Drache

[Ebonfort] Heat

Starting Date and Time: Crimsia 30th, 290 DM

Starting Location: Pyresia

CS URLs: Drachiathorix and Baofeng Lingzhu

The summer sun was low in the darkening sky, wavering in the tropical heat over the gem-studded Ash Peak, the immense center of the City of Wyrms. The streets and arches tumbling down the black pitted stone were glittering in the red light, sparkling and magical where the huge geodes and veins of gems peaked out from their fastness in the ground.

It was the time of year for the Artisan's Festivus, and the streets where awhirl with musicians and performers. Originally the event was a way for the talented dwarfen craftsmen to display the pinnacles of their skill at a grand bazaar, but over the centuries had grown into a massive weeklong party with plays and concerts held in every one of the cities huge amphitheaters and gilded odium.

The city was packed as people of every race flooded in to join the celebration, and even the dragons descended from their high balconies to watch, wandering through the wide boulevards either in Visadon (true form) or in their humanoid shapes. At a time like this it seemed that there was still magic in the world.

As the sun dipped lower, the current out in the harbour began to glow a pale green, the phosphorescent algae lighting up in the darkness, turning the shapes of ships on the water into dark silhouettes. Wild and untameable, the verdant greenery of the jungle crept along the spaces between buildings, clinging to the dwarven-carved shop fronts and along the terracotta shingles angled to protect openings from the rain that came in off the sea.

Drachiathoryx walked along the lava-lit street, her tail curled up in a question-mark shape behind her as her fiery eyes glittering with the excitement. She hadn't been back in the city for long, only arriving yesterday after rushing home. Her wings were still sore from the exertion, but it was well worth it! Her scales glittered in the light as she stood in the street watching fiddlers compete with each other on a wooden stage. Even the rickshaws were having a hard time getting through, hauled by bulging-armed creatures like minotaurs and orcs. There weren't many horses in Pyresia, mostly because hoofstock tended to go to the dragons.

A slender human fiddler in colourful motley grinned down at the crimson half-breed, waggling his eyebrows flirtatiously. Chuckling, Drache let him pull her up on the stage and did her best to dance when he put his bow back to his strings and began a lively jig. She wasn't much of a dancer, but her black handkerchief dress swirled around her legs and tail and she flipped her wings, bouncing around, spinning and laughing heartily. People below were looking up with interest, either because they'd realized she wasn't wearing anything under her dress or they simply hadn't seen a half-dragon before, and Drache just kept going, enjoying the attention, loving the way it all left her breathless and exhilarated.

[Ebonfort] A Little Bird

Phantom was standing out in the open, golden grass up to her knees as the dark horse watched her rider creep off into the dappled darkness of the thicket. It was beyond her ken to imagine what he was doing, but she would wait for him as long as there was plenty of grass to eat. The breeze tossed her glossy mane.

The armoured Swordmaster let the quietude of the tangled woods fall over him, protected from the wind that always seemed to be blowing across the prairie. He heard the voice again, scared and helpless, and he wanted to rush to the speaker's aid, but put his caution first. The urge to protect, to help, had been burned into coals a long time ago.

His stormy-gray eyes darted around, looking for the voice that had sounded far away at first, but now sounded impossibly small instead. He had heard that there were birds in the jungles to the west that could learn to mimic human speech and wondered if this was the prank of some beast, until a shaft of sunlight fell on a beautiful sparkle of blue in the leaves at his feet a short distance away.

The narrow twine of the net moved with the motion of the creature trapped under it, and Asher closed the distance in a few steps, dropping swiftly to a one-kneed crouch, reaching back to his belt to put his hand on the hilt of his own knife. He reached down with a callused hand and gently brushed some of the dead leaves aside. His dark brows, knitted with curiosity, lifted towards his dark tousled hair with surprise.

"I don't plan to hurt you," Asher avowed in a voice that was as solemn as the scars on his face, his command of the Common language decent though his accent was obvious. He was a Screamer. "But you'll have to promise me the same for when I let you out. You're no Kvaren. You're not wearing the armour of an Ebon Knight, but I have no doubt you're from their lands. And you've a knife on your hip, small as it might be."

He drew his knife and held it up to let her see it. The steel blade was about as long as she was and he'd have no trouble spearing her with it like a butterfly on a pin. A set of iron manacles jingled on his hip as he pulled the knife.

"What's your name, fairy?" He tore his eyes from the tiny, pretty creature and surveyed the weighted net, deciding that it would be best to cut it rather than lift it off of her, tangled as she was.

"Try to not move. I don't want to cut your wings," was there a not of tenderness under the command?

[Ebonfort] Four Little Orclings, Mean and Green

Morka snarled loudly behind Bula and Pasho as the two sisters pounded after the kidnapper. Leshy's quick actions probably saved her life, but in the moment Morka didn't appreciatiate the jagged X's Leshy sliced into her neck. The orc's blood flowed clotted and sour out of her wounds with the venom.

Bula and Pasho gained on Slade, who was fighting the same rough terrain as they were and also hindered by the little girl, who stumbled and fought him every step of the way, shrieking and giving away his position. The two orcesses would have no trouble catching up, even as they had to scramble over huge roots and fight through dark vines and even more cobwebs. The woods around them became even gloomier, and up ahead the ruined shape of a decrepit old lodge lurked in the permanent twilight.

Slade felt the orcs closing in behind him and turned, throwing the little girl down into the roots of a tree. His body blurred, face elongating even as he growled, the sound changing from the aner of a man into the vicious snarl of a beast. Sandy-brown fur sprouted over his body and his limbs lengthened, muscles rippling to fill out a bit more and tearing through the already poor quality clothes he wore. "Stay back!" he threatened through sharp wolflike fangs. "Come closer and you'll kill her!" The Were had gained at least a foot, doglike ears poking out from under his hat. He was still thin and rangy-looking, not a wolf but not a dog either. There was a panicked, desperate look in his eye, the kind of look that Bula would recognize as a creature gearing himself up to fight to the bitter end.

[Ebonfort] Four Little Orclings, Mean and Green

Tracking Slade turned out to be slightly trickier than Bula anticipated. Not because he was moving quickly or even especially stealthily, but as soon as they started to follow him he seemed to sense that something was wrong and paused occasionally, looking over his shoulders into the woods. As he lead them deeper into the gloom, the trail all but disappeared, and Slade was reduced to literally hauling the little girl over huge tree roots and fallen trunks by her wrist.

The gauzy curtains of spiderwebs grew more prevalent, the individual strands thicker and harder to break as the sisters moved through the woods, the eight-legged creatures scuttling creepily in the dim light, staring with lidless eyes at those who passed them by.

The wind and normal sounds of the wilderness faded, muffled by the stuffy mustiness of the forest. The orcs managed to maneuver their way through the gloomy place with great skill and were slowly but surely closing on their target, when a spider the size of a wolf dropped out of a tree onto Morka's head, hissing threateningly through the air-holes in its abdomen, snapping its glistening fanged mandibles towards her face. To her credit, Morka grimaced with horror but didn't cry out, using her impressive strength to push the eight-legged monstrosity off of her. Wedging her crossbow between herself and the massive black spider, she pulled the trigger, a silver crossbow bolt piercing a messy hole through the complicated arachnid thorax, blazing a sticky trail through the forest. Morka staggered back, a puncture wound in her neck that oozed with venom.

The spider died, but it did so slowly, it's partly furry and partly chitinous legs flailing around as it squealed like air being force through a tiny hole. Unfortunately, Slade heard the commotion and turned briefly, shooting a furious glare in the direction of the orcs. But instead of facing them, he ran.

They Have Returned (Ebonfort)

Drache arrived at the Kvaren gathering on the morning of the 24th, the massive encampment sprawling out across the plains before her. It was difficult to keep her feet on the ground, her wings held high behind her as Laurel and her friends led her in among the tents, greeting old friends and picking a spot for themselves amid the rest of their fellow nomads. The atmosphere was wholly festive and competitive and the camp was nearly frantic with activity. Everywhere the half-dragon looked she spotted something new and fascinating. Of particular note were strange-coloured horses that spoke, though they sounded a bit slow-witted to the red-scaled hybrid, and she made a note to take special care if she ever felt hungry enough to pick off something alive as a snack.

Music thrummed through the ground under Drache's talons, and the clash of weapons drew her attention as rippling warriors tested their strength against each other in fast-paced fighting in rings marked with coloured rope. The dragoness met people of races she'd never met, and found her mind awhirl as she bravely tested out her basic understanding of their language, laughing with them when they had to correct her, which was very often. It was fortunate that most of these people knew Common, and her new friends were happy to translate when she was introduced to someone who didn't.

To anyone watching it would be clear that the half-dragon was new among these people. Her clothing alone, tailored to her unique shape, was decorated in a style foreign to both the Kvaren and Ebonfort. She was doubly lucky that she had not met with the same fate as the slaves. It was only when she asked about Ebonfort that Kraven led her over to look at the slaves. Unlike the Screamers, Drache stood for a while watching those bound to the huge posts, her fiery eyes gleaming thoughtfully until she was pulled away to meet a twin pair of impressively buff dark-skinned men Laurel called "Swordmasters".

"Yes, of course I'd love to meet them. Now what was that you were telling me about a Warlord who got her horse stolen at a party?..."

[Ebonfort] Dragon Bait

Ordinarily, Drache would have considered the lack of weapons drawn in response to her face among total strangers to be the highlight of the season, but it would actually turn out to be the start of several ten-days worth of glorious fun and adventure the likes of which she had rarely had before.

Grinning widely at Laurel's enthusiasm, the scaled woman nodded her horns in Sirik's direction, her eyes raking hotly down his athletic frame. Drache sort of had a thing for male drow and such was evident on her reptilian features, though it seemed he was going to refuse to notice.

"I'm a half-dragon, actually, not a True Dragon. Many of them did die off after the Death, but I come from a whole city of dragons south of here." Drache didn't move away when Laurel approached, she just fluttered her wings and swished her tail, loving the attention. When Laurel invited her to share her bed later she just gave the Alufiend a seductive look and licked her lips as she joined the pale-skinned woman by the fire, which glittered off her scales as though it were made of the rubies Pyresia was famous for.

There were lots of questions for her about how exactly a half-dragon was made, was born. Laurel was the most curious, but Kraven piped up now and then, and while Sirik never asked her directly, Drache's observant gaze didn't miss that he seemed more interested in certain answers to questions the others had asked. Laurel even wanted to touch her skin, her wings, her tail, though Drache insisted on returning the favour.

The half-dragon hesitated at the offer to join them, remembering the task that Peridiath had set for her. She wouldn't have thought much of discarding it and going where life lead, but she didn't want to miss out on the reward either. So when Laurel mentioned that they were heading north, the same direction she was heading, she grinned with the satisfaction of being able to kill two birds with one stone.

"I'm traveling north myself to a lost city. I collect treasure and artifacts from abandoned cities. It's quite fun and I meet so many interesting faces." She was looking at the three barbarians, but briefly remembered Genrit and wondered what the white dragon was up to now. "I'll join you for as long as I can. Meeting your people at this Gathering sounds exciting!"

She watched Kraven's display with a hiss of delight, the vertical pupils in her eyes narrowing to thin lines as the fireball burst, her genuine appreciation for his talent partly making up for poking fun at him earlier. "Very neat! There are a lot of magic users in Pyresia too but I have never seen anyone do that. I heard a rumour that they are going to build some kind of guild in Pyresia where different types of magic users can go to learn from each other but that's just hearsay."

Laurel edged closer and the half-dragon purred throatily at the fingers exploring the scaled skin of her arm. Drache's tail coiled around Laurel's leg and she leaned to the side, nibbling the tapering point of the Alufiend's ear, sliding her hand up the woman's back. "I'll think about it, but there's another offer I want to take you up on first..."

---

Jedayan 14th, 301DM

My flight to this 'Vircastoria' has been interrupted in only its second day. In the flatlands I was discovered by three members of a barbarian tribe called the 'Crimson Vines', composed exclusively of those who, like me, have had arcane talent awaken within them in the last year. To my infinite pleasure, they seem alltogether unphased by my heritage, even excited by my appearance, and I am eager to find out if this sentiment is shared among the rest of their clan at this Gathering in the north. I have also been informed by Laurel that my affinity for shaping and controlling the fire within is known as 'firespinning' among their folk. I am trying to recall if I have come across this phrase before but I will have to search my books more thoroughly when I return to Pyresia. For now I will join these 'Kvaren', for their welcome has been very warm indeed, and revisit my decision to accept the job to investigate this 'Vircastoria' when it's time for our paths to diverge.

-D

---

The next morning dawned cool but bright across the plains, and Drache chuckled mischievously as she untangled her tail from Laurel's. The Kvaren were elated to have her join them, and together they traveled the wilds of the Kerawac on foot, meandering generally northwards, frequently distracted by the chance to hunt or fool around. The dragoness found time every day to write in her personal journal, often sprawled out in front of the fire, her nib scratching the draconic letters across the page as she described her adventures and noted her thoughts to revisit later. During these times Laurel watched over her shoulder, commenting on the strangeness of the dragon lettering, and Drache taught her the draconic alphabet. In return, the three Kvaren began teaching Drache their own language, which was difficult on her reptilian tongue. She struggled with the hand-signs as well, but that was because she already had a rudimentary understanding of drow sign language since half of Pyresia was subterranean. She occasionally fumbled and mixed up her signs, causing Sirik to chortle in rare outbursts of hilarity.

And the fun only continued. Sirik pointed out that Drache was eating their food but hadn't shared any of her own. After that she hunted with them, using a combination of magic and melee to bring down the stalking creatures of the grasslands the likes of which Drache had never heard of. The only way Drache knew how to hunt was by using the tools she had been born with, and though the Kvaren thought it was hilarious when Drache rode by on the back of an injured Kelross she'd pounced, slashing at it with her claws, latched onto its spine with her teeth, she only regretted that so much blood had gotten on her clothes and stripped them off to go skinny dipping in a river. It was later that same night when she woke to find Sirik's eyes on her and coaxed him wordlessly into joining her away from the fire so that she could have him under the stars, silent and secretive as only drow could be.

--

Jedayan 23d, 301DM

The grassland is bigger than I ever imagined. When I get back to Pyrsia I am definitely having a word with the Cartoprapher on Jade Firth Avenue. I have used almost and entire blank map roll to record my journey for Peridiath and her patron and I anticipate needing even more than that by the time I reach the city. There have been several abandoned settlements here in the Kerawac Valley (as the Kvaren call it) but investigating them has turned up absolutely nothing of value, having likely been stripped long ago by these nomadic tribes. Nevertheless, I have marked them down in the logbook and included several rubbings of the markings at the sites, most of which I do not recognize.

In more exciting news, today I killed a small Kelross by myself using only my fire. It left me weary, but Kraven mentioned to me that my skill would be welcome in their tribe. It seemed an off-hand remark, but my time with the three Kvaren has been nothing less than exhilirating. I admire their spirit and their freedom. The more I learn about their language and their culture the more I could see myself giving up Pyresia's gem-encrusted brilliance for this life. If they were to ask me to join them I would be sorely tempted to accept. It occurs to me that I may be getting ahead of myself. I still need to meet this 'Warlord Keelie' who is apparently the leader of the Crimson Vines, and one of many such leaders who will be present at this Gathering tomorrow.

I anticipate that my next entry will be a long one.

-D

--

One of the main topics of conversation with Laurel and the others was magic. Drache wanted to know all about the different kinds they had come across, listening raptly to their vivid descriptions of different types of powers. It was difficult to not feel jealous at the things others could reportedly do, in spite of her own rapidly increasing skill. Many things she heard were identical to what she had seen among her fellow citizens of Pyresia, but some were completely different. She was especially curious about Laurel's mention of being presented a fire spirit and questioned the Alufiend about it. To Drache, fire was special and magical but ultimately non-sentient and more or less a tool for her to use. Imagining a sentience behind that fire that she might have to contend with was a completely new idea, and not one that she particularly liked. She also expressed her dissatisfaction with the fact that while she felt a strong urge to manipulate substances like steam or lava, these compounds seemed as resistant to her will as rock resisted water.

[Ebonfort] Ringing in the New Year

It turned out that Trix would get her wish.

Asher kicked his boots off and glanced grumpily at his blood-stained gear, nudging it towards the stand meant to hold it all and promising himself he clean and polish everything tomorrow after he'd had some sleep.

Rummaging around, he tidied up in a methodical sort of way that clearly meant he was deep in thought, working more on autopilot, occasionally shuffling awkwardly around the dogs when they ended up in his way. The Swordmaster picked up a length of leather decorated with a few beads and the large canine tooth of some carnivore, slipping it over his head so that it rested over his heart. His fang pendant wasn't something he wore into battle, but it was common for Thunderfang members, especially fighters, to wear some kind of fang.

When Verissa finally got up and sat down on the bedroll, Asher watched the dogs position themselves around her. He bent over the stove, closing the shutters to douse the flame until only a dull red glow played across his muscular body. If they were lucky, the smoldering coals would keep the tent warm until morning. Straightening up, he saw that Verissa had turned her back to him and was not surprised. His footsteps moved closer until he was standing over her and then leaning down. The links of her long chain jingled as he attached it to the post, but there was enough slack that his movements didn't actually pull at her arms.

And then...he went to bed, the partition flap closing behind him as he retreated to the other side of the tent. Verissa would be able to hear the sounds of him kicking his trousers off and sitting down on the heap of furs, the wooden bedframe creaking slightly as he crawled towards a wooden trunk at the end.

On top of this trunk was a small beeswax candle burning smokelessly, the wax captured by the small bowl in which it sat. Around it were arranged the desperately few items off Wren's that Asher had left in the world. Most were simple things like the dried flower crown she had worn at their Joining ceremony. First and foremost, however, was a foot long braided length of hair so coppery red that it could have been mistaken for fine metal strands in the light of the flame. Asher had cut it himself before they had burned her body, clenching it in his fist as he wept and swore revenge on the one who had taken her from him.

Now, he reached out and touched the hair gently, bowing his head where he sat at the edge of the bed.

"I'm sorry, Wren. I'm sorry I failed you," he murmured sadly. "I'll make it right, I swear. I'll make it right for you and the baby. Forgive me."

[Ebonfort] The Longest Night

In asking about the un-named 'she', Rilana received the answers to what felt like every mystery behind the charr's leonine eyes. The Moon Fey noted the pain there and her brows knitted together in a sympathetic frown, an empathetic reaction that was more a part of her than her own arm.

Listening intently, Rilana remained silent as Svarak described a world that was different from both the magical Frostfell that was familiar to her and the southern lands that had only just gotten its magic back. She barely even moved, her breath so shallow that it didn't even puff on the wind. Until Svarak drew the blade that was the colour of the inside of a glacier and laid it across her lap. She lifted her hands to avoid touching it, startled by the icy chill against her bare skin.

She tried to fight back when Svarak's furry paw took her hand, not even knowing why she was suddenly filled with dread. Her bare palm touched the giant shard and Rilana gasped. Her mind hadn't been a solitary place for over ten years, but having this memory forced into her thoughts was a different thing entirely than sharing her soul with Kona.

It was like the most vivid dream she had ever had, seeing things and knowing what they were because Svarak had known them and seen them and felt them. Trembling, she watched the entire scene unfold, her horror at hearing the fantastic story mixing with the terror Svarak had felt experiencing it first-hand. The Moon Fey's breath caught in her chest as she felt the young charr's pain as he jolted against the null stone.

And then she knew how the world had become what it was. All the answers were there. And Rilana found that she had rather not known them at all! How could she have judged him so harshly, now that she knew what he had done, and what he was even now on his way to do? To slay the woman he loved so deeply because it meant the difference between life and death for everything?

Nothing in the entirety of Rilana's existence compared to what Svarak had been through, so there was no memory even worth investigating through their brief connection other than the high, wild scream of a gryphon.

Tears trickled cold and unchecked down Rilana's face and when the memory faded and she moved her hand it was only to hug her arms around herself, shivering with the cold and the grief that clutched around her heart on Svarak's behalf. She felt Kona's confusion and concern, for he had not been able to communicate with her while she touched the null shard.

"I misjudged you, Svarak." It was a cruel twist of fate that as Rilana discovered all the reasons to fear the fearsome charr were unfounded and that there was someone she could care for under it all, she also learned that his heart belonged to someone else. The spark of whatever might have been between them blossomed and died instantly, and as the memories that weren't hers disappeared, she was left with the same feeling of unrequitedness, only now it was all her own to nurse deep inside. She felt small and insignificant, a single snowflake in a blizzard, her perception of the world entirely and permanently changed. She wanted nothing more than to throw her arms around Kona's neck and let his powerful wings carry her somewhere cold and silent.

Wiping her face before the tears could freeze on her skin, Rilana stood up, looking neither fierce nor steadfast as she reached out to put a hand on Svarak's shoulder. "I will help you. Whatever...whatever I can do. I know how important it is. It...it will be okay."

A Heart Frozen (Ebonfort)

The Moon Fey took a deep breath and closed her eyes, curling her slender fingers nervously in the rough black hair of Bruin's mane. Rilana didn't like having to trust the drow. She didn't like that Alya was missing, or that Lyle had likely been killed by monstrous trees that she didn't know anything about, and she especially didn't like how poor of a guide she had turned out to be. If Svarak had asked for her sash right now she would have been all too happy to hand it over and let him lead.

It's not your fault. You promised you'd do your best, not that everything would go perfectly.

Amazingly, that doesn't make me feel better, bird-brain.

"Fine. I don't want to split up any more either and it wouldn't be wise to ignore her advice. Let's set up camp and get as much rest as we can until Warden Drisceya deems it safe enough to move on. There aren't many of us but we should set watches, if only to make sure the rams aren't getting worked up enough to bolt." By now, the animals should have been used to Ortha, but when the two-headed black creature slunk along the edges of the cavern the herbivores they turned and eyed her nervously, just looking for a reason to panic. "I'll take first watch, try to get some sleep."

With that, Rilana tucked her leg over the front of Bruin's saddle and landed neatly on the ground. Leading the horse to the middle of the cavern and bringing the riderless ram with her, she began caring for her mount first. Unbuckling his cinch and dragging the saddle off, she held the leather and sheepskin contraption against her hip until she could fold the stirrups and straps up into the seat and set the whole thing down without it dragging messily along the ground.

Digging through her saddlebags, she pulled out a stiff bristle brush and brushed the dirt and sweat from the animal, cleaning him up and relaxing him at the same time. It made her feel better, giving her something to do with her hands while her thoughts swirled with her concern about the rest of the party, her dark and twisted feelings about Svarak, and her general dislike at having to make camp underground.

When that was done, she secured the fjord-horse to a stout-looking stalagmite and left him munching muffledly in his nosebag, asking the others to do the same, her eyes narrowed critically to make sure everyone was taking care of their animals to her strict standards. It was a sure sign of her inner turmoil when she snapped angrily at Beran when the man tried to walk away without cleaning the stones from his ram's cloven hooves.

With the roof of the cavern over their heads and stone underfoot, there was no point in trying to put up their tents, so Rilana spread out her bedroll and sat cross-legged on the pale reindeer-hide, her longbow across her lap and one hand patting the top of one of Ortha's heads, stroking the smooth bony protuberances on the balauradon's skull. The creature's other head chewed noisily on a rather large piece of jerky. The creature was nearly the size of a regular wolf now. At some point she got out a mug and some silverleaf tea to make herself a cup, but it sat unsteeped and forgotten next to her as she gazed worriedly into the darkness.

Kona soothed her with his logic, and Rilana avoided looking at the others in case she found disappointment in their eyes.

[Ebonfort] Dragon Bait

The sensation of the approaching globes of fire was almost Drache's undoing. Fire was something all too familiar. She always had fire inside her and anytime her blood was up it felt like the flames corruscated along her veins, a white power deep in her very bones. But the way she was experiencing it now was new, and the dragoness was almost lost in the experience until she heard voices. She hadn't realized she'd closed her eyes, but opened them just in time to notice the rising glow of approaching torches.

Drache almost laughed out loud! How could something so ordinary speak to her, unseen, across a distance? Vaguely she realized that the feeling was linked to the way she could change her breath weapon into Other Things, but didn't have the time to sort out just how the two were connected.

The sly dragoness ducked behind an outcrop, barely slinking her tail behind the stone as she watched and listened. Her ear-frills flared at the sides of her face and she even sniffed, an instinctive action even though her sense of smell wasn't anything special.

She found herself grinning at the stranger's conversation, deciding that if circumstances were right they might be the kind she could get along with. Anyone who joked about seducing harpies and orgies was alright by her! Her flame-coloured eyes darted between the three figures until she recognized the drow for what he was. This caused her to duck back further, knowing that in the darkness he would be able to spot the heat radiating off a half-Ixen with ridiculous ease.

"Hmmm," Drache pondered, her tail weaving back and forth silently as she decided what to do. Glancing up and behind her she could see that she could make a pretty clean getaway if she took to the sky. She could probably find another spot to camp. Then again, this spot was pretty nice and she was here first after all. There were three of them and one of her, not good odds, but she wasn't exactly defenseless. She had a mission to complete, but Peridiath (mmm...she could still taste her...) hadn't given her a deadline, so if she dawdled a bit, what would it matter?

It was the Alufiend's casual fireball that decided the matter for Drachiathoryx. Not one to be outdone, she waited a few minutes, waiting until the processing of the deer carcass was well under way, before she concentrated on the bright campfire.

It was more difficult than she thought, and the half-dragon realized that drawing on this reserve of power for a bit of fun might be dangerous if she kept it up for too long. But she was reckless and in good spirits. Her clawed fingertips gestured uselessly as she reached out with her mind, shaping the blaze, controling it. Fire was a playful thing and it flared up suddenly, white sparks popping out of the midst.

Drache didn't have a real plan for what she wanted the fire to do, but when it began to swirl around, a rotating pillar of near-white, she was just as pleased as if it was a complete surprise (because it kind of was). Taking advantage of the bright distraction, the red-scaled treasure-hunter crept from the dark corner where she was hiding, right towards the light, stopping a few feet from the fire on the other side from the three strangers.

Even if she hadn't cut the show short she felt like she wouldn't have been able to keep it up much longer anyways. She clearly needed more practice with that! With a concussive sort of pop, the fire shrank back down to normal, leaving a wide-winged, hand-on-hip, tail-undulating Drache grinning down at three strangers.

"Good evening. Tell me, which one of you is Kraven? I need to know whose sleeping bag to avoid tonight." Her tail swished. "By the way, I like my venison medium-rare." It was a tense moment for her, not knowing how these outsiders might react to her face (or her shenanigans), but she gave them a wink anyways.