Drache

[Ebonfort] A Common Flame

"Very obvious," the female replied. Her angry posture had softened, her rigid tail relaxing into a slow weaving back and forth behind her thighs. She glanced up and down the street as Aussir slid out of his saddle, keeping well back from the horse. The way she glanced at the large quadruped seemed to suggest she had an inate mistrust for the beast.

But then Aussir was between her and the horse and Drachiathoryx let her gaze slide over the large white drake with renewed interest. He was quite impressive and she was not shy about letting her ember gaze wander. She resisted the urge to reach out and touch his interesting wings. All in due time.

"Perhaps the chivalrous route works on some females, Aussir, but in my case I consider myself quite self-sufficient. I don't need you to look out for me, even if I appreciate the gesture." She readjusted the satchel where it rested against her hip, the hard surface of the heavy tomes fairly unforgiving. The salacious dragoness had resigned herself to being the only person she could count on a long time ago.

"I may have made a bit of a nuisance of myself at the tavern before I left," Drache admitted with a feral grin, quite satisfied with her saucy exit. "I have a better idea. There's a garden at the end of Chandler Avenue before it drops over the cliff. There's a nice view and it's quiet at night." It was also closer than the Market Square.

Her eyes flicked up to the horse again. She realized that Aussir was trying to be kind, even though he was offering help when it wasn't really needed. If he had offered to carry the bag himself she may have been happy to hand it over and accept the offer, but things changed when horses were involved. "It's nice of you to offer but...I have never ridden a horse before. Most of the time they don't seem to appreciate having someone like me on their backs. I'm surprised that it...that she allows you in the saddle." It was hard to think of horses as anything other than food. "I came back to the city on the back of an Auric Beetle but I really don't have any experience riding. At least not that kind of ridng." She winked suggestively at Aussir.

"Are you sure it wont spook?" Tentatively, she edged towards the horse and held out her clawed hand, fully expecting the horses eyes to roll, its ears to pin back, and to have to snatch her hand back from those massive flat-topped teeth.

[Ebonfort] Days of Grass and Dust

Asher listened, his arms crossed and his chin tucked slightly as he waited Verissa out, struggling with the urge to say something comforting but suspecting that it wouldn't actually help if he did. All these years he had avoided the responsibility of owning a slave, and as he felt an ache in his chest grow, sympathetic to Verissa's distress, it seemed confirmation that he was not the right man for this, even now.

He couldn't help feel a jab of anger when the terrified woman voiced her fear. It seemed unjust. Hadn't he been kind? Far more so than most men would have been? He had put his life and his reputation on the line to protect her from Jasper, an act that he knew would have repercussions somewhere down the road. He had taken her in to look after her himself, and while his broody widower lifestyle wasn't exactly something to be proud of, it had grown quite familiar after a decade. Would she always suspect him of being one step away from brutalizing her?

Asher seemed to deflate a little, his stern features growing more hollow, haunted, his arms uncrossing from his chest to hang loosely at his sides.

"I'm not going to hurt you, Verissa," he muttered somewhat thickly, lifting his hand to rub his face. "Not on purpose. I'm sorry if I grabbed your arm too hard, I just thought you were already hurt. Why would you be punished? I don't understand this thinking. For being a mage? Is that what they do to mages in Ebonfort, truly? I had heard it, but didn't believe they would be so...foolish." The very idea only fed into the smoldering hatred he felt for the Ebon Knights, one more transgression in an infinite litany of charges, the death of his family being the blackest of them all.

"You don't need to worry about your pups. They may not trust me, but even if something happened to you I would make sure they were kept fed. No one is punished for being a mage here. Some tribes are even open only to other magic users. Magic is just like anything else. As long as you aren't using it to hurt the tribe you're welcome to practice it and make it stronger."

She was closer now, her eyes watery and wide with fear. How strange was it that after a decade of living alone his arms lifted automatically when she came close. Verissa was not Wren, but he still didn't want to see her so distraught. Risking the appearance of another purple apparition, Asher tucked an arm around the small of Verissa's back, the other up near behind her shoulder, his skin warm in spite of being bare.

"I don't want you to leave either," he said, his gray gaze flicking across her face before settling on her eyes again. The full weight of her admission didn't hit him right away, mainly because he was too modest a man to think that she might have been implying that he could be the reason she didn't want to go. "Call me biased, but if you lived in fear like this all the time, what do you have to go back to? At least here you can be yourself. And as soon as our laws allow, I'll help you take the Hunt so that you don't have to be a slave anymore. If you don't want it known that you're a mage, I will keep my silence as long as I can. You should be proud of it, but it's your secret to tell when you are ready."

He lifted a hand to gently stroke her blonde hair. If Verissa being a mage somehow became relevant to the safety of his people, Asher would have no choice but to go to Ozlo, but for now there was no harm in letting her have the time to gain confidence until she was willing to tell people herself.

The solid fighter lapsed into silence as the soup began to roil in the pot behind Verissa. Having a beautiful woman in his arms was...nice. But the feeling came with a side of guilt. He was still married, wasn't he?

[Ebonfort] A Profitable Death

Keraunilath watched closely as her red-scaled slave knelt before her as he had been trained to do. It pleased her to belittle him, to constantly remind him that he was nothing but a half-breed. To her, Gaulirax was a stunted, misshapen thing that should have been cast out to die the moment he was born. Worse than that, the deep blue she-drake sneered with disgust at the very thought of a dragon lowering themselves to shape-shift and fuck a biped. It was sickening, and Keraunilath was not shy about making her aversion known to Gaulirax.

"Like a dog on a chain and just as dumb. You can lick the floor while you're down there and clean some of the grime you tracked in from the Deeps." Her scaled throat bobbed in a silent chuckle as she shifted, forcing the un-named slave girl to hold on to her spines tightly to avoid being thrown off.

"Watch where you're grabbing!" Keraunilath snapped, twisting her neck around to glare at the girl, who kept her face averted and trembled at the loud, hissing voice spitting at her in common.

The red-headed dwarf said something in his native tongue, succesfully distracting Gaulirax' mistress from tormenting the girl any further, though it brought her back to the dragonkin.

"Ah yes. Gurwik here is one of the organizers on the Arena Committee. He has taken an interest in your future, Gaulirax. I suppose I should congratulate you on your recent successes. You've come a lot further than I ever expected, though I'm sure that is mainly due to Rathrid. Whether it's a mongrel or a stone, trust a dwarf to be the only one who can carve something useful out of it."

The slave girl had abandoned her brush, letting it fall to the tiled floor with a clatter, using a chamoise cloth to polish Keraunilath's spines. It was a fruitless excercise, however, because the dragoness' scales were naturally dull and would never glimmer. Something the girl would be punished for later, no doubt. Even so, the girl glanced at Gaulirax now and then, a sad look in her eyes.

"Yes, red dragonkin very unusual. Many fans. Much money and fame if he allowed to fight in the Games." The dwarf's command of draconic wasn't perfect, but his message was clear. And if it wasn't, Keraunilath would expound on it in a moment.

"Stand up you useless lump. As it turns out, you've actually proven to be good at something. I should have guessed it would be something brainless and callous." Another chuckle at Gaul's expense. "But Gurwik seems to think you might be able to win more, which means Gambling on you might be quite profitable."

The dragoness lifted herself to her feet, shaking her wings out as she towered over everyone else in the room. She strolled lazily over to the open doors that led out onto the balcony and the long drop to the city below. "A pity you don't have wings, slave. Some days I am tempted to set you free. The flight would be short, of course, but the sound of you hitting the bottom would be quite satisfying. For me."

Turning back, "You will fight in the arena, and you will win. You will win and I will profit from your success. You will be useful to me or you will die in the arena. And I will find a way to profit even from your blood on the arena floor."

She was wicked and cruel and arrogant, watching him gleefully.

[Ebonfort] A Common Flame

The red-scaled dragoness hadn't made it more than a block from the tavern before she heard the sound of hoofbeats on the sandstone pavement behind her. Here on the coast in the land of mountainous jungle, horses were not terribly common. Beasts of burden were usually raptors or huge oxen, with the carriages usually being some sort of rickshaw. The flying overlords of the city were barely more than stomachs with wings, which didn't leave a lot of acceptance for juicy horseflesh to be "wasted" for riding.

After dropping the idiot drunk in the tavern, Drache was immediately suspicious that she was being followed by him or his friends, and the flicker of anxiety that made her flat belly clench and her tail stiffen seemed to be realized when Aussir's voice called out to her. Turning sharply, the crimson beauty raised her wings aggressively, letting the long phalanges flare as her tail lashed back and forth.

"What's it to you, tzaraf--..." The crude insult she half-spat from her bared fangs died on her lips as she realized who was approaching her. The combination of her bewilderment at seeing the male who had fled so rapidly earlier in the night and the fact that he was riding a horse was almost enough to keep her from noticing that he had mispronounced her name.

"Uh...It's Drachiathoryx actually," she corrected him. Her tail curled over where it was held up behind her back in the shape of a question mark, her wings shrinking even as her ear-frills flared out with her interest, her refined snout tilting up to face him.

The white and blue dragonkin was tall and fit, two attributes that Drache appreciated, but he seemed nervous and even shifty, which put her on her guard. But she was willing to give him a chance to talk, in no hurry to be anywhere and possibly more forgiving than usual when it came to handsome half-dragons. But her tolerance began to wane as soon as he mentioned her bag. She clutched it tightly, protectively. "I was. And I assure you that I'm more than capable of taking care of my own things. I carried far more for far greater a distance than across the city."

It was true that the dragoness had a decent amount of rum under her belt, but not enough to stand and be insulted but a mercenary with lovely wings. Her lip lifted to bare her teeth more and more with every word, growing angrier with each passing second.

"In any 'condition'?" she repeated, incensed by the implication that she was not fit to take care of herself. How disrespectful! There was a throaty growl shuddering through the air between them and Drache's amber eyes gleamed with indignant rage.

"How dare you! Who are you? You ran out of the tavern like a scared rat before I'd even said two words to you and now you're back to insult me for having a few drinks? And then offer to share a tent with me in the middle of the city? What kind of female do you think I am? What could you possibly hope to accompl.."

She was well into her tirade now, and more than one hot spark flew from her maw as she hissed her words at Aussir, not caring if her feral mannerisms might spook his horse. But all of a sudden she stopped in the middle of a word, nearly bristling in silence with how angry she had let herself become. But her spiral horns tilted and she peered up at the white drake.

"Wait." She lifted her hand and rubbed her snout. "You...you were trying to flirt with me just now, weren't you?" It wasn't really a question, more of a realization that she was voicing as it occured to her. "I take it you haven't done it much. If I might make a suggestion, why don't we find a place to talk before you start inviting me into your tent, hmm?"

Her voice had been ferocious a moment ago, and a furnace-like heat billowed from her in a way that just had to be magical, but now it faded, the glare in her eyes replaced by something a bit more amused or even impish. A tentative smile coiled across her lips, amused both by Aussir's awkward reintroduction and her own merciless reaction.

[Ebonfort] The Edge of the Map

The slender young woman was less than conversational, gripping hard at the polished rail as though unsteady, or very nervous. Kira's thick accent was difficult for her to decipher. Her dark eyes followed the motion of the fiddle as the experienced sailor pulled the instrument from the case, and a look of excitement softened her features.

"Ah! Ehm, I see. Yes, I have a...special skill." She glanced around to make sure none of the sailors had wandered too close. "Some call it Waterspinnind, yes. But I should like not to talk about it too much until it is needed."

Like most of those who had developed a talent for Magecraft, Jharnia was afraid that being found out would not cast a bright light on her future. She waited for a moment, fascinated by the plucking sounds ringing from the fiddle as Kira turned the knobs to tune each string.

"Come close and watch," the girl whispered quietly. Using her hands to direct her focus, she held them towards the bowl of seawater. The surface had been calm before, but now rippled, until the entire volume rose up out of the sun-bleached turtle shell. The shells inside were left in the bottom, and some of the water dripped free from the spinning ball, but for the most part it floated up between them, catching the orange light of the setting sun.

Moving both hands independantly, Jharnia separated the blob into two, and then made a tendril of water connect from one to the other before morphing them back together again. After a moment or two more, she lowered it back into the shell bowl where only some of it slopped over the side onto the deck.

"I can spin much more. Maybe enough to move a ship, but not for long." She didn't explain why a skill like hers would be useful. Either she trusted Kira was smart enough to realize it on her own, or she was too nervous to voice her opinion. Lifting on hand to draw her long black ponytail over her shoulder, she toyed with the bands that kept it tight.

"I would like to hear you play."

[Ebonfort] A Common Flame

A rude snort met Aussir's words when the pale-scaled dragonkin called him 'Lord'. This served the dual purpose of revealing Mojavico's age to be relatively young, but also indicated that he didn't think himself much of a Lord. No more than any drake considered himself.

"Harrok suits me well enough, Alexander," the Copper sniffed, inclining his head. Mojavico listened politely while the half-breed talked, his tail giving a rippling twitch of sympathy for his troubles.

"I can't say I've ever heard of a dragonkin who had it easy," he said, lowering his voice as if he was afraid someone might overhear. "But I have known a few like you and no matter what they started out with, they made something of themselves. My Sky Talon would flay my tail if she heard me say so, but when I'm in siladon I enjoy spending my time with half-breeds, when I can find them." Siladon translated into 'half form'. Mojavico was a shape-shifting dragon.

"If you're looking for work where that blade will come in useful, go talk to the dwarves at the Merchant Guild. Ask for Morris." The Copper lifted himself back up to his feet, his rippling wings sounding leathery in the night.

"No, nou'ara Bane. I have tarried from my patrol long enough." The dragon fighter strolled forwards, using a claw to casually assist Aussir as he folded up his tent. As he moved closer, there was a sort of sweet smell about him, clinging the way Aussir's own warmth clung to him, and for the same reason.

"Perhaps we shall brush wings sometime when I am not on patrol. Good luck on your hunt, and with finding someone to keep you company." He gave Aussir a weird knowing look, as though this was not the first time he had comforted a half-dragon with the same doubts Aussir had in his heart.

After that, he leaped into the air, his proud wings bearing him aloft into the shadowy night.

--

Back at the tavern, Drachiathoryx gazed thoughtfully at the retreating back of her associate. The half-drow scribe seemed to blend naturally into the shadows and was lost to the night. Turning back, the half-dragon sighed smokily and looked down at the leather satchel of books and parchmenet that had just been returned to her after being translated and deciphered. It would be a lot of reading and although the dragoness was eager to peruse the secrets of the books she had found the same night she had stumbled across Genrit'khath's frozen lair, not to mention the strange glyphs from the now-flooded fire temple in the Kerawac, she had possible downed a few too many cinnomony cocktails to focus on the task.

Without warning, someone prodded her on the back of the arm with a sloppy finger, and Drachiathoryx could smell the ale on the man's breath before she had even turned to see him.

"Oy. Erm. Mah buddies wanna know..." the drunken human jerked his thumb over his shoulder to where several more equally drunk mercenaries sat at a rough round table, "What does a dragon need titties for?"
The other men burst into blubbering snorts of laughter and Drache's lip peeled back in a snarl. While insults and rude comments were a matter of course for someone like her, she was in no mood to be trifled with. Unable to come up with a witty retort, she simply let her long tail creep around the back of the man's leg before yanking harshly, sending him toppling to the floor.

There was a sound of coins rolling across the counter as the dragonkin paid for her drinks, turning to heft her satchel over her shoulder and then step over the squirming man towards the exit.

"They're for you and your friends to stare at while telling yourselves you're better than me."

Her tail gave an angry, saucy flick. "You're not."

--

The cool breeze off the sea seemed to steal away some of her simmering anger as she started off towards the end of the street. she didn't fancy flying up to the balcony where she lived with the heavy bag, but she also didn't want to make that long walk. She mentally began listing all those she knew in this part of the city who might be willing to put her up for the night.

[Ebonfort] A Profitable Death

The tall black human yanked on Gaulirax' chain a little, snickering rudely as the trio passed through the glittering tunnels of the Gem Deeps. Many of the huge vaulting caverns still retained an un-worked sort of feeling, not because the dwarves had become lazy or unorganized in their delving, but because long ago they had chosen to let the shape of the sloping tunnels and cave-side stairs follow the natural shapes of the massive geodes and shiny seams of gems. Many were simple quartz in a variety of colours, the druzy worthless when mined but astonishing to behold.

"Then yer a DEAF slave. I called yer a lizard, norra sheep!" The dwarf struck Gaul across his tail with a square mace, purposefully picking a spot that wasn't vital but would hurt like hell.

Upon passing certain tunnels that sloped outwards towards the surface, the warm salty breeze from the sea blustered in, leaving moisture on the worked stone around them to feed moss and shrooms that glimmered with their own light. Other times, the faint breath of wind was earthy and faintly perfumed like the jungle all around the base of the Ash Peak.

But Gaulirax would not feast his eyes on the outside world for over an hour. It took that long to trek up the inside of the volcano, through the subterranean city that was just as strange and beautiful as what lay on the outside, just in different ways. Eventually the tunnels grew much wider and even more ornate, with carvings on every surface. While the dwarves prefered logical, geometric designs, the architecture and artwork near the balconies was meant for a different audience. Here the carvings and gem-studded mosaics were more organic in design, insinuating various wildscapes and depicting dragon silhouettes.

Here, the massive scaled masters of the peak strolled through the expansive corridors, their deep tones growling through the shadows. Dragon faces of every colour turned to peer briefly as Gaulirax was marched by on the end of his leash. Most concealed their reactions well, but some sneered openly, and the half-breed would hear the word 's'karawtem', which meant mongrel.

They passed huge doors that lead to the dragon's individual chambers. Many had an attendant stationed outside, and it was not uncommon for any one dragon to have a household staff similar to lord and ladies the world over, be they employees, servants, or slaves purchased outside the city. The huge metal-reinforced stone doors were meant to imply power and wealth. At the apex of the engraved frame, a stylized lightning bolt identified the owner as one of the Shochra clan.

A female dwarf stationed at the doors sqaured her stocky shoulders and challenged the black-bearded dwarf in their native tongue, eyeing Gaulirax suspiciously. The dwarf replied arrogantly, jerking his thumb at the dragonkin over his shoulder. The female dwarf scowled and set her hands on her hips for a moment, but then moved to the side to let them pass.

The tunnel beyond the doors sloped ever upwards, lit with slow-burning oil lanterns. The black basalt corridor opened up into a large kidney-shaped cavern. One end a pair of doors similar to the underground entrance were open inwards, revealing a balcony and the blackness of the night sky. Much of the room was decorated by a seam of blue-white crystals lining the wall and ceiling. It had been incorporated into a carving of a huge Shochra diving out of roiling stormclouds at a tiny three-masted ship.

And in the center of the room a blue-scaled figure reclined lazily on her side like a smug cat, speaking pleasantly with a rather business-like red-bearded dwarf. As far as dragons went, Keraunilath was not a beauty. Her dark blue scales faded to a rather matte black along her spine. Her wing membranes were a rather colourless gray with several tatters in the edges. She had the slender neck and tail that was considered 'feminine' in her kind, but her limbs in general were rather knobby rather than gracefully curving. Her black horns tilted towards each other at their tips, and her face was bony. Turning towards the newly-arrived trio, the mere motion of her snout caused her company to stop speaking. There was a scent in the air like ozone after a heavy summer thunderstorm. She lifted a wing slowly, making room for a slender tan-skinned human girl who was scrubbing at her scales with a stiff bristle-brush. The young woman glanced shyly at Gaulirax before resuming her work. She was dressed in almost as little as the dragonkin, her chest and groin covered by scanty blue silk.

"Ah. My fiesty little pit fighter. You look like a sow ready for the slaughter. At least now I know why Rathrid keeps asking for more food for you. Come, join us. It's been too long since we last spoke."

She sniffed haughtily and tapped the stone floor near her with an imperious claw. The black-skinned man unfastened the chain from Gaulirax' collar and shoved him forwards.

[Ebonfort] A Common Flame

The Copper drake had his nostrils clamped shut, breathing through his teeth. In most circles this was considered rude, implying that he liked Aussir so little that he didn't wish to smell him. Some dragons did this during conversation when they suspected the other to be lying, as though shutting out falsehoods. In this situation, however, it was simply the Harrok being cautious with a stranger who may be up to no good.

Either Aussir's brief flattery was enough to fluff the copper's ego, or the Harrok heard a genuine note of remorse in the dragonkin's words. Whatever the case, the large dragon sat back on his haunches and curled his tail around his feet, assuming a slightly more conversational posture.

"Dragonsteel, hm? How pretentious..." the Harrok mused, reflecting on the name. "I don't follow the matches much but it sounds familiar. A human, yes? I wonder..." His large head turned and he eyed Aussir out of one side. The copper's horns were two large wedges on either side, and when combined with his rather sharp chin gave his face a triangular look. He was clearly wondering who Aussir's father was, but didn't ask.

"My name is Mojavico and well met. Consider it luck that you didn't burn down anything important. Pyresia may be made out of fire and stone, but the dwarves are wary enough without half-breeds throwing tantrums." Mojavico lifted his wing to scratch at his chin with a vestigal thumb-spike.

"I don't fancy the bother of taking you in for questioning but don't make me regret leniency by making a nuisance of yourself. Perhaps a woman in your bed might alter your dreams. Or a man, whatever your preference." There was an impish look in Mojavico's face as he teased the dragonkin. But after a moment his eyes fell on the packed tent.

"You speak our tongue too well to be an outsider. Don't you have a balcony or a lair to go to?" This Harrok was quite conversational for a dragon. Many of them would have jumped at the chance to make a half-breed's life miserable.

[Ebonfort] A Common Flame

A heavy click of glass against the stone drew the she-drake's eyes for a moment and she lifted the cocktail slid to her by the dwarf, sipping the cinnamony rum as she fished in a pouch on the black belt around her shapely hips for coin. A black shiny orb larger than her fist was tucked into the leather purse, and in the few moments it was exposed to Aussir's sight it seemed to flicker orange like a fire-brand.

A knowing look passed over Drache's face when Aussir admitted his line of work, and she nodded her horns a little. "I've been...traveling for over a season. Only been back in the city for a few days, but I hear that many of the Xarzi clan have left the Peak. I'd be willing to bet that those who remain might be feeling a need to protect their interest in the Guilds or along the trade roads."

Drache took another sip and scooted closer to Aussir, leaning close enough that their scales nearly touched. "Dragons say they don't like us but you might find that some would rather be in our company than that of dwarves or humans."

There was a silence between them, two half-breeds happening upon each other in a rowdy tavern, but after a while the pause seemed excessive and the pretty red looked up questioningly. For a brief moment Drache thought that Aussir had found his gaze captured by her ample bust, which would have been flattering as well as amusing. But a glitter of purple was reflected in his eyes and she understood that he really was entranced by the necklace.

Before she could say anything to stop him, the male dragonkin with the self-given name had hopped from his seat as though it had turned to ice under his tail. Drache's brow furrowed and she turned, her lips forming the word "Wait!"

But he was gone.

---

And Aussir would quickly find out that regardless of how passionate and justified his anger at the world felt, one did not simply incinerate trees in the middle of the night on the jungle-infested outskirts of the city without attracting some attention.

Just as the half-breed finished packing his tent, a loud leathery flapping like a ship's canvas sail whipping loose on the wind, followed by a heavy thud, announced the arrival of a dragon out of the night sky behind him. The large leaves of nearby trees rustled wetly against each other in the wake of the large creature's passing.

"Halt, nou'ara." The voice was business-like and authoritative, belonging to a male drake peering at him through the darkness. He used the Draconic word for 'half-breed', which was thankfully a bit more polite than the usual term that meant 'mongrel'.

Whenever Aussir got around to facing his challenger, he would find a small but well-muscled copper drake peering at him sternly, his long frilled tail twitching back and forth. He didn't fold his wings back until he was sure Aussir had a chance to see the blue stripes painted on those coppery membranes, which identified him as a Harrok of the Wing Host. Most of his scales were as bright as freshly-forged copper armour, though some of the thickest ones were tinged with a green patina.

"You're causing quite a lot of noise out here by yourself, half-Ixen," the Copper Harrok accused, eyeing Aussir's sword. "It isn't wise to set fire to anything this close to the city. Care to explain yourself? What is your name?"

[Ebonfort] A Common Flame

The jaunty and mostly off-key music from the stage faded to a background haze as Drachiathoryx continued to slowly twist the tiny jar in her fingertips, claws clicking lightly on the glass as the purple powder sifted around inside. A little vial, an urn, the substance she had no name for; all that was left of her friend.

Distantly she was aware when Aussir slid into the chair beside her and she shifted her wings and tail automatically to keep them out of his way, all without ever glancing in his direction. Warmth radiated off of her like a sun-warmed stone, moreso than most other Ixens, as though whatever inner turmoil causing the tense scowl on her features simmered tangibly under her skin like hot coals.

To say that the dragoness had been through a lot recently was an understatement, but her ear-frill gave a flick when Aussir spoke to the bartender. Something about his presence began to work through her private fog, a combination of the sound of his voice, the scent of a drake, and the pattern of pale scales on the edge of her vision.

Her fist clenched protectively around the necklace when he mentioned it, and her ember eyes blinked as her snout turned to face him, her pupils widening and constricting as she took in the sight of the first dragonkin she'd seen up close in a long time. His scales were pale and some small part of her expected him to have frost in his veins, especially when she noticed the blue blush along the trailing edge of many of those white plates, though her cutely flared nostrils told her otherwise.

One of her eyebrows lifted as she looked him over, the corner of her mouth rising to match it as a grin attempted to banish the cloud of tumult she had worn a moment before. The hint of a sly grin suited her much better.

"Thank you," she replied, letting the new amulet settle back against her generous cleavage and letting her hand come to rest on the polished countertop. "I tend to prefer red," she offered, her wings giving a tiny flex behind her in a motion meant to refer to her own scales, "but every now and then I a make an exception."

She watched him as he turned to face her, letting her eyes follow the line of his wings behind his shoulders. They were an interesting shape, but she wasn't sure they looked strong enough to mark him as one of the few dragonkin who, like her, could fly.

"I'll have a Drakespur Cider," the female ordered, glancing side-long at the sour-faced dwarven barman until she was sure he heard her. She had switched from Draconic to Common with ease, and switched back again as she turned on her seat to face Aussir.

"Well, it certainly isn't the view," Drache replied, not even bothering to spare a glance to the rest of the crowd. "Though tonight I'm finding it more difficult to complain." Her grin spread across her refined snout. The dragoness was hardly in the mood to make new friends tonight, but coming across other half-breeds, especially well-spoken and polite ones who were a treat to look at, was such a rare thing.

"I'm Drachiathoryx. I'm waiting for a friend of mine," she went on to explain. "And you? You're looking for work as a bodyguard? If so, I hear this is the place for it." Her eyes flicked observantly to the hilt of his sword peeking over his shoulderblades.