Drache

A Knife in the Dark (Ebonfort)

Reward Review

Verissa Beatrix Greenlakes aka Trix

Skills
Herbalism: 2
cooking: 5
Shielding: 1
Writing: 1
Mathematics: 1
Intimidation: 1

Knowledge:
Suspicion: It's Unsafe to be a Mage in Ebonfort
Desire: I Should Get a Dog (or a Man)
Consideration: Perhaps I Should Settle for Edoward

Other
n/a

--

Galawynd Elsinal

Skills
Stealth: 4
Observation: 3
Acrobatics: 1

Knowledge:
Stealth: I Should Camouflage My Hair

Other
n/a

@Twhirtley

Ebonfort

Drache's 1st Article: The Thunderfang Tribe

Ebonfort

Lore update:
Drakkoth
Faerie Dragons
Anuirean humans
Roc

[Ebonfort] Give a Leg Up

At the dark belch of smoke from the corners of Genrit's mouth, both of the other two dragons shifted warily, their tails coiling across the ground to make their tough scales hiss across the worn stone that surrounded Genrit's cave. No matter how civilized their city might have become, they were still dragons, and Harroks were always itching for a fight, even Mojavico. But as the white drake turned to glance down at his painful leg, Mojavico and Vesenthicar exchanged a smirk. The copper's expression became a shrewd stare when Genrit started off his story with an insult, his spinal frill rattling slightly and his teeth bared. But he relaxed as the explanation wore on, and ended up gazing thoughtfully at the larger drake, his metallic tail tapping a bit where it had curled around his talons and claws. He glanced up at Vesenthicar, who shrugged her wings.

"An interesting tale, certainly. Almost unbelievable, actually, if not for your apparent ignorance." Mojavico chuckled dryly. "Whether or not you appreciate what we've managed to accomplish matters very little to me. It's not my responsibility to convince you, though if you choose to accompany us then it will be my duty to make sure you abide by our laws. Chiefly among them include not eating everything in sight, challenging every drake you see, or sitting on anyone. I recommend you at least come meet with a Signatory at the Hall of Records to put your name down for your territory."

Vesenthicar drawled rudely from her high perch, turning her head so that the sun gleamed off the curve of a broken horn. "Might even be something in it for you, and I don't mean just getting yourself fixed up. Though, I'm not sure Myriatheos'Anthana would take you if you don't have gold to pay. Can tell by looking at your scales that you're not well off."

Mojavico shut his nostrils at the rude comment, rolling his eyes so that only Genrit could see. Dragons rolled their eyes just like any other person, but something about Mojavico suggested he had picked up mannerisms from fleshlings as well. "If he doesn't set fire to half the city when he sees it, I'm sure she will be happy to see him, Sky Talon."

Vesenthicar heaved to her thick talons and let her short but powerful wings fall open. "We'll see. But that concludes our little audience here. Now that this one's been informed, we can kill him if he causes trouble." With a couple brief flaps as she leaped skyward, the Sky Talon departed, circling back to wait for Mojavico.

As soon as his leader moved to leave, Harrock Mojavico stood to follow suit, his ray-like wings glimmering with mixed copper and green. Under the wings he even had some faint striping down his sides. "It was a pleasure to meet you Genrit'Khaath. I'm glad to know that there are still dragons living in the wild, even if I have no intentions of joining them."

He backed up to give himself some room, his neck curling to watch Genrit even as he sprang into the sky, giving the white drake a chance to join them as he and his superior turned northwards.

[Ebonfort] Days of Grass and Dust

@Twhirtley

[Ebonfort] Days of Grass and Dust

Starting Date and Time: Jedayan 1, 300 DM, morning

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

CS URLs: Asher & Verissa/Trix

The long night passed in fits and starts of restlessness for Asher. Not only did his body ache with innumerable injuries and the confining awkwardness of his bandage, but his chest was tight with his own inner turmoil and thoughts of Brynmore and his wife. Not only that, but as the Swordmaster was used to the sounds of the camp, the grumbling of horses, the barking of dogs, the sound of the wind, the infinite different sounds of people muttering, cooking, laughing, fucking...it was a noise much closer at hand that bothered him: Verissa crying. He wondered how other men did it, how they could stand to be responsible for such gut-wrenching noises of fear and despair? Did most slaves not cry? Or perhaps he was simply too soft on a maid from Ebonfort?

Morning arrived as a rapid lightening in the sky, promising to be clear if cold from the constant wind. A rooster began to crow early and Asher didn't waste time getting up, running his fingers through his longish hair and pulling back the partition. Clad only in loose linen trousers, his bandages, and the aged yellow fang pendant hanging around his neck, Asher shuffled over to the stove to rekindle the blaze inside and heat the cooktop. He glanced over at Verissa's bedroll often, noting the watchful eyes of the two ridgebacks, but he didn't rouse her yet. There would be plenty of time for to put the girl to work later. He could afford to let her sleep on her first day in camp. Her first day as someone else's property.

The sounds of copper cookware rattled where Asher worked, in spite of his efforts to keep the noise to a minimum. The small iron stove heated up and the sizzle of grease-fat filled the tent, preceding the scent of frying bacon as the kvaren man tossed it piece by piece onto his skillet. The bacon would take the longest, so after he had sprinkled it with a mix of black pepper, cayenne, and brown sugar he turned to a second, smaller skillet. It only took a few moments to mix water from a jug into a few cups of flour with sugar and milk and eggs, whisking it all together in a bowl set against his abdomen until the ingredients bubbled together. Scooping blobs of it out onto the skillet, he started the flapjacks, teasing the edges with a wooden spatula. As the bacon shriveled, he attempted to bribe Verissa's dogs with small pieces, murmuring to them softly in his own language.

When it came to making a breakfast that was as tasty as it was serviceable, Asher had a fairly good idea of what he was doing, though he made a bit more mess than usual due to a certain amount of laziness brought on by a painful arm.

Ebonfort

The rp So Much White Hair between Alya Eloen & Rilana Aurorime' is now done and needs a review.

[Ebonfort] So Much White Hair

The troubled Moon Fey watched with appreciative fascinationg as Alya lifted the flute to her lips and began to play. Rilana had always loved music, and while flute players were common enough in Frigmount, Alya's style was special. Even without the magic woven into the tunes and tones, the melody would have eased her into sleep, so it was merely moments before the pretty fey found her eyelids drooping. Shifting around, she arranged her bedroll and her furs to accommodate her and her friend, as well as the unlikely collection of creatures who would no doubt wriggle their way between their Mistresses as the temperatures outside continued to plunge. Rilana didn't even manage a 'thank you' before she was asleep, but for once she drifted off without her silvery eyebrows creased together with worry and apprehension. Bad dreams did not plague her that night, though the storm that started up the next day would be nightmare enough.

[Ebonfort] Give a Leg Up

Vesenthicar seemed more than happy to let the two males converse, her large leathery ear tilted towards them while she continued her visual surveillance over the surrounding area, paying attention mostly to be sure Mojavico acted with proper decorum and didn't do anything embarassing. In spite of a nearly universal attempt of Pyresian dragons to cooperate with each other, virile adult males still had a tendency to posture and challenge each other, and the copper was no exception.

But Mojavico kept his instincts in check and lowered his wings, turning at an angle to assume a conversational posture at a respectable distance from the shiny white drake. His head tilted, the two large horns gleaming with a greenish tinge as the tentacles on his chin waggled with confusion. "The pleasure is mine, assuredly. But...you must have traveled very far indeed if you are yet unsure of the existence of Pyresia." Mojavico had met only a few wild dragons, mostly those who terrorized the borders of the Ash Peak and ended up getting themselves mobbed by an entire Cleave of vicious Harroks. "Are you from some distant land?"

"It certainly does." Mojavico gave a rueful chuckle. "And if you elect to visit you'll find that your sentiment is not exactly unique. But resorting to cooperating with each other in the interest of survival is hardly the worst thing dragons could have stooped to after the Death of Magic. I can't tell if you're old enough to remember, but some of the eldest wyrms claim there were mere dozens of us left. Now we are thousands. Dwarves built a city for us, other fleshlings bring as food and gold. And in return we do what we would be doing anyways. Flying, hunting, fighting, breeding..." he gave Genrit a wink, "...we're just a bit more selective about our enemies." Mojavico shrugged his wings. He'd been born in Pyresia so it seemed normal to him. "Perhaps now that magic has returned more dragons will depart and carve up the wilds into territories to squabble over like so many angry crows, but I hope not. If you like nothing else about it, the volcano is truly beautiful, and flying along the coast is as easy as dreaming."

Unlike Vesenthicar, Mojavico was a bit of a romantic.

"And we have Healers, so that you don't have to live lamed the rest of your life."

[Ebonfort] Give a Leg Up

At the sound of talons scraping lightly against the smooth stone with each of Genrit's footsteps, the two strange dragons turned towards the shadowed darkness of the cave opening. The copper male flared his ray-like wings slightly, a defensive motion as he backed up, cautiously defensive rather than challenging, though he seemed ready for a scuffle. The blue female hefted up on all fours, her thick tail straight and still behind her, far more disciplined than her underling.

As the copper let his wings spread, a flash of blue on his own wings revealed straight bars rather than the chevrons on the female, though he had a thinner stripe of green that she didn't. It was a mark of his military training that the copper purposefully moved in an opposite direction from where the blue stood, making sure that if Genrit were to let loose with his fire breath he wouldn't be able to get them both with the same blast.

"Salutations from Pyresia, stranger," the dragoness intoned almost boredly from her position up on the rock. "Our scouts reported a forest fire on the borders of our lands started by a white Ixen three days ago." She stretched a little, digging her claws into the rock before sitting back on her haunches, completely unimpressed by the smaller white dragon's glowing maw. "I assume they were talking about you."

"We are not interested in challenging your claim to this territory, but the only records we have of an ajikistrix (the word meant roughly "wild dragon" or "rogue") living out here were of a green acid-dragoness. Apparently you are the victor over that little spat. Congratulations." Her droning tone was devoid of any kind of enthusiasm and her pale gold eyes gazed openly at Genrit's mangled-looking acid burn and his lame leg. "We want only to caution you against any kind of dispute or destruction of or over Pyresian territory. If you intend to hold territory here permanently you are invited to to Ash Peak to make your claim official."

She even yawned, revealing several broken teeth.

"It's highly recommended," the copper offered, and he looked as though he was going to add something to that but at a glance of his coin-coloured eyes in the direction of his superior, changed his mind. "At the very least, we would like to make a record of your name. I am Harrok Mojavico and this is my superior Sky Talon Vesenthicar."

They were all-together businesslike, and acted as though they expected Genrit to already be somewhat familiar with their proud city.