Drache

[Ebonfort] Days of Grass and Dust

"I will," Asher promised, "Though I hope I've healed enough to drink by the time we reach the Gathering. All the tribes will be there. I will be expected to test myself against the Swordmasters from other tribes, and to train this season's new fighters and help them pick their weapons. There will be ceremonies and marriages, baby naming and last rites," his face darkened a little, "and the Sash Burning." And his grim scowl became even more troubled. He had killed the un-named Sergeant and still had the orange sash. Technically he had earned the right to start his own tribe, though he had never seriously considered doing such a thing until now.

"It will probably seem very frantic to you, but a Gathering can be a lot of fun." He was clearly looking forward to it, though he was trying his best to be informative and think about things from an outsider's perception. "The Summer Gathering is the biggest, but still, these times are the best for trading with other tribes and sharing information."

With that, Asher flexed his chest and arm, rolling his shoulder to test the bandage, nodding his appreciation as he stood up and went to find a clean shirt in a trunk he kept behind the partition in his pavilion tent.

A short time later, Asher was leading Verissa out into the Camp, pointing out people and tents to best help her learn her way around. It would quickly become apparent that landmarks were useless in a camp that was about to move, but the layout was based on a fine balance between practicality and preference. Some tents and setups would always be near each other, some would always be nearest the closest clean water supply, some would be arranged by status around the Warlord's Great Tent. The Swordmaster showed her where to find the latrines, and since it was on the way, he stopped by the blacksmith Gault's to drop off his breastplate. The weapon-maker's little shop was perhaps the most permanent-looking structure in the place owing to his need for heavy tools and equipment to work his craft. Strangely, he could have easily passed for a native of Green Falls, including his dress and accent when he said 'Hello' in Common. Asher tended to walk to the side and slightly behind Verissa, occasionally putting his palm at the small of her back.

Asher's instruction wasn't helped by all the people who stopped him on the way, most of them speaking fast and fluent in the musical and calming Kvaren. He had responsibilities to his fighters, and some of those who approached definitely seemed to be his fellow warriors, giving him reports of some kind. Others seemed to be Asher's friends, though the only one he bothered to introduce her to was a sandy-haired human named Sedrik who grinned knowingly as he looked between Asher and Verissa until the Swordmaster punched him in the arm and told him to fuck off.

Plenty of people watched curiously as they passed, the normal interest in a new slave amplified slightly by who was walking at Verissa's side. Eventually they reached the big open-sided pavilian that was the Healer's Tent, and the Aaenshi was under the shady canvas with a group of what must have been her students. Most were women and human, though there were a few men as well, and some individuals who must have been weres or something else entirely.

"Good Morning, Shenzi," Asher nodded to the Aaenshi, who grinned in a way that could only be described as fox-like. "I will be back for you later today, Verissa."

[Ebonfort] Out of the Pan

Moving across the infinite-seeming prairie as part of a group was a novel experience for the lusty dragoness. There had been few opportunities in her life to exist as a part of a team. She didn't even belong to a proper race, nor had she ever had anything resembling a family. Solitude was her birthright, though she had discovered long ago that solitude did not necessarily mean isolation.

Watching for Sirik's hand signals had become a fun game. So far, nothing serious had threatened them on their journey across the windy plains, and Drachiathoryx enjoyed putting her senses to use listening and watching and slinking throught the grass to come up behind Laurel or Kraven and pounce her, though her brilliant red colouration gave her away more than once, and she was almost never able to sneak up on the drow even if she could keep her heat signature out of his line of sight.

So when the gut-chilling wail shivered its way along her wing-bones, Drache felt a hot surge of adrenaline streak like lightning through her body. Dropping into a half-crouch as her ear-frills flattened against her head, her cheerful expression twisting into a feral, silent grimace of bared teeth that would not have looked out of place on a scream raptor. Her tail lashed nervously and she looked around with a jerky, reptilian motion, trying to find the source of the sound.

The sensation of something flickering and hot beneath the ground at her talons reminded her of the numerous rivers of lava that ran beneath Pyresia, but she had been practicing enough with her Firespinning that she knew that it wasn't molten rock she was feeling. A chest-tightening burn rose in her throat and when she turned to Laurel and spoke there was a plume of smoke on her voice.

"Laurel? What are you...?" The Alufiend was scrabbling at the dirt and muttering. Drache bent over to pull her hands away firmly. "Laurel, my sweet. Stop that. You'll hurt yourself. What's wrong?"

Her new friend's behaviour confirmed for Drache that somehow, the piteous cry had come from beneath them where she could feel the dying flames. If Laurel would let her, she pulled the other woman against her and stood up, glancing back at Kraven, who was closer to them than Sirik.

"Did you hear that? A scream?" When it turned out that he hadn't, Drache scowled, tail swishing thoughtfully. "Keep and eye out, then. We heard something. Sirik, something's wrong. You didn't hear anything?"

Doubting herself didn't even occur to the half-breed, though she was surprised at herself by how much seeing Laurel upset had affected her. "There's someone below us, someone who might be in trouble. In a tunnel maybe, or a cavern. Sirik, would you look at those rocks? If I was going to put an entrance to the underground in the middle of a meadow I'd protect it with rocks too." Sending the drow to look for a subterranean entrance seemed logical to her.

She tried to not sound like she was ordering them around, unsure about how the two men would react to being instructed, in spite of how willing they'd been to share her tent at night. At the end of the day, they weren't her people. She had no people.

"Laurel, it's alright, I felt it too. Come on. If our lovely gentlemen didn't hear it we were either in exactly the right spot at the right time or this has something to do with Firespinning." She tried to not let it show on account of how upset Laurel seemed to be, but couldn't wait to find out which, and hoped that her own optimism might rub off on the Alufiend.

The half-dragon moved towards the stones, hoping they would find something that would lead them downwards without having to break out the hand-shovel from her tomb-raiding kit.

[Ebonfort] Days of Grass and Dust

Verissa ducked out of the tent and Asher tensed, staring at the bright triangle of the tent flap as he resisted the urge to go after her. Part of it was the concern that she might truly try to run, which would be bad for both of them. He didn't want her to get hurt in a moment of foolish panic, and he didn't want any misbehaviour reflecting poorly on himself. It wouldn't look good for a Swordmaster to be known as "that guy whose slave girl ran off". Removing her chains had been a gamble already, but as Asher shook the stern frown from his features and moved back to the cinnamon and sugared pancakes he decided that Verissa seemed to be made of stronger stuff than he would have expected.

Breakfast was a cruelly inadequate term for the variety of foods Asher managed to whip up as the sun started to climb. Chicken and duck eggs over-easy and scrambled, pancakes with only a tiny bit of honey, bacon and salted pork, and a handful of sliced apples. The reason for the smorgasboard had already been explained, though not directly. Moving camp often meant leaving things behind, especially things that were hard to transport. It also meant gorging on food that was harder to prepare on the road.

As was his habit, Asher hadn't bothered to sit, and was eating directly out of the skillet after serving whopping portions onto Verissa's plate. He now leaned casually against the edge of the table. It took a lot of calories to fuel a sword-fighter, apparently. Storm-gray eyes followed Verissa until she began to eat, and the meal progressed wordlessly until they both had empty dishes to put in a wooden handled tub near the flap. Later, Asher would show her where to go to wash them, pointing out big community troughs kept full and heated with simmering coals by slaves like her.

Asher had wandered over to take a look at his breastplate, nudging it around with his booted foot to scowl at the huge dent in the front, one of his hands rubbing a spot across his heart where he would have been split in two if not for the hammered steel. "Shit. I'll have to go see Gault to get this fixed. Again."

Glancing up again. "Of course." he moved to one of the simple chairs and sat in the backwards so that he could lean against the back and give Verissa better access to treat his wound. The bandage had shifted while he slept and while it was still doing its job, he knew it would feel better than it was fresh. He wasn't looking forward to the unpleasantness of being scrubbed and slathered with salve or whatever, but he felt a flicker of satisfaction when he felt her hands against his skin, though what exactly he was happy about was a vague and fleeting mystery.

"Tell me about your dogs," he requested, watching Remilia's eyes. "They are not like Valley Dogs. Are they a hunting breed? I know they don't like me." He didn't sound particularly upset about it. In fact, he was almost amused by it, though his good humour wouldn't last if one of them bit him.

"Yes. Just let me know what you need. Or tell Shenzi if it's...women's things. She is much easier to talk to than me." He turned so that he could watch her out of the corner of his eye. "I will try to find out today if Jenny has already packed up. She's the best seamstress in the camp."

He was still, wanting to say something more, something comforting, but ultimately sighed and pretended it was just a reaction to Verissa messing with his injury.

[Ebonfort] Out of the Pan

@Twhirtley

[Ebonfort] Out of the Pan

Starting Date and Time: Jedayan 24th, 300DM, morning

Starting Location: Kerawac Valley

CS URLs: Drachiathoryx and GM

The random musical symphony of cricket-song in the grass of the valley slowly faded. When the sun rose the orchestra would be comprised of the buzzing drone of cicadas instead, but as the sky lightened to pink and then orange as the somewhat muted winter sun crested the distant horizon, there was a brief time of quiet.

It wasn't precisely the lack of noise that stirred the red-scaled beauty from her slumber, but more specifically the lack of background sounds that threw things closer at claw into sharper focus. Her nostrils twitched and her wings shifted slightly, but before she opened her eyes she knew that the fire outside the thin canvas of her tent had gone out. Not just by the smell of charcoals, but by the feel of the thing. The coals smoldered, but the hot hungry flicker was gone.

Eventually, she opened her eyes and glanced down her snout to the swath of ebon skin near her face. The morning light through the tent flap made Sirik's flesh nearly purple in hue, and Drachiathoryx couldn't help but consider that the colour of the Drow was a thing not meant to be seen under the bright light of the sun.

The drow was breathing softly in sleep, his lean but athletic torso bare, white hair tousled around his face. Drache realized that her tail was coiled loosely around his leg under a tangle of a quilted linen blanket. They had ended up in his tent this time, and the half-dragon's pupils widened and contracted as she glanced around at his belongings before leaning down, her face hovering inches from his.

There was a long pause in which Drache grinned slowly and Sirik did nothing but breathe.

"You know..." the dragoness purred softly, running her fingertips up his side, "I'd be completely fooled into thinking you were still asleep if I couldn't feel your pulse quicken."

His charade spoiled, the drow opened his violet eyes and gazed up, his expression a mix of annoyance and sheepishness. He lifted his hand and made the Drow sign for "Habit" and shrugged a little, his only attempt at an explanation.

Drache lifted herself up from their shared bedroll and slid one of her curvaceous legs over Sirik's hips and straddled him. She was practically naked, wearing little more than some jewelry and a necklace of fossilized ammonites and trilobites she and Laurel had picked up out of a dry creekbed the day before. They clicked stonily together and settled against Drache's generous and bare torso, swinging forward when she leaned down to lay flat on top of him, her chin propped up in her palm.

"If I didn't know better I'd think you wanted me to leave." She affected a false pout that Sirik saw right through.

"Good thing you know better," he replied, his palms running up her scaled thighs. Like most male drow he was smaller than the average woman, and even smaller than the shapely dragoness, but he didn't seem to mind.

The half-dragon growled salaciously and leaned down to nibble along Sirik's jaw until she could seize his lips, earning a groan or two for her efforts. The closeness and the heat was delicious, but both of them knew it was as fleeting as the dew on the grass just outside and would disappear just as quickly.

"I think we have some time before the others come to drag us out, don't you?" Her tone dripped with suggestion and she writhed a little. Sirik just grinned.

--

An hour or so later, Drachiathoryx and Laurel stood across from each other with the campfire between them, the rekindled blaze bright even in the daylight as the two Firespinners tried to control the flames. Drache had finally dressed in her traveling clothes, her pack sitting in the grass near Sirik's boots as the drow looked on with waning interest. Kraven stood well back, not wanting to be anywhere near the two non-human ladies and their pyromaniacal shenanigans.

Drache was testing her strength against Laurel's, not only controlling the blaze itself but trying to keep it away from the Alufiend. Between them, they had managed to twist it into fantastical shapes and strange colours, changing it until it fizzed white with sparks or boiled low and blue close to the ground. Fire was always special to the half-Ixen, but even Drache was finding out just how variable fire could be.

The hybrid looked fierce as she worked her magic, her clawed fingers curved and tight as though waiting to lash out against something physical, her wings partly-spread behind her, tail weaving slowly back and forth, reptilian face scowling and intent. Drache could feel it when her own strength waned. Laurel obviously had more practice than she did, and finally called it off.

"Tscha! That's enough. I feel I've flown a whole day and we haven't even gotten started this morning! Thanks for spinning with me, Laurel." She actually tried her sentence a couple of times, practicing Kvaren, though she got just about every word wrong.

The elementalists let the campfire die and started off together with Sirik and Kraven for the day's adventure.

A Heart Frozen (Ebonfort)

Upstairs, Ortha had discovered Alya as requested. But with no further instructions from Rilana, aka. The Shiny White Momma with Weird Food, she was content to wander about the perimeter of the room. With one head she kept an eye on her surroundings, and with the other she tried her nasty teeth on various objects to see if they were edible. To Ortha, just about anything was potentially food, and it was a testament to Rilana's constant training that the people (and Echo) in the room fell distinctly into Ortha's 'Not Food' category.

With her Vilemaw watching somewhat placidly as Drisceya kicked at the door, Ortha stretched up on her hind legs to check out the window. She hadn't been particularly impressed by the snow that melted in her mouth and chilled her belly, but perhaps the long icicles would make a more substantial meal. Her teeth scraped shrilly against the ice as she broke a long one off, her Firefang dribble turning it shiny where it had already begun to wilt and melt.

Sensing the sudden movement of creatures in the many floors below, Ortha let out a concerned chirruping Grawp!, slightly muffled by the ice in her mouth. With her spare set of eyes focused on the stairwell, the otherwordly beast scurried over to Alya and Echo, spitting the icicle out as her tail lashed back and forth. The armour plating on her back had not yet grown in all the way, but the largest pieces rattled together in an almost chitinous sort of way.

Down in the depths, Rilana was bit too busy to focus on the wavering food-motivated double vision of her extraplanar familiar, and nearly threw her longbow at the stony ground in disgust at her shoddy marksmanship. She was nearly out of arrows and had perhaps only made one good shot the entire time. It was maddening and she knew that in this dead air Kona could only swoop and hover about for so long.

"Oh...mammoth balls!" The moon fey cursed as Kona swerved to avoid another volley of icy shrapnel. The shards were striking the roof behind them, raining a gritty glitter down on everything below.

"This is no use. We have to think of something else. Something is happening upstairs but I..."

The way is blocked.

Rilana glanced towards the stairs and saw that it was true. Perhaps Svarak could have fought his way through the loitering mass, but Rilana and Kona would die in the attempt. It was only then that a shrill whistle of an ice elemental falling from a height attracted her gaze, and Kona had flown them close enough to the edge of the pit that the Druid could see the flailing creature strike the bottom.

It took the dragon so long to respond that for a moment Rilana feared it was nothing more than a creepy statue like the ones upstairs, but then it lifted its head and Rilana thought she saw pain and despair in its eyes. The druid knew very little about dragons. The only one she'd ever seen before had been at a far distance as it flew against the azure winter sky. This one seemed healthy in stature, but moved as though the life was being drained out of it.

The urge to swoop down and try to help it was powerful, but the fact that it didn't immediately attack them in its weakened state didn't prove that it was to be trusted. It did, however, suggest that there was something far greater than a simple ice dragon to deal with here.

Guiding her Familiar with simple wishes through their mental connection was almost as easy as if she were the one spreading her wings and flying. Kona's feather's thumped the air rather noisily with no currents or updrafts to assist him, though a breeze fluffed along the ground in his wake.

Rilana tucked her bow away, having no use for a weapon that she wasn't skilled enough to bring to bare on these creatures with any kind of results. Kona came to land on one side of the pit, taking a moment to breathe while the elementals scurried around towards them. They seemed endless, but as of yet were not attacking with anything Rilana could recognize as organization. More like a swarm of ants defending a hive.

Bees. Bees have hives, Kona corrected her.

"Oh, right," Rilana said thoughtfully, leaning forward to pat the gryphon on the head. The proud black and white creature snarled at the incoming elementals, sides heaving in an attempt to catch his breath, tufted tail lashing back and forth as his claws kneaded at the stone.

Another creature sailed through the air at the end of the glacial gleam of Svarak's sword. He didn't even seem perturbed by the masses of creatures surrounding him, and Rilana wished the circumstances would have allowed for her to just sit and watch.

"I wish I had his courage."

Kona didn't say anything, but he puffed his chest out a little and fluttered his wings. He didn't have that kind of courage either, but he had to be strong for Rilana.

"They're getting close," she warned, her legs tightening behind the huge muscles that attached Kona's wings to his back, and his haunches bunched, just the tiniest cat-like wiggle before he launched into the air again. They didn't get far before the gryphon flinched.

Screeee!They hit me! It stings...!

Heart in her throat, Rilana tried to glance down to see where her Familiar was injured, but all she could see was blood dripping, not where it was coming from. She could barely do more than hold on at this point as the gryphon arched to avoid a stalagtite.

"Your wings are still working, at least," she said through gritted teeth. Whatever she was going to do, it needed to happen soon.

That was when the dragon spoke. And it had to be the dragon with a voice that sounded so weak but with so much potential for might behind it. There was a brilliant flash and Rilana followed Svarak's arcing progress as he leaped adroitly over the pit, unsure where the light had come from.

But then it happened again and Kona's head turned towards the sudden rush of air, angling his wings to bring them closer.

I think someone is using the ice dragon to make all that unnatural cold weather we've been suffering through, and those statues...who knows what else.
Her eyes narrowed at the swath of destruction in Svarak's wake, trying to see if any of the elementals struck down by his antimagic sword seemed to be, indeed, reforming.

"Svarak! There's some kind of shield over the pit! It's keeping the dragon in. The null shard can pierce it! I..."

But whatever she was about to say was a mystery. Swooping towards the invisible barrier had unforseen circumstances. With a savage bump, Kona's dangling hindpaws struck the smooth curve of something and sent them both sprawling gracelessly across the high point of some sort of dome. Rilana saw white as she struck hard and cried out in pain before she lay unmoving at the summit.

Kona on the other hand, continued to roll over, feathers and fur flying as the catbird tried to right himself. He almost slipped down the steep side, scrabbling wildly to climb back up, his pelt mussed like a ruffled chicken as he hurried back to his Mistress's side. She looked terribly small hovering in midair at his feet.

This is weird, he said to no one, lifting one set of claws and then the other as he peered down through to the dragon below, placing his feet back on the solid but unseen cage.

The elementals, by virtue of being able to move through the barrier, could not climb up to get them, but their flying ammunition was getting closer to the mark. Kona gripped one set of talons harshly into the back of Rilana's vest and then looked for Svarak. He didn't like the huge Charr at all, but this was Important. He shook his feathers out and opened his black beak to let out a shrill, piercing cry like the biggest damn eagle and stared at the lion-man expectantly, his own tail lashing, mostly at the pain in his ribs where blood was staining his flank.

SCREEEEEEE!

They Have Returned (Ebonfort)

The days she spent at the Kvaren Gathering seemed to pass in a blur for Drache. Laurel and the others took turns escorting her around, and while she felt like her days were an endless parade of new faces and exciting things to see and do, after four days the half-dragon had only seen a fraction of the massive camp. Drache mostly hung around with the Crimson Vines, fascinated and welcomed by their spell-casters.

Even so, on the 28th Drache awoke with Peridiath's mission weighing on her and stood outside the flap of Sirik's tent with her arms folded across her torso, tail-tip flip-flopping as she scowled thoughtfully towards the horizon to the west, feeling the warmth of the rising sun on her wings and horns. The drow said nothing, as usual, as he emerged, still pulling his clothes on, but lifted a questioning brow.

"It's nothing," Drache insisted.

And as it would turn out, fate had arranged for her to remain with her new friends a little longer. On the 28th, Drachiathoryx spent most of the morning watching the fighters compete in contests of strength and skill with many different weapons, most of which the hybrid had no names for. She sat under a colourful awning, leaning against Kraven's broad shoulder while Laurel rubbed some kind of spiced salve into the soft membranes of her wings. She had two books open in front of her, one was her ornate personal journal, and the other was the first of the logbooks Peri had given her.

In the logbook, Drache noted the events of the Gathering with a short description, but in her own journal she elaborated a great deal, the margins littered with sketches and tidbits of information she learned about magic or the Kvaren language. Her ear-frills twitched at the sounds of steel blades crashing together. But the sounds of fighting faded as the Crimson Vines arrived and the half-Ixen watched with curious fascination at the tension that seemed to rippled through the crowd of onlookers.

The half-breed's reptilian eyes widened even further as the bloodvines peeled themselves from Keelie's skin, and Drache crept forwards to get a better look before Sirik's hand on one of her wingbones kept her back. It may have been her imagination, but she thought a ripple of knowing anticipation swept through the Crimson Vines as Warlord Keelie delivered her scathing chastisement. And the reason for that was quickly explained as the massive plant-creature shrieked and began crushing and devouring the slaves who had not volunteered to join the scouts.

Drache shrank back from the grisly scene, her lips bared in a fangy grimace as someone's blood splattered hot and sticky across her scales. The brutal murder of slaves was a stark contrast to the festive atmosphere the elementalist had enjoyed thus-far, and as Drache's eyes fell on the face of the first slave who had volunteered, she decided that it was time to leave.

Keelie was much shorter than the dragoness, who dipped her snout and fluttered her wings a little at the Warlord who addressed her. "I'm flattered by your hospitality, Warlord Keelie," Drache replied, glancing at Laurel for confirmation that her combination of words and hand-signs was correct, though she finished her sentenced in Common. "It is true that I was traveling West when I met your scouts, and I intend to continue shortly. It pleases me to think that my path will align with theirs for a little while longer."

But when offered the reigns attached to a horse, Drache just laughed ruefully and waved the giver off, swishing her tail in amusement. "I think not. My wings work perfectly well, thank you."

--

On the morning of the 31st, Drachiathoryx prudently removed her cloak from her pack and swept it over her shoulders so that it covered her wings, the hood draping over her horns. It was a poor disguise, no amount of cloth enough to obscure her shape, but at least it would hide the bright crimson of her scales. But when Shora offered to disguise her with magic, Drach refused. "A kind offer," she grinned, looking into eyes that had been croccodilian a moment before. "But I prefer to keep my own face. I'll stay out here with Laurel and you can tell me what you learn when you come back." The half-dragon was reluctant to trust in another spellcaster's skills, and was reluctant to assume a human disguise on principal.

Turning to Laurel, "If these humans are going to be that much of a problem for people like me, I might have to resume my journey alone." The hybrid sounded reluctant, leaning in close to nibble Laurel's earlobe while the others went inside.

A Heart Frozen (Ebonfort)

The statuary inside the frigid tower gave Rilana a feeling of dreadful unease. The tall woman weaved wordlessly through the seemingly randomly placed figures, her lips pressed into a grim line as she eyed the clothing and weaponry that bespoke of Frigmount styles and fashions. It was impossible for her to not recognize them, even though the colours were all washed out and muted by the ice they were made of. Even the features on some of the faces looked eerily familiar, and if the Moon Fey wasn't already frightfully cold, a terrible suspicion crept icily down her spine.

"I...I think these people used to be alive... They're too real." Part of her didn't want to believe that these creatures had been frozen alive, but it was difficult to reason her way out of, especially when she looked into their eyes. And the very thought stirred a cold anger within her.

The Scream Raptor outside let out an agonized shriek, the sound unlike any of the frostfell animals Rilana was used to, though it was somewhat similar to the noises Ortha made.

Sounds like the lizard will be joining the exhibit, Kona predicted morbidly as Rilana spun on her heel and hurried outside to help Chartrose with his own Familiar. Tricia looked bad. Even before the unnatural ice began to creep along her pebbly skin, Rilana could see the signs of frostbite and hypothermia. Her colour was washed out, her extremities dark and unmoving.

I should have forced him to leave her behind in Stone Crest! she chided herself as she tried to comfort the beast while avoiding her sharp incisors at the same time.

Yes, Kona agreed. You shouldn't second-guess yourself when it comes to standing up for what is right.

If I had done it then, Chartrose might have found the way to Mark her then instead of now when she's in so much pain and time is short. I'm not even sure if Marking her now will save her.

Stooping next to Chartrose, Rilana helped move the huge heavy reptile into the shelter of the Tower, calling for blankets and rummaging in her pack for extra furs to wrap tight around the raptor's legs so that her blood would be forced towards her heart where it would stay warm. But as the white crust of rime swept over Tricia's body, Rilana's heart sank. No amount of fur and heat could compete with magical cold.

"Chartrose..." the beautiful Moon Fey was at a loss for words. She had already voiced her fears to the huge charr mercenary and told him what she thought he must do. Her tone was urgent, letting him know that now was the time to Mark his Familiar. Now or never.

When Chartrose requested time to be alone, Rilana turned and began shooing the others away. Either the leonine-faced man was about to have a special and literally magical moment with his companion, or he was going to watch helplessly as she slipped into death, and either way Rilana thought he deserved some privacy.

But apparently they weren't moving fast enough for the distraught charr because there was suddenly a keen spearpoint stabbing through the air in her direction. Shocked and a little offended, Rilana gave the pair a last look before turning to follow the others.

The Druid intended to follow Alya, but wasn't sure if she had gone upstairs or down. There was nothing in the ground floor of the tower to secure the rams and Bruin to other than the statues, and their uncanny realness (especially due to the looks of terror on many of their faces} prevented her from using them as hitching posts.

The storm will keep them from leaving, Kona reassured her.

It's not what's out there that worries me.

But she could see no fringe or flake of supernatural frost clinging to the beasts and forced herself to believe that they would be alright. She was sorely tempted to Bond with Bruin right then and there, if only to protect him from danger. Now that she knew what it felt like, she could sense the horse's trust, the connection. But Bruin belonged to Ebonfort now and it would be wrong to Bond with someone else's creature, no matter how much she loved him.

...someone else's.

Her stomach hurt. Something warm rubbed against her legs and Rilana looked down to see Ortha's Vilemaw head staring up at her. The Firefang head was looking towards the stairs leading up, and the juvenile balauradon's tail twitched back and forth. The Moon Fey noted the glimmer of fell saliva brimming on the two-headed creature's lips and knew that she was responding to the grim predicament in which the party had found themselves. No longer terrified that Ortha was going to bite someone accidentally, Rilana hadn't made the creature wear her muzzle in long enough that the gray spot worn into her snout by the rough leather was nearly gone.

She's getting bigger by the day. You don't notice because you see her so much.

Rilana remembered the little satchel that Knight Togan had handed her all those weeks ago during the aftermath of the fated tournament and it seemed absurd that Ortha had ever fit in it. As she met the gruesome creature's gaze, Rilana explored the connection between them with her mind and discovered that not only could she see an expression of anticipation, expectation, in Ortha's fangy and horned face, she could feel it.

She's dumber than me. You have to concentrate harder to hear her thoughts.

Rilana made an exasperated face at Kona's rudeness but didn't waste time chastising him for it. At the end of the day, Kona and Ortha were on the same team.

I didn't realize I'd be able to hear them before she was Marked.

It's because you're getting better at this, of course.

Crouching down, Rilana stroked her hand across Ortha's head, looking her firmly in the eye. "Go. Find Alya for me." She said it out loud, which seemed to add strength and specificity to the mental command. She pictured the pretty, dimunitive musician in her mind and projected it to her armour-plated Familiar.

With a purring sort of snarl, the balauradon took off, wicked claws scraping against the icy steps as she ascended. Rilana turned away just as Ortha's tail disappeared, but the Druid found that even as she took a different path down the stairs into the dark cavern, she still had a sense of exactly where Ortha was.

Rilana joined Svarak in the underground chamber, concentrating hard on watching where she stepped as well as the strange new sensation of keeping tabs on Ortha. It was like a daydream that wouldn't fade away, whispers of things the two-headed creature could hear, flashes of what she saw in her unique dual perception of the world. It made Rilana's head ache but she knew it would be useful when she could make sense of it all. Kona was mercifully quiet as Rilana reached the edge of the drop and looked down.

The Moon Fey's face registered absolutely nothing, as though she couldn't even see a blue-scaled snoozing dragon at the bottom of the hole. But in truth, a dragon seemed to be almost mundane after the last few weeks. It wasn't even attacking, though the Druid knew that could change.

But then she remembered something and straightened up, reaching slowly into a pocket at the front of her vest until she came up with a single blue scale pinched between her fingers. She could feel its chill working down into her skin. For a creature supposedly immune to the cold, Rilana was finding herself quite sick of her own homeland all of a sudden.

"That Raven," she groaned, trying to work out the how and the why and the when that bird could have possibly come up with a dragonscale to bring her. A dragonscale that matched this dragon quite suspiciously.

That bird is Trouble.

She could almost hear the white raven's cackling voice in her ear, and the last thing she needed were more voices in her head!

It was about that time that there was a deep grinding crackle as the walls slid open and short but menacing creatures scurried out, lifting blade-like limbs threateningly, their eyes just as cold as the ice they had emerged from.

With no shield to defend herself, Rilana scurried backwards to avoid the icy shards that splintered into shrapnel when they hit the stoney ground. Pieces hit her clothing and stung where they struck her skin, and Rilana suspected that as the little creatures drew closer their projectiles would become far more than just an annoyance.

Are they protecting the dragon?

Hard to imagine that it's giving them orders in its sleep.

Nor does it make a good guard dog if it's napping.

Why did the bird bring the scale?

I don't know! I don't even know if it's from this dragon!

Kona's silence spoke volumes. Rilana stood still and her fists clenched as she collected the magical power within her and focused it on Kona. The Mark on her back began to itch, and then it felt warm as though something soft and furry was caressing her skin.

Behind her, the air thickened with a whitish mist that coalesced and grew into a huge winged shape, the white, leopard-spotted gryphon suddenly appearing behind his Mistress, tail lashing back and forth behind him. His ear tufts twitched and he leaned into a long, lazy stretch, retractable claws kneading at the ground as his black beak gave a yawn.

It's good to be back, he chuckled mentally, still speaking into Rilana's mind as he came up beside her and looked at her out of one yellow eye.

"Good, because we have work to do."

Waking up a dragon?

"I know it sounds crazy, but yes."

He didn't have lips, but Kona still grinned.

Rilana climbed up on Kona's back, gripping his furry shoulders behind his wings with her legs as she twisted around to pull her longbow from where it was strapped to the outside of her pack.

"You're bigger," the Druid said flatly.

Rilana wasn't the best shot, more used to sniping and hunting things that didn't know she was there, but she began to take shots at those closest to the edge of the hole to try to knock one in and see what happened. It was a task, keeping her torso straight and still enough to command the pale bow even as her abdomen had to roll with the motions of the beast under her. Kona kept an eye on the ice-archers, strafing back and forth to avoid being hit, growling in low tones. Rilana and her gryphon were hardly the cavalry and did their best to stay well away from the creatures. The giant feline-raptor let out an angry piercing shriek as he faced the elementals.

Unable to help it, the Moon Fey kept Svarak in the corner of her eye, watching with a grim sort of satisfaction as his null shard blade cleaved through the milling ranks of the short creatures like a scythe through a field of wheat. She liked nothing about any of this, but she did like watching the Lord Knight.

[Ebonfort] Days of Grass and Dust

It didn't escape Asher's notice that Verissa struggled to rise, but he didn't stare at her openly. Verissa would find that in a crowded Kvaren camp where the language was partly visual, staring wasn't just rude, it could be considered eaves-dropping as well, so the people had an indirect way of observing each other that relied on subtlety and averted eyes. Unfortunately it could come across as deliberately ignoring her.

"There, good!" he praised the dogs when Verissa finally released them to eat, wiping the grease from his fingers to his pants, watching them scarf down the fresh bacon as their Mistress heaved herself up off her bedroll. The more Asher watched them, the more impressed he became by their stoic loyalty to Verissa, especially because they seemed younger than he had first thought.

Asher was resting on one knee to attempt bribing the ridgebacks, but now rose and looked down as he considered Verissa thoughtfully. "Give me your hands," he requested firmly, and lifted his own to take them if she didn't offer them readily. He said it in Kvaren first, and then repeated himself in accented Common. It was habit he fell into from then on, letting his slave learn the words and the signs.

"I am used to cooking my own breakfast, Verissa, there is no need to say sorry. If I want something from you, I will ask," he promised solemnly, unlocking her manacles one at a time and letting them fall back to the post with a metallic clatter. "And if there is something you need..."

"You said last night that my dressings will need to be changed. When that is done, you will go to the Healer's Tent to learn from Shenzi. It is good that you are skilled with medicine, for both of us." He smiled briefly, but it was gone in an instant as though he wasn't sure he was doing the expression correctly.

"And then tonight you will help me with supper to save time. The Thunderfang camp is going to be moving in a few days so we have to pack." He lifted his hand to his chin, scratching his fingers through his long stubble, the thought of all the work he had to do making him feel exhausted already, especially with the deep ache in his neck and shoulder.

"But first, breakfast. Go, take your dogs out. Just..." he held his breath for a moment, steeling himself for unpleasant words, "I'll only warn you one time. Do not try to run away. You are too far from Ebonfort lands to make it back without getting caught." His tone was stern, but rather than threatening he seemed almost...pleading. He lifted his hand again, wanting to cup Verissa's chin with his thumb and forefinger to lift her face so that he could see her eyes, but he faltered at the last moment and settled for running the backs of his fingers down a lock of golden hair framing her face.

Asher turned back to the stove to tend the pancakes, flipping the first three onto a plate with his spatula and pouring batter for several more, sprinkling them with cinnamon while they cooked.

Ebonfort

The abandoned RP A Knife in the Dark between Verissa Beatrix Greenlakes aka Trix and Galawynd Elsinal has been reviewed. @Twhirtley