Drache

Verissa and Asher (Story Continued)

The wagon trundled easily down the slope and away from the rumble of sounds and the smokey haze of the sprawling camp out into the growing darkness of the plains. Here the grass was short, barely up to Phantom's knees, and it undulated under the breeze like the ocean to the south. In some places on the Kerawac there was grass that towered so high entire armies could be swallowed up in it and never seen again.

It was quiet and cool out here, the wind full of the scent of growing grass and wild wheat. Yet the quietude did little to settle the whirl of confusing thoughts that turned over and over in Asher's mind, achieving nothing.

He didn't answer Verissa for a while, but it wasn't fair for him to keep her in the dark. He wanted better for her than to be treated as a slave. Turning, his storm-coloured eyes reflected the light of the waxing moon. With a twitch of his chisled jaw towards the seat beside him, he cleared his throat and said somewhat gruffly, "Will Remilia be alright if you come sit with me?"

"We're going to a place called the Grove. I haven't been there since I was a child. This is the first time the Thunderfangs have been near it since then." He didn't have to explain further. Verissa understood by now just how unbelievably massive the plains were, and how the tribes were constantly on the move, sometimes not traveling the same roads for decades. "I think you'll really enjoy it, but I don't want to say too much and ruin the surprise."

There was a ghost of a smile in his cheek, a fleeting thing like one of the rare jeweled grasskeets that glittered in the golden grass. Bringing Verissa to the Grove wasn't his only goal in this brief holiday. That much was spelled out in the stubborn tenseness in his strong shoulders, but he didn't readily elaborate.

"I also thought it might be nice to have some real privacy for once." Glancing over, there was a haunted look in his expression. "I almost killed a man over you today. I still might, when we get back. I can't stand the thought of you being hurt. Especially not...like that." She'd confided in him that she'd never actually been with any man, and somewhat that fact both inflamed his desire more and made him even more resistant to claim her that way than before.

Asher had never been very good at discussing his feelings and his struggle was evident, though there was more to what he wanted to explain than simple protectiveness.

All Cities Must Fall (Original, Accepting)

Name: Drachiathoryx, goes by Drache Sgarsiath to non-dragons

Race: Half-Dragon (red) / Half-human

Gender: Female

Age: 150ish

Birthplace: Vermillio 51st 150DM (approximate)

Occupation: Archaeologist, Elementalist

Appearance:

Pic

Pic

Like most half-dragons Drache is tall at 6' and covered from head to toe in scaled skin. Most of her hide is red, fading to a coppery-gold along her ventrum. Other than her bipedal shape there is little to hint that her mother was human apart from a head of black hair that falls to her elbows. Her eyes are fiery in colour and reptilian with vertical pupils. Wisps of smoke drift from her nostrils when she is especially pissed. She has a pair of large dragon wings on her back, the thick muscles attaching them to her back suggesting that they are fully functional. Her tail is long and sinuous and watching her tail is often a better judge of her mood than her face. She rarely wears shoes, mainly because her legs are elongated so that she walks on talons rather than human feet. She is buxom and shapely, and usually wears fine clothing that accentuates her features. It is common to see jewelry decorating her horns or her throat, a testament to her finds when treasure-hunting and tomb-raiding.

Personality:
Oozing with aloof confidence, Drachiathoryx is a singular woman of dominating presence and sultry tongue. Whether sprawled out beside a wilderness campfire or in the bed of this week's conquest, it's difficult to imagine a situation in which she is truly discomfited. But behind the flash of fiery eye and fang-revealing grin, the heart of a half-dragon can be a lonely one indeed. Having watched most of her childhood companions grow old and die, Drache is reluctant to make close friends with anyone except true dragons, who unfortunately tend to look down on their half-blooded cousins. Most of Drache's life is a careful balancing act between her two halves, draconic instinct warring with a love of the intrigue of high society. In general, Drache is outgoing and impulsive, but can also be sly and devious. She enjoys playing games of favours. She is also fond of shiny trinkets and artifacts, especially if they are magical.

History:
Drache is the offspring of a powerful red dragon named Sgarsiathoryx who was one of the original founders of Pyresia, and an human Sensialist named Atarime. Her sire was dead before she was born, and her mother devolved into the madness brought on by losing control of one's magic. Wandering the wondrous city of Pyresia unescorted earned Drache the acquaintance of many interesting people from an early age. The value of this networking was a deciding factor in her success as a treasure-hunter. It also makes it easy to avoid having to spend her precious coins in an inn when she gets back into town. In more recent years she has discovered that her fire-breath is more than just that thing that happens when she gets Really Mad and has delved enthusiastically into the world of Elementalism. Her reputation has caught the attention of the Wyrmoot (the draconic side of Pyresian government) on more than one occasion.

Post-Creation History:
A few years ago Drachiathoryx was hired by a mysterious green dragon to undergo a quest to scout out the city of New Vircastoria. Passing through the dry scrubland between the Pyresian jungle and the Kerawac plains she made new friends among the Kvaren. However, the journey did not go as planned. For beneath the ruins of old Vircastoria a terrible being dwelled. Cora, the God of Destruction, and the first God seen since the Death of Magic and it's subsequent return. Barely escaping with her life she returned to Pyresia for a time and then set off to rediscover the Elemental Temple of Wind. Her Elemental skill growing all the time, she has recently returned to Pyresia and intent on finding the other Elemental Temples.

Skills:
Elementalism (Fire, Wind)
Archaeology
Seduction/Sex/Flirting
Aerobatics
Cartography/Writing/Drawing
Unarmed Combat

Languages:
Draconic
Common
Dwarven
Kvaren (novice)
Auric (novice)

Special Abilities:
Fire breath
Immunity to fire and heat damage
Darkvision
Flight

Possessions:
Explorer's Outfits
Artisan's Outfits (fancy)
Traveler's Cloak (fancy)
Reinforced Leather corset and armour skirt
Chronicling Kit (parchment, logbooks, journal, ink, pens, etc)
Archaeologists Kit (brushes, picks, chisels, rope, etc)
Survival Kit with large tent and rations
Cooper Dagger
1 GP worth of copper coins (snacks!)
Empty Satchel (spare)
Assorted Jewelry
Bottle of Wine (red, dry)
Several Mysterious Books
Heart of the Fire Temple Gem

Creatures:
Fire Elemental (Sprite)

Pic

Cinder

Verissa and Asher (Story Continued)

"I'll only be gone five days, Ozlo. Seven at most if it rains." Asher looked down at where the Thunderfangs chieftain was reclined in a low chair made out of curved ivory tusks that had been lashed together with dark leather straps. In the low yellow flicker of the shallow brazier in the center of the circular pavilion the old bone appeared to be elephant tusks, but there were many creatures in the Kerawac with tusks and spines like that.

Like any tent owned by a Kvaren, nearly everything in Asher's line of sight was made from furs and leather, the chieftain's lot being a bit less worn and more recognizable for what creatures they had come from than that owned by the slaves. Here and there the gleam of metal showed him weapons and shields, all of which he had seen Ozlo use in raids and battles against the hated Ebon Knights.

It was the only life Asher had known, and it would be this tent, or one like it, that he would command the Thunderfangs when he was chieftain.

Asher shook his head briefly, an icy chill down his spine as he realized what he'd been thinking. There was no guarantee that he would ever be chief! There were several other Swordmasters who were older and more experienced, just as trusted by Ozlo. Why should it be him? And yet...

Thankfully the behemoth of a man had reached over to heft a large stein of ale and missed the younger man's distracted expression. "You can't leave now, Ash. We'll be at the summer gathering in no more than ten days. We need you running the patrols up and down the caravan." He took a sip, some of the amber froth spilling over into his shaggy beard. While Ozlo was just as much a massive presence as he had always been, Asher couldn't help but notice that his beard had far more grey in it than he'd recalled before.

"You don't need me. Sedrik is capable of organizing the patrols. In fact, we're a long way away from the nearest Ebon Knights. This will be a good chance for the fighters to show what they've learned without me dictating their every move." Asher stood his ground, refusing to sink into one of the low seats across from his chief. He wanted to leave, right away. But he couldn't go without Ozlo's permission.

The chief wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and watched Asher pointedly, his gaze shrewd. "What's gotten into you, Ash. You've never argued with me before." That wasn't exactly true. All of the Swordmasters spent time debating around this same brazier when planning everything from picking the next campground to the next raid on Ebonfort. It seemed that Ozlo felt that this was a different sort of discussion. Not knowing how to respond, Asher hesitated.

"Does this have something to do with that new slave of yours? I haven't had a chance to congratulate you on managing to pluck a witch from the flock. I heard a rumour that Jasper had her first."

A grim fire flashed in Asher's steely eyes and he clenched his fists where his arms were crossed across his chest. "Verissa belongs to me," he growled throw gritted teeth. "If Jasper lays a finger on her again I will kill him. If she doesn't do it first."

Ozlo chuckled grimly. "Yes, I hear you've been teaching her to fend for herself. At first I was surprised. I assumed you would want to bed her and get her with child as quickly as possible. But I suppose you've always been good at teaching others to be self-sufficient."

The Swordmaster just shook his head, shaggy black hair rippling slightly. "I'll not rape her, Ozlo. I'll do everything I can to make her into a true Kvaren, but only if she wants it. I don't like that the men force themselves on the slaves." In fact, since the moment he had claimed Verissa as his own he had begun to second-guess the Kvaren's tradition of capturing slaves at all.

Ozlo leaned back and sighed. "It's our way, Asher. You've known that since you were born. It's always been the Kvaren way."

"It doesn't have to be," Asher retorted, with far more conviction than he had intended. He hadn't intended to get into this with Ozlo now, desperate to be far away on the quiet grassland with only Verissa and her dogs. "As a matter of fact I sometimes wonder if we'll ever be more...more than this..." he gestured to the tent above and by extension, the camp around them, "...if we continue pouring everything we have against the walls of the Ebonfort."

Asher chewed on the inside of his cheek, wishing he hadn't said so much that might shake his chieftain's faith in his commitment to his tribe. Loyalties and support were important commodities on the Kerawac. He shook his head, "...Forgive me. This is something we can discuss at a later time."

At first Ozlo said nothing, and when Asher looked up again he saw that Ozlo's expression had become very grim and careworn indeed. The somewhat jovial demeanor the chieftain used to keep the Swordmaster and Shadewalkers together as a unified clan had vanished. In that moment he looked older than ever.

"No, Asher. I'm glad you speak your mind to me. I wanted to announce this at the Gathering but I think you deserve to hear it now. I won't be the chief of the Thunderfangs forever and it's past time I choose someone to replace me before it's too late. Our clan is large and strong but that makes it even more likely to splinter off when a chief dies. Our people deserve more, and I think if anyone has a mind to make that happen it's you."

With a long, loud groan, Ozlo heaved himself up off the floor, his leather vest creaking against the strain. He towered over even Ash, who was not small, and clapped the Swordmaster on the shoulder. "Do you agree?"

"Chief, it's a great honour..." Asher was astounded that his private thoughts had linked together so smoothly with what he was hearing now. In some ways he had always hoped he would prove his abilities enough to be considered Chief of his own tribe, but now that the chance was offered to him he shied away from it.

Ozlo noticed his uncertain tone and frowned. "I had expected you to jump at the chance. You worked towards this your whole life! I figured no one would want to lead raids against the Ebon Knights than you."

Asher let his hands drop. "I don't know what I want anymore, Chief. For the last ten years all I wanted was to find Brynmor and kill him for what he took from me. And I thought I had!" He lifted his hand briefly to touch his left bicep where he had worn the orange sash of the un-named Sergeant he had killed at New Year's.

Ozlo harrumphed. "Tell you what, Ash. Take your little trip. Get a handle on that girl of yours before she causes too much trouble. Take some time to think about what you really do want. Come see me when you get back."

--

His expression was even more broody than normal when he returned to his own campsite. He was pleased to find that Verissa had already packed almost everything into the wagon, leaving plenty of room for herself and her dogs and some to spare. With every step of his long stride there was a clatter of pottery coming from a sack he carried over his shoulder. Dropping the roughspun thing gently into the wagon, he tucked the small empty clay pots out of the way. Each was empty, though stoppered with a tight cork.

The Swordmaster handed Verissa a length of smooth wood, slightly damp from where it had remained in the grass by the water. "This is yours. A warrior should never lose track of her weapons."

He glanced down at Remilia, satisfying himself that the dog had been seen to. He ignored Remus' customary growling as he moved to break down the tent. He doubted the dogs would ever come to trust him. Like their mother, he thought as he glanced over at the petite blonde. He couldn't help but hear Ozlo's near-instruction to bed her in his mind. It wasn't a secret that he wanted her. It also wasn't a secret that he was stubbornly denying himself the pleasure.

Working in a tense silence, it didn't take long for the rest of Asher's things to make their way into the wagon. He hitched the versatile Phantom to the yolk and climbed up onto the seat. He twitched the reigns gently and kissed at the horse, the wagon lurching slightly before moving off into the twilight. The trip was a very last minute decision. They could go anywhere, or nowhere in particular. But Asher had a definite destination in mind.

Play with Fire!

Doop

All Cities Must Fall (Original, Accepting)

*peeks*

Verissa and Asher (Story Continued)

You gonna post?

Play with Fire!

Added a few.

Looking for non-human medieval holiday romance!

Bump

Play with Fire!

Bump?

The Last Pride

This is a very interesting concept. If I join I will probably only be able to post once every 48 hours but most likely would play a hypomelanistic cave lion or similar.