously when a disappointed Drache grumpily asked him why none of his wares went quite far enough north to show her the area she wanted.

The half-breed also took a look in the bag Peri had given her, inspecting it and the blank books, opening them and letting the fresh pages shuffle under her fingertips as she thoughtfully inhaled the scent. If keeping a record was part of the job, she wanted to be prepared. She picked up small leather case with different coloured ink in small vials inside, a new pen, and a lead pencil.

She had rations in her pack, but ate a quick meal of some grilled seafood fresh from the harbour before finally opening her wings and lifting off into the sky. She let the strong wind off the sea dictate her height, tacking back and forth in a similar zig-zagging pattern used by the ships down on the water. She was still in the lands depicted by her map when the sun began to set, and though she wasn't yet tired from the flight, having made judicious use of the winter airstreams and thermals to keep her migration easy, she wasn't exactly in a hurry.

The weather was good enough that Drache didn't even bother pitching her tent when she found a likely spot to camp. It would have been tricky to do anyways on the rocky lip of an escarpment. Before nightfall she admired the fossils of some sea creatures captured forever in the sedimentary rock and tried to imagine what this spot must have looked like eons ago when it was underwater. She hadn't the tools to prize any from the rock, nor the desire to carry such a heavy burden around, but she marked the spot on the map anyways. Most of her gear was still in her pack when she woke with start. She must have been more tired than she thought if she'd gone to sleep with the campfire still flickering. As someone who could see in the dark and light a fire with, literally, a breath, she usually didn't see much need to keep one going. As instructed, she had been logging her first day into both her own journal and the logbook she'd been given, and the pages of both fluttered gently, several pages having turned under the breath of the wind while she dozed.

Her tail gave a nervous twitch at the scale-prickling feeling that she wasn't alone. The brightness of her campfire felt like a beacon to anyone lurking near and she wanted it doused right away. Rolling off her blanket, she lifted her hand to grab a handful of dirt, but the motion alone snuffed the fire. It happened so quickly, the power to control her favoured element springing out of her fingertips to douse the flame. It was too bad she hadn't the time to enjoy that small triumph.

It was only when her own campfire was producing nothing but a rising pillar of smoke that she realized she could still sense fire nearby. How strange! Some other sense had awoken and she couldn't wait to explore it.

Her eyes acclimated to the dark quickly and the half-dragon kept low as she peered around, using her hands to search out her bedroll and her books so she could stuff them back into her pack. If nothing showed its face, she decided to go investigate the source of the fires nearby. She was too awake now to sleep anyways.

[Ebonfort] Cave, Sweet Cave

Reward Review

Genrit’khaath

Skills
Bodybuilding: 4
Aerobatics: 8
Land Navigation: 3
Endurance: 5
Hunting: 4
Wilderness Survival: 1
Intimidation: 2
Observation: 4
Negotiation: 1
Unarmed Combat: 8

Knowledge:
Knowledge: Other dragons have claimed my territory
Knowledge: Using breath weapon indirectly to cause forest fire
Knowledge: The breath weapon of acid dragons smells sickly-sweet
Knowledge: The green female has a hoard somewhere in my territory

Other
Injury: Fractured right tibia/fibia due to fall. Will heal with no permanent damage if treated by a Journeyman+ healer in seven days. Will heal with permanent limp if treated by self within 7 days. Will become unusable if left untreated OR if Genrit fights or hunts anything larger than a normal deer in the next 7 days.

Injury: Large acid burn to right face and neck. Will heal with no permanent damage if treate by Journeyman+ healer in the next 7 days. Will heal with permanent skin scarring and visual (bot not functional) deformity to scales if treated by self in the next 7 days. Will heal with permanent scarring to skin, muscle, and scale growth if not treated.

All other injuries sustained are superficial and will heal with no permanent damage in the next 14 days.

Plot note:
Genrit's forest fire has attracted the attention of Pyresian scouts out on patrol.

@Tuddums

[Ebonfort] The Longest Night

Rilana looked down at the gray-white moccasins, the edge of the fur lining fluttering around her ankles under the touch of the wind. She tugged at the hem of her tunic, wishing it were a bit longer, listening to Svarak's explanation. Lana realized that she was actively hoping to hear something, anything, that would strip away the shrouds of mystery and fear and give her a glimpse of the man underneath. Not one to interrupt, she was quiet for a minute, giving herself, and Kona, a moment to digest. He sounded genuined and reasonable, but her apprehension wouldn't be swept away so easily, not if Kona had anything to say about it.

"I don't know much about living in a place where magic is feared and un-welcome. Perhaps it is a difference between the Moon Children and other people, but if those of us who didn't mean to do ill were afraid...those who meant to do harm would, by their very nature, work their evil unopposed. Outlaw something and only the outlaws will continue doing it." She shook her head, unused to philosophizing, looking out across the lake, which suddenly seemed desolate when a moment ago it had been a wondrous spot.

Svarak's sigh nudged his shoulder against the moon fey slightly, and she shifted away, turning to look up when he asked her about her Familiar. She paused then, but not because Kona was speaking. This time she was merely considering how much to tell him. Kona's preference would have been a dramatic appearance, called out from his Mark into the sky behind Rilana, proud and fierce and strong.

And smug, and arrogant, and annoying, she added in reply to the fantastical image the gryphon painted of himself.

"He is my first, but not my only," she admitted, feeling the prickle of skin as Kona's mark moved around on her back. "It seems I will have quite a few mementos of Ebonfort when I finally return to the Frostfell."

Rilana's expression changed to one of thoughtful introspection when Svarak mentioned bad Druids. What was a bad druid? What was it that she did that qualified as good? Could she be bad, if she wanted to? Rilana was typically a practica sort of person, but the last few months had not been very practical, and she was not devoid of imagination. She valued life and light and the balance of nature. But nature could be vicious and cruel and dark as well. Kona flexed his claws and growled in the back of her mind, and something sinister passed across the moon fey's face as she pondered on what kinds of great and horrible things she could do. The piercing scream of Kona's war-shriek, and the savage thunder of an adult balauradon snarling teased her ears. But that shadow dissolved almost as soon as it arrived, soothed away as if by the sheer pale coolness of the shifting sky. "I'm sure they were. But I'm pleased that you consider me a good person."

A person, instead of a lackey, you mean?

The chill in the wind seemed to blow right through Rilana, infusing her with a meloncholy that was difficult to fight. She scooted further down the log, crossing her arms and rubbing her biceps in a way she had seen humans do when the wind was especially fierce.

"Hmm. A paradise? An oasis where magic hid while it died in the rest of the world, you mean. Something tells me that this mission of yours didn't just fall at the same time, but had something directly to do with this...death of magic and the reason my home was in a bubble in the first place. How else would a charr live so long and carry a shard of enchanted ice for a sword?"

And after a moment, "Who was she?"