Drache

Character art for sale! ^.^ Check it out!

I would love to see some more examples.

A Game of Thrones - A Song of Ice and Fire

Also interested.

Frustrating new trend?

I agree with you Unseen. I tend to do a lot of private playing, both because I enjoy mature themed RP but am not always comfortable playing mature themes out in the open where they could potentially bother other people, and because in the past some of my material has actually been stolen and used elsewhere without my consent.

If I might make a suggestion, if you utilized interest checks to find partners, perhaps you could add in your description that you can only commit to one post per day or whatever you feel your limit might be. If the pace of RP seems to be a problem, clarify that point with people right away. I can definitely see pacing being a problem, but luckily I haven't had that issue myself (yet).

On average, how many RPs are you in at once?

I am currently in 5, all Advanced-ish. All but one are 1x1.

I work 40 hours per week so I don't really have enough time to make more than one or two posts per day in each RP. Luckily, my group RP moves pretty slowly so some days I don't even have to post. :P

Frustrating new trend?

I admit that I have flaked out on a few RPs. But I try my best to send a message to the person to at least let them know why. Sometimes I find that I have too many RPs going at once and when I get home from work at night I don't have the time to make a decent post for each of them. Personally, I feel that it is better to stop a game than try to keep it going with half-assed posts. It's not fair to the other person to do that.

Sometimes I spend a lot of time developing a plot with someone and everything is going great and then after a few posts it turns out that in spite of us agreeing on the plot and creating a wonderful concept, their playing style is just doesn't mesh with mine. It's no one's fault, but it happens more often then you might think. Even then, I try to at least give the person a polite message telling them I don't wish to continue.

I agree that it's frustrating when people disappear randomly. I'd rather someone tell me that I'm a shitty RPer and that they don't want to play with me anymore than to just sit and wonder wtf happened.

War of Panitil (Medieval warfare RP)

Very interested. I will post my CS tomorrow.

Play with Fire!

Boop.

Death's Cold Embrace

Tarvick scurried down the gangplank and through the bustle on the docks, dodging the crew and passengers of a dozen different ships lashed to the jetty. Jasen and Hoff were right behind him, and all three men carried heavy bags over their shoulders. They were the only three who had survived the quarrel with the dragoness, and though each of them swore revenge upon her, Tarvick loudly of all, they couldn't deny a secret delight as they struggled with the added weight of the dead men's share of riches.

It had taken many days to make their way back from the mountains to Greenpool, and several more by ship back to Nautilus. Jasen and Hoff spent the entire voyage scheming in drunken whispers about what they would do with their sudden wealth, their plans spinning larger and more ludicrously extravagant the drunker they got. Tarvick was more reserved, unable to fully enjoy the pleasure of his success. The memory of his encounter with the hooded figures overshadowed all of his thoughts, and now that he was back in Nautilus he was eager to collect the rest of his belongings, charter passage on another ship, and put the volcanic isles behind him, never to look back.

Already past dawn, the crooked streets of the tropical city were still cloaked in the misty darkness, shadowed by the shoulder of the next island across the firth. Tarvick muttered farewell to the other two men, each of them knowing they would likely never see each other again.

If only Tarvick knew how right he was.

The inn he had been working out of for years was near the outskirts of the city, so he expected the streets there to be quieter than the constant raucousness near the harbour. But his long strides slowed when a malicious silence settled over him like a shroud. His heart began to pound and a trickle of cold sweat crept down his back. They were here! Somewhere close, though he hadn't seen them yet. In a panic, he turned down a dark alley, his grip tight on the bag of gold over his shoulder. It was the same vile chill that had preceded his first visit from the mysterious creatures, and he didn't want to explain to those cruel, emotionless voices that he had failed to meet their demands. His feet pounded into the crooked cobbles, and he stumbled over refuse and broken things as he abandoned his plans. Nothing he had in Nautilus was worth his life, not with the wealth he carried on his back.

He heard the windy whisper just as a zephyr of grayish mist erupted from the narrow corridor in front of him. Tarvick stumbled to a halt, his mouth open in horror as the gaseous form consolidated into a figure that had haunted his thoughts for nearly a month. Glancing up at the barely-lightened sky, all that he could see were the backs of unoccupied warehouses. Not even a window or alley-way door offered him a venue for escape. He spun on his heel to flee back in the direction he had come, only to find himself looking up into the pale face partly hidden under the black cowl.

Tarvick drew his crossbow and let a bolt fly at the man's face, only to watch in disbelief as the creature dodged and came for him. With inhuman speed, he slammed Tarvick against the wall with nothing more than an upswing of his fist, and the bag of gold spilled in a glittering avalanche across the filthy ground.

"Did you bring us the book of Nerull?" The voice was cold and cruel, and with a fearful clarity Tarvick knew that he was dealing with more than just mere men.

"Please! The half-dragon! She stole them from me! She took them even after I told her you wanted them!" Shifting the blame to Drachia would have pleased him mightily, even in far less desperate circumstances. The haughty sorceress was too enigmatic for Tarvick's taste. He preferred people whose motives were easier to divine and simpler to manipulate. The betrayal meant nothing to him at all.

The tall figure pressed close, the long fingers of a pale hand crushing into his windpipe with the strength of stone. With the other hand, he pulled back his hood to reveal a human face as unnaturally pristine as the merciless cruelty in its eyes.

"Where?" he demanded calmly in a tone that held no sympathy at all.

But though Tarvick's mouth opened with a gag to cough out every detail about Drachia he could remember or make up on the spot, he found that he no longer needed to utter a word. Looking into those soulless pits, fear consumed him, and as the vampire grinned with evil triumph, the treasure-hunter became lost in the enchantment that dominated his mind. His senses faded and he found himself swimming through a murk of icy shadows that only resembled the bright world he had known. He caught a glimpse of the vampires cruel and intricate designs, and his thoughts were bombarded with unwavering faith in a dark god and fervent loyalty to His cause. But at the center of it was an urgent need for The Book.

In return, the undead creature picked out of his mind everything it wanted to know about she who had tricked him out of the book he had been sent to find. He picked himself up off of the dank ground and wavered, blinking owlishly at the cloaked vampire. Dimly, he felt that he should recoil from him, but then a new thought entered his mind.

I must find the book.

He knew that the order came from the vampire.

I must find the book and kill anyone who tries to stop me.

He struggled against the compulsion, even when his feet turned him and he walked smoothly out of the alley.

I must find the books for my master.

By the time he felt the morning sun on his face as he strode up the sloped streets towards Drachia's villa with a purpose, the vampires had faded once more into the shadows, taking Tarvick's treasure with them.

--

Several weeks of travel had put Greenpool far behind the half-dragon mage. The land bucked and rolled underneath her wings in an exciting and ever-changing tapestry of sights. Verdant valleys dipped low and green with sparkling rivers splashing like winding serpents at their bottoms. She saw herds of noble elk flashing under the leaves of hilly forests, and admired at a distance gryphons nesting in their cliff-side eyries. Boggy marshes mired in mist, unbroken plains of waving grass, cities and castles and the clustered canvas tents of nomads, every mile brought something new and potentially fascinating for the dragoness to examine. But she didn't. It occurred to Drachia that the gift of flight was also its curse. It was swift and far safer than meandering along the earth at a crawl, but it was a lonely and distant way to travel, and some small part of her felt that perhaps she was missing something. She could expect to have many long centuries of life left if she didn't act like a fool, perhaps she could afford to travel by more mundane means and experience more on the way?

In her haste to discover the hidden tomb of the ancient paladin, Drachia decided to leave such a philosophical pondering for later. She hadn't forgotten that the book she carried was sought by mysterious others. Traveling north and west across the continent took her farther from Nautilus than she had been since the war. The Crescent Sea had been described and discussed at length in many of the texts and journals she possessed, and there were plenty of people in her past who had traveled from the lands beyond it. Drachia even had a painting of it in one of the rooms in her home. But it wasn't until the land gentled, sloping down and down until the curving shore stretched from horizon to horizon that she appreciated the tales of inexplicable beauty and wondrous enchantment that the area was famous for.

Long ago in a forgotten age, some world-shattering something had happened here. The stories varied from a simple cosmic collision to divine influence, but whether the awesome crater was the result of a meteor or the unknowable conflict of the Gods, the truth had been lost over time. As Drachie swooped down and back-flapped her wings, alighting and digging her talon-like toes into the white sand, she felt a faint thrum in her bones. It was different from the power she had been born with, the power that pulsed in time with her heart and sang in her mind every second that she was alive. This was something outside of herself. Something tied to this place. She gazed into the shining, blue-silver water, seeking past the countless fathoms and wondering what secret slept beneath those crushing depths. What was it that made its presence felt throughout this land after so many uncountable centuries?

Another mystery to solve some other time, perhaps.

Drachia spent the night on the shore of the inland sea, resting for the last leg of her journey tomorrow. The winds were warm and the waves lapped gently across the white sand, and the dragoness watched the lights shifting across the waves. Like the aurora borealis in the farthest northern wastes, the pastel sheets of colour flashed and darted across the sky in an endless dance. The waves glittered too, shining softly through the dark hours, not merely reflecting the sky so much as possessed of the same strange phenomenon. Even the creatures here were changed by the magic in the sea. While re-reading the Maestor's Journal in the shifting light, memorizing every detail that would lead her to the correct tomb, Drachia witnessed seabirds, turtles, and crabs many of which carried a prismatic bio-luminescence in their feathers or shells. She fell asleep under the stars, watching ships go by as dark shadows on the softly lit background of sky and sea.

The next morning the ghostly colours disappeared under the bright warmth of the sun, and Drachia let her wings carry her high across the waves to the high limestone plateau on the inner curve of the sea. The white walls and golden towers and domes of Starfall glittered brightly when they came into view and Drachia tilted her wings to take her course around the walled metropolis to the main gate on the other side. Perched high above the waves, the city was renowned as a hub for artisans and scholars and even as she landed deftly on the main road she could hear the intricate music floating from one of the many public pavilions and stages.

As usual, her aerial arrival had garnered some attention. She tucked her wings neatly across her back and adjusted her black corset-vest as one of the city guards approached from the nearby gate. Merchants and travelers looked on curiously, but as large cities went Starfall had a reputation for being more tolerant of non-humans than most, and while the arrogant dragoness typically didn't fear for her life in any situation, of course, she looked forward to being harassed less here than in most places.

The guard, an impressively large human with golden hair braided back behind his intricate plumed helm, stopped in front of her and stood with a fighter's easy stance. He had one helm resting casually on the hilt of a short-sword on his hip. He was wary because it was his duty to be so, but his expression didn't come with any additional resentment or suspicion, which was refreshing.

"Welcome to the great city of Starfall, M'Lady," the greeting included a short bow and the sound of his leather warskirt creaking slightly against his bronze chest-piece, which was engraved with the city's crest. "May I ask your name and the nature of your visit? Perhaps I can help you find your way?"

It wasn't a demand, which Drachia understood to mean that even if she deigned not to answer she likely wouldn't be barred entrance, but she wasn't too haughty to understand that a little cooperation would go a long way.

"Of course. My name is Drachia S'garsiath of the Mage Collegiate in Nautilus," she returned his bow with a nod of her horns and a brief flip of her wings. "My studies have brought me here, though one hardly requires an excuse to visit the beautiful Kingdom of the Crescent Sea."

The compliment earned her a grin. Tall as he was, she was still eye-to-eye with the man, and she was relieved that unlike some, this one didn't take that as a challenge. She went on to say "...I am especially interested in visiting the Prism Tombs."

"Ah. In that case I would recommend you go through the eastern side of the Crafter's Circle and look for the Temple of the Falling Stars. The monks are willing to guide visitors if you pause at the shrine to show your respects."

Drachia caught the man's gesture, his fingers rubbing together as though with two coins, and chuckled, nodding her understanding.

"I appreciate the tip."

He bowed curtly and stood aside, allowing her to stride past him and into the city. As she glanced back she almost felt bad about lying to him about the true purpose of her journey, but doubted that a mission involving bloodmagic and grave-robbing would go over well.

What awaited her there was a myriad of sights and sounds and smells, many of which were different than most other cities she had visited. It became apparent instantly why Starfall was considered the greatest hotbed of artistic expression in the known kingdoms, rivaled only in part by the secretive wildland sanctuaries of the elves.

In any other place, the colourful banners and festooned boulevards, complete with costumed performers and jostling musicians would have meant nothing less than a kingdom-wide festival. But such dazzling displays, fantastical and eye-popping as they were, were a daily occurrence.

Even the architecture was exquisite, and as Drachia picked her way through the hubbub she found herself face-to-face with massive base reliefs and towering statues centered in enchanted fountains. The city paths took her through trellised gardens and peaceful parks. As in Nautilus, when the dragoness glanced through the crowds she occasionally caught a glimpse of non-human faces. A minotaur here, a half-ogre there, many elves and half-elves, at least one other half-dragon, though this one had silver scales on his face. She even spotted a few individuals who appeared to have elemental blood in their veins.

At length, after the sun had crossed the sky into midafternoon, Drachia reached a white cobbled street that ended in front of golden double doors that stood open and welcoming. As she approached them, she glanced up at the two golden stars glowing softly on either side against the white limestone temple behind them. As soon as she crossed the threshold, her talons tapping audibly on the pristine floor, the music and laughter in the city seemed to fall away, replaced by the sea breeze blowing in through the huge window beyond the altar.

The temple itself breached the city wall, forming a gate that lead out onto the windswept cliff beyond. Drachia looked around and saw no one, but knew better than to think herself alone here. Above her, the golden dome she had seen winking in the sun glowed softly, filling the temple with a comforting, peaceful ambiance. The temple was fairly austere, especially in the face of the carnivalesque city outside, but Drachia was instantly fascinated by the altar. Like most temples there was a raised dais and on top of that a shallow limestone pool of seawater. Like the Crescent Sea over a thousand feet over the cliff nearby, the water shifted with a pastel rainbow of colours, even though its surface was perfectly still.

And suspended above it by some divine power that was similar but markedly different from her own magic, a large crystal star with slender, delicate spires, that rotated slowly in silence and reflected light in a thousand thousand slivers of colour.

Drachia passed rows of short pews, mesmerized by the wondrous floating artifact, and lifted her claws as if to touch it. Avarice reared ugly and impulsive and plans of theft and flight formed unbidden in her mind. The shiny object could be hers and hers alone and all she would have to do was grab it and make a quick escape through the expansive archway just beyond. It didn't matter that she knew nothing of its power or history, it didn't matter that she pledged no faith to the Order of the Falling Star, all that mattered was the shiny, shiny star...

She wrenched her clawed fingers back just inches before making contact and sank to one knee before the pool. Her heart was pounding and her body bristled in the aftermath of the mental struggle. Smoke plumed up through her nostrils as she took a settling breath, and looked at the star with a chagrined smile.

"I passed your test," she told it softly, and she decided that in this case 'paying her respects' was more warranted than she could have imagined. She reached into a pouch on her hip and tossed two golden coins into the pool.

"That you did," came a wizened voice from behind her, sounding wary and stern. "Not what I would have expected from a red dragon."

Death's Cold Embrace

Four days after her skirmish with her back-stabbing compatriots, Drachia prowled down a familiar street in Greenpool with her hood drawn tight over her head. Every other step dipped in a pronounced limp, and she paused frequently to glance over her shoulder. Her passage over the rolling woodland had been considerably hampered by the first of the autumn rains, and her crimson skin held no great love for the icy winds rolling down from the mountains. Even now she held her wings clamped tightly to her back under her damp cloak, and the tight wool steamed faintly in the gloomy light.

Her claws gripped her pouch warily. With a sneer and faint rumble in her throat, she couldn't shake the feeling that someone was following her, and as yet she hadn't decided if she was still simply angry at Tarvick's uncharacteristic betrayal or if there was a genuine threat.

She allowed herself no sense of relief until she had reached Max's abode, her face twisting with distaste at the prickle of rune magic that crept across her flesh as she drew up to the front door, which opened to admit her immediately.

"Drachia?" The deep voice preceded its owner as Maximus came down the wide staircase to meet her. "I almost forgot what it's like to have you arrive by the front door." He was wearing his usual charming smile, but it faded into a frown as his eyes traveled the length of her storm-tossed figure.

"What happened to you?"

"Tarvick and his apes have a new financer," she snapped with a hiss, sweeping past him into the parlor where the flicker of orange light promised warmth. "I don't know who it is. But I am sure I will find out when I get back to Nautilus."

Maximus didn't miss her wry, rueful tone. He drew close, more than willing to help the half-dragon peel out of her horrible, soaked garments. "Oh? You sound certain."

"Well, only because I have what they were looking for!" She retorted. But the smug glitter in her eyes didn't last for long. Her wounds had gone untreated long enough and her onerous tenacity was no longer enough to keep the pain at bay. The broken-off crossbow bolt glinted grimly in the hearthlight and the gash across her stomach was weeping blood that trickled down the pattern of her scales.

"And paid for your trouble, I see," Max remarked, using the same disapproving tone she had employed when admonishing him about the scarification of his skin.

She looked at him with narrowed eyes. "You have your hobbies, and I have mine, Max. If you don't mind, I am going to need a healer before this gets much worse. I'd appreciate a recommendation."

--

Two days later, Drachia lounged pensively on the floor of Max's modest library with books scattered all around her, each open to a different page. There were scrolls also, unrolled and held open by random knick-knacks from Max's desk or her pack. The winding script of a dozen different hands from a dozen different authors was exposed to her prying eyes.

She shifted slightly, flexing against the linen bandages twining around her thigh and midsection. She had been sitting there for hours, hunched like a buzzard over a piece of meat as she tried to piece together the story of the three books she had recovered from the old castle.

The tip of her tail twitched as her mind worked over the intricate puzzle, forgetting all else in her continuing quest for knowledge and magic.

At length, Max came to join her, looming darkly in his place deep in a wing-backed armchair slightly further back from the fire than Drachia enjoyed. She was vaguely aware that she was missing meals, but she didn't stop turning pages, her cat-like eyes snatching words from the mouldering parchment as she read paragraph after paragraph.

Finally, even the patience of the dark-skinned nomad was no match for her and Maximus dared interrupt, but not without bringing a piece offering of food. "So, my shining ruby, what have you discovered amid all those scribbles?"

Sighing and stretching her wings for the first time that day, Drachia looked up, blinking slowly. Before she answered, she took the time to pick a few choice mouthfuls from the tray Max set near her, momentarily basking in the knowledge that she could keep him waiting for quite some time if she wished.

"I think I have riddled out some of the puzzle of these three tomes, but every page I turn gives me more questions than answers," she began, gesturing to the first book. It was the thickest book of the three, and seemed to be the oldest. Bound in a blue-dyed leather with the silver emblem of the old kingdom stamped on the front.

"This tome is a History of the old kingdom. It follows the line of the royal family for over three hundred years, as well as the most notable actions of their chosen Champions. One of the last was this...Belamica Darkthorn, whose tomb in which all three books were hidden."

As she spoke of the books, her fingertips traced almost lovingly across the thin vellum. She moved to the second book, which was the smallest most fragile, having the somewhat battered and well-traveled appearance of a personal journal rather than a sturdy tome.

"This is the journal of the old kingdom's castle Maestor's. There are five who contributed, and it contains more or less what you would expect. Everything from recipes and healing remedies to religious parables and philosophical ramblings meant to be passed down from one Maestor to the next. From this, I learned that Belamica's tomb never contained her body. One of the Maestor's took her away across the Crescent Sea to entomb her at Starfall." She re-read Maestor Jaemon's confession again as she lifted the book into her lap, a mixture of pity and wonder at the strange actions of a man's grief and unrequited love. Love was an impulse she had squashed in her own life with a fierce determination lest such temporary and useless distractions impede her personal progress.

"It seems that the elfmaid Belamica was entrusted with information about the location of the Durandana."

Recognition of the name dawned slowly in Max's eyes, and his stern brows knitted together. "Isn't that the enchanted sword, the one that Fentauk the Elder recovered from the hoard of Targaskoriax the White along with the..."

"...yes!" the fire-drake hissed, "The Flameheart Collar." Her excitement was almost palpable. She had never been this close to discovering what had happened to the Collar after the warrior Fentauk had slain the white dragon.

"Do the books tell you where it is?" He was struggling to remain aloof and out of the influence of the half-dragon's enthusiasm.

"No," she replied, her chagrin obvious. "But then there is the third book."

It was the only book that did not lie open on the floor, because even the impulsive and ambitious half-dragon felt a chill when she gazed upon those pages. The cover was a leathery brown, and at first Drachia had thought it to be nothing more than animal hide. But as her hands stroked that tough cover the residual prickle of vile workings crept across her scaled skin, and she tasted the fetid reek of corpseflesh. Only then did she realize that the binding was crafted entirely out of human and elven skin.

"This is a book of the Bloodmages of Nerull," she murmured, her voice low and wary. "It contains several intricate rituals and spells. It was apparently recovered at the sanctum of a Necromancer called the 'Dark Father', who was ultimately destroyed by Belamica Darkthorn, even though the effort cost her life."

The red bloodmagic runes caught the firelight as Drachia looked down at the book, shining darkly like wet blood. Once again, she surveyed the clutter of paper across the floor. But the web of information kept leading back to one thing, Belamica Darkthorn.

Assuming a somewhat smug resignation, Maximus sighed, folded his tattoed arms behind his head, and leaned back in his chair, "Too bad she's dead."

"...yes...too bad..." the dragoness replied, her gaze falling back to the vile book.

Death's Cold Embrace

Once the wall had been breached and the crumbling sides shored up Drachia joined Tarvick and his crew in the chilly vault and realized that it was more than a single room. Her eyes glinted red in the poor light, able to see farther into the all-encompassing gloom than her human associates. She noted the cubbyholes along the walls and here and there could spy the dark eye sockets of humanoid skulls.

Cautious, she approached them, looking for placard or engraving to hint at the identity of the ancient corpses tucked neatly into their tombs. Places like this were notorious for traps.

"This isn't just a treasure vault, Tarvick," her voiced hissed out of the darkness, catching the man by surprise so that he nearly dropped his torch. "See that your men take care."

Over his shoulder he could see the lads wrenching the lids off large trunks that lined one wall, already shoveling the glittering riches into thick leather bags. Bags that, Drachia noted with a soft sniff, she had enchanted to carry more than they seemed in exchange for information long ago.

Drachia's wings shifted uncomfortably and she struggled inwardly, fighting the urge to seize the jingling, shiny riches from these pathetic humans and keep them all to herself. They didn't deserve the gold. And it was so...so pretty...

She stopped herself with a shake of her horned head, fighting he dragon-sized lust for treasure, reasoning that there were better things in store is she kept a good grip on her patience. In the impromptu entryway, Drachia saw nothing that held her interest, so the began stalking along the row of shrouded bodies, shaking her head or wings when they happened to catch on the wispy draping cobwebs that crisscrossed the darkened space.

Many were draped in what once had been colourful banners, or sealed in engraved stone or golden caskets. These, Drachia reached out to touch, unable to deny the pleasure of solid gold under her fingertips. She wasn't above grave-robbing. Many of the enchanted artifacts she had acquired in her time had been buried with their former owners. But she was far too practical to bother with the effort of looting an entire golden casket.

When she got to the very last cubby, far out of sight of Tarvick, she realized that she had found the original entrance to this sacred place. The original door had cavern inwards under the force of millions of tons of mountain rock. There was no way out this way. But it did mean that the body she was standing near was likely the last to be buried. Curious, Drachia's eyes found the placard over the head of the golden shroud.

"Here lies Belamica Darkthorn, elfmaid, champion of her Lord King Daramus and protector of the realm, sworn paladin by the grace of the Father of Light."

An elfmaid paladin championing a human king? That was a tale worth legends. Curious, the half-dragon reached for the golden shroud and pulled it back, a layer of dust sliding from the shining cloth to swirl in the air around her.

The yellowed bones and permanent leer of the skull that greeted her held no terror for the dragoness, but she was surprised. The skeleton wore no armour, the clawlike fleshless fingers gripped no might sword or other great-weapon, and the skull itself was large and blocky, missing both the small perfect teeth of an elf and the thin, refined cheekbones she would have expected.

"This is no elfmaid," she hissed quietly to herself, replacing the shroud with a flick of her wrist. Perhaps she and Tarvick had both been wrong and this tomb had been looted before. Disappointment etched into her demeanor, she turned to go when something caught her eye. Underneath the resting place of the mysterious skeleton, a panel of engraved stone jutted out from its surrounding mortar. Beyond it was nothing but the shadow of a small niche in the stone.

Crouching down, the mage gripped the panel with her claws and worked it free until there was enough space for her to look within. Her excitement grew and when she reached in, her fingers encountered not one, but a small stack of leatherbound tomes.

Working fast, she tugged them free and tucked them into the enchanted pouch at her hip. One final sweep of the tiny alcove with her hand and she recovered a small golden amulet, an intricate symbol of the God of Light that many simply called 'The Father'.

She didn't miss Tarvick's suspicious looks when she returned to the group and immediately put up her guard.

"You found something, didn't you?" He accused calmly, blocking the exit, his crossbow pointed at her heart. "I need those books."

There was a fierce determination in his tone that Drachia had never heard before, and in her surprise it took her a few moments to understand that it was a determination fueled by fear. Not fear of her, but of the mysterious others who had cornered him in an alley a fortnight ago.

Those few moments nearly cost her her life. One of Tarvick's mean swung at her head with a hammer while another seized her pouch and tried to wrench it free from her belt. She spun quickly, taking a glancing blow to the side of her face that darkened her right eye. She kicked the snatcher free and called on her magic to send a roaring fireball from her palm into the face of the one wielding the hammer. Both men staggered back and the flames jumped from the flailing human onto the dried, shattered wood of the ancient chests on the ground. The air was instantly full of smoke and simmering heat. A third man slashed at her with a sword, cutting a slice through her vest and her scales. The wound was deep and stung terribly, she slapped a hand to the bleeding cut and was thankful that she wasn't feeling her own entrails in her palm.

Gesturing with both hands at the ceiling, she melted the stone above the swordsman's head, bringing a torrent of lava down on his head. The glowing liquid splashed across her bare feet, and while the heat didn't bother her she knew that it would hamper her movements. The room was crowded with screaming men, smoke, and flame, and she knew there were more men with Tarvick. She turned for the door and ran, bowling the man down under her sharp talons, but not before taking one of his crossbow bolts in the thigh. Her angry roar rattled dust from the ceiling and it coated her scales as she limped away with her precious tomes.

"They'll find you, Drachia! The same men who find me wont stop until they have what they are looking for!" Tarvick, his angry face lined with oozing claw-marks, screamed after her as she fled the scene.

As soon as she reached the grand hall she opened her wings, launching herself up through the broken roof and away from her pursuers.