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One of my D&D campaigns turns 25 years old this month.
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Bio
It took me 10 years to finally fill one of these out, but I finally did it. Welcome, stranger.
I'm Drache. I'm a millenial leftist living in the US deep south. I'm a queer polyamorous kinkster. You can find me at PRIDE, at Ren Fair, at the local farmer's market, and the monthly dark party. I play D&D, I play Skyrim, and I play with gags and blindfolds. I'm your elder femdom, even though my bones hurt.
During the day I'm an emergency animal medical professional with 20 years in the field. On my off time I'm a dog show enthusiast, a karaoke singer, a baker, and a volunteer wildlife rehabilitator. I'm a collector of rare houseplants, of rescued exotic birds, of books, of tattoos. I'm the most feral spouse with the most domestic skills. I'm perpetually exhausted but endlessly impulsive.
If you're looking for a partner to share in your high fantasy, in your dark themes, in your deranged kinky monsterfucking, send me a PM.
What else is there to say?
Most Recent Posts
The Swordmaster followed Verissa with his eyes when she stepped away from him, wondering if he'd said something she found offensive, his scarred brow arched slightly over a stormy eye as he watched her gaze travel up to his face. She was so nervous, scared, and it reminded her of the yales that ran in huge herds on the grassland. They were graceful, but prone to bounding away at the slightest noise.
And he didn't correct her when she used his name. Any title other than Swordmaster would have made him feel soulless.
"I will," he promised, falling even more solidly into the habit of saying everything in Kvaren first and then translating it into Common for her. It was tedious, but he wanted her to trust him. Even if her urgency to adapt to life here was purely in the interest of self-preservation, he couldn't help but hope that perhaps one day it would lead to something more. "If it had been up to me, Verissa, I would have simply left you in your home. But now that you're here I'll...I'll do what I can to make you happy."
He held his hand out for the staff and took it, but rather than toss it back into the grass where Verissa had found it, he turned and heaved his arm back, throwing it like a spear until it clattered into the empty bed of the wooden cart. The mule attatched to it pinned his ears back and looked up, chewing on a mouthful of grass and glaring disdainfully at the fighter.
"It's a little bit too tall for you, but I'll shorten it and clean it up so you can keep practicing. Now, let's head back to the tent. We have some packing to do tonight."
Asher motioned for her to walk at his side and led her back to his tent, the huge mule and rough cart rumbling beside them.
"There are only a few ways a slave can become a free member of the Thunderfang tribe," he began, taking his time before answering her question. He eyed her at length, hesitating. "The first way is to marry your Master," he started, though there was something in his tone that discounted that possibility immediately. "Luckily for you I am not the kind of man who would consider taking a second wife. The second way would be to have my child, whether I married you or not." To Asher, becoming a free member of the tribe seemed poor consolation for women captured and raped by his fellows, but he supposed it was better than nothing. He glanced down at Verissa again, "I hope I made it clear last night that I don't intend to do that to you, Verissa."
They were coming up on his pavillion tent now, and Asher tied the mule to a post and beckoned for Verissa to help him start loading much of the stuff from inside his tent into the back.
"The third way is the Hunt. Not every tribe allows slaves to take it, and they still need their Master's permission, but it's the same Hunt that children go on to become adults. The Kerawac, what you call "The Valley of the Screamers," and he grinned somewhat amusedly at that, "is full of many deadly animals. Knowing them, hunting them, defending ourselves against them, that's how we survive. A young Kvaren will take a weapon and a small pack of supplies and go out into the grass to kill something. Upon bringing proof back, they are accepted into the tribe as an adult. Or in the case of a slave, free."
He lifted the coppery and black wolf hide down from the wall and ran his hand through the soft fur as he rolled it up. "This is the maned wolf I killed to earn my place in the Tribe. This is his fang too." He pulled the heavy fang pendant from his neck and handed it to her to look at. "Maned wolves aren't especially large or dangerous compared to other things, but they are not very common."
When they had finished, the mule (as well as Phantom) were hitched outside, munching muffledly in their leather nosebags and snoozing before the start of their long journey in the morning. Asher was sweating, his dark hair plastered to his forehead and his cheeks hot from lifting heavy crates into the back of the cart. He had pulled off his shirt, the resulting effect somewhat spoiled by the bandages around his shoulder. There was strikethrough on the white linen, proof that he'd overdone himself.
And he didn't correct her when she used his name. Any title other than Swordmaster would have made him feel soulless.
"I will," he promised, falling even more solidly into the habit of saying everything in Kvaren first and then translating it into Common for her. It was tedious, but he wanted her to trust him. Even if her urgency to adapt to life here was purely in the interest of self-preservation, he couldn't help but hope that perhaps one day it would lead to something more. "If it had been up to me, Verissa, I would have simply left you in your home. But now that you're here I'll...I'll do what I can to make you happy."
He held his hand out for the staff and took it, but rather than toss it back into the grass where Verissa had found it, he turned and heaved his arm back, throwing it like a spear until it clattered into the empty bed of the wooden cart. The mule attatched to it pinned his ears back and looked up, chewing on a mouthful of grass and glaring disdainfully at the fighter.
"It's a little bit too tall for you, but I'll shorten it and clean it up so you can keep practicing. Now, let's head back to the tent. We have some packing to do tonight."
Asher motioned for her to walk at his side and led her back to his tent, the huge mule and rough cart rumbling beside them.
"There are only a few ways a slave can become a free member of the Thunderfang tribe," he began, taking his time before answering her question. He eyed her at length, hesitating. "The first way is to marry your Master," he started, though there was something in his tone that discounted that possibility immediately. "Luckily for you I am not the kind of man who would consider taking a second wife. The second way would be to have my child, whether I married you or not." To Asher, becoming a free member of the tribe seemed poor consolation for women captured and raped by his fellows, but he supposed it was better than nothing. He glanced down at Verissa again, "I hope I made it clear last night that I don't intend to do that to you, Verissa."
They were coming up on his pavillion tent now, and Asher tied the mule to a post and beckoned for Verissa to help him start loading much of the stuff from inside his tent into the back.
"The third way is the Hunt. Not every tribe allows slaves to take it, and they still need their Master's permission, but it's the same Hunt that children go on to become adults. The Kerawac, what you call "The Valley of the Screamers," and he grinned somewhat amusedly at that, "is full of many deadly animals. Knowing them, hunting them, defending ourselves against them, that's how we survive. A young Kvaren will take a weapon and a small pack of supplies and go out into the grass to kill something. Upon bringing proof back, they are accepted into the tribe as an adult. Or in the case of a slave, free."
He lifted the coppery and black wolf hide down from the wall and ran his hand through the soft fur as he rolled it up. "This is the maned wolf I killed to earn my place in the Tribe. This is his fang too." He pulled the heavy fang pendant from his neck and handed it to her to look at. "Maned wolves aren't especially large or dangerous compared to other things, but they are not very common."
When they had finished, the mule (as well as Phantom) were hitched outside, munching muffledly in their leather nosebags and snoozing before the start of their long journey in the morning. Asher was sweating, his dark hair plastered to his forehead and his cheeks hot from lifting heavy crates into the back of the cart. He had pulled off his shirt, the resulting effect somewhat spoiled by the bandages around his shoulder. There was strikethrough on the white linen, proof that he'd overdone himself.
Darshane blinked slowly at the black-garbed woman's incomprehensible accent, frowning heavily, taking a solid ten seconds to even realize that she had addressed him in the Common tongue.
"You must be the First Mate, Ms. Kira Kodera?" He said slowly, looking her up and down and awaiting her confirmation before scratching her name off the list. "Your cabin is with the passengers rather than the crew's quarters." He fished in his pocket and held out a key for her. He wasn't happy about having to serve under a woman, but at least this busty human seemed a bit more serious than a fairy.
Only a few more figures boarded after Kira, most of them late crewmembers who were each in for a tongue-lashing from the tall bosun.
All in all there were about 100 sailors to crew the vessel, all of them rushing about to get her under way. It was tense, an effect not improved by the way many of them seemed to be glancing at each other conspiratorially.
--
"Not mine," the Captain shook his head, his blue gaze scanning the sky for a moment to try to spot the bird again, but there where so many gulls wheeling noisily overhead that finding one white crow in the flock was impossible. Giving up on the crow, he glanced back at the fairy just as Dain landed with his trunk on the crate. "Don't get too many fairies here in Azure Strand, m'boy," he observed, a searching glance flitting to the locked trunk. "Especially those wanting to sail to distant lands on a whim."
Standing smoothly on the rocking deck, Blaine reached down for his blue greatcoat, shrugging it over his shoulders. The garment went a long way to changing Blaine's somewhat casual appareance to that of the Captain of the sleek new vessel. He towered over the fairy.
"Didn't expect a merchant's assistant whose passage was paid for in advance to ask questions about provisions," Blaine remarked knowingly, an amused grin playing across his face. He adjusted his coat so that it fit smartly across his chest, letting his thinly-veiled suspicion linger for a moment. "Whoever paid for your passage sent provisions ahead. They're already in your cabin."
"Come find me later, after we set sail. Once our course is laid in I'll be in my cabin. He jerked his thumb in the direction of the stern. I'm sure we will have much to talk about, Mr. Crest."
The blonde man patted his thighs for a moment, searching his pockets until he produced a small iron key. It wasn't fairy-sized, of course, more akin to something that would fit a padlock.
"Yours is the only door with a padlock on the window. Hopefully you'll find that easier to manage." With that, the Captain moved towards the railing and looked over. A chorus of shouts swept through the crew and the huge ropes holding the ship to the docks began to fly, the gankplank raised. "Look sharp, Bosun! If we wait any longer to set sail these lads'll be able to use their beards to swab the decks! Let's shove off!" His voice was loud, commanding, but still somehow cheerful.
Figures began to sweep up into the rigging to loose the sails, climbing up as nimbly as spiders or monkeys. The Azure Rising drifted slowly out into the water but then began to turn as the wheel spun under the helmsman's hands. Darshane lifted a small brass whistle to his lips and blew hard, the shrill noise audible above the rest of the noise.
"Weigh anchor!"
"You must be the First Mate, Ms. Kira Kodera?" He said slowly, looking her up and down and awaiting her confirmation before scratching her name off the list. "Your cabin is with the passengers rather than the crew's quarters." He fished in his pocket and held out a key for her. He wasn't happy about having to serve under a woman, but at least this busty human seemed a bit more serious than a fairy.
Only a few more figures boarded after Kira, most of them late crewmembers who were each in for a tongue-lashing from the tall bosun.
All in all there were about 100 sailors to crew the vessel, all of them rushing about to get her under way. It was tense, an effect not improved by the way many of them seemed to be glancing at each other conspiratorially.
--
"Not mine," the Captain shook his head, his blue gaze scanning the sky for a moment to try to spot the bird again, but there where so many gulls wheeling noisily overhead that finding one white crow in the flock was impossible. Giving up on the crow, he glanced back at the fairy just as Dain landed with his trunk on the crate. "Don't get too many fairies here in Azure Strand, m'boy," he observed, a searching glance flitting to the locked trunk. "Especially those wanting to sail to distant lands on a whim."
Standing smoothly on the rocking deck, Blaine reached down for his blue greatcoat, shrugging it over his shoulders. The garment went a long way to changing Blaine's somewhat casual appareance to that of the Captain of the sleek new vessel. He towered over the fairy.
"Didn't expect a merchant's assistant whose passage was paid for in advance to ask questions about provisions," Blaine remarked knowingly, an amused grin playing across his face. He adjusted his coat so that it fit smartly across his chest, letting his thinly-veiled suspicion linger for a moment. "Whoever paid for your passage sent provisions ahead. They're already in your cabin."
"Come find me later, after we set sail. Once our course is laid in I'll be in my cabin. He jerked his thumb in the direction of the stern. I'm sure we will have much to talk about, Mr. Crest."
The blonde man patted his thighs for a moment, searching his pockets until he produced a small iron key. It wasn't fairy-sized, of course, more akin to something that would fit a padlock.
"Yours is the only door with a padlock on the window. Hopefully you'll find that easier to manage." With that, the Captain moved towards the railing and looked over. A chorus of shouts swept through the crew and the huge ropes holding the ship to the docks began to fly, the gankplank raised. "Look sharp, Bosun! If we wait any longer to set sail these lads'll be able to use their beards to swab the decks! Let's shove off!" His voice was loud, commanding, but still somehow cheerful.
Figures began to sweep up into the rigging to loose the sails, climbing up as nimbly as spiders or monkeys. The Azure Rising drifted slowly out into the water but then began to turn as the wheel spun under the helmsman's hands. Darshane lifted a small brass whistle to his lips and blew hard, the shrill noise audible above the rest of the noise.
"Weigh anchor!"
Quite sure that while she didn't approve of the giantess' methods for acquiring help with the rams, Rilana decided that Chartrose hadn't exactly been helpful on this journey so far, and it made her feel better to have one less person to worry about.
The Moon Fey was quiet as they moved through the tunnels, coming to a stop with the opening to the bat tunnel at her booted feet. Ortha sniffed interestedly around the hole, drawn to the musty acrid stink of the guano and the evidence of the creatures' passage, but even as Rilana bent down to trace the small scratch-marks with her fingertips, she doubted that the bats' passageway would lead her down to Lady Moira.
"Splitting up will cover ground more quickly, but if one group finds the others it will take time to track the other group down. I don't want to split up. Alya, do you still hear that sound?"
Expecting the others to be confused, Rilana unrolled the hide and translated the riddle again aloud for all of them, finishing by explaining that it was written by someone she knew. "I can't make sense of it."
She tucked it away with the null shard inside and reached for Kona, fluffing his ear tufts with her hands. "I need you with me." With another glare all around, the gryphon's shape blurred and seemed to float towards Rilana before disappearing, leaving nothing but clear air where he had stood and Rilana rolling her shoulders at the sensation of his Mark spreading across her back.
Glancing down at Ortha, wishing she could Mark the balauradon as well, Rilana started down the left-hand tunnel, choosing it at random. Her blue eyes scanned the walls of the tunnel, looking for anything that put her in mind of hearts or fire. She thought briefly of the northern lights that her people knew as skyfire, but for now could only find ice and rock and what snow had blown in from the outside.
Ortha didn't follow, but slipped down the bat tunnel, following the smell of the furry creatures. Rilana almost turned back to fetch her, but of the rest of the group, at least she would always be able to find her Familiar again.
The Moon Fey was quiet as they moved through the tunnels, coming to a stop with the opening to the bat tunnel at her booted feet. Ortha sniffed interestedly around the hole, drawn to the musty acrid stink of the guano and the evidence of the creatures' passage, but even as Rilana bent down to trace the small scratch-marks with her fingertips, she doubted that the bats' passageway would lead her down to Lady Moira.
"Splitting up will cover ground more quickly, but if one group finds the others it will take time to track the other group down. I don't want to split up. Alya, do you still hear that sound?"
Expecting the others to be confused, Rilana unrolled the hide and translated the riddle again aloud for all of them, finishing by explaining that it was written by someone she knew. "I can't make sense of it."
She tucked it away with the null shard inside and reached for Kona, fluffing his ear tufts with her hands. "I need you with me." With another glare all around, the gryphon's shape blurred and seemed to float towards Rilana before disappearing, leaving nothing but clear air where he had stood and Rilana rolling her shoulders at the sensation of his Mark spreading across her back.
Glancing down at Ortha, wishing she could Mark the balauradon as well, Rilana started down the left-hand tunnel, choosing it at random. Her blue eyes scanned the walls of the tunnel, looking for anything that put her in mind of hearts or fire. She thought briefly of the northern lights that her people knew as skyfire, but for now could only find ice and rock and what snow had blown in from the outside.
Ortha didn't follow, but slipped down the bat tunnel, following the smell of the furry creatures. Rilana almost turned back to fetch her, but of the rest of the group, at least she would always be able to find her Familiar again.
Starting Date and Time: Jedayan 35th, 301DM
Starting Location: Western Kerawac traveling towards Pyresia
CS URLs: Raffey Silafin & Drachiathoryx
The days grew gradually warmer as Dibney carried Drache and Raffey south and east towards the City of Dragons, though the constant wind across the grassland held a chill that neither of the warm-blooded travelers much appreciated. The smooth scuttle of the huge beetle ate up mile after mile of flat plains, and Drachiathoryx soon decided that Raffey's company was worth the loss of speed that flying under the power of her own wings would have afforded her.
It was harder than she would have imagined to flee from the God known as Coria, and there were times that she nearly turned back, gazing with a painful frown over her shoulder until a word or touch from the Keremis drew her attention away from that vile pull.
The Kvaren had spared enough food to last them the first half of their trek, and the Kerawac provided the rest. Once or twice they spotted campfire smoke on the horizon, but Drache urged Raffey to steer Dibney away from the pinpoints of heat and light she could feel burning in the distance.
Trying to take her mind off of recent events, Drache asked Raffey to teach her more of his language, enjoying the sound of the words on his tongue. In return, she taught him some Draconic, and told him about her magic, about Pyresia, about her travels. It would become evident to the Keremis that although Drache had been born in the city she sometimes referred to simply as "The Mountain", she didn't have anything resembling a sense of 'home'. She didn't belong anywhere, an absence that lent itself well to a life of travel and a proclivity for wanting to immerse herself in new cultures, fleeting though her time there might be.
At night, the wind was cold, but the silk tent kept out the worst of it, and together they sat in the warmth of Drache's campfire, eating and talking. Now and then the half-dragon would work on her logbooks or write in her journal, sometimes drawing while surreptitiously glancing at Raffey out of the corner of her eye. Occasionally she would play with the fire, making it swirl and dance to follow the motions of her hand, but it reminded her of Laurel, which reminded her of Kraven, so it didn't last long. It was during one of these lazy evenings that Cinder awoke in Drache's hands as she idly traced her claws over the hard orb, blazing into life with a yawn in the shifting features of his tiny face.
And when they slept it was in the same bedroll, Drache's limbs coiled greedily around Raffey while he snuggled for warmth.
--
Early one bright morning, the travelers crossed over the edge of a rise in the grassland and they looked up to see a dark smudge rising on the horizon. Beyond this point, the terrain began to buck and roll, the waving fields of grass giving way to higher brush and the first real trees they had come across in a while. The dark hint of even thicker vegetation on the horizon beckoned.
Starting Location: Western Kerawac traveling towards Pyresia
CS URLs: Raffey Silafin & Drachiathoryx
The days grew gradually warmer as Dibney carried Drache and Raffey south and east towards the City of Dragons, though the constant wind across the grassland held a chill that neither of the warm-blooded travelers much appreciated. The smooth scuttle of the huge beetle ate up mile after mile of flat plains, and Drachiathoryx soon decided that Raffey's company was worth the loss of speed that flying under the power of her own wings would have afforded her.
It was harder than she would have imagined to flee from the God known as Coria, and there were times that she nearly turned back, gazing with a painful frown over her shoulder until a word or touch from the Keremis drew her attention away from that vile pull.
The Kvaren had spared enough food to last them the first half of their trek, and the Kerawac provided the rest. Once or twice they spotted campfire smoke on the horizon, but Drache urged Raffey to steer Dibney away from the pinpoints of heat and light she could feel burning in the distance.
Trying to take her mind off of recent events, Drache asked Raffey to teach her more of his language, enjoying the sound of the words on his tongue. In return, she taught him some Draconic, and told him about her magic, about Pyresia, about her travels. It would become evident to the Keremis that although Drache had been born in the city she sometimes referred to simply as "The Mountain", she didn't have anything resembling a sense of 'home'. She didn't belong anywhere, an absence that lent itself well to a life of travel and a proclivity for wanting to immerse herself in new cultures, fleeting though her time there might be.
At night, the wind was cold, but the silk tent kept out the worst of it, and together they sat in the warmth of Drache's campfire, eating and talking. Now and then the half-dragon would work on her logbooks or write in her journal, sometimes drawing while surreptitiously glancing at Raffey out of the corner of her eye. Occasionally she would play with the fire, making it swirl and dance to follow the motions of her hand, but it reminded her of Laurel, which reminded her of Kraven, so it didn't last long. It was during one of these lazy evenings that Cinder awoke in Drache's hands as she idly traced her claws over the hard orb, blazing into life with a yawn in the shifting features of his tiny face.
And when they slept it was in the same bedroll, Drache's limbs coiled greedily around Raffey while he snuggled for warmth.
--
Early one bright morning, the travelers crossed over the edge of a rise in the grassland and they looked up to see a dark smudge rising on the horizon. Beyond this point, the terrain began to buck and roll, the waving fields of grass giving way to higher brush and the first real trees they had come across in a while. The dark hint of even thicker vegetation on the horizon beckoned.
A Profitable Death has been started between GM and Gaulirax.
Starting Date and Time: Vermillio 25th 288DM
Starting Location: Gaulirax' cell to Luthelia's Balcony in Pyresia
CS URLs: Gaulirax
The summons came for Gaulirax in the form of a heavy booming knock at the door to his room. Little more than a prison cell, the round room had been cut into the dark igneous rock that formed the volcano and its roots for dozens of miles in all directions. Dwarves had made the space somewhat livable by laying the floor with smooth tile and fitting a white crystal chandelier into the ceiling with a small lever that could cut off the sunshine filtering down from the distant world above. Unfortunately for Gaulirax, he was nearly twice as tall as most dwarves and would be forced to stoop his horns somewhat everywhere except the center of the room.
Sparsely furnished, Gaulirax' mistress hadn't seen the need to supply him with anything more than the basics. A bed, a chair, a chamberpot, a trunk to store what few clothes he had, a few harmless training weapons. Not only did Gaulirax not own much, there was no window to his prison home.
Giving the half-dragon mere moments notice, the door opened outwards and two shapes filled the doorway. One was tall, a black-skinned man with a long chain in his hand that he obviously intended to attach to the flat steel collar that was ever around Gaulirax' neck. The other was short, long black beard dangling to his stout knees.
"Look pursentible, lizard. Your Mistress wants ta see ya, though by my rekkining she ain't missin' out on much."
The tall man moved into the room to secure Gaulirax before they hauled him out of his room and into the hall. It was a part of the city not designed for dragons, the passageways all too small for their immense bodies. Glow crystals lined the corridor at large intervals, though the half-dragon's eyes would see easily in the shadowy patches between.
Starting Location: Gaulirax' cell to Luthelia's Balcony in Pyresia
CS URLs: Gaulirax
The summons came for Gaulirax in the form of a heavy booming knock at the door to his room. Little more than a prison cell, the round room had been cut into the dark igneous rock that formed the volcano and its roots for dozens of miles in all directions. Dwarves had made the space somewhat livable by laying the floor with smooth tile and fitting a white crystal chandelier into the ceiling with a small lever that could cut off the sunshine filtering down from the distant world above. Unfortunately for Gaulirax, he was nearly twice as tall as most dwarves and would be forced to stoop his horns somewhat everywhere except the center of the room.
Sparsely furnished, Gaulirax' mistress hadn't seen the need to supply him with anything more than the basics. A bed, a chair, a chamberpot, a trunk to store what few clothes he had, a few harmless training weapons. Not only did Gaulirax not own much, there was no window to his prison home.
Giving the half-dragon mere moments notice, the door opened outwards and two shapes filled the doorway. One was tall, a black-skinned man with a long chain in his hand that he obviously intended to attach to the flat steel collar that was ever around Gaulirax' neck. The other was short, long black beard dangling to his stout knees.
"Look pursentible, lizard. Your Mistress wants ta see ya, though by my rekkining she ain't missin' out on much."
The tall man moved into the room to secure Gaulirax before they hauled him out of his room and into the hall. It was a part of the city not designed for dragons, the passageways all too small for their immense bodies. Glow crystals lined the corridor at large intervals, though the half-dragon's eyes would see easily in the shadowy patches between.
The half-dragon's wings hugged awkwardly against either side of the wounded Keremis as Drache followed Sirik back to the surface, and the added weight slowed her normally nimble gait. But more than that, there was a weight on her mind that made it impossible to focus on anything other that Sirik's back as they hastened along. She winced hard at the voice, the sheer vile power behind it painful, and the promise it offered sliding through her insides like ice. Now and then she paused, the temptation nearly overwhelming.
A dragon. A dragon. A dragon.
What would life be like for her if she could cast off this weak, mis-shapen form and assumed something akin to what her father had been? She knew that Sgarsiathoryx had been phenominally large and mighty while he was alive, and it only stood to reason that his offspring should be similarly impressive. No longer would she be faced with all the hardships of being a monstrous freak in the eyes of...everyone.
It was only her memory of what Coria had done to Kraven, and the sensation of Raffey's heart pounding against his chest where he rested against her back, that she tore herself painfully and guiltily away. The scent of smoke and blood reached her nostrils and she emerged into the light, her tail swishing nervously, prepared for another fight. Luckily, it seemed that the skirmish was over, Coria's misled minions getting the worst of it.
"Tiichi apzen ihk sart totafitic," she muttered under her breath, which translated to "thank my luck for small favors."
When Raffey slid down to the ground, Drache kept a hand on him until he had himself balanced on a spear. Her ear-frills flexed as she tried to say something, but ultimately drooped and her eyes slid away so that she didn't have to watch him hobble off. If it hadn't been for her ineptitude, he wouldn't be injured at all, and it seemed unjust that she had come out relatively unscathed.
Upon looking away, she focused on the corpse of the dragon and her brows furrowed, her bare footsteps carrying her closer to the dwarf at the drake's head. She glanced at the lifeless wings to see if there was any laudii painted there, and wasn't sure she had ever met this dragon, though the dwarf looked like a Pyresian. "Who are you?"
There was so much loss. She glanced up at Sirik's outburst, watching her friend sob out his pain, and noticed Laurel folded in Raffey's arms, also crying. Her clawed hand curled into a fist, emotions boiling inside her. Kraven's death hurt. The pain of her friends hurt. But they didn't turn to her for comfort, and perhaps that was for the best. She didn't know how to cry.
Certain that her brief time among friends was at and end, that her welcome was worn out, Drachiathoryx decided that it was time to leave.
A dragon. A dragon. A dragon.
What would life be like for her if she could cast off this weak, mis-shapen form and assumed something akin to what her father had been? She knew that Sgarsiathoryx had been phenominally large and mighty while he was alive, and it only stood to reason that his offspring should be similarly impressive. No longer would she be faced with all the hardships of being a monstrous freak in the eyes of...everyone.
It was only her memory of what Coria had done to Kraven, and the sensation of Raffey's heart pounding against his chest where he rested against her back, that she tore herself painfully and guiltily away. The scent of smoke and blood reached her nostrils and she emerged into the light, her tail swishing nervously, prepared for another fight. Luckily, it seemed that the skirmish was over, Coria's misled minions getting the worst of it.
"Tiichi apzen ihk sart totafitic," she muttered under her breath, which translated to "thank my luck for small favors."
When Raffey slid down to the ground, Drache kept a hand on him until he had himself balanced on a spear. Her ear-frills flexed as she tried to say something, but ultimately drooped and her eyes slid away so that she didn't have to watch him hobble off. If it hadn't been for her ineptitude, he wouldn't be injured at all, and it seemed unjust that she had come out relatively unscathed.
Upon looking away, she focused on the corpse of the dragon and her brows furrowed, her bare footsteps carrying her closer to the dwarf at the drake's head. She glanced at the lifeless wings to see if there was any laudii painted there, and wasn't sure she had ever met this dragon, though the dwarf looked like a Pyresian. "Who are you?"
There was so much loss. She glanced up at Sirik's outburst, watching her friend sob out his pain, and noticed Laurel folded in Raffey's arms, also crying. Her clawed hand curled into a fist, emotions boiling inside her. Kraven's death hurt. The pain of her friends hurt. But they didn't turn to her for comfort, and perhaps that was for the best. She didn't know how to cry.
Certain that her brief time among friends was at and end, that her welcome was worn out, Drachiathoryx decided that it was time to leave.
This RP is complete and needs a rewards review. @Rekaigan
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