This is a two-player RP between myself and Winterling that we've been conducting via note on Deviantart for about two months now. We'd appreciate it if people just read this for their own enjoyment. We're about three-quarters done with a pretty full cast and we'd like to finish this up. Thank you.
The13Inquisitor:
Azrael wasn't entirely sure what drew him to the Icewarden's cold, forsaken realm.
There was no denying it was pretty in a cold, sharp way and Azrael couldn't deny that in some twisted way he liked it here. Only the most resolute could last here. The ice claimed the careless and the unprepared.
By that logic there was likely to be very little work for him to find here and any clan that had a penchant to brigandige would be far too much trouble for him to deal with.
Still, after nearly a decade of wandering as a mercenary and nearly three years with a Plague clan and five years as the slave of a clan of Plague reavers before that, Azrael had learned that things could change from uneventful to serious very quickly.
'Perhaps I came here to try and do some introspection...' He thought to himself, then shook himself vigourously to fluff his mane and rid himself of the dusting of snow he'd accumulated as he stood on the cliff-edge, surveying the snowscape below him like a startling patch of vine-clad marble and mahogany against the pale sky.
He spread his wings and leapt off the cliff. Night would fall soon and he wanted to find somewhere less conspicuous to spend it.
Winterling:
Evening spread it's rays across the pale ice floes of her home, staining the white snow orange and pink as the clouds above. For a moment Nighte took the time to relish the symmetry of broken ice below and clouds in the sky, with her flying in between. While a prisoner she had never taken the time to savor the small beauties of life, but now she sought them with avidity. She tilted her wings and sank lower in the sky, feeling the chill of the air in her lungs as she filled them.
The last thing she'd expected was the sight of another dragon. Her mate was off hunting on his own, and he was the only other dragon for miles. Until now. Quickly she beat back up into the sky, coming up behind the intruder and readying her claws. Her past experience with strangers had been anything but pleasant, and she did not intend to welcome this one.
Teeth bared and whiskers blowing in the wind, she dove.
The13Inquisitor:
The only warning Azrael got that things were about to become unpleasant was a slight darkening of the sky above him. It moved too rapidly to be a cloud and a few previous experiences with being ambushed were the only reasons he noticed now.
Immediately, Azrael backwinged and pivoted mid-air, before backwinging a second time to put a body-length of extra distance between him and this new aggressor,-an Imperial with piercing blue eyes. There was a light of desperate fury in those eyes and for a moment, they stopped Azrael cold. She wasn't a bandit, she was just scared.
He didn't have time to act further though as his aggressor tackled him head on.
In response, he locked his wings to his side and angled downward.
No one was going to outdo a child of the Windsinger in the air.
She struggled on the way down the whole time, but this wasn't the first fight Azrael had stumbled into and he managed to fend her attempts to break loose off.
Just shy of the ground, he opened his wings and flapped, nearly shearing them off as the inertia took hold of him, before he flung his assailant onto the ground below.
He didn't press his advantage though, just took to hovering as the Imperial came to her feet, crouched and wary looking up at him with that same look of defiant, fearful rage.
Winterling:
From the moment her claws tangled with those of the green dragon, Nighte knew she was outmatched. This was a dragon with much more experience fighting other dragons, where she had been content with catching her prey. Still, she held nothing back from her attack even as it spun out of her control and into his.
She lost the high ground and was stranded on an ice floe with him in the air above. Baring her teeth, Nighte flicked her tail and growled. "Who are you?" She snarled, spreading her black wings slightly. There was no way he would let her take off again, but the instinct to make herself look larger was too strong. "What do you want here?"
The13Inquisitor:
"I was simply looking for somewhere out of the open to spend the night; Who are you?" Countered Azrael in a firm voice. This female's attempt to intimidate him validated his suspicions: she was scared, aware she was outmatched and she wanted him gone.
'So much for finding a place to spend the night peacefully.' He mused bitterly. Likely she had friends nearby and they probably wouldn't take kindly to what they would percieve as him attacking her.
He hesitated a moment, then landed on a ice floe adjacent to hers.
Hopefully, she'd be at least willing to talk.
Winterling:
Nighte watched him with calming suspicion. Her hackles were still up, but since he gave up his advantage to land, she figured she could listen. Besides, it seemed like he had arrived in their territory by accident, in which case she was being unreasonable. The black dragon snorted to herself.
"My name is Nighte." She said grudgingly, aware she was giving him an opening to be polite. Still, it was what Mercor would have done. Her mate was one of the friendliest dragons she'd ever met...not that she'd met many. "I suppose you came here by accident?" She inquired, giving up any pretense of manners by her questions.
The13Inquisitor:
"I am Azrael." Azrael stated plainly. "I had no inkling anyone lived anywhere near here until you tried to blindside me. As to why I came here..." Azrael looked off towards the setting sun. "I'm not entirely sure myself; I suppose I wanted to try and forget some of my troubles here." He answered with a shrug.
Winterling:
Nighte settled back onto her hind legs. The giving of names had no real meaning, but it comforted her all the same. Something about the ritual of it, and this dragon's willingness to speak with her even after her ill-considered attack. "I'm sorry I tried to kill you." She says after a moment. "We don't get many visitors...and I don't have much experience with welcoming guests." Taking a deep breath, she adds, "I suppose I should offer to shelter you for the night. It will be better than sleeping on the floes, and if you're not from here the cold might see you never wake." The invitation was only slightly grudging, the curiosity left over from her Lightning hatchlinghood poking through a chillier demeanor.
The13Inquisitor:
Azrael's distant look evaporated as he blinked back to focusing on Nighte.
"Very kind of you, my dear. This isn't the first time I've ventured to these ice fields, but it is the first time with no real purpose. And I have lived through worse than your surprise attack. And Plague Reavers,-their diety torment them for eternity-"
Azrael shut his mouth with a click.
He'd never talked of his time spent with the cruel creatures that had ruined his life, least of all with a complete stranger, one who'd attacked him on sight no less.
Still, there was a shy, delicate air to her, one he found endearing.
Her fragile demeanour bespoke some hardship in her past and there was no denying she was attractive...
Azrael shook himself out of his reverie.
"Very kind of you. Shall we go?" He asked wondering if he sounded rude. Palion had taught him the value of courtesy and politeness, but he'd had few opportunities to practice either in recent memory and scant few in the previous eighteen years, so he found himself worrying if he sounded too abrupt, which in itself was somewhat amusing, considering he was often quite comfortable intimidating anyone who was giving him undue trouble with either his formidable reputation or a cold look he'd perfected over the years for those who really couldn't take a hint.
Winterling:
Though a bit miffed at her attack being dismissed so quickly, Nighte found herself thawing towards the stranger. Azrael. She shook her head to clear it of fluff and spread her wings, launching with an expertise that barely rocked the loose ice beneath her feet. Her wings carried her home without her mind taking notice, so she was free to puzzle over the visitor as she flew.
She had no experience to speak of with the children of the Plaguebringer, but she had heard rumors. She likened his enslavement to her own, but somehow they did not seem to measure up. She felt the sympathy only one who has experienced it can feel. Still, they were not the same, and Azrael had won free by his own strength in the end. Nighte had escaped only through the carelessness of her captors.
The nest she shared with Mercor was a cave at the edges of solid land, hollowed out of the jagged sea ice formed by frozen waves. There wasn't much room, but it was comfortable. And access to the hunting grounds of the floes was always right outside their doorstep. Surprisingly nervous at showing him the icy cave, Nighte hesitated and waited for Azrael to land before coughing lightly. "It might be cold, for a northern dragon. Most of the caves around here don't even have any stone, just ice." Not sure why she was explaining to him, Nighte ducked into the nest to hide her embarrassment.
(Winterling, you've got the next bit, it's 2AM down here in Australia and I've had a pretty long day and I'm off to sleep.)
This is a two-player RP between myself and Winterling that we've been conducting via note on Deviantart for about two months now. We'd appreciate it if people just read this for their own enjoyment. We're about three-quarters done with a pretty full cast and we'd like to finish this up. Thank you.
The13Inquisitor:
Azrael wasn't entirely sure what drew him to the Icewarden's cold, forsaken realm.
There was no denying it was pretty in a cold, sharp way and Azrael couldn't deny that in some twisted way he liked it here. Only the most resolute could last here. The ice claimed the careless and the unprepared.
By that logic there was likely to be very little work for him to find here and any clan that had a penchant to brigandige would be far too much trouble for him to deal with.
Still, after nearly a decade of wandering as a mercenary and nearly three years with a Plague clan and five years as the slave of a clan of Plague reavers before that, Azrael had learned that things could change from uneventful to serious very quickly.
'Perhaps I came here to try and do some introspection...' He thought to himself, then shook himself vigourously to fluff his mane and rid himself of the dusting of snow he'd accumulated as he stood on the cliff-edge, surveying the snowscape below him like a startling patch of vine-clad marble and mahogany against the pale sky.
He spread his wings and leapt off the cliff. Night would fall soon and he wanted to find somewhere less conspicuous to spend it.
Winterling:
Evening spread it's rays across the pale ice floes of her home, staining the white snow orange and pink as the clouds above. For a moment Nighte took the time to relish the symmetry of broken ice below and clouds in the sky, with her flying in between. While a prisoner she had never taken the time to savor the small beauties of life, but now she sought them with avidity. She tilted her wings and sank lower in the sky, feeling the chill of the air in her lungs as she filled them.
The last thing she'd expected was the sight of another dragon. Her mate was off hunting on his own, and he was the only other dragon for miles. Until now. Quickly she beat back up into the sky, coming up behind the intruder and readying her claws. Her past experience with strangers had been anything but pleasant, and she did not intend to welcome this one.
Teeth bared and whiskers blowing in the wind, she dove.
The13Inquisitor:
The only warning Azrael got that things were about to become unpleasant was a slight darkening of the sky above him. It moved too rapidly to be a cloud and a few previous experiences with being ambushed were the only reasons he noticed now.
Immediately, Azrael backwinged and pivoted mid-air, before backwinging a second time to put a body-length of extra distance between him and this new aggressor,-an Imperial with piercing blue eyes. There was a light of desperate fury in those eyes and for a moment, they stopped Azrael cold. She wasn't a bandit, she was just scared.
He didn't have time to act further though as his aggressor tackled him head on.
In response, he locked his wings to his side and angled downward.
No one was going to outdo a child of the Windsinger in the air.
She struggled on the way down the whole time, but this wasn't the first fight Azrael had stumbled into and he managed to fend her attempts to break loose off.
Just shy of the ground, he opened his wings and flapped, nearly shearing them off as the inertia took hold of him, before he flung his assailant onto the ground below.
He didn't press his advantage though, just took to hovering as the Imperial came to her feet, crouched and wary looking up at him with that same look of defiant, fearful rage.
Winterling:
From the moment her claws tangled with those of the green dragon, Nighte knew she was outmatched. This was a dragon with much more experience fighting other dragons, where she had been content with catching her prey. Still, she held nothing back from her attack even as it spun out of her control and into his.
She lost the high ground and was stranded on an ice floe with him in the air above. Baring her teeth, Nighte flicked her tail and growled. "Who are you?" She snarled, spreading her black wings slightly. There was no way he would let her take off again, but the instinct to make herself look larger was too strong. "What do you want here?"
The13Inquisitor:
"I was simply looking for somewhere out of the open to spend the night; Who are you?" Countered Azrael in a firm voice. This female's attempt to intimidate him validated his suspicions: she was scared, aware she was outmatched and she wanted him gone.
'So much for finding a place to spend the night peacefully.' He mused bitterly. Likely she had friends nearby and they probably wouldn't take kindly to what they would percieve as him attacking her.
He hesitated a moment, then landed on a ice floe adjacent to hers.
Hopefully, she'd be at least willing to talk.
Winterling:
Nighte watched him with calming suspicion. Her hackles were still up, but since he gave up his advantage to land, she figured she could listen. Besides, it seemed like he had arrived in their territory by accident, in which case she was being unreasonable. The black dragon snorted to herself.
"My name is Nighte." She said grudgingly, aware she was giving him an opening to be polite. Still, it was what Mercor would have done. Her mate was one of the friendliest dragons she'd ever met...not that she'd met many. "I suppose you came here by accident?" She inquired, giving up any pretense of manners by her questions.
The13Inquisitor:
"I am Azrael." Azrael stated plainly. "I had no inkling anyone lived anywhere near here until you tried to blindside me. As to why I came here..." Azrael looked off towards the setting sun. "I'm not entirely sure myself; I suppose I wanted to try and forget some of my troubles here." He answered with a shrug.
Winterling:
Nighte settled back onto her hind legs. The giving of names had no real meaning, but it comforted her all the same. Something about the ritual of it, and this dragon's willingness to speak with her even after her ill-considered attack. "I'm sorry I tried to kill you." She says after a moment. "We don't get many visitors...and I don't have much experience with welcoming guests." Taking a deep breath, she adds, "I suppose I should offer to shelter you for the night. It will be better than sleeping on the floes, and if you're not from here the cold might see you never wake." The invitation was only slightly grudging, the curiosity left over from her Lightning hatchlinghood poking through a chillier demeanor.
The13Inquisitor:
Azrael's distant look evaporated as he blinked back to focusing on Nighte.
"Very kind of you, my dear. This isn't the first time I've ventured to these ice fields, but it is the first time with no real purpose. And I have lived through worse than your surprise attack. And Plague Reavers,-their diety torment them for eternity-"
Azrael shut his mouth with a click.
He'd never talked of his time spent with the cruel creatures that had ruined his life, least of all with a complete stranger, one who'd attacked him on sight no less.
Still, there was a shy, delicate air to her, one he found endearing.
Her fragile demeanour bespoke some hardship in her past and there was no denying she was attractive...
Azrael shook himself out of his reverie.
"Very kind of you. Shall we go?" He asked wondering if he sounded rude. Palion had taught him the value of courtesy and politeness, but he'd had few opportunities to practice either in recent memory and scant few in the previous eighteen years, so he found himself worrying if he sounded too abrupt, which in itself was somewhat amusing, considering he was often quite comfortable intimidating anyone who was giving him undue trouble with either his formidable reputation or a cold look he'd perfected over the years for those who really couldn't take a hint.
Winterling:
Though a bit miffed at her attack being dismissed so quickly, Nighte found herself thawing towards the stranger. Azrael. She shook her head to clear it of fluff and spread her wings, launching with an expertise that barely rocked the loose ice beneath her feet. Her wings carried her home without her mind taking notice, so she was free to puzzle over the visitor as she flew.
She had no experience to speak of with the children of the Plaguebringer, but she had heard rumors. She likened his enslavement to her own, but somehow they did not seem to measure up. She felt the sympathy only one who has experienced it can feel. Still, they were not the same, and Azrael had won free by his own strength in the end. Nighte had escaped only through the carelessness of her captors.
The nest she shared with Mercor was a cave at the edges of solid land, hollowed out of the jagged sea ice formed by frozen waves. There wasn't much room, but it was comfortable. And access to the hunting grounds of the floes was always right outside their doorstep. Surprisingly nervous at showing him the icy cave, Nighte hesitated and waited for Azrael to land before coughing lightly. "It might be cold, for a northern dragon. Most of the caves around here don't even have any stone, just ice." Not sure why she was explaining to him, Nighte ducked into the nest to hide her embarrassment.
(Winterling, you've got the next bit, it's 2AM down here in Australia and I've had a pretty long day and I'm off to sleep.)
'Why are you frowning?' -Temeraire's first words.
The13Inquisitor:
The flight was uneventful enough, and landing wasn't the drama Azrael had expected, the ice having enough texture for him to find traction.
It was cold, but he'd expected that and it'd be warmer out of the open air than what he likely would've managed.
"You need not explain yourself to me." Azrael said putting his back to a wall as he settled down. "Compared to some of the greetings I've received before today, you've been a shining example of how a hostess should act." He quieted again at the trace of bitterness in his voice. Why was he airing his grievances to her?
Winterling:
Nighte grinned over her shoulder as she led him into a smaller chamber. Furs and some scattered items warmed the cave from the blue and white of the ice to a homier aspect. "That's nice to hear, since I've never hosted a thing in my life."
It wasn't quite true. She remembered a big party Smoke had hosted, with all sorts of delicacies and even a tame river swift for entertainment...Nighte dragged her thoughts away from that particular pain and back to the present. "Mercor should be back today or tomorrow. If you've no particular need to be anywhere, why not stay and meet him?"
Now why would she make an offer like that? Nighte stared a little blankly, then collected herself to wait for his answer. She could hardly withdraw the offer now. Still, it was discomforting.
The13Inquisitor:
"If it's no trouble." Azrael replied. "As I said, I lack any real purpose for coming here save some quirk of impulse. As for meeting your...friend,"-Azrael stumbled slightly over the word. He didn't know how things were between Nighte and this Mercor so he decided to play it safe,-"I can't see any reason not to, so long as it won't cause trouble. I'm not very well liked in some circles, though that's got more to do with what those in those circles do,-usually for their own amusement." He admitted. Not entirely the truth. There were those whom he had no quarrel with and wished all the best who thought he was just some quarrelsome brute who loved fighting.
Though, as a rule he only ever went after clans that he was quite sure were troublemakers and deserved to be put down. Usually his work as a mercenary consisted of taking care of pest problems, fetching items for scholars or those who couldn't get them themselves but could afford to send him after them, or escorting the less capable through the wilderness to deter Brigands or Reavers.
As he looked back further into the cave where Nighte had gone back to, he could make out furs, decorations and a definitely more comfortable abode. Still, the entry cave he'd settled himself in was better than what he'd hoped for and if this Mercor was the jealous type would cause the least problems. It wasn't as qarm, but if he needed to leave quickly , a warm place to sleep would be the least of his worries. Not that he expected trouble, he just found it prudent to plan for it.
Winterling:
"I'm sure it will be no problem." Nighte said, turning around on her furs and facing her guest. There was still some bemusement in her face. Here she was, playing host for the first dragon that came along. "Mercor is more used to strangers than I am." She said, her voice growing softer on his name. "Mercor is–" For a moment, she tried to think of how to name him. Calling him her love sounded gooey, her mate seemed just as bad. "I love him." She said at last. Then she looked away, embarrassed.
Clearing her throat, the dragoness spoke again. "Where will you go next?" She asked. "It's been long and longer since I've been up north. Tell me something about how the warmer world fares."
The13Inquisitor:
Azrael felt the ghost of a smile at Nighte's profession of love.
"This Mercor of yours is lucky to have you." He stated, a tad enviously, then shook his head. "Sorry. That...didn't come out the way I intended." He apologised.
"As for the world...well life goes on, much as it has the past age. I was in the Ashfall not too long ago, searching for some ancient artifact for some scrub named Smoke; His trail sent me right into the heart of a peacock-scorpion den. I've got a feeling he was trying to see me dead. Wouldn't be the first time, but usually I've done something unknowingly to tick someone off to try and kill me." Azrael paused, then cocked his head, Nighte had frozen at the mention of that name. He decided it was best to get off the subject.
"Beyond that...Well, I've heard word that Plague Reavers have been giving grief to non-Plague clans on the fringes of the Scarred Wasteland, again; I believe several Light flights are mounting an expedition to Dragonhome to look for artifacts and that various Shadow clans have been making a nuisance of themselves during the preparations. And making little secret of their involvement, I might add." Azrael recited. There was more, but he doubted Nighte would be interested in Earth clans who were on the lookout for guards for their mines, or Arcane or Water dragons looking for skilled guards on their journeys to other realms.
"I did hear that a cabal of Lightning and Arcane clans have built a telescope they intend to somehow launch to the stars. Silly idea if you ask me, but that's that lot for you." He added after a moment. "As for where I might go next..." Azrael shrugged, grimacing slightly as the three parallel scars running across his back from his right shoulder to the left side of his ribcage pulled slightly. They were an old injury, endured at the claws of the Guardian that had lead the raid on his father's lair after a failed escape attempt. He'd killed three of the guards after he'd been discovered and attempted to fight his way out, but he'd been recaptured and the brute had slashed his back open as punishment. It was a wonder he could still fly.
Winterling:
She couldn't believe this dragon had met Smoke. It seemed impossible that he had found his way here, but she tried not to let too much of her shock show through. Her claws tightened on the ice beneath her, scraping noisily at it. Still, Azrael did a good job changing the subject away from her unease.
Nighte soaked up the news of the outside world like a sponge takes water, nodding to each further statement. After he trailed off she curled up the rest of the way, feeling safe enough to lay down to sleep with him in the doorway. Her mind was full of the doings in the north, where the world moved on without her. Silently, she sent a prayer winging to Icewarden that she be able to face the world with his guidance.
"Perhaps I will go looking for...someone up north." She said to the back of the cave. She was starting to picture her claws in Smoke's cleanly scaled face. "I have a home now. Maybe it's time to go back out and meet dragons again."
The13Inquisitor:
Something was off.
Nighte had seemed like she had something in her past. Something that ate at her.
When he'd mentioned the smoke-breather that had tried to kill him, that same fear that had driven her to attack him had come back.
"What happened?" He asked, gently.
He had his demons. Even now, nearly two decades later, he could feel the shock of the paralysis spell that damn Fae had put on him. He could feel Ulkair beating him if he'd gotten out of hand; he could feel his claws when he'd tried to escape.
He could still feel the cold, vindictive satisfaction he'd felt when he'd talked the more-or-less decent Plague clan that had bought him from the Reavers had taken his suggestion and destroyed them.
He still missed Val.
He'd made his peace with his past and made it his duty to make others with a similar bent pay.
Nighte, on the other hand... Azrael wasn't sure if she'd talked about this. But, his instinct told him that he hadn't come here on whim.
This was providence. The Windsinger guided him coming here.
Evidently he approved of Azrael's self-given purpose.
"Nighte." Azrael said gently. "Whatever happened, it's done. But unless you make your peace with it...well, it's miserable, living with something hanging over you like that."
Winterling:
Nighte flared her nostrils and rumbled uneasily. She debated ignoring him entirely, but eventually raised her head again. "It's mostly just my own stupidity. I was captured..." For a moment her voice trailed away, and her ice-blue eyes were fixed on a point far out across the broken ice pushed up against the shore. "Not that the means matter. Smoke's entire clan is rotten to the core. They had a Light dragon, Cindin. He was in charge of the enchantments. I was enamored with Smoke, you see." The bitterness and emphasis on the word made it clear what spell they had put on her.
Her lip curled and her anger flared from quiet simmer to ice cold, filling every bone in her body. "Maybe one day I'll go back there, when I have my own clan around me. And maybe then they'll pay me back for every hatchling they stole, every day of my life spent under a haze of infatuation." Her gaze fixed on Azrael for a moment, and her eyes were very hard. "So yes, that's what happened to me. And it will linger until that clan is removed from the face of the world."
The13Inquisitor:
Azrael lashed his tail restlessly.
"I'd say I was sorry for what happened to you, but we both know it wouldn't change anything." He said. "That said, you've just given me all the reason I need to put them down. Hard."
Winterling:
Nighte stared at him, torn between a swift agreement to the idea and a bit of affront he would interfere in his manner. Her silence lingered perhaps a moment too long before she spoke. "Only if you go with me." She said at last. Her heart quickened at the thought of vengeance, but she did not want to seem to eager for this almost-stranger's help.
The13Inquisitor:
The flight was uneventful enough, and landing wasn't the drama Azrael had expected, the ice having enough texture for him to find traction.
It was cold, but he'd expected that and it'd be warmer out of the open air than what he likely would've managed.
"You need not explain yourself to me." Azrael said putting his back to a wall as he settled down. "Compared to some of the greetings I've received before today, you've been a shining example of how a hostess should act." He quieted again at the trace of bitterness in his voice. Why was he airing his grievances to her?
Winterling:
Nighte grinned over her shoulder as she led him into a smaller chamber. Furs and some scattered items warmed the cave from the blue and white of the ice to a homier aspect. "That's nice to hear, since I've never hosted a thing in my life."
It wasn't quite true. She remembered a big party Smoke had hosted, with all sorts of delicacies and even a tame river swift for entertainment...Nighte dragged her thoughts away from that particular pain and back to the present. "Mercor should be back today or tomorrow. If you've no particular need to be anywhere, why not stay and meet him?"
Now why would she make an offer like that? Nighte stared a little blankly, then collected herself to wait for his answer. She could hardly withdraw the offer now. Still, it was discomforting.
The13Inquisitor:
"If it's no trouble." Azrael replied. "As I said, I lack any real purpose for coming here save some quirk of impulse. As for meeting your...friend,"-Azrael stumbled slightly over the word. He didn't know how things were between Nighte and this Mercor so he decided to play it safe,-"I can't see any reason not to, so long as it won't cause trouble. I'm not very well liked in some circles, though that's got more to do with what those in those circles do,-usually for their own amusement." He admitted. Not entirely the truth. There were those whom he had no quarrel with and wished all the best who thought he was just some quarrelsome brute who loved fighting.
Though, as a rule he only ever went after clans that he was quite sure were troublemakers and deserved to be put down. Usually his work as a mercenary consisted of taking care of pest problems, fetching items for scholars or those who couldn't get them themselves but could afford to send him after them, or escorting the less capable through the wilderness to deter Brigands or Reavers.
As he looked back further into the cave where Nighte had gone back to, he could make out furs, decorations and a definitely more comfortable abode. Still, the entry cave he'd settled himself in was better than what he'd hoped for and if this Mercor was the jealous type would cause the least problems. It wasn't as qarm, but if he needed to leave quickly , a warm place to sleep would be the least of his worries. Not that he expected trouble, he just found it prudent to plan for it.
Winterling:
"I'm sure it will be no problem." Nighte said, turning around on her furs and facing her guest. There was still some bemusement in her face. Here she was, playing host for the first dragon that came along. "Mercor is more used to strangers than I am." She said, her voice growing softer on his name. "Mercor is–" For a moment, she tried to think of how to name him. Calling him her love sounded gooey, her mate seemed just as bad. "I love him." She said at last. Then she looked away, embarrassed.
Clearing her throat, the dragoness spoke again. "Where will you go next?" She asked. "It's been long and longer since I've been up north. Tell me something about how the warmer world fares."
The13Inquisitor:
Azrael felt the ghost of a smile at Nighte's profession of love.
"This Mercor of yours is lucky to have you." He stated, a tad enviously, then shook his head. "Sorry. That...didn't come out the way I intended." He apologised.
"As for the world...well life goes on, much as it has the past age. I was in the Ashfall not too long ago, searching for some ancient artifact for some scrub named Smoke; His trail sent me right into the heart of a peacock-scorpion den. I've got a feeling he was trying to see me dead. Wouldn't be the first time, but usually I've done something unknowingly to tick someone off to try and kill me." Azrael paused, then cocked his head, Nighte had frozen at the mention of that name. He decided it was best to get off the subject.
"Beyond that...Well, I've heard word that Plague Reavers have been giving grief to non-Plague clans on the fringes of the Scarred Wasteland, again; I believe several Light flights are mounting an expedition to Dragonhome to look for artifacts and that various Shadow clans have been making a nuisance of themselves during the preparations. And making little secret of their involvement, I might add." Azrael recited. There was more, but he doubted Nighte would be interested in Earth clans who were on the lookout for guards for their mines, or Arcane or Water dragons looking for skilled guards on their journeys to other realms.
"I did hear that a cabal of Lightning and Arcane clans have built a telescope they intend to somehow launch to the stars. Silly idea if you ask me, but that's that lot for you." He added after a moment. "As for where I might go next..." Azrael shrugged, grimacing slightly as the three parallel scars running across his back from his right shoulder to the left side of his ribcage pulled slightly. They were an old injury, endured at the claws of the Guardian that had lead the raid on his father's lair after a failed escape attempt. He'd killed three of the guards after he'd been discovered and attempted to fight his way out, but he'd been recaptured and the brute had slashed his back open as punishment. It was a wonder he could still fly.
Winterling:
She couldn't believe this dragon had met Smoke. It seemed impossible that he had found his way here, but she tried not to let too much of her shock show through. Her claws tightened on the ice beneath her, scraping noisily at it. Still, Azrael did a good job changing the subject away from her unease.
Nighte soaked up the news of the outside world like a sponge takes water, nodding to each further statement. After he trailed off she curled up the rest of the way, feeling safe enough to lay down to sleep with him in the doorway. Her mind was full of the doings in the north, where the world moved on without her. Silently, she sent a prayer winging to Icewarden that she be able to face the world with his guidance.
"Perhaps I will go looking for...someone up north." She said to the back of the cave. She was starting to picture her claws in Smoke's cleanly scaled face. "I have a home now. Maybe it's time to go back out and meet dragons again."
The13Inquisitor:
Something was off.
Nighte had seemed like she had something in her past. Something that ate at her.
When he'd mentioned the smoke-breather that had tried to kill him, that same fear that had driven her to attack him had come back.
"What happened?" He asked, gently.
He had his demons. Even now, nearly two decades later, he could feel the shock of the paralysis spell that damn Fae had put on him. He could feel Ulkair beating him if he'd gotten out of hand; he could feel his claws when he'd tried to escape.
He could still feel the cold, vindictive satisfaction he'd felt when he'd talked the more-or-less decent Plague clan that had bought him from the Reavers had taken his suggestion and destroyed them.
He still missed Val.
He'd made his peace with his past and made it his duty to make others with a similar bent pay.
Nighte, on the other hand... Azrael wasn't sure if she'd talked about this. But, his instinct told him that he hadn't come here on whim.
This was providence. The Windsinger guided him coming here.
Evidently he approved of Azrael's self-given purpose.
"Nighte." Azrael said gently. "Whatever happened, it's done. But unless you make your peace with it...well, it's miserable, living with something hanging over you like that."
Winterling:
Nighte flared her nostrils and rumbled uneasily. She debated ignoring him entirely, but eventually raised her head again. "It's mostly just my own stupidity. I was captured..." For a moment her voice trailed away, and her ice-blue eyes were fixed on a point far out across the broken ice pushed up against the shore. "Not that the means matter. Smoke's entire clan is rotten to the core. They had a Light dragon, Cindin. He was in charge of the enchantments. I was enamored with Smoke, you see." The bitterness and emphasis on the word made it clear what spell they had put on her.
Her lip curled and her anger flared from quiet simmer to ice cold, filling every bone in her body. "Maybe one day I'll go back there, when I have my own clan around me. And maybe then they'll pay me back for every hatchling they stole, every day of my life spent under a haze of infatuation." Her gaze fixed on Azrael for a moment, and her eyes were very hard. "So yes, that's what happened to me. And it will linger until that clan is removed from the face of the world."
The13Inquisitor:
Azrael lashed his tail restlessly.
"I'd say I was sorry for what happened to you, but we both know it wouldn't change anything." He said. "That said, you've just given me all the reason I need to put them down. Hard."
Winterling:
Nighte stared at him, torn between a swift agreement to the idea and a bit of affront he would interfere in his manner. Her silence lingered perhaps a moment too long before she spoke. "Only if you go with me." She said at last. Her heart quickened at the thought of vengeance, but she did not want to seem to eager for this almost-stranger's help.
The13Inquisitor:
Azrael's head whipped around to look Nighte in the eyes.
"Much as I'd appreciate the help, do you know what breaking a clan involves?" He asked. "And what about your Mercor? I chose my path a long time ago. Most of my birth clan is dead, the rest of them are either slaves of Reavers or have found new clans and moved on with their lives; my best friend,-a dragoness I loved,- I've no idea if she escaped or not. I spent eight years as those Reavers' slave," Azrael shifted slightly so the three scars across his back were visible to Nighte. "I got those off the Reaver that lead the raid on my father's clan shortly after I tried to escape; damn near killed me. If they hadn't sold me to a clan that had something that passed for a heart, I'd be dead by now." Azrael ranted heedless of the tears of rage running in rivulets down his face. "I managed to convince my new masters to take their treasure back off the Reavers. I killed their leader, Ulkair, myself. Shortly after that I left and I swore I'd destroy any clan like those Reavers, even if it cost me my life. You've got the world to live for, Nighte. I don't." He finished huskily. Now he'd said it all, he didn't feel as guarded to her. They had something in common, despite the obvious differences and their different outlooks. But he couldn't let her throw away such a happy turn around in the pursuit of vengeance, not like he had.
Winterling:
Nighte didn't look away, though she suppressed a flinch when he asked about Mercor. Through his speech she sat frozen, half in horror and half in outrage. "You think yourself entitled to other people's vengeance." She said when he had finished. She did not speak quickly, but there was enough weight in each word to shake a mountain. "I don't disagree with you, and of all the dragons in the Icefield I should know what it feels like. If things had gone differently for me..." She fell silent for a moment, remembering some of the days Smoke had NOT been pleased with her. After a moment she continued. "Like you said, this is something that's hanging over me. I have to deal with it, one way or another. I'm not saying that I could do it alone, only that I have to do it. Mercor will understand. He's pretty good at that." Her voice softened at the end, but her eyes didn't.
The13Inquisitor:
Azrael sighed in defeat.
It had been a long day and he wasn't in any mood to continue arguing.
"I won't stop you, but I'm not being held responsible for any of this." He stated. "Still, don't go charging off straight away. Your Mercor deserves to know about this. That, and it'd be a bad idea to do this with so few dragons. I'll need to talk to some old friends of mine before we even think of going to the Ashfall." Azrael shivered. It was colder than he'd realised, but using magic to start a fire was probably a bad idea and he was too proud to ask to share with Nighte. Not that he thought that would be a terribly good introduction to Mercor to begin with.
He shifted slightly and coiled himself tighter. He'd just have to tough it out and try and find a hot spring in the morning.
Winterling:
"Then we agree." Nighte said. She was not particularly glad to have won, but there was a satisfaction to have settled on a course. "We will wait for Mercor, and then go north." She might have curled up into sleep then, but she sat up a few minutes more, watching Azrael. After a moment she sighed and stood, pulling out several more furs and dragging them to the front of the cave. "Thank you." She added softly. "No matter what. Thank you." She didn't like to think how long she would have wallowed in doubt and fear before going after Smoke and his clan. Azrael had been right; she could not stand the thought of them living one more day in the same world she did.
The13Inquisitor:
Azrael didn't reply.
Despite the cold, weariness was overcoming him, along with a rare, restful sleep.
Just before he slipped wholly into sleep, he was jerked back to wakefulness as Nighte placed furs over him.
He was silent for a moment at her thanks, unsure how to respond.
"Peace be with you." Azrael whispered, before he closed his eyes,-keeping one trained on the entry to the cave through a translucent inner-eyelid, before sliding wholly into sleep.
Winterling:
The darkness that covered the ice floes was broken only by the occasional creak of ice outside, and eventually by the silver moonlight.
Nothing had changed by the time sunlight slanted into the cave, but Nighte did not seem worried. She dug around for some food in the back and shared a meal with Azrael, keeping one eye on the sky the entire time. She did not suggest going out, but seems content to laze around a bit for now. Here is where Mercor will come.
The13Inquisitor:
The longer time dragged on, the more restless Azrael became. He was a Wind dragon and inaction,-particularly in these cold conditions,-didn't sit well with him. Still, he stayed put and made small talk with Nighte, until distantly, he made out a speck on the horizon headed in the cave's general direction.
Winterling:
Mercor was a golden imperial with dark blue wings marked with eye spots. He landed without exceptional show, touching the ground gently and dropping several small carcasses to the ice. Some of them were fish, with one or two hares thrown in for variety. He kept his wings open as he looked between the two of them. "Hello." He said cautiously, to Azrael.
Nighte had relaxed muscles she hadn't even known were tensed with her mate's return. She stepped forward to touch noses with him the moment he touched ice, and stood next to him. "This is Azrael." She said, nodding back to her guest. "A guest from up north."
Looking subtly impressed Nighte hasn't either killed or driven off the other dragon, Mercor smiled and nodded. "Any guest deserves all we have to offer. We get so few of them around here."
The13Inquisitor:
"And you must be Mercor," Azrael said, standing. "Charmed. Nighte speaks highly of you." He finished, deciding to omit several other observations he might've made.
Winterling:
A trace of wariness comes into Mercor's blue eyes, but he nodded amicably. Nighte clears her throat to draw Mercor's attention. "Azrael has offered me help with...my history." She says, though it is clear the words do not come easily. "I think it's time I finish that."
The gold imperial looked to Nighte for a long, silent moment, searching her eyes for something. Finally he bowed his head. Taking a deep breath he straightens and nods. "Then it's time." He says. Swinging his gaze back to Azrael, Mercor holds himself confidently. "You are going to help?" He almost states the question.
The13Inquisitor:
"What was done was unforgivable. On top of that, I swore long ago to end clans with such leanings and the fact this clan's leader tried to kill me not long ago gives me fairly compelling reasons to offer my help." Azrael replied. "Until I or they lie broken on the ground, you have my help."
Winterling:
Mercor smiled at that, though not broadly. He was a dragon slow to anger, but he knew what past wrongs ate at his love. "If Nighte says something should be done, then it is time to do it." He says. "What are we waiting for?"
Nighte breathes a small sigh of relief, almost unnoticeable to any other. It is hard to be truly certain of what any other creature will do, but she trusted Mercor and he trusted her. "Let's go then." She says brightly. Turning to Azrael she adds, "I shan't question your seniority, in this at least. What is first?"
The13Inquisitor:
Azrael's head whipped around to look Nighte in the eyes.
"Much as I'd appreciate the help, do you know what breaking a clan involves?" He asked. "And what about your Mercor? I chose my path a long time ago. Most of my birth clan is dead, the rest of them are either slaves of Reavers or have found new clans and moved on with their lives; my best friend,-a dragoness I loved,- I've no idea if she escaped or not. I spent eight years as those Reavers' slave," Azrael shifted slightly so the three scars across his back were visible to Nighte. "I got those off the Reaver that lead the raid on my father's clan shortly after I tried to escape; damn near killed me. If they hadn't sold me to a clan that had something that passed for a heart, I'd be dead by now." Azrael ranted heedless of the tears of rage running in rivulets down his face. "I managed to convince my new masters to take their treasure back off the Reavers. I killed their leader, Ulkair, myself. Shortly after that I left and I swore I'd destroy any clan like those Reavers, even if it cost me my life. You've got the world to live for, Nighte. I don't." He finished huskily. Now he'd said it all, he didn't feel as guarded to her. They had something in common, despite the obvious differences and their different outlooks. But he couldn't let her throw away such a happy turn around in the pursuit of vengeance, not like he had.
Winterling:
Nighte didn't look away, though she suppressed a flinch when he asked about Mercor. Through his speech she sat frozen, half in horror and half in outrage. "You think yourself entitled to other people's vengeance." She said when he had finished. She did not speak quickly, but there was enough weight in each word to shake a mountain. "I don't disagree with you, and of all the dragons in the Icefield I should know what it feels like. If things had gone differently for me..." She fell silent for a moment, remembering some of the days Smoke had NOT been pleased with her. After a moment she continued. "Like you said, this is something that's hanging over me. I have to deal with it, one way or another. I'm not saying that I could do it alone, only that I have to do it. Mercor will understand. He's pretty good at that." Her voice softened at the end, but her eyes didn't.
The13Inquisitor:
Azrael sighed in defeat.
It had been a long day and he wasn't in any mood to continue arguing.
"I won't stop you, but I'm not being held responsible for any of this." He stated. "Still, don't go charging off straight away. Your Mercor deserves to know about this. That, and it'd be a bad idea to do this with so few dragons. I'll need to talk to some old friends of mine before we even think of going to the Ashfall." Azrael shivered. It was colder than he'd realised, but using magic to start a fire was probably a bad idea and he was too proud to ask to share with Nighte. Not that he thought that would be a terribly good introduction to Mercor to begin with.
He shifted slightly and coiled himself tighter. He'd just have to tough it out and try and find a hot spring in the morning.
Winterling:
"Then we agree." Nighte said. She was not particularly glad to have won, but there was a satisfaction to have settled on a course. "We will wait for Mercor, and then go north." She might have curled up into sleep then, but she sat up a few minutes more, watching Azrael. After a moment she sighed and stood, pulling out several more furs and dragging them to the front of the cave. "Thank you." She added softly. "No matter what. Thank you." She didn't like to think how long she would have wallowed in doubt and fear before going after Smoke and his clan. Azrael had been right; she could not stand the thought of them living one more day in the same world she did.
The13Inquisitor:
Azrael didn't reply.
Despite the cold, weariness was overcoming him, along with a rare, restful sleep.
Just before he slipped wholly into sleep, he was jerked back to wakefulness as Nighte placed furs over him.
He was silent for a moment at her thanks, unsure how to respond.
"Peace be with you." Azrael whispered, before he closed his eyes,-keeping one trained on the entry to the cave through a translucent inner-eyelid, before sliding wholly into sleep.
Winterling:
The darkness that covered the ice floes was broken only by the occasional creak of ice outside, and eventually by the silver moonlight.
Nothing had changed by the time sunlight slanted into the cave, but Nighte did not seem worried. She dug around for some food in the back and shared a meal with Azrael, keeping one eye on the sky the entire time. She did not suggest going out, but seems content to laze around a bit for now. Here is where Mercor will come.
The13Inquisitor:
The longer time dragged on, the more restless Azrael became. He was a Wind dragon and inaction,-particularly in these cold conditions,-didn't sit well with him. Still, he stayed put and made small talk with Nighte, until distantly, he made out a speck on the horizon headed in the cave's general direction.
Winterling:
Mercor was a golden imperial with dark blue wings marked with eye spots. He landed without exceptional show, touching the ground gently and dropping several small carcasses to the ice. Some of them were fish, with one or two hares thrown in for variety. He kept his wings open as he looked between the two of them. "Hello." He said cautiously, to Azrael.
Nighte had relaxed muscles she hadn't even known were tensed with her mate's return. She stepped forward to touch noses with him the moment he touched ice, and stood next to him. "This is Azrael." She said, nodding back to her guest. "A guest from up north."
Looking subtly impressed Nighte hasn't either killed or driven off the other dragon, Mercor smiled and nodded. "Any guest deserves all we have to offer. We get so few of them around here."
The13Inquisitor:
"And you must be Mercor," Azrael said, standing. "Charmed. Nighte speaks highly of you." He finished, deciding to omit several other observations he might've made.
Winterling:
A trace of wariness comes into Mercor's blue eyes, but he nodded amicably. Nighte clears her throat to draw Mercor's attention. "Azrael has offered me help with...my history." She says, though it is clear the words do not come easily. "I think it's time I finish that."
The gold imperial looked to Nighte for a long, silent moment, searching her eyes for something. Finally he bowed his head. Taking a deep breath he straightens and nods. "Then it's time." He says. Swinging his gaze back to Azrael, Mercor holds himself confidently. "You are going to help?" He almost states the question.
The13Inquisitor:
"What was done was unforgivable. On top of that, I swore long ago to end clans with such leanings and the fact this clan's leader tried to kill me not long ago gives me fairly compelling reasons to offer my help." Azrael replied. "Until I or they lie broken on the ground, you have my help."
Winterling:
Mercor smiled at that, though not broadly. He was a dragon slow to anger, but he knew what past wrongs ate at his love. "If Nighte says something should be done, then it is time to do it." He says. "What are we waiting for?"
Nighte breathes a small sigh of relief, almost unnoticeable to any other. It is hard to be truly certain of what any other creature will do, but she trusted Mercor and he trusted her. "Let's go then." She says brightly. Turning to Azrael she adds, "I shan't question your seniority, in this at least. What is first?"
The13Inquisitor:
"To my homeland; to the Windswept Plateau. There's a market there and last I checked, a fire dragon who happens to be an old friend of mine known as Fereon. If he's not there, I-" Azrael stopped. Evidently, he'd spent too long on his own. "We should be able to find someone who'll know where he is. After that, we'll see if we can't find any others. I can think of at least two others who'd be willing to lend aid, though if you know anyone, I'd appreciate your input." Azrael replied.
Winterling:
Nighte nodded sharply, and Mercor bobbed his head in agreement. "We may not have many friends here, but I know there are some Tundras nearby who would be willing to lend aid." He says. "We can stop there first if you're not in too much of a hurry." He glances between Nighte and Azrael as he says this, not sure whom he should be addressing.
The13Inquisitor:
"Then let's not delay." Azrael replied. "Lead on. I will follow you for now."
Winterling:
The three leave the ice behind, a small cloud of snow puffing up from the concerted beating of their wings. Mercor takes the lead, turning around to head inland and away from the broken sea ice they normally fly over.
It's not long before he starts circling in to land, Nighte following so close their wings brush sometimes. On the scrubby grass below a dark green and bright yellow tundra called a welcome. He bent down to snip off a patch of moss and swallowed it hastily as the small group of imperials set down in front of him. "Mercor." He said, smiling happily. "What brings you to my corner of the world?" The tundra looks curiously at Azrael but does not ask about him.
"A request for aid." Mercor says, without pausing. "We have had problems with a Fire clan in the north, and I was wondering–"
The Tundra perks up at mention of a fight, and puffs out his chest. "Some nasty Fire clan needs to be put down? Look no further. They're a quick-tempered bunch of salamanders, you ask me. I've been to the Great Furnace and back. Let me tell Annian and we'll come with you, sure as glaciers."
Annian is a blue and silver Guardian, mate to the green tundra. Both of them have their share of scars, though Annian takes the cake with a long set of claw marks that cover her flank. She doesn't seem like the talkative type, but she is more than willing to come with them. "Been getting boring." She mutters to Nighte as the group prepares to fly again. "Who's the new guy? Didn't think you two were much for expanding the ranks." She doesn't bother to keep her voice down, either, eyeing Azrael thoughtfully, not quite suspicious.
The13Inquisitor:
"Nice scars." Azrael commented, nodding to Annian. "And if I do decide to stay on after this business is done, it won't be for more than a year or two. It seems my path is to wander and fight until I fall." He replied. "My name is Azrael, by the way." He added.
Winterling:
"Windsinger's child to the bone." Annian comments as they rise. "I see where you would be Nighte's first visitor." Before the black dragoness can ask what that comment meant, the guardian had angled her wings up and away, casting a shadow across the weak southern sunlight.
"They're good fighters." Nighte says, almost grudgingly. "They've fought in enough battles to have died ten times over. Mercor likes them a lot." She says nothing of how much she likes the two. For a moment she lets her wings beat in silence. "She's right though. We haven't exactly been welcoming to others." Foremost in her mind is her ill-considered attack on Azrael, but there were other instances as well. "But...you would be welcome to stay."
The13Inquisitor:
"I appreciate the gesture, but Annian is right." Azrael replied. "I'm a child of the Windsinger. Wandering is in my blood. Even if I were to form my own clan back on the Plateau, it is likely I'd spend most of my time wandering and-" He broke off. Telling Nighte his history was one thing, but he didn't feel at all sanguine telling her about Val; or rather, he couldn't bring himself to wonder what had happened to her.
Winterling:
Nighte smiles sideways at him for a moment. "I understand." She said. "Well, maybe not. But then, I was never the wandering type."
The trip over the sea was the longest flight Nighte had been on in a while, but she didn't feel particularly winded by the time they reached the opposite shore. The floes were opposite the Windy Plateau, and it wasn't out of their way to stop there. Mercor fell back as they came up on the shore, nodding for Azrael to take the lead.
The13Inquisitor:
As Mercor fell back to allow him to lead, Azrael beat up and took poll-position. He put the group on a north-easterly course to skirt the boundaries of the Twisting Crescendo, before landing in a decent sized grove when night began to fall.
Collecting dead-wood for a fire was no hassle and the clearing he'd chosen to spend the night in was easily large enough to accomodate it.
As he made his way back to the clearing in the dwindling light however, he stopped cold as a pearly-green light caught his attention under the eaves of a Ginkgo tree.
It took some manuovering, but Azrael finally managed to extract the small tasure from under the tree.
"Have a look what I found." Azrael stated without preamble as he reentered the clearing, before carefully depositing the wood.
After this was done, he opened his gently closed left claw to reveal the egg grasped protectivdly within.
Winterling:
They all stared at the egg for a moment, silence falling over the small camp. The wind tugged at Nighte's mane, the unceasing breeze making their small fire flicker and cast shadows across it. "I've never seen a Wind egg before." She said at last, and extended one claw for a moment before drawing back as if frightened she might hurt it.
Annian glances towards the egg but doesn't look very interested in it. Her mate takes a few steps closer and hmms thoughtfully. "Any dragons in the area?" He asks, mostly speaking to Azrael but expanding the question to include the others. "Doubt they'd pass up an egg like this." He looks almost wistfully at the curve of green shell, but otherwise makes no move to claim it.
Mercor looks sideways at Nighte and also seems to have his eye on the egg, but he doesn't say anything either way. "Here, I'll find someplace safe to put it." The black dragoness says, standing quickly. "Just for the night, of course."
The13Inquisitor:
"I've passed this way before." Azrael said slowly. "I've camped here before, and unless something has changed in the last few years is place is rather uninhabited. What clans do live around here usually make their homes in the Twisting Crescendo; also, I saw no other tracks and I can't smell any other dragons around here. Whoever this egg belngs to, it was either stolen from them and then dumped here for whatever reason, or the parents just couldn't look after it, so decided to leave it somewhere relatively warm and out of the wind." Azrael explained, before gently passing the egg to Nighte.
"'Just for the night?'" He asked. "If we leave this egg here, it will perish," he said. "I'll carry it until we reach the market if I must, but we can't leave an egg to rot when it's in our ability to look after it."
With this said, the group lapsed into silence as they ate.
Winterling:
Nighte spent the dark hours curled protectively around the egg, and Mercor spent them curled around her. Both of them seemed to prefer it that way. Annian watched with tolerant amusement, and let her wing uncurl over the curled form of her own mate. She stays up to watch the fire burn down to embers, and then to ashes, feeling the warm air rushing across her scales, listening for any possible intruders. "I'll wake you when I need to sleep." She said quietly to Azrael. There is the feeling of similarity, that these two were barely-retired fighters of a more active time in Icewarden's service.
The13Inquisitor:
"Thank you." Azrael replied, failing to conceal a yawn. "Don't tire yourself overly, there's still quite a lot of ground to cover tomor-"
Crack.
The13Inquisitor:
"To my homeland; to the Windswept Plateau. There's a market there and last I checked, a fire dragon who happens to be an old friend of mine known as Fereon. If he's not there, I-" Azrael stopped. Evidently, he'd spent too long on his own. "We should be able to find someone who'll know where he is. After that, we'll see if we can't find any others. I can think of at least two others who'd be willing to lend aid, though if you know anyone, I'd appreciate your input." Azrael replied.
Winterling:
Nighte nodded sharply, and Mercor bobbed his head in agreement. "We may not have many friends here, but I know there are some Tundras nearby who would be willing to lend aid." He says. "We can stop there first if you're not in too much of a hurry." He glances between Nighte and Azrael as he says this, not sure whom he should be addressing.
The13Inquisitor:
"Then let's not delay." Azrael replied. "Lead on. I will follow you for now."
Winterling:
The three leave the ice behind, a small cloud of snow puffing up from the concerted beating of their wings. Mercor takes the lead, turning around to head inland and away from the broken sea ice they normally fly over.
It's not long before he starts circling in to land, Nighte following so close their wings brush sometimes. On the scrubby grass below a dark green and bright yellow tundra called a welcome. He bent down to snip off a patch of moss and swallowed it hastily as the small group of imperials set down in front of him. "Mercor." He said, smiling happily. "What brings you to my corner of the world?" The tundra looks curiously at Azrael but does not ask about him.
"A request for aid." Mercor says, without pausing. "We have had problems with a Fire clan in the north, and I was wondering–"
The Tundra perks up at mention of a fight, and puffs out his chest. "Some nasty Fire clan needs to be put down? Look no further. They're a quick-tempered bunch of salamanders, you ask me. I've been to the Great Furnace and back. Let me tell Annian and we'll come with you, sure as glaciers."
Annian is a blue and silver Guardian, mate to the green tundra. Both of them have their share of scars, though Annian takes the cake with a long set of claw marks that cover her flank. She doesn't seem like the talkative type, but she is more than willing to come with them. "Been getting boring." She mutters to Nighte as the group prepares to fly again. "Who's the new guy? Didn't think you two were much for expanding the ranks." She doesn't bother to keep her voice down, either, eyeing Azrael thoughtfully, not quite suspicious.
The13Inquisitor:
"Nice scars." Azrael commented, nodding to Annian. "And if I do decide to stay on after this business is done, it won't be for more than a year or two. It seems my path is to wander and fight until I fall." He replied. "My name is Azrael, by the way." He added.
Winterling:
"Windsinger's child to the bone." Annian comments as they rise. "I see where you would be Nighte's first visitor." Before the black dragoness can ask what that comment meant, the guardian had angled her wings up and away, casting a shadow across the weak southern sunlight.
"They're good fighters." Nighte says, almost grudgingly. "They've fought in enough battles to have died ten times over. Mercor likes them a lot." She says nothing of how much she likes the two. For a moment she lets her wings beat in silence. "She's right though. We haven't exactly been welcoming to others." Foremost in her mind is her ill-considered attack on Azrael, but there were other instances as well. "But...you would be welcome to stay."
The13Inquisitor:
"I appreciate the gesture, but Annian is right." Azrael replied. "I'm a child of the Windsinger. Wandering is in my blood. Even if I were to form my own clan back on the Plateau, it is likely I'd spend most of my time wandering and-" He broke off. Telling Nighte his history was one thing, but he didn't feel at all sanguine telling her about Val; or rather, he couldn't bring himself to wonder what had happened to her.
Winterling:
Nighte smiles sideways at him for a moment. "I understand." She said. "Well, maybe not. But then, I was never the wandering type."
The trip over the sea was the longest flight Nighte had been on in a while, but she didn't feel particularly winded by the time they reached the opposite shore. The floes were opposite the Windy Plateau, and it wasn't out of their way to stop there. Mercor fell back as they came up on the shore, nodding for Azrael to take the lead.
The13Inquisitor:
As Mercor fell back to allow him to lead, Azrael beat up and took poll-position. He put the group on a north-easterly course to skirt the boundaries of the Twisting Crescendo, before landing in a decent sized grove when night began to fall.
Collecting dead-wood for a fire was no hassle and the clearing he'd chosen to spend the night in was easily large enough to accomodate it.
As he made his way back to the clearing in the dwindling light however, he stopped cold as a pearly-green light caught his attention under the eaves of a Ginkgo tree.
It took some manuovering, but Azrael finally managed to extract the small tasure from under the tree.
"Have a look what I found." Azrael stated without preamble as he reentered the clearing, before carefully depositing the wood.
After this was done, he opened his gently closed left claw to reveal the egg grasped protectivdly within.
Winterling:
They all stared at the egg for a moment, silence falling over the small camp. The wind tugged at Nighte's mane, the unceasing breeze making their small fire flicker and cast shadows across it. "I've never seen a Wind egg before." She said at last, and extended one claw for a moment before drawing back as if frightened she might hurt it.
Annian glances towards the egg but doesn't look very interested in it. Her mate takes a few steps closer and hmms thoughtfully. "Any dragons in the area?" He asks, mostly speaking to Azrael but expanding the question to include the others. "Doubt they'd pass up an egg like this." He looks almost wistfully at the curve of green shell, but otherwise makes no move to claim it.
Mercor looks sideways at Nighte and also seems to have his eye on the egg, but he doesn't say anything either way. "Here, I'll find someplace safe to put it." The black dragoness says, standing quickly. "Just for the night, of course."
The13Inquisitor:
"I've passed this way before." Azrael said slowly. "I've camped here before, and unless something has changed in the last few years is place is rather uninhabited. What clans do live around here usually make their homes in the Twisting Crescendo; also, I saw no other tracks and I can't smell any other dragons around here. Whoever this egg belngs to, it was either stolen from them and then dumped here for whatever reason, or the parents just couldn't look after it, so decided to leave it somewhere relatively warm and out of the wind." Azrael explained, before gently passing the egg to Nighte.
"'Just for the night?'" He asked. "If we leave this egg here, it will perish," he said. "I'll carry it until we reach the market if I must, but we can't leave an egg to rot when it's in our ability to look after it."
With this said, the group lapsed into silence as they ate.
Winterling:
Nighte spent the dark hours curled protectively around the egg, and Mercor spent them curled around her. Both of them seemed to prefer it that way. Annian watched with tolerant amusement, and let her wing uncurl over the curled form of her own mate. She stays up to watch the fire burn down to embers, and then to ashes, feeling the warm air rushing across her scales, listening for any possible intruders. "I'll wake you when I need to sleep." She said quietly to Azrael. There is the feeling of similarity, that these two were barely-retired fighters of a more active time in Icewarden's service.
The13Inquisitor:
"Thank you." Azrael replied, failing to conceal a yawn. "Don't tire yourself overly, there's still quite a lot of ground to cover tomor-"
Crack.
Winterling:
Annian whipped her head around towards the sound, lip curling back into a snarl. The green tundra was on his feet and streaking across the clearing, his wings folded up out of his way as he dove into the bamboo cluster that had emitted the sound. Mercor and Nighte are slower to react, and while Mercor stands ready Nighte only curls herself more tightly around the orphaned egg.
The13Inquisitor:
scrick-crack.
"Nighte, that's the egg." Azrael said, surpressing his amusement at Annian and (Ozzie? That Tundra needs a name.)'s reaction. "Give the little thing some room."
Winterling:
Ozzie stopped to stare at the cracking egg, coming to a halt just short of running over Mercor. Nighte glanced at Azrael with something like panic, and uncurled herself to let the egg rock itself to pieces. Annian lets her lip curl down and chuckles at her own mistake. She does not particularly enjoy hatchings in general, but she smiles indulgently for Nighte.
The13Inquisitor:
The end was abrupt:
The egg simply fragmented, leaving the little Guardian within to collapse in an undignified heap.
Azrael took a cautious step closer and examined the hatchling.
"Congratulations. It's a girl." He said after a moment, then looked between Mercor and Nighte. "I'm sure you'll make great parents."
Winterling:
Nighte licked a piece of shell from the guardian's head and looked at Azrael in a darkly amused kind of way. "You couldn't have planned this better if you'd tried." She said dryly. Mercor was looking a little wild around the eyes, but he coughed and fanned his wings a little. "This...changes things." He said, uncertainty loud in his voice.
"Of course it does." Ozzie said, stepping back to glance up to his friend. "This is a HATCHLING. You can't put much in front of hatchlings, you know."
Nighte sighed.
The13Inquisitor:
"Believe me, I didn't plan this." Azrael said. "I'm a dragon of my word and I have principles; those qualities mightn't be all that common in a mercenary but they tend to ensure I keep getting hired. And besides, I'd have to be completely heartless to leave an unhatched egg lying abandoned like that."
The hatchling Guardian let out a reedy, piteous cry of hunger as she squirmed to feet, fanning still-damp magenta wings that stood out against her rust-coloured scales.
"Do we have any food left?" Azrael asked. "And I'd advise you keep an eye on her, she's likely to flap around a bit; it's in the nature of us Wind dragons to fly.
Winterling:
"You couldn't have left it." Nighte agrees, smiling at the hatchling and nudging Mercor with one back foot. "Do we have anything left from dinner?" She asks, barely able to take her eyes off the hatchling, now shaking itself vigorously.
"I'll go see." Mercor still seems a little lost, but he manages to find some leftover meat from Annian's scavenged meal. He barely glances at the guardian before ferrying the food to the hatchling, who has her pale green eyes fixed on the meat and skin.
Annian does not look pleased, but she stand and come to do her own inspection of the hatchling, nudging Ozzie back a step as she comes. "Hatchlings are nice." She says, unenthusiastic. "But I'm glad we don't have any." The little guardian takes that moment to pounce on Mercor's offering with ferocity that tore loose a piece of skin, which landed on Nighte's face. Annian snorts, as if this has proved a point. "We should sleep." She says, keeping a wing half-folded around her mate. "Like Azrael said, we still have far to go."
"Yes." Nighte says absently. "Much farther."
The13Inquisitor:
Morning found the group,-or at least, certain members of it,-as tired as the previous evening.
"I'd forgotten how energetic fresh hatchlings are." Azrael commented grumpily as the Guardian,-still wide awake, watched the sunrise with wide eyes.
She'd sparked a frantic search a few hours before dawn when she'd wandered off when Azrael had been looking the other way and had required constant attention thereafter to stop her doing the same thing again.
"Is that what you call it?" Mercor asked with a wide yawn.
Flying did Azrael a world of good. He could fly half-asleep without worry, so when the market came in sight on the horizon at the end of the second day, despite having carried the hatchling for the previous three hours Azrael felt his spirits lift.
They'd seen other dragons on and off all day, some of whom had even called greetings,-from either the customary friendliness of Wind dragons or from actual acquaintance, usually with Azrael.
So it was something of a pleasant surprise to find a wayhouse that was more or less empty and the good food and comfortable dais-beds that implied.
"So, what are we going to do?" Azrael asked, keeping one eye on the hatchling as she looked around her new surroundings with the same wide-eyed curiosity of the morning, having slept for much of the day's flying. "Going after Smoke's clan is still an option, but it'll mean leaving this one in the care of someone trustworthy; I know a couple of Faes who'd be willing to help, along with the Guardian who keeps the peace in the market, but what do you think?" Azrael asked, looking between Nighte and Mercor, who traded an uncertain glance.
Winterling:
"I–" Nighte stopped, glanced down at the hatchling. It seemed impossible to choose now, between vengeance and caring for the abandoned hatchling. She sighed. "I cannot leave them out there to torment me. Even if only in my thoughts." She says heavily. "Smoke is not the forgiving type. He will not have forgotten me." She looks at Mercor and presses her face against his shoulder. Knowing what she meant before she had to speak. "I'll stay with her." He looked at Azrael and Annian. "I'm no great shakes at fighting, anyway."
Nighte made sure Mercor and the rust-red hatchling were settled in the wayhouse's rooms before heading back out into the morning breezes, visibly more nervous now that her mate was left behind.
The13Inquisitor:
Azrael breathed deep.
The market was just as he remembered it: Noisy, with a bewildering array of artifacts, items and wares and bustling with dragons from every flight and of every colour and with an equally bewildering array of scents.
"The Zephyr Steppes Market." He said. "It's been too long."
"Azrael the Defender!" The excited squeak was suddenly taken up and a small cavalcade of dragonets converged on the small party.
"Where have you been?" Piped one young Mirror in excitement.
"What have you been doing?" Asked a Tundra with the same enthusiasm.
"Who're your friends?" Asked a little Fae who settled directly on Azrael's head and peered upside down into his left eye.
"Are you starting a clan?" Asked a young Spiral with evident interest, coiling around one of Azrael's horns.
"Alright, settle down, settle down." Azrael said to the excited horde of dragonets. "First, I've been to the Ashfall. A contract went sour, so I went to the Icefields to do some soul searching. Apparently, it's still having tea with the Windsinger; My friends are Nighte, Annian and Ozzie of the Southern Icefields and they're coming with me because Nighte's got a score she wants to settle with the smoke-breather who set me up. No, I'm not starting a clan and settling down, unless any of you have seen that Guardian I told you to watch for and can give me her direction. And before anyone asks me anymore questions, do any of you know where I can find Fereon?" Azrael answered and asked in a measured, somewhat amused voice, not at all uncomfortable with the attention of so many dragonets and quite at ease with the little ones who were currently hitching a ride in his horns and mane, unlike Nighte who kept shying away and Annian and Ozzie who were a completely unknown quantity and had enough scars to warrant a bit of caution.
"Yeah! He's this way, Azrael, ser." A somewhat gawky Wildclaw said and so the whole cavalcade went off towards the general direction of a section of the market where the miners and metalworkers had congregated, attracting more dragonets as it went, with the small party at it's heart.
Winterling:
"Goodness." Annian said in her dry way. "I had no idea you were so popular around here. The Defender, eh?" Of all of them, Ozzie looked the most comfortable with the sudden cavalcade, and he was trading playful bats with one of the older Mirror hatchlings.
Nighte made an effort to keep her pace steady and managed to relax a little, though it is still clear she is uncomfortable around so many dragons. It's more society than she'd been exposed to for years, and it's taking time for her to adjust to the sound of so many voices.
Just when she started to truly relax again, she caught the scent of something half-familiar on the breeze. Nighte instantly froze, and Annian stopped after a few steps to look back at her. "Nighte?" The guardian asks, a hint of concern creeping in depsite the hard-bitten warrior's attempt at cool.
"It's...someone I know." She said, her heart quickening. There he stood, bold as brass and twice as shining. The arrogant twerp of a Light dragon hadn't died after all. At least not permanently enough for her. "Cindin." She hissed, her breath audible between clenched teeth. Before she can think Nighte starts forward, neck arching a little as she gets closer to the tundra.
Winterling:
Annian whipped her head around towards the sound, lip curling back into a snarl. The green tundra was on his feet and streaking across the clearing, his wings folded up out of his way as he dove into the bamboo cluster that had emitted the sound. Mercor and Nighte are slower to react, and while Mercor stands ready Nighte only curls herself more tightly around the orphaned egg.
The13Inquisitor:
scrick-crack.
"Nighte, that's the egg." Azrael said, surpressing his amusement at Annian and (Ozzie? That Tundra needs a name.)'s reaction. "Give the little thing some room."
Winterling:
Ozzie stopped to stare at the cracking egg, coming to a halt just short of running over Mercor. Nighte glanced at Azrael with something like panic, and uncurled herself to let the egg rock itself to pieces. Annian lets her lip curl down and chuckles at her own mistake. She does not particularly enjoy hatchings in general, but she smiles indulgently for Nighte.
The13Inquisitor:
The end was abrupt:
The egg simply fragmented, leaving the little Guardian within to collapse in an undignified heap.
Azrael took a cautious step closer and examined the hatchling.
"Congratulations. It's a girl." He said after a moment, then looked between Mercor and Nighte. "I'm sure you'll make great parents."
Winterling:
Nighte licked a piece of shell from the guardian's head and looked at Azrael in a darkly amused kind of way. "You couldn't have planned this better if you'd tried." She said dryly. Mercor was looking a little wild around the eyes, but he coughed and fanned his wings a little. "This...changes things." He said, uncertainty loud in his voice.
"Of course it does." Ozzie said, stepping back to glance up to his friend. "This is a HATCHLING. You can't put much in front of hatchlings, you know."
Nighte sighed.
The13Inquisitor:
"Believe me, I didn't plan this." Azrael said. "I'm a dragon of my word and I have principles; those qualities mightn't be all that common in a mercenary but they tend to ensure I keep getting hired. And besides, I'd have to be completely heartless to leave an unhatched egg lying abandoned like that."
The hatchling Guardian let out a reedy, piteous cry of hunger as she squirmed to feet, fanning still-damp magenta wings that stood out against her rust-coloured scales.
"Do we have any food left?" Azrael asked. "And I'd advise you keep an eye on her, she's likely to flap around a bit; it's in the nature of us Wind dragons to fly.
Winterling:
"You couldn't have left it." Nighte agrees, smiling at the hatchling and nudging Mercor with one back foot. "Do we have anything left from dinner?" She asks, barely able to take her eyes off the hatchling, now shaking itself vigorously.
"I'll go see." Mercor still seems a little lost, but he manages to find some leftover meat from Annian's scavenged meal. He barely glances at the guardian before ferrying the food to the hatchling, who has her pale green eyes fixed on the meat and skin.
Annian does not look pleased, but she stand and come to do her own inspection of the hatchling, nudging Ozzie back a step as she comes. "Hatchlings are nice." She says, unenthusiastic. "But I'm glad we don't have any." The little guardian takes that moment to pounce on Mercor's offering with ferocity that tore loose a piece of skin, which landed on Nighte's face. Annian snorts, as if this has proved a point. "We should sleep." She says, keeping a wing half-folded around her mate. "Like Azrael said, we still have far to go."
"Yes." Nighte says absently. "Much farther."
The13Inquisitor:
Morning found the group,-or at least, certain members of it,-as tired as the previous evening.
"I'd forgotten how energetic fresh hatchlings are." Azrael commented grumpily as the Guardian,-still wide awake, watched the sunrise with wide eyes.
She'd sparked a frantic search a few hours before dawn when she'd wandered off when Azrael had been looking the other way and had required constant attention thereafter to stop her doing the same thing again.
"Is that what you call it?" Mercor asked with a wide yawn.
Flying did Azrael a world of good. He could fly half-asleep without worry, so when the market came in sight on the horizon at the end of the second day, despite having carried the hatchling for the previous three hours Azrael felt his spirits lift.
They'd seen other dragons on and off all day, some of whom had even called greetings,-from either the customary friendliness of Wind dragons or from actual acquaintance, usually with Azrael.
So it was something of a pleasant surprise to find a wayhouse that was more or less empty and the good food and comfortable dais-beds that implied.
"So, what are we going to do?" Azrael asked, keeping one eye on the hatchling as she looked around her new surroundings with the same wide-eyed curiosity of the morning, having slept for much of the day's flying. "Going after Smoke's clan is still an option, but it'll mean leaving this one in the care of someone trustworthy; I know a couple of Faes who'd be willing to help, along with the Guardian who keeps the peace in the market, but what do you think?" Azrael asked, looking between Nighte and Mercor, who traded an uncertain glance.
Winterling:
"I–" Nighte stopped, glanced down at the hatchling. It seemed impossible to choose now, between vengeance and caring for the abandoned hatchling. She sighed. "I cannot leave them out there to torment me. Even if only in my thoughts." She says heavily. "Smoke is not the forgiving type. He will not have forgotten me." She looks at Mercor and presses her face against his shoulder. Knowing what she meant before she had to speak. "I'll stay with her." He looked at Azrael and Annian. "I'm no great shakes at fighting, anyway."
Nighte made sure Mercor and the rust-red hatchling were settled in the wayhouse's rooms before heading back out into the morning breezes, visibly more nervous now that her mate was left behind.
The13Inquisitor:
Azrael breathed deep.
The market was just as he remembered it: Noisy, with a bewildering array of artifacts, items and wares and bustling with dragons from every flight and of every colour and with an equally bewildering array of scents.
"The Zephyr Steppes Market." He said. "It's been too long."
"Azrael the Defender!" The excited squeak was suddenly taken up and a small cavalcade of dragonets converged on the small party.
"Where have you been?" Piped one young Mirror in excitement.
"What have you been doing?" Asked a Tundra with the same enthusiasm.
"Who're your friends?" Asked a little Fae who settled directly on Azrael's head and peered upside down into his left eye.
"Are you starting a clan?" Asked a young Spiral with evident interest, coiling around one of Azrael's horns.
"Alright, settle down, settle down." Azrael said to the excited horde of dragonets. "First, I've been to the Ashfall. A contract went sour, so I went to the Icefields to do some soul searching. Apparently, it's still having tea with the Windsinger; My friends are Nighte, Annian and Ozzie of the Southern Icefields and they're coming with me because Nighte's got a score she wants to settle with the smoke-breather who set me up. No, I'm not starting a clan and settling down, unless any of you have seen that Guardian I told you to watch for and can give me her direction. And before anyone asks me anymore questions, do any of you know where I can find Fereon?" Azrael answered and asked in a measured, somewhat amused voice, not at all uncomfortable with the attention of so many dragonets and quite at ease with the little ones who were currently hitching a ride in his horns and mane, unlike Nighte who kept shying away and Annian and Ozzie who were a completely unknown quantity and had enough scars to warrant a bit of caution.
"Yeah! He's this way, Azrael, ser." A somewhat gawky Wildclaw said and so the whole cavalcade went off towards the general direction of a section of the market where the miners and metalworkers had congregated, attracting more dragonets as it went, with the small party at it's heart.
Winterling:
"Goodness." Annian said in her dry way. "I had no idea you were so popular around here. The Defender, eh?" Of all of them, Ozzie looked the most comfortable with the sudden cavalcade, and he was trading playful bats with one of the older Mirror hatchlings.
Nighte made an effort to keep her pace steady and managed to relax a little, though it is still clear she is uncomfortable around so many dragons. It's more society than she'd been exposed to for years, and it's taking time for her to adjust to the sound of so many voices.
Just when she started to truly relax again, she caught the scent of something half-familiar on the breeze. Nighte instantly froze, and Annian stopped after a few steps to look back at her. "Nighte?" The guardian asks, a hint of concern creeping in depsite the hard-bitten warrior's attempt at cool.
"It's...someone I know." She said, her heart quickening. There he stood, bold as brass and twice as shining. The arrogant twerp of a Light dragon hadn't died after all. At least not permanently enough for her. "Cindin." She hissed, her breath audible between clenched teeth. Before she can think Nighte starts forward, neck arching a little as she gets closer to the tundra.
'Why are you frowning?' -Temeraire's first words.
The13Inquisitor:
Azrael, however, was all but oblivious to Nighte's discomfort.
"Fereon, my friend, it's been too long!" He called.
The pair of dragons broke off their haggling and glanced Azrael's way.
"Indeed my friend. I seem to recall us parting shortly after that business with the Naga's Eye." Fereon commented. "Your exact words were: 'Thank the Windsinger that's done with; I hope our next meeting will involve something less dramatic than a temple full of death-traps.'" The Wildclaw added. "Anyway, I'll just finish up here then we'll talk, but what brings you here? Given up on that she-Guardian of yours and decided to start a clan with someone else?" Fereon asked, half-joking.
"No, a contract went sour; Smoke-breather called Smoke tried to double-cross me; Nighte here has her own history with the lack-scale."
"One of those jobs-" The black and red Wildclaw broke off as one of his customer lunged at Nighte with claws flashing.
The gaggle of dragonets had the good sense to scatter, out of the way, before turning back to watch.
Azrael went to intercept the Mirror, but he growled something unintelligible and Azrael roared in outrage as his limbs locked up in an all-too-familiar fashion. Similar bellows informed him Annian and Ozzie were similarly afflicted.
'Don't panic.' Azrael told himself. 'You're older and you know how to counter this spell now.' With this in mind, Azrael began to focus taking measured breaths as he reached for the pool of latent magic around him, watching with something like incredulity as Nighte threw the Mirror off, before he began to speak.
Winterling:
The others were paralyzed; it was a spell she didn't know, not that it mattered. She dug her claws into Cindin and she wasn't letting go. Her head whipped around at the sight of Sestican, another old face and one she'd hoped never to see again. Her eyes went from Azrael to Sestican, and she knew two against one were terrible odds to play. "You stay put." She hissed at Cindin. "I'm far from finished." Before Sestican could cast another spell she had launched herself at him instead, her half-spread wings nearly catching the market stalls of the nearest smithies.
Annian and Ozzie were in only slightly better shape; they had plenty of experience fighting for the Icewarden, and Ozzie was already out of his spell-paralysis and snarling at Sestican. Annian was taking a moment or two longer; maybe because there was so much MORE of her to break out.
The13Inquisitor:
Azrael's eyes snapped open and with a sound akin to breaking glass the spell binding him broke.
He rounded on the dragon that had cast it growling low, then barked a trio of words.
The air howled around Azrael as he struck out, the gust slash driving Sestican to the ground. Azrael was on the verge of finishing the little fool, when the sky darkened and a massive Guardian came in to land in the hastily vacated space around the small group of combatants.
He pushed Azrael off the Mirror with an almost casual gesture and caused Nighte to stop her headlong charge at a Tundra of the Light flight.
The Guardian turned his ponderous head to Azrael.
"What trouble have you started now, youngling?" He rumbled.
Azrael suppressed his irritation. He hated it when Ceirus called him that.
"I didn't start this, Ceirus." Azrael stated, standing his ground despite how everyone else shrank away from the ancient grey Guardian. "The Mirror just attacked us for no reason."
Cierus swung around to lock the Mirror in place with a steely glare.
"Well?" He rumbled. "What say you in your defence?"
A rigour set in as the Light Tundra cast the paralysis spell again, before his eyes widened in alarm as Ceirus literally shrugged it off, before swatting them both to the ground and pinning them beneath one massive paw.
"I'm waiting." Stated Ceirus in the same unhurried bass he'd started in.
Winterling:
Nighte came to a standstill, barely panting but holding her wings out. The thicker coat of fur that protected her in the Icefields was more of a hinderance here, and she was already hot. "I think I can tell you that." She said, her voice low but very clear. "This is a dragon who held me prisoner for years, under a spell so that I didn't even know I was imprisoned." Bitterness creeps into her voice, but she feels no need to elaborate. Ozzie stretches out one wing to brush the edges of her's, a comforting gesture that doesn't seem to calm her.
Cindin writhes under the pressure of the guardian. "Why did I think you'd be back, mare?" He hissed, venom in his voice. "You couldn't survive the world. Smoke knew you'd come crawling back."
Something about him seemed different; less sane than before. Sestican tried to vanish back into the gathering crowd, for the moment untouched by the scrambling fight.
The13Inquisitor:
Ceirus rumbled deep in his chest. Sestican found his escape blocked by several of the curious passers-by-turned-spectators before being dragged back in front of Ceirus.
"Slave-keepers?" Ceirus asked with a note that sounded almost incredulous. Then he hummed to himself. "If you have a grduge against these two, girl settle it somewhere else. This market is no place for the inane interflight squabbling so often seen these days. The gods themselves could choose to have it out here and I'd tell them the exact same thing. Now..." Having made his little speech, he picked Cindin and Sestican up as if they were hatchlings, then looked to the small party. "If you want to finish this, follow me." He said.
Fereon watched the whole exchange still trying to figure out exactly what had happened while simultaneously clearing his stand and locking his wares away. As the group lifted away, he placed a note to the effect that he'd be back soon where it would be visible on the counter, before jumping into the air to go catch up with the group. Likely, this'd be something to see.
Winterling:
Nighte didn't hesitate to throw herself after the guard. On one hand, she could understand why they didn't want her to be fighting in the middle of the market, but there was no way she could let them release Cindin and Sestican to warn their clan.
Ceirus took them to an open part of the Steppes and deposited the two prisoners none too gently on the unbroken sward. Nighte landed only a few paces away, hackles raised, ready to resume the fight. She would NOT let them get away.
The13Inquisitor:
Azrael followed after Nighte closely.
She was altogether too emotionally invested in this fight, which would leave her at a serious disadvantage. This puzzled him.
Every Ice dragon he met had been a cold, reserved, calculating customer not prone to rash action, so Nighte's behaviour had him scratching his head in confusion.
"She must really hate those two and their clan." Azrael commented to Annian and Ozzie.
"Do you think she'll kill them?" Fereon asked as he pulled level with Azrael.
"More likely she'll cripple them then watch as they bleed out." Azrael replied. "Still, I have my own code to think of; I'll offer them a chance to repent and let them be on their way if they accept and agree to change their ways and never go back to their current clan."
When they landed, Ceirus turned to the group.
"Azrael." He rumbled.
Azrael wordlessly stepped forward, somewhat familiar with Ceirus's brand of arbitration.
"Does anyone have anything to say? A simple apology could see all concerned go on their way no worse for wear." Ceirus asked.
"I would speak. If you would allow it." Azrael said formally.
Ceirus nodded.
"Nighte told me what you and your clan did to her." Azrael stated plainly. "Unforgivable. Disgusting. Barbaric; And it's about time you paid for it." He said.
"This is none of your affair, Windbag." Sestican snapped.
"I'm giving you this one chance to change your ways, apologise, repent and start over with another clan. If you refuse, then I'm afraid I'm going to have to kill you." Azrael replied seriously.
"Is this something to do with your oath?" Ceirus asked with a degree of mild curiosity.
"Indeed." Azrael replied.
"And what have you two to say?" Ceirus asked. "Don't be too hasty tojump straight to fighting either. Azrael isn't known for for his speechcraft, but rather his abilities as a fighter." He added.
Winterling:
Annian just shrugged. Ozzie looked more worried than his mate, but that was only in relation to Annian. Neither seemed particularly frightened for Nighte's welfare.
At Azrael's question, Sestican stills. He glances at Cindin, who seems to have a clue of what the mirror is thinking and hisses at him warningly. Sestican clears his throat and speaks over the tea-kettle noises Cindin continues to make. "Smoke's not worth dying for." He says loudly. "I'll take your offer, imperial."
"And you?" The guard asks, pressing a little bit to stop Cindin's hissing. The tundra is quiet for less than a moment before turning to try and sink his teeth into his captor.
"Won't be silenced by a bunch of kites." He hisses furiously. "Smoke has the right of it. I'll kill you yet." He turns his venom on Nighte. "Too bad you won't get to see your hatchlings, but I'm sure their corpses will suffice–"
Nighte doesn't bother with any grand gestures. She paces up to the trapped tundra, eyes cold and wings folding, she rips out his throat. Cindin continues to curse through the blood the bubbles from his neck, and there is a pulse of light as he dies. A spell of some kind, leaving the limp body and vanishing into the bright sunlit morning.
The13Inquisitor:
Azrael murmured a canticle and the light froze as Azrael's eyes unfocused, viewing the skeins of magic that pervaded the world.
He saw the light's path, headed south-west, toward the Ashfall.
Deciding it was nothing good, Azrael exerted his mind and without too much effort the spell,-obviously cast in haste,-broke.
Azrael's eyes refocused and he turned to Sestican.
"Don't forget this. If I were you, I'd head to Dragonhome; you should be able to find some form of honest employment there in the mines. And if you happen through the Scarred Wasteland, do me a favour and kill a few Reavers. And I believe you've still an apology to make."
Winterling:
"Why should he go free, after years of imprisoning and bespelling dragons?" Nighte insisted. She did not move, yet, but the blood continued to drip from her claws and she glared coldly at Sestican. "All he'll do is come back later. He's no less mad than Cindin, just quieter about it."
Sestican shot a glance at Azrael, sensing that the mercenary would not let her kill him. "But I am sorry." He said, pouring sincerity into his voice. "It was terrible, and as wrong as wrong can be. I swear by every scale I ever wore it is the past, and only the past."
The13Inquisitor:
"Then prove it by taking my advice. I only ever offer a second chance once; If I ever catch you in association with a clan like Smoke's again, you'll be the first one I kill." Azrael promised.
Winterling:
Sestican nodded vigorously and wriggled out from under Cerius's lifting claws. He took off like a shot, vanishing almost as rapidly as he spell, though in a different direction. Nighte growled, but did not go after him. "There's always tomorrow." She muttered, mostly to herself. Turning to Ceirus she added, "I suppose I should thank you." It is not exactly a gracious request, but it is clear she is trying her best to be civil.
The13Inquisitor:
"No need; just don't go picking fights in future." Cerius replied, before launching himself back into the air and heading back toward the market.
"So..." Fereon began, "are all of the clan you're gunning for going to be like that?"
"I don't know; frankly, I could care less. If you don't want to help, Fereon, then I suppose we'll go to the Starfall Isles and find Brudigan and Reshaki, or go looking for Gulmour in the Tangled Wood." Azrael replied.
"Well, I want to hear details first before I commit to anything, but it's starting to get late. Why don't you spend the night at my home?" He asked.
"Sounds good."
The group followed Fereon back to the market,-Azrael avoiding Nighte's eye and talking with Fereon the whole way.
Shortly after nightfall, they reached the hollow that Fereon had made his home in. It was small, but there was enough space for everyone,-if only just.
"You've expanded this place a little since I was last here, I see." Azrael said.
"Yes, I get visitors here quite often now, thanks to my business selling armour in the market, representatives from mining clans, smiths from my homeland looking to sell their wares through me, customers commissioning pieces, you know the sort." Fereon answered absently.
The food when it was brought out was in good supply and the conversation was convivial, but before long things turned to business.
"Right, so what exactly would you be looking at with this clan?" Fereon asked.
Azrael looked at Nighte. So far, he hadn't asked her to give numbers or defences on Smoke's clan or the size of their lair or anything else.
He was expecting to have to argue with her over letting the Mirror off with a warning, but that was an argument for later and in private.
"I'm sure Nighte can fill us in on those details. And I'm interested to hear about these hatchlings of yours; Are they likely to be a problem?"
Winterling:
Nighte sighed and looked away. Her rage had cooled and hardened inside her, a ball of icy fury that drove away other emotions. For now, she was glad of the distance it provided, because it meant she could talk about past horrors without flinching. "There are at least ten other males, besides Smoke. He was one of the few who really interacted with the outside world. No one else will fight. I can't be certain, but I think every dragoness there was as spelled as I was." Though she could remember everything, it was fuzzed with the emotions the Enamorment had made her feel, and she couldn't quite trust them. "They might have grown since I was last there, but not by much. My hatchlings–" Nighte faltered, keeping her eyes fixed on her feet and away from any dragon's eyes. "There are eight of them. I was never told their names. Some of them are Cindin's, some Smoke. One nest of two was Alum's. They never knew anything but Smoke's clan. It seems unlikely they will not fight for it." She falls silent, then adds. "I will not fight them."
The13Inquisitor:
"I won't kill dragonets!" Fereon exclaimed forcefully.
"No one is asking you to." Azrael replied calmly then hummed to himself with a thoughtful expression. "Going on Cindin's behaviour, I doubt that your hatchlings would be very enthused with their fathers. It might,-might,-be possible to talk them down."
"In the middle of a battle?" Ozzie asked doubtfully.
"I can be rather persuasive when I want to be." Azrael replied. "As to that Light dragon's enchantments, it should be possible to break them, though it's probably beyond my skill to do so."
"So, what? Do you plan on going to talk to Brudigan and Reshaki next?" Fereon asked.
"It'd be to our advantage to. You know I can't bring myself kill dragons who's adult size is smaller than some hatchlings and most clans have at least one Fae dragon in them." Azrael replied. "Besides, if the other females in that clan are equally enamoured, if we break the enchantments on them, we probably won't have much work to do except try and talk the hatchlings out of fighting. Hell hath no fury like an wronged dragoness." He added.
Winterling:
Nighte smiles a little, though there is no joy in the expression. Her eyes glint a little in Azrael's direction, reminding him that all is not settled for Sestican's escape. Still, she is visibly heartened by Fereon's and Azrael's reassurances that her hatchlings will be spoken to. She can only hope that they will live, and even if they do it is unlikely they will thank her. Still, she could not bear to see them dead.
"Well, then off we go." She says at last, trying for brightness. "If you don't mind, I'm more tired than I should be. Goodnight." She nods and stands, her yawn genuine.
The13Inquisitor:
"It was an eventful day." Azrael agreed, standing. "It's a little cramped, so I think I'll sleep under the stars. It's been a while since I last did that." He said, half-apologetically to Fereon, before stepping out into the warm, night air.
Winterling:
Annian looks between Azrael and Nighte almost pointedly, seeing the tension between them but to taciturn to speak of it. After a moment she stands and stretches as well, nudging Ozzie with one wing-joint. "Come along." She says. "We'll leave our host to his own rest." The green-furred Tundra rose slowly, grumbling to himself as the two retreated to one of the guest nests Fereon had pointed out.
The13Inquisitor:
True to his word, Azrael collapsed in a heap not too distant from Fereon's den, looking up at the stars and enjoying the feel of the warm breeze through his mane.
"If you've got something to say, then let's hear it." He said to Nighte, who was standing not too far distant.
The13Inquisitor:
Azrael, however, was all but oblivious to Nighte's discomfort.
"Fereon, my friend, it's been too long!" He called.
The pair of dragons broke off their haggling and glanced Azrael's way.
"Indeed my friend. I seem to recall us parting shortly after that business with the Naga's Eye." Fereon commented. "Your exact words were: 'Thank the Windsinger that's done with; I hope our next meeting will involve something less dramatic than a temple full of death-traps.'" The Wildclaw added. "Anyway, I'll just finish up here then we'll talk, but what brings you here? Given up on that she-Guardian of yours and decided to start a clan with someone else?" Fereon asked, half-joking.
"No, a contract went sour; Smoke-breather called Smoke tried to double-cross me; Nighte here has her own history with the lack-scale."
"One of those jobs-" The black and red Wildclaw broke off as one of his customer lunged at Nighte with claws flashing.
The gaggle of dragonets had the good sense to scatter, out of the way, before turning back to watch.
Azrael went to intercept the Mirror, but he growled something unintelligible and Azrael roared in outrage as his limbs locked up in an all-too-familiar fashion. Similar bellows informed him Annian and Ozzie were similarly afflicted.
'Don't panic.' Azrael told himself. 'You're older and you know how to counter this spell now.' With this in mind, Azrael began to focus taking measured breaths as he reached for the pool of latent magic around him, watching with something like incredulity as Nighte threw the Mirror off, before he began to speak.
Winterling:
The others were paralyzed; it was a spell she didn't know, not that it mattered. She dug her claws into Cindin and she wasn't letting go. Her head whipped around at the sight of Sestican, another old face and one she'd hoped never to see again. Her eyes went from Azrael to Sestican, and she knew two against one were terrible odds to play. "You stay put." She hissed at Cindin. "I'm far from finished." Before Sestican could cast another spell she had launched herself at him instead, her half-spread wings nearly catching the market stalls of the nearest smithies.
Annian and Ozzie were in only slightly better shape; they had plenty of experience fighting for the Icewarden, and Ozzie was already out of his spell-paralysis and snarling at Sestican. Annian was taking a moment or two longer; maybe because there was so much MORE of her to break out.
The13Inquisitor:
Azrael's eyes snapped open and with a sound akin to breaking glass the spell binding him broke.
He rounded on the dragon that had cast it growling low, then barked a trio of words.
The air howled around Azrael as he struck out, the gust slash driving Sestican to the ground. Azrael was on the verge of finishing the little fool, when the sky darkened and a massive Guardian came in to land in the hastily vacated space around the small group of combatants.
He pushed Azrael off the Mirror with an almost casual gesture and caused Nighte to stop her headlong charge at a Tundra of the Light flight.
The Guardian turned his ponderous head to Azrael.
"What trouble have you started now, youngling?" He rumbled.
Azrael suppressed his irritation. He hated it when Ceirus called him that.
"I didn't start this, Ceirus." Azrael stated, standing his ground despite how everyone else shrank away from the ancient grey Guardian. "The Mirror just attacked us for no reason."
Cierus swung around to lock the Mirror in place with a steely glare.
"Well?" He rumbled. "What say you in your defence?"
A rigour set in as the Light Tundra cast the paralysis spell again, before his eyes widened in alarm as Ceirus literally shrugged it off, before swatting them both to the ground and pinning them beneath one massive paw.
"I'm waiting." Stated Ceirus in the same unhurried bass he'd started in.
Winterling:
Nighte came to a standstill, barely panting but holding her wings out. The thicker coat of fur that protected her in the Icefields was more of a hinderance here, and she was already hot. "I think I can tell you that." She said, her voice low but very clear. "This is a dragon who held me prisoner for years, under a spell so that I didn't even know I was imprisoned." Bitterness creeps into her voice, but she feels no need to elaborate. Ozzie stretches out one wing to brush the edges of her's, a comforting gesture that doesn't seem to calm her.
Cindin writhes under the pressure of the guardian. "Why did I think you'd be back, mare?" He hissed, venom in his voice. "You couldn't survive the world. Smoke knew you'd come crawling back."
Something about him seemed different; less sane than before. Sestican tried to vanish back into the gathering crowd, for the moment untouched by the scrambling fight.
The13Inquisitor:
Ceirus rumbled deep in his chest. Sestican found his escape blocked by several of the curious passers-by-turned-spectators before being dragged back in front of Ceirus.
"Slave-keepers?" Ceirus asked with a note that sounded almost incredulous. Then he hummed to himself. "If you have a grduge against these two, girl settle it somewhere else. This market is no place for the inane interflight squabbling so often seen these days. The gods themselves could choose to have it out here and I'd tell them the exact same thing. Now..." Having made his little speech, he picked Cindin and Sestican up as if they were hatchlings, then looked to the small party. "If you want to finish this, follow me." He said.
Fereon watched the whole exchange still trying to figure out exactly what had happened while simultaneously clearing his stand and locking his wares away. As the group lifted away, he placed a note to the effect that he'd be back soon where it would be visible on the counter, before jumping into the air to go catch up with the group. Likely, this'd be something to see.
Winterling:
Nighte didn't hesitate to throw herself after the guard. On one hand, she could understand why they didn't want her to be fighting in the middle of the market, but there was no way she could let them release Cindin and Sestican to warn their clan.
Ceirus took them to an open part of the Steppes and deposited the two prisoners none too gently on the unbroken sward. Nighte landed only a few paces away, hackles raised, ready to resume the fight. She would NOT let them get away.
The13Inquisitor:
Azrael followed after Nighte closely.
She was altogether too emotionally invested in this fight, which would leave her at a serious disadvantage. This puzzled him.
Every Ice dragon he met had been a cold, reserved, calculating customer not prone to rash action, so Nighte's behaviour had him scratching his head in confusion.
"She must really hate those two and their clan." Azrael commented to Annian and Ozzie.
"Do you think she'll kill them?" Fereon asked as he pulled level with Azrael.
"More likely she'll cripple them then watch as they bleed out." Azrael replied. "Still, I have my own code to think of; I'll offer them a chance to repent and let them be on their way if they accept and agree to change their ways and never go back to their current clan."
When they landed, Ceirus turned to the group.
"Azrael." He rumbled.
Azrael wordlessly stepped forward, somewhat familiar with Ceirus's brand of arbitration.
"Does anyone have anything to say? A simple apology could see all concerned go on their way no worse for wear." Ceirus asked.
"I would speak. If you would allow it." Azrael said formally.
Ceirus nodded.
"Nighte told me what you and your clan did to her." Azrael stated plainly. "Unforgivable. Disgusting. Barbaric; And it's about time you paid for it." He said.
"This is none of your affair, Windbag." Sestican snapped.
"I'm giving you this one chance to change your ways, apologise, repent and start over with another clan. If you refuse, then I'm afraid I'm going to have to kill you." Azrael replied seriously.
"Is this something to do with your oath?" Ceirus asked with a degree of mild curiosity.
"Indeed." Azrael replied.
"And what have you two to say?" Ceirus asked. "Don't be too hasty tojump straight to fighting either. Azrael isn't known for for his speechcraft, but rather his abilities as a fighter." He added.
Winterling:
Annian just shrugged. Ozzie looked more worried than his mate, but that was only in relation to Annian. Neither seemed particularly frightened for Nighte's welfare.
At Azrael's question, Sestican stills. He glances at Cindin, who seems to have a clue of what the mirror is thinking and hisses at him warningly. Sestican clears his throat and speaks over the tea-kettle noises Cindin continues to make. "Smoke's not worth dying for." He says loudly. "I'll take your offer, imperial."
"And you?" The guard asks, pressing a little bit to stop Cindin's hissing. The tundra is quiet for less than a moment before turning to try and sink his teeth into his captor.
"Won't be silenced by a bunch of kites." He hisses furiously. "Smoke has the right of it. I'll kill you yet." He turns his venom on Nighte. "Too bad you won't get to see your hatchlings, but I'm sure their corpses will suffice–"
Nighte doesn't bother with any grand gestures. She paces up to the trapped tundra, eyes cold and wings folding, she rips out his throat. Cindin continues to curse through the blood the bubbles from his neck, and there is a pulse of light as he dies. A spell of some kind, leaving the limp body and vanishing into the bright sunlit morning.
The13Inquisitor:
Azrael murmured a canticle and the light froze as Azrael's eyes unfocused, viewing the skeins of magic that pervaded the world.
He saw the light's path, headed south-west, toward the Ashfall.
Deciding it was nothing good, Azrael exerted his mind and without too much effort the spell,-obviously cast in haste,-broke.
Azrael's eyes refocused and he turned to Sestican.
"Don't forget this. If I were you, I'd head to Dragonhome; you should be able to find some form of honest employment there in the mines. And if you happen through the Scarred Wasteland, do me a favour and kill a few Reavers. And I believe you've still an apology to make."
Winterling:
"Why should he go free, after years of imprisoning and bespelling dragons?" Nighte insisted. She did not move, yet, but the blood continued to drip from her claws and she glared coldly at Sestican. "All he'll do is come back later. He's no less mad than Cindin, just quieter about it."
Sestican shot a glance at Azrael, sensing that the mercenary would not let her kill him. "But I am sorry." He said, pouring sincerity into his voice. "It was terrible, and as wrong as wrong can be. I swear by every scale I ever wore it is the past, and only the past."
The13Inquisitor:
"Then prove it by taking my advice. I only ever offer a second chance once; If I ever catch you in association with a clan like Smoke's again, you'll be the first one I kill." Azrael promised.
Winterling:
Sestican nodded vigorously and wriggled out from under Cerius's lifting claws. He took off like a shot, vanishing almost as rapidly as he spell, though in a different direction. Nighte growled, but did not go after him. "There's always tomorrow." She muttered, mostly to herself. Turning to Ceirus she added, "I suppose I should thank you." It is not exactly a gracious request, but it is clear she is trying her best to be civil.
The13Inquisitor:
"No need; just don't go picking fights in future." Cerius replied, before launching himself back into the air and heading back toward the market.
"So..." Fereon began, "are all of the clan you're gunning for going to be like that?"
"I don't know; frankly, I could care less. If you don't want to help, Fereon, then I suppose we'll go to the Starfall Isles and find Brudigan and Reshaki, or go looking for Gulmour in the Tangled Wood." Azrael replied.
"Well, I want to hear details first before I commit to anything, but it's starting to get late. Why don't you spend the night at my home?" He asked.
"Sounds good."
The group followed Fereon back to the market,-Azrael avoiding Nighte's eye and talking with Fereon the whole way.
Shortly after nightfall, they reached the hollow that Fereon had made his home in. It was small, but there was enough space for everyone,-if only just.
"You've expanded this place a little since I was last here, I see." Azrael said.
"Yes, I get visitors here quite often now, thanks to my business selling armour in the market, representatives from mining clans, smiths from my homeland looking to sell their wares through me, customers commissioning pieces, you know the sort." Fereon answered absently.
The food when it was brought out was in good supply and the conversation was convivial, but before long things turned to business.
"Right, so what exactly would you be looking at with this clan?" Fereon asked.
Azrael looked at Nighte. So far, he hadn't asked her to give numbers or defences on Smoke's clan or the size of their lair or anything else.
He was expecting to have to argue with her over letting the Mirror off with a warning, but that was an argument for later and in private.
"I'm sure Nighte can fill us in on those details. And I'm interested to hear about these hatchlings of yours; Are they likely to be a problem?"
Winterling:
Nighte sighed and looked away. Her rage had cooled and hardened inside her, a ball of icy fury that drove away other emotions. For now, she was glad of the distance it provided, because it meant she could talk about past horrors without flinching. "There are at least ten other males, besides Smoke. He was one of the few who really interacted with the outside world. No one else will fight. I can't be certain, but I think every dragoness there was as spelled as I was." Though she could remember everything, it was fuzzed with the emotions the Enamorment had made her feel, and she couldn't quite trust them. "They might have grown since I was last there, but not by much. My hatchlings–" Nighte faltered, keeping her eyes fixed on her feet and away from any dragon's eyes. "There are eight of them. I was never told their names. Some of them are Cindin's, some Smoke. One nest of two was Alum's. They never knew anything but Smoke's clan. It seems unlikely they will not fight for it." She falls silent, then adds. "I will not fight them."
The13Inquisitor:
"I won't kill dragonets!" Fereon exclaimed forcefully.
"No one is asking you to." Azrael replied calmly then hummed to himself with a thoughtful expression. "Going on Cindin's behaviour, I doubt that your hatchlings would be very enthused with their fathers. It might,-might,-be possible to talk them down."
"In the middle of a battle?" Ozzie asked doubtfully.
"I can be rather persuasive when I want to be." Azrael replied. "As to that Light dragon's enchantments, it should be possible to break them, though it's probably beyond my skill to do so."
"So, what? Do you plan on going to talk to Brudigan and Reshaki next?" Fereon asked.
"It'd be to our advantage to. You know I can't bring myself kill dragons who's adult size is smaller than some hatchlings and most clans have at least one Fae dragon in them." Azrael replied. "Besides, if the other females in that clan are equally enamoured, if we break the enchantments on them, we probably won't have much work to do except try and talk the hatchlings out of fighting. Hell hath no fury like an wronged dragoness." He added.
Winterling:
Nighte smiles a little, though there is no joy in the expression. Her eyes glint a little in Azrael's direction, reminding him that all is not settled for Sestican's escape. Still, she is visibly heartened by Fereon's and Azrael's reassurances that her hatchlings will be spoken to. She can only hope that they will live, and even if they do it is unlikely they will thank her. Still, she could not bear to see them dead.
"Well, then off we go." She says at last, trying for brightness. "If you don't mind, I'm more tired than I should be. Goodnight." She nods and stands, her yawn genuine.
The13Inquisitor:
"It was an eventful day." Azrael agreed, standing. "It's a little cramped, so I think I'll sleep under the stars. It's been a while since I last did that." He said, half-apologetically to Fereon, before stepping out into the warm, night air.
Winterling:
Annian looks between Azrael and Nighte almost pointedly, seeing the tension between them but to taciturn to speak of it. After a moment she stands and stretches as well, nudging Ozzie with one wing-joint. "Come along." She says. "We'll leave our host to his own rest." The green-furred Tundra rose slowly, grumbling to himself as the two retreated to one of the guest nests Fereon had pointed out.
The13Inquisitor:
True to his word, Azrael collapsed in a heap not too distant from Fereon's den, looking up at the stars and enjoying the feel of the warm breeze through his mane.
"If you've got something to say, then let's hear it." He said to Nighte, who was standing not too far distant.
'Why are you frowning?' -Temeraire's first words.
Winterling:
She snorted and came closer, settling down and curling her tail around her feet. "Oh, I won't keep you up long." She says, her tone a curious mixture of sarcasm and cold sincerity. "I was just wondering how well you manage to speak of the horrors done to me, while you allow my captor to go free." She raises an eyebrow and waits for his answer.
The13Inquisitor:
Azrael squirmed uncomfortably.
"It's complicated." He said. "I'm not saying he doesn't deserve to die, but..." Azrael shrugged, "our consciences seperate us from then. If I killed every dragon that ever did something wrong without offering them a second chance, I'd be no better than they are. If I don't believe that we can change for the better then there's really no point for me to keep living." Azrael explained. "Though, I was quite serious when I said if I ever caught that Mirror up to no good again I'd kill him." He added.
Winterling:
Nighte does not look quite satisfied, but she accepts his reasoning. "I don't really agree. Maybe he would have been better as an ice sculpture in the fields. He wouldn't be dead, but he wouldn't be causing trouble either." She tries to sound like she's joking, but it comes out more serious than not.
The13Inquisitor:
"Maybe you're right." Azrael replied. "If he does show up in trouble in the future, I'll be sure to take your advice on that front."
Winterling:
Nighte mutters something that could have been agreement and moves off, curling up disconsolately in one of the nests. She tried to sleep, but her thoughts wouldn't keep still, and it took her ages to fall away from consciousness.
The morning came sooner than she would have liked, but Nighte forced herself up and awake as soon as the sun touched her scales.
The13Inquisitor:
For Azrael, sleep didn't come easily:
He felt oddly homesick in a way he hadn't in over a decade, despite being back on the Windswept Plateau.
When he finally fell asleep, his dreams took him back to the hatchday the Plague Reavers had murdered his family.
When morning finally came, it found him exhausted, not just mildly tired like the previous day's exertions had left him.
And he found himself feeling oddly protective toward Nighte, though sensibly, Azrael knew she was capable of looking after herself.
Winterling:
Ozzie landed next to Nighte, carrying some bamboo stalks (in addition to the one in his mouth) and looking incredibly well-rested. "Morning." He said brightly, offering her a bamboo shoot. Nighte accepted, since it would have been harder to argue with him.
Annian walked up behind her mate, crunching on the bones of something small and fuzzy. "You wouldn't catch me eating that sticky green stuff if I was an inch from dying." She said drily, swallowing and flicking the remains of her meal off her jaw. "Where are we headed now?"
The13Inquisitor:
"The Starfall Isles." Azrael replied briefly, before failing to suppress a gigantic yawn. Not that he looked like he couldn't do with more sleep. His eyes were bloodshot, his head drooped and his mane was unruly from tossing and turning all through the night.
Winterling:
"We don't have to leave right at this minute." Nighte said, looking at him with some concern. "We can wait for Fereon and better daylight. The Isles aren't that far, are they?" She has a hazy grasp of distance at best, since she's spent so much time in one place.
The13Inquisitor:
"Three days flight from here to the part of the Isles I have in mind." Azrael replied through another yawn. "I think you're right. More sleep sounds like an excellent idea." Having said this, he promptly lay himself back down and within moments was breathing the deep, regular breaths of deep sleep.
Winterling:
The three Ice dragons looked at him for a moment. "Well, you did say it was alright for him to sleep." Ozzie said quietly. Annian snorted.
"Maybe he's one of those dragons who doesn't like sleeping at night." Nighte suggested, making shooing gestures at the other two. "Come on, let's leave him be."
The dragons moved out of easy earshot of Azrael. Despite her words Nighte seemed restless, pacing a little and digging at the unfamiliar grass beneath her feet. "Three days to the Isles, and then how long until we get to the Tangled Wood? And from there how far to Smoke's lair in the Ashfall? It just seems....longer than I thought it would be."
"Don't be so impatient." Annian said sternly. Nighte started to nod, but the guardian stomped her foot. "I wasn't finished." She said, and made sure she had Nighte's attention. "You weren't born a child of the Icewarden, but I do expect you to conform to his tenets." She said. "We are patient, we are quiet, and we are deadly. We do not pace."
As if noticing her distraction for the first time, Nighte stopped fidgeting. Annian nodded. "Now, it's all very well to want some revenge. No one blames you for that. But you've gone off expecting sudden victory. That isn't the way it works in real life. It'll take as long as it takes, because we need all the experienced fighters we can get. Hmm?"
"Patient, strong, and deadly." Nighte nodded. "I can do that."
The13Inquisitor:
Fereon ambled out outside without too much alarm.
He was an early riser,-a habit that he'd picked up when he started learning metalworking as a dragonet, so the noise his ice guests were making was more of a curio than an annoyance.
Then he saw Azrael curled up and fast asleep.
"He been having bad dreams again?" He asked.
Winterling:
Nighte sat back and cleared her throat, specially as Annian did not look particularly pleased by the interruption. "I'm not sure, but that's what I would say." She glances over to where Azrael is still sleeping.
The13Inquisitor:
"Thought so." Fereon said. "I heard him last night. Probably about what happened to his family." He explained.
Winterling:
She snorted and came closer, settling down and curling her tail around her feet. "Oh, I won't keep you up long." She says, her tone a curious mixture of sarcasm and cold sincerity. "I was just wondering how well you manage to speak of the horrors done to me, while you allow my captor to go free." She raises an eyebrow and waits for his answer.
The13Inquisitor:
Azrael squirmed uncomfortably.
"It's complicated." He said. "I'm not saying he doesn't deserve to die, but..." Azrael shrugged, "our consciences seperate us from then. If I killed every dragon that ever did something wrong without offering them a second chance, I'd be no better than they are. If I don't believe that we can change for the better then there's really no point for me to keep living." Azrael explained. "Though, I was quite serious when I said if I ever caught that Mirror up to no good again I'd kill him." He added.
Winterling:
Nighte does not look quite satisfied, but she accepts his reasoning. "I don't really agree. Maybe he would have been better as an ice sculpture in the fields. He wouldn't be dead, but he wouldn't be causing trouble either." She tries to sound like she's joking, but it comes out more serious than not.
The13Inquisitor:
"Maybe you're right." Azrael replied. "If he does show up in trouble in the future, I'll be sure to take your advice on that front."
Winterling:
Nighte mutters something that could have been agreement and moves off, curling up disconsolately in one of the nests. She tried to sleep, but her thoughts wouldn't keep still, and it took her ages to fall away from consciousness.
The morning came sooner than she would have liked, but Nighte forced herself up and awake as soon as the sun touched her scales.
The13Inquisitor:
For Azrael, sleep didn't come easily:
He felt oddly homesick in a way he hadn't in over a decade, despite being back on the Windswept Plateau.
When he finally fell asleep, his dreams took him back to the hatchday the Plague Reavers had murdered his family.
When morning finally came, it found him exhausted, not just mildly tired like the previous day's exertions had left him.
And he found himself feeling oddly protective toward Nighte, though sensibly, Azrael knew she was capable of looking after herself.
Winterling:
Ozzie landed next to Nighte, carrying some bamboo stalks (in addition to the one in his mouth) and looking incredibly well-rested. "Morning." He said brightly, offering her a bamboo shoot. Nighte accepted, since it would have been harder to argue with him.
Annian walked up behind her mate, crunching on the bones of something small and fuzzy. "You wouldn't catch me eating that sticky green stuff if I was an inch from dying." She said drily, swallowing and flicking the remains of her meal off her jaw. "Where are we headed now?"
The13Inquisitor:
"The Starfall Isles." Azrael replied briefly, before failing to suppress a gigantic yawn. Not that he looked like he couldn't do with more sleep. His eyes were bloodshot, his head drooped and his mane was unruly from tossing and turning all through the night.
Winterling:
"We don't have to leave right at this minute." Nighte said, looking at him with some concern. "We can wait for Fereon and better daylight. The Isles aren't that far, are they?" She has a hazy grasp of distance at best, since she's spent so much time in one place.
The13Inquisitor:
"Three days flight from here to the part of the Isles I have in mind." Azrael replied through another yawn. "I think you're right. More sleep sounds like an excellent idea." Having said this, he promptly lay himself back down and within moments was breathing the deep, regular breaths of deep sleep.
Winterling:
The three Ice dragons looked at him for a moment. "Well, you did say it was alright for him to sleep." Ozzie said quietly. Annian snorted.
"Maybe he's one of those dragons who doesn't like sleeping at night." Nighte suggested, making shooing gestures at the other two. "Come on, let's leave him be."
The dragons moved out of easy earshot of Azrael. Despite her words Nighte seemed restless, pacing a little and digging at the unfamiliar grass beneath her feet. "Three days to the Isles, and then how long until we get to the Tangled Wood? And from there how far to Smoke's lair in the Ashfall? It just seems....longer than I thought it would be."
"Don't be so impatient." Annian said sternly. Nighte started to nod, but the guardian stomped her foot. "I wasn't finished." She said, and made sure she had Nighte's attention. "You weren't born a child of the Icewarden, but I do expect you to conform to his tenets." She said. "We are patient, we are quiet, and we are deadly. We do not pace."
As if noticing her distraction for the first time, Nighte stopped fidgeting. Annian nodded. "Now, it's all very well to want some revenge. No one blames you for that. But you've gone off expecting sudden victory. That isn't the way it works in real life. It'll take as long as it takes, because we need all the experienced fighters we can get. Hmm?"
"Patient, strong, and deadly." Nighte nodded. "I can do that."
The13Inquisitor:
Fereon ambled out outside without too much alarm.
He was an early riser,-a habit that he'd picked up when he started learning metalworking as a dragonet, so the noise his ice guests were making was more of a curio than an annoyance.
Then he saw Azrael curled up and fast asleep.
"He been having bad dreams again?" He asked.
Winterling:
Nighte sat back and cleared her throat, specially as Annian did not look particularly pleased by the interruption. "I'm not sure, but that's what I would say." She glances over to where Azrael is still sleeping.
The13Inquisitor:
"Thought so." Fereon said. "I heard him last night. Probably about what happened to his family." He explained.
Winterling:
Nighte nods slowly. "He's mentioned something of the history." She doesn't elaborate, though Annian is looking curious and Ozzie downright nosy. If it had been her past she would not want others discussing it without her leave, and she would not do so to Azrael.
The13Inquisitor:
"Best just let him sleep then. In the meantime, I'm going hunting." Fereon said, before fanning his wings and taking off northward.
Winterling:
"Good hunting to you." Nighte says, though the wildclaw is probably too far away to hear. She shrugs.
The13Inquisitor:
Azrael slapped the red-eyed Reaver away into a tree with subtly wrong angles, ducked a slash from another Reaver calculated to leave wounds deep enough to make him bleed profusely and retaliated with an upper-cut that had the Reaver clutching it's neck as blood seeped from between its talons.
He continued on and soon was back on the steppes and drawing closer a pile of bodies with a sense of mounting dread...
Unbeknownst to him, he was twitching in his sleep and muttering quite audibly.
"No...Val...No...Wasn't fast enough..."
Winterling:
Annian and Ozzie were content to lounge around and munch breakfast slowly, but Nighte went to check on Azrael. She was really trying to listen to Annian and keep patient, but it was difficult right now. So instead of pacing back and forth she went to see if Azrael was awake and ready to travel.
He'd been sleeping soundly when they crept away, but now he tossed and turned, muttering and growling. Nighte knew what it was to be troubled by dreams, by nightmares. Taking a deep breath to brace herself (she didn't know what his reaction to waking would be) she reached out to touch his shoulder. "Azrael." She said, not loudly but firmly. "That was a long time ago. Wake up to now."
The13Inquisitor:
Azrael's eyes snapped open. He lunged to his feet, slammed his aggressor with his tail, then pinned them beneath one claw, bellowing furiously as he summoned the power of the air to him for a final killing blow.
Then he realised who had awoken him and let the energy in his talons dissipate, before falling on his side in a daze.
"I'm sorry. I'm so sorry." He muttered in horror.
Winterling:
Annian and Ozzie rushed over at the sound of his roar, though only Ozzie looked shocked. Annian was the calmest of them all, though she did tense a little until Azrael really woke up.
Nighte was more than a little shaken, but she manages to get back to her feet. She doesn't reach out to Azrael, her legs are still shaking too hard. But she does sigh sympathetically. "I was the one who woke you." She says. "It wasn't wise, but your dreams...were haunting you." The metaphor wasn't quite what she meant, but the words are sincere.
The13Inquisitor:
"I'm so very sorry." Azrael repeated shakily. If he'd been one instant slower in regaining his wits...
Without thinking, Azrael enveloped Nighte with his wings and pulled her close.
"Forgive me." He whispered shakily.
Winterling:
Nighte tolerated his embrace, and even returned it a little. But she pulled away after a moment and gave Azrael a nudge. "Warrior's instincts." She said, her voice not shaking very much. "We wouldn't be standing here if you weren't the fighter..." She doesn't quite finish her sentence, but shakes her head after a moment. "It is forgotten." She says firmly. "But perhaps it would be better if you came and had something to eat."
The13Inquisitor:
Azrael released Nighte and nodded mutely.
"Yes. I think that would probably be for the best." He replied.
Winterling:
Nighte is more than happy to give the rest of Ozzie's bamboo shoots to Azrael, and the tundra doesn't look unhappy at this. He glances sideways at Annian, and they exchange rather significant looks. There's no telling what it means, and Nighte doesn't notice. "We're just waiting for Fereon to come back from breakfast." She says, quiet, not trying to force brightness back into her tone.
The13Inquisitor:
"He'll be back in his own sweet time." Azrael assured her. "Until we're travelling he's liable to go hunting until he's satisfied."
Winterling:
Nighte began to sigh, looked at Annian, and blew it out as an unconcerned, frosty breath instead. She shrugged. Ozzie lay in the grass, his eyes already half-closed with nothing else to do. "That's Wind dragons for you." He says carelessly. "No sense of when to get things done and when to play."
The13Inquisitor:
"Fereon's a fire dragon actually." Azrael replied. "And I think I'd best warn you now: Brudigan and Reshaki are very skilled spellcasters. Brudigan is a Fae dragon and his lair is about a quarter of the size of Fereon's." He said.
"So we'll have to sleep outside?" Asked Ozzie.
"No, it means to get in, he'll have to shrink us down which can be somewhat unpleasant if you're not expecting it." Azrael replied.
Winterling:
"They can do that?" Nighte asked, a little wide-eyed. Annian actually flicked her tail almost nervously. Nighte looked more interested than frightened, but Ozzie cleared his throat uncertainly. "Well, negotiations are not really our strong suit." He said. "Surely WE don't need to be...shrunk."
The13Inquisitor:
"We'll have to be shrunk if we want to sleep indoors while we're there." Azrael replied without a trace of humour in his voice. "And believe me, I'd rather deal with the disconcerting feeling of a shrinking spell than sleep outside in the Starwood Strand. That place gives me the creeps." Azrael confessed, then looked off towards the north.
Fereon was returning at an unhurried pace, seemingly well-satisfied.
"Not much point in delaying further now; we'll wait until he's back, then we'll depart." Azrael said.
Winterling:
Ozzie still fidgets a little and Annian almost frowns; a big step up fo her, expression-wise. Nighte looks more excited than anything, but she doesn't fidget while waiting for Fereon to declare them ready to go.
The13Inquisitor:
When they were finally in the air, Azrael felt as if he could just stay up there forever and join the Windsinger in his eternal, skybound vigil.
Romantic and impractical, but it would certainly beat nearly killing a dragoness he was quickly coming to regard as a good friend and alienating others who he was inclined to like.
It was for that reason that Azrael kept them flying until after nightfall, only landing when the moon had risen, choosing to camp in a spacious cave inside a hollow mesa with a sandy floor and a picturesque view of the rippling grassland beneath the moon and stars.
"Seeing this, I could almost settle down." Azrael commented wistfully.
Winterling:
"Too warm for me." Ozzie said, shaking out his wings vigorously to try and cool down. His fur was thicker than most tundras, living so far south, and he had been hot all day. Annian didn't look bothered in the slightest by the warm, and Nighte seemed to enjoy being so far north again. She had been quiet as they'd flown, wondering how Mercor was doing, if he had found a name for the hatchling yet. She was sure there would be plenty of adventures for them, just staying near a hub of activity like the market.
"Maybe you'll come back one day." She said, quietly, to Azrael alone. "You won't wander forever. I'm quite sure of it." She sounded confident enough for both of them, her pale eyes gleaming in the moonlight.
The13Inquisitor:
"I'd like that." Azrael admitted, staring, almost transfixed at the sky.
Winterling:
Nighte nods a little, smiling. Then she heads back deeper into the cave, leaving the soft silver moonlight and the grass waving like the sea. Her worries for Mercor and the nameless hatchling are only growing, but for now she can put them aside and sleep.
Annian and Ozzie are muttering to each other in another corner of the cave, Ozzie still occasionally fluffing his wings out in an attempt to cool down.
The13Inquisitor:
Azrael glanced in the direction of the two Ice dragons unwillingly.
The sky was clear and it was a beautiful full moon, but the pair had been on edge all day.
He figured it would be for the best to allay their fears now.
"For the record, I'm not unstable. Just not all scars fully fade all you can do is make your peace and forget about it." Azrael said ruefully to them. About as close as he was willing to come to discussing Val, his non-existent love-life and his near-non-existent social life.
Winterling:
Annian turns her head almost completely around to look at him, and Ozzie steps out from behind his mate's larger bulk. "Oh, scars we know of, lad." He says, almost comfortingly. "I've not seen many as bad as yours, nor as deep, but..."
"Scars show that you've lived to fight again." Annian said, finishing her mate's sentence. "A badge of honor, if you will. And very few scars, I find, are on the skin." She keeps her eyes on him a moment longer, thinking deeply about something. But after that she turns her head around again, lowering it and curling up to sleep.
The13Inquisitor:
"True enough." Azrael replied. "I just wanted to make it clear I'm not going to go mad and kill you in a stressful situation. Nighte just caught me in a rather...unpleasant nightmare."
Winterling:
Nighte nods slowly. "He's mentioned something of the history." She doesn't elaborate, though Annian is looking curious and Ozzie downright nosy. If it had been her past she would not want others discussing it without her leave, and she would not do so to Azrael.
The13Inquisitor:
"Best just let him sleep then. In the meantime, I'm going hunting." Fereon said, before fanning his wings and taking off northward.
Winterling:
"Good hunting to you." Nighte says, though the wildclaw is probably too far away to hear. She shrugs.
The13Inquisitor:
Azrael slapped the red-eyed Reaver away into a tree with subtly wrong angles, ducked a slash from another Reaver calculated to leave wounds deep enough to make him bleed profusely and retaliated with an upper-cut that had the Reaver clutching it's neck as blood seeped from between its talons.
He continued on and soon was back on the steppes and drawing closer a pile of bodies with a sense of mounting dread...
Unbeknownst to him, he was twitching in his sleep and muttering quite audibly.
"No...Val...No...Wasn't fast enough..."
Winterling:
Annian and Ozzie were content to lounge around and munch breakfast slowly, but Nighte went to check on Azrael. She was really trying to listen to Annian and keep patient, but it was difficult right now. So instead of pacing back and forth she went to see if Azrael was awake and ready to travel.
He'd been sleeping soundly when they crept away, but now he tossed and turned, muttering and growling. Nighte knew what it was to be troubled by dreams, by nightmares. Taking a deep breath to brace herself (she didn't know what his reaction to waking would be) she reached out to touch his shoulder. "Azrael." She said, not loudly but firmly. "That was a long time ago. Wake up to now."
The13Inquisitor:
Azrael's eyes snapped open. He lunged to his feet, slammed his aggressor with his tail, then pinned them beneath one claw, bellowing furiously as he summoned the power of the air to him for a final killing blow.
Then he realised who had awoken him and let the energy in his talons dissipate, before falling on his side in a daze.
"I'm sorry. I'm so sorry." He muttered in horror.
Winterling:
Annian and Ozzie rushed over at the sound of his roar, though only Ozzie looked shocked. Annian was the calmest of them all, though she did tense a little until Azrael really woke up.
Nighte was more than a little shaken, but she manages to get back to her feet. She doesn't reach out to Azrael, her legs are still shaking too hard. But she does sigh sympathetically. "I was the one who woke you." She says. "It wasn't wise, but your dreams...were haunting you." The metaphor wasn't quite what she meant, but the words are sincere.
The13Inquisitor:
"I'm so very sorry." Azrael repeated shakily. If he'd been one instant slower in regaining his wits...
Without thinking, Azrael enveloped Nighte with his wings and pulled her close.
"Forgive me." He whispered shakily.
Winterling:
Nighte tolerated his embrace, and even returned it a little. But she pulled away after a moment and gave Azrael a nudge. "Warrior's instincts." She said, her voice not shaking very much. "We wouldn't be standing here if you weren't the fighter..." She doesn't quite finish her sentence, but shakes her head after a moment. "It is forgotten." She says firmly. "But perhaps it would be better if you came and had something to eat."
The13Inquisitor:
Azrael released Nighte and nodded mutely.
"Yes. I think that would probably be for the best." He replied.
Winterling:
Nighte is more than happy to give the rest of Ozzie's bamboo shoots to Azrael, and the tundra doesn't look unhappy at this. He glances sideways at Annian, and they exchange rather significant looks. There's no telling what it means, and Nighte doesn't notice. "We're just waiting for Fereon to come back from breakfast." She says, quiet, not trying to force brightness back into her tone.
The13Inquisitor:
"He'll be back in his own sweet time." Azrael assured her. "Until we're travelling he's liable to go hunting until he's satisfied."
Winterling:
Nighte began to sigh, looked at Annian, and blew it out as an unconcerned, frosty breath instead. She shrugged. Ozzie lay in the grass, his eyes already half-closed with nothing else to do. "That's Wind dragons for you." He says carelessly. "No sense of when to get things done and when to play."
The13Inquisitor:
"Fereon's a fire dragon actually." Azrael replied. "And I think I'd best warn you now: Brudigan and Reshaki are very skilled spellcasters. Brudigan is a Fae dragon and his lair is about a quarter of the size of Fereon's." He said.
"So we'll have to sleep outside?" Asked Ozzie.
"No, it means to get in, he'll have to shrink us down which can be somewhat unpleasant if you're not expecting it." Azrael replied.
Winterling:
"They can do that?" Nighte asked, a little wide-eyed. Annian actually flicked her tail almost nervously. Nighte looked more interested than frightened, but Ozzie cleared his throat uncertainly. "Well, negotiations are not really our strong suit." He said. "Surely WE don't need to be...shrunk."
The13Inquisitor:
"We'll have to be shrunk if we want to sleep indoors while we're there." Azrael replied without a trace of humour in his voice. "And believe me, I'd rather deal with the disconcerting feeling of a shrinking spell than sleep outside in the Starwood Strand. That place gives me the creeps." Azrael confessed, then looked off towards the north.
Fereon was returning at an unhurried pace, seemingly well-satisfied.
"Not much point in delaying further now; we'll wait until he's back, then we'll depart." Azrael said.
Winterling:
Ozzie still fidgets a little and Annian almost frowns; a big step up fo her, expression-wise. Nighte looks more excited than anything, but she doesn't fidget while waiting for Fereon to declare them ready to go.
The13Inquisitor:
When they were finally in the air, Azrael felt as if he could just stay up there forever and join the Windsinger in his eternal, skybound vigil.
Romantic and impractical, but it would certainly beat nearly killing a dragoness he was quickly coming to regard as a good friend and alienating others who he was inclined to like.
It was for that reason that Azrael kept them flying until after nightfall, only landing when the moon had risen, choosing to camp in a spacious cave inside a hollow mesa with a sandy floor and a picturesque view of the rippling grassland beneath the moon and stars.
"Seeing this, I could almost settle down." Azrael commented wistfully.
Winterling:
"Too warm for me." Ozzie said, shaking out his wings vigorously to try and cool down. His fur was thicker than most tundras, living so far south, and he had been hot all day. Annian didn't look bothered in the slightest by the warm, and Nighte seemed to enjoy being so far north again. She had been quiet as they'd flown, wondering how Mercor was doing, if he had found a name for the hatchling yet. She was sure there would be plenty of adventures for them, just staying near a hub of activity like the market.
"Maybe you'll come back one day." She said, quietly, to Azrael alone. "You won't wander forever. I'm quite sure of it." She sounded confident enough for both of them, her pale eyes gleaming in the moonlight.
The13Inquisitor:
"I'd like that." Azrael admitted, staring, almost transfixed at the sky.
Winterling:
Nighte nods a little, smiling. Then she heads back deeper into the cave, leaving the soft silver moonlight and the grass waving like the sea. Her worries for Mercor and the nameless hatchling are only growing, but for now she can put them aside and sleep.
Annian and Ozzie are muttering to each other in another corner of the cave, Ozzie still occasionally fluffing his wings out in an attempt to cool down.
The13Inquisitor:
Azrael glanced in the direction of the two Ice dragons unwillingly.
The sky was clear and it was a beautiful full moon, but the pair had been on edge all day.
He figured it would be for the best to allay their fears now.
"For the record, I'm not unstable. Just not all scars fully fade all you can do is make your peace and forget about it." Azrael said ruefully to them. About as close as he was willing to come to discussing Val, his non-existent love-life and his near-non-existent social life.
Winterling:
Annian turns her head almost completely around to look at him, and Ozzie steps out from behind his mate's larger bulk. "Oh, scars we know of, lad." He says, almost comfortingly. "I've not seen many as bad as yours, nor as deep, but..."
"Scars show that you've lived to fight again." Annian said, finishing her mate's sentence. "A badge of honor, if you will. And very few scars, I find, are on the skin." She keeps her eyes on him a moment longer, thinking deeply about something. But after that she turns her head around again, lowering it and curling up to sleep.
The13Inquisitor:
"True enough." Azrael replied. "I just wanted to make it clear I'm not going to go mad and kill you in a stressful situation. Nighte just caught me in a rather...unpleasant nightmare."
Winterling:
Ozzie chuckled a little. "Nice to know we've not got a raging beserker on our hands. In the future, I will tell her to be careful when she wakes you."
The13Inquisitor:
"I appreciate the thought; I don't think I could live with myself if I killed her accidentally." Azrael confessed as he began to settle himself down.
Winterling:
Ozzie nods. "Maybe she'll leave the waking to us professionals." He says with a quirky grin, jerking his head to Annian. The guardian grunts without looking up and flicks her tail at the tundra. Ozzie dodges neatly and curls up next to her, turning into a fuzzball of green and yellow fur.
The sun found Nighte already awake and outside, her black fur gradually gaining contrast with the grass as it changed from dark to light. She watched the windswept plain regain life and color, her thoughts tumbling about in no particular order. She'd eaten some crop-cutter bugs. They weren't filling, but they were food and she didn't feel like going to find anything else.
Ozzie and Annian stirred later, and they weren't in any hurry to be up and about.
The13Inquisitor:
Fereon picked at a clod of dirt that had adhered to his hind claws when he'd been out hunting, occasionally glancing at the peacefully sleeping Azrael.
When next he looked up, he saw Azrael giving a cavernous yawn as he awoke, stretching and shaking off the remnants of sleep.
Without a word, Azrael threw himself into the air and headed south, soon coming to a small lake and throwing himself in.
He was in the mood for fish for breakfast and a cold bath was all but guaranteed to dispel whatever mindset had been inducing night-terrors in him.
He surfaced with a good-sized salmon in his mouth, beating up into the air with his catch.
Winterling:
Annian paces out of the cave to stand next to Nighte, yawning wide enough to swallow a fae dragon. She keeps one eye on Azrael, remembering how tired he was yesterday. But their guide seems refreshed, and she lets her wings expand to their greatest length.
"How soon will we be on our way?" She asks, though it's addressed to the company in general.
The13Inquisitor:
In response, Azrael drove his wings down and launched himself into the air.
"Right now, by the looks." Fereon commented following Azrael's example.
By the end of that day, they were coming up on the edge of the Windswept Plateau and as the sun dipped towards evening, Azrael began searching for somewhere to spend the night.
"Keep an eye out for somewhere to spend the night, I have absolutely no desire to go into the realm of the Arcanist in the dark." He called.
Winterling:
The second day of flying was easier, somehow. Nighte wasn't as tired as she had been at the end of yesterday. Annian and Ozzie looked unfazed of course. It was Annian who spotted their campsite. The guardian didn't bother alerting anyone else, she just dove when she saw a good spot. It was a tall shoreline, with the familiar waves beating against the cliffs. Annian landed on the very edge of the rocky land, where the bay between the Plateau and the edges of the Starfall lapped. There wasn't much shelter besides the tall stands of bamboo, but then, that was true of most of the Windswept.
The group as a whole was more awake that night, after a dinner of fish (and some shorebirds for Annian). "We've dwelt on dark and dangerous things for some time," The tall guardian said in her rumbling voice. "And we will have more time to spend on them soon. Let's turn to lighter subjects, at least for a few nights."
"What did you have in mind?" Nighte asked, her voice a little bitter. She had no wish to linger in her past, but there seemed little of her story that was not overshadowed by what had happened in the Wastes.
"Tell us a legend of the Plateau, and we will trade one of the Icefields." Ozzie said brightly, turning to Azrael.
The13Inquisitor:
Azrael shifted himself to be more comfortable.
"I don't know as many as I'd like." He admitted sheepishly.
"What about the Tempest Strider?" Suggested Fereon.
"That's just a silly old ghost story to get hatchlings to behave themselves." Azrael replied dismissively. "Have any of you heard of the Old Ones?" Azrael queried of Annian.
Winterling:
"If we have, we do not call them that." The Guardian said slowly, turning the name over in her mind.
"It doesn't sound familiar." Nighte said, equally thoughtful.
The13Inquisitor:
"They're said to be an ancient race, masters of power that would make the Arcanist green with envy, they were said to have ruled this world while the gods slept." Azrael explained.
Winterling:
"In the far south we call them the Ancients." Ozzie put in. "Not all that different, really."
"Where I grew up they were called DI." Nighte said, shrugging. "Dead Inventors." She explained, when Annian raised an eyebrow. "My clan was fond of acronyms."
The13Inquisitor:
"Well, before they disappeared, if you take these stories seriously, the Old Ones took to the stars and left this world, setting off into the void between stars, never to be heard of again, taking some of our ancestors with them." Azrael continued. "There's a legend that says that every now and then they return and release one of these wayward kin among us, tasked with some great trial."
Winterling:
"That's a good one." Ozzie said approvingly, shivering a little.
"Now you tell one from the Icefields." Nighte said, smiling.
Annian sighed, and Ozzie looked up at the stars thoughtfully. So close to the Starfall, there was a hint of arcane light at the corners of the horizon, but for the most part the sky was clear. "Hmmm." The guardian spoke first, though it was only a mutter. "At the risk of sounding exceedingly patriotic, I'll tell a story from our past." Ozzie sat up a little straighter, and he kept quiet as his mate spoke. "We met on a battlefield, long ago." She began, her voice settling into the cadence of a story. "We were far from home, recently exalted into the service of the Icewarden. There was an altercation with some Nature exalted."
Ozzie snorted, like this was an understatement. Annian stopped to glare at him before clearing her throat and going on. "Anyway, most of them were exalted warriors, but one of them..." She paused for dramatic effect, looking carefully at the expressions of her audience. "One of them was a seed-mage. And for a prize, we took the project they'd been working on." She smiled grimly. "Who knows what sort of monster plant they might have released! And the seed still exists, deep in the clear, icy vaults of our god. Just waiting for some ambitious,-and stupid,-dragon to unleash it." She sat back, clearly pleased with her tale.
The13Inquisitor:
"If you can remember that one, they must've given you some trouble." Fereon commented, shifting himself to a more comfortable position, then cocked his head to the north, peering intently at the horizon, his pupils contracting.
"It'll rain tomorrow." He predicted, "if I don't miss my guess."
"More likely it'll be a storm. We could be stuck here for a while." Azrael said after sighting the tall thunderheads for himself.
Winterling:
"Wonderful. I hate the wet." Annian said, ruffling her wings and curling her tail around. "Snow is never as wet as rain." She sighs a little.
"Not much we can do about it from here." Nighte says with a shrug. "Unless someone wants to go looking for a cave."
"The only caves around here will be too close to the water." Ozzie said disapprovingly. "And we'd get wet anyway."
The13Inquisitor:
"I know a cave a little way back the way we came." Offered Fereon. "It should be big enough for all of us."
"Worth a try." Agreed Azrael.
Winterling:
"Let's go quickly, before I fall asleep." Nighte said, yawning as she stood. "Even if it's crowded."
Winterling:
Ozzie chuckled a little. "Nice to know we've not got a raging beserker on our hands. In the future, I will tell her to be careful when she wakes you."
The13Inquisitor:
"I appreciate the thought; I don't think I could live with myself if I killed her accidentally." Azrael confessed as he began to settle himself down.
Winterling:
Ozzie nods. "Maybe she'll leave the waking to us professionals." He says with a quirky grin, jerking his head to Annian. The guardian grunts without looking up and flicks her tail at the tundra. Ozzie dodges neatly and curls up next to her, turning into a fuzzball of green and yellow fur.
The sun found Nighte already awake and outside, her black fur gradually gaining contrast with the grass as it changed from dark to light. She watched the windswept plain regain life and color, her thoughts tumbling about in no particular order. She'd eaten some crop-cutter bugs. They weren't filling, but they were food and she didn't feel like going to find anything else.
Ozzie and Annian stirred later, and they weren't in any hurry to be up and about.
The13Inquisitor:
Fereon picked at a clod of dirt that had adhered to his hind claws when he'd been out hunting, occasionally glancing at the peacefully sleeping Azrael.
When next he looked up, he saw Azrael giving a cavernous yawn as he awoke, stretching and shaking off the remnants of sleep.
Without a word, Azrael threw himself into the air and headed south, soon coming to a small lake and throwing himself in.
He was in the mood for fish for breakfast and a cold bath was all but guaranteed to dispel whatever mindset had been inducing night-terrors in him.
He surfaced with a good-sized salmon in his mouth, beating up into the air with his catch.
Winterling:
Annian paces out of the cave to stand next to Nighte, yawning wide enough to swallow a fae dragon. She keeps one eye on Azrael, remembering how tired he was yesterday. But their guide seems refreshed, and she lets her wings expand to their greatest length.
"How soon will we be on our way?" She asks, though it's addressed to the company in general.
The13Inquisitor:
In response, Azrael drove his wings down and launched himself into the air.
"Right now, by the looks." Fereon commented following Azrael's example.
By the end of that day, they were coming up on the edge of the Windswept Plateau and as the sun dipped towards evening, Azrael began searching for somewhere to spend the night.
"Keep an eye out for somewhere to spend the night, I have absolutely no desire to go into the realm of the Arcanist in the dark." He called.
Winterling:
The second day of flying was easier, somehow. Nighte wasn't as tired as she had been at the end of yesterday. Annian and Ozzie looked unfazed of course. It was Annian who spotted their campsite. The guardian didn't bother alerting anyone else, she just dove when she saw a good spot. It was a tall shoreline, with the familiar waves beating against the cliffs. Annian landed on the very edge of the rocky land, where the bay between the Plateau and the edges of the Starfall lapped. There wasn't much shelter besides the tall stands of bamboo, but then, that was true of most of the Windswept.
The group as a whole was more awake that night, after a dinner of fish (and some shorebirds for Annian). "We've dwelt on dark and dangerous things for some time," The tall guardian said in her rumbling voice. "And we will have more time to spend on them soon. Let's turn to lighter subjects, at least for a few nights."
"What did you have in mind?" Nighte asked, her voice a little bitter. She had no wish to linger in her past, but there seemed little of her story that was not overshadowed by what had happened in the Wastes.
"Tell us a legend of the Plateau, and we will trade one of the Icefields." Ozzie said brightly, turning to Azrael.
The13Inquisitor:
Azrael shifted himself to be more comfortable.
"I don't know as many as I'd like." He admitted sheepishly.
"What about the Tempest Strider?" Suggested Fereon.
"That's just a silly old ghost story to get hatchlings to behave themselves." Azrael replied dismissively. "Have any of you heard of the Old Ones?" Azrael queried of Annian.
Winterling:
"If we have, we do not call them that." The Guardian said slowly, turning the name over in her mind.
"It doesn't sound familiar." Nighte said, equally thoughtful.
The13Inquisitor:
"They're said to be an ancient race, masters of power that would make the Arcanist green with envy, they were said to have ruled this world while the gods slept." Azrael explained.
Winterling:
"In the far south we call them the Ancients." Ozzie put in. "Not all that different, really."
"Where I grew up they were called DI." Nighte said, shrugging. "Dead Inventors." She explained, when Annian raised an eyebrow. "My clan was fond of acronyms."
The13Inquisitor:
"Well, before they disappeared, if you take these stories seriously, the Old Ones took to the stars and left this world, setting off into the void between stars, never to be heard of again, taking some of our ancestors with them." Azrael continued. "There's a legend that says that every now and then they return and release one of these wayward kin among us, tasked with some great trial."
Winterling:
"That's a good one." Ozzie said approvingly, shivering a little.
"Now you tell one from the Icefields." Nighte said, smiling.
Annian sighed, and Ozzie looked up at the stars thoughtfully. So close to the Starfall, there was a hint of arcane light at the corners of the horizon, but for the most part the sky was clear. "Hmmm." The guardian spoke first, though it was only a mutter. "At the risk of sounding exceedingly patriotic, I'll tell a story from our past." Ozzie sat up a little straighter, and he kept quiet as his mate spoke. "We met on a battlefield, long ago." She began, her voice settling into the cadence of a story. "We were far from home, recently exalted into the service of the Icewarden. There was an altercation with some Nature exalted."
Ozzie snorted, like this was an understatement. Annian stopped to glare at him before clearing her throat and going on. "Anyway, most of them were exalted warriors, but one of them..." She paused for dramatic effect, looking carefully at the expressions of her audience. "One of them was a seed-mage. And for a prize, we took the project they'd been working on." She smiled grimly. "Who knows what sort of monster plant they might have released! And the seed still exists, deep in the clear, icy vaults of our god. Just waiting for some ambitious,-and stupid,-dragon to unleash it." She sat back, clearly pleased with her tale.
The13Inquisitor:
"If you can remember that one, they must've given you some trouble." Fereon commented, shifting himself to a more comfortable position, then cocked his head to the north, peering intently at the horizon, his pupils contracting.
"It'll rain tomorrow." He predicted, "if I don't miss my guess."
"More likely it'll be a storm. We could be stuck here for a while." Azrael said after sighting the tall thunderheads for himself.
Winterling:
"Wonderful. I hate the wet." Annian said, ruffling her wings and curling her tail around. "Snow is never as wet as rain." She sighs a little.
"Not much we can do about it from here." Nighte says with a shrug. "Unless someone wants to go looking for a cave."
"The only caves around here will be too close to the water." Ozzie said disapprovingly. "And we'd get wet anyway."
The13Inquisitor:
"I know a cave a little way back the way we came." Offered Fereon. "It should be big enough for all of us."
"Worth a try." Agreed Azrael.
Winterling:
"Let's go quickly, before I fall asleep." Nighte said, yawning as she stood. "Even if it's crowded."
'Why are you frowning?' -Temeraire's first words.
The13Inquisitor:
Fereon's cave did indeed prove to be cramped:
They were all obliged to coil together in a heap to fit.
Annian and Azrael were on the bottom, while Fereon, Ozzie and Nighte sat atop them.
"You know Fereon, if anything were to come along, getting out of here or fighting back would be somewhat dicey." Azrael commented. "In fact, you can take first watch while the rest of us sleep; Oh, and Ozzie, Nighte, please don't move around too much I'm something of a light sleeper at the best of times." He added.
Winterling:
"Thanks for reminding us." Ozzie said dryly. "I'll try not to end up with your magic at my throat." Nighte didn't say much, just curled herself up as tightly as she could and pretended to sleep. If she pretended long enough, maybe sleep would come. She was uncomfortable dozing off so close to so many others, especially after being around only Mercor for a time.
This night passed a lot slower than the one before, and with the rain that sheeted down not long past midnight, it was doubly miserable. Nighte didn't think any of them got much sleep, but the clouds hadn't shown any sign of dissipating by morning.
The13Inquisitor:
"In hindsight, maybe we should've pressed on to Brudigan's lair." Fereon commented as he shook his head to rid himself of the water dripping onto the back of his head.
"I'm beginning to think that myself." Azrael said darkly as another droplet of water found its way underneath his scales.
He'd barely slept the previous night, owing to the somewhat alien feeling of so many dragons sleeping on and around him. He'd spent time with a few clans previously where on some bitter cold nights they'd all clustered together for warmth, but this was different.
"And we can't go now, because well..." As if to finish Fereon's statement a rumble of thunder sounded overhead. "We're going to be stuck here a while." He said after a moment. "We might as well as swap stories." This got no immediate answer. "I'll start," Fereon began. "I was born as the Ashfall, obviously, my mother was a Light Mirror who came through wanting a replica of a famous clan leader's armour. I forget which clan. Anyway, after she sent the replica back to her clan she stayed on and had me. I took up my father's craft and made a decent living out of it until Azrael bailed me out of a Longneck ambush a few years back and roped me into helping him explore an old Naga Temple for a jewel called the Naga's Eye; just so happens he was doing it for Brudigan too." He recited. "I moved to the Windswept Plateau not too long after, since we made a stop at the market and several people I spoke to commissioned pieces from me and I've had steady business ever since." He finished. "What about you, Ozzie?" He asked. The Tundra was a good deal less icy than Annian, he knew Azrael didn't like to talk about his past and he wasn't too sure about Nighte.
"What about me, what?" He asked.
"Your birth clan? How you met Annian? That sort of thing." Fereon replied. "We're not going anywhere anytime soon, so we might as well swap stories."
Winterling:
"Hmm." Ozzie didn't seem averse to the idea, though when he flicked his tail it hit Annian's nose. His mate snorted at him warningly, and the tundra looked back apologetically. "Sorry love." He said. She only made a wry face and sighed. "Alright. Where I was born..." Ozzie collected his thoughts for a moment more, then began. "I was born on the floes, though both my parents were from different flights. My mother was from the Scarred Wasteland, and my father lived among the tidal pools for most of his life. They had become part of an old Ice clan, one known for it's long service to the Warden. I was exalted to his service at a young age, and while it hadn't been my plan, I was as happy there as I could have been anywhere in all the world."
He let his voice trail off for a moment, memories floating to the surface of his thoughts. Then he smiled back to Annian. "That's where I met Annian, of course. We both still serve the Icewarden whenever he needs us, but right now we're mostly left to ourselves." He shrugs. "And somehow I don't think he'd be unhappy with us helping out a fellow clan, and destroying servants of the Flamecaller at the same time." For a moment he lets the silence grow, stretching his neck out as far as it will go in the cramped space.
"Is that all you're going to say on our meeting?" Annian asks, gently teasing.
"I thought I'd leave that to you, dear." Ozzie says brightly, and Annian laughs a little, the first time she's done so.
"Very well." She says. "Well, I was born of a very old lineage, one that has been servants of our Warden for centuries uncounted. I wandered for some years, as guardians are wont to do, looking for their charge. All that got me was ending up back at the beginning. My clan told me that service to the Icewarden would clear my thoughts. It wasn't what I'd expected, but in a way they were right." She drew herself upright, or as tall as she could in the small cave. "I am guardian of all the virtues the Icewarden prizes most, patience, quiet, strength. It wasn't long after this revelation that I met Ozzie." She settled back, and Nighte rearranged herself on Annian's back. The guardian took little notice, and continued her story. "Like I said earlier, we met during a battle. I was cutting through the vines of a seed-mage, and Ozzie was trapped within them. At the time, he was just another exalted, like I was, a soldier. We started by saving each other's lives. I'd just cut the last of the vines, and he launched himself at the Nature wildclaw that had come up behind me."
"Things when uphill from there." Ozzie chimed in, grinning widely.
"You could say." Annian said, her voice cool and calm. She smiled at Ozzie, though, belying the tone of her words.
The13Inquisitor:
"Fereon, I thought I made it clear some time back that I was more comfortable not discussing my past." Azrael said.
"It can't be that bad." Fereon said cajolingly.
"It wasn't bad, they're just painful memories now." Azrael clarified tiredly.
"Fair's fair." Fereon stated firmly.
Azrael made a sound somewhere between exasperation and disgust.
"Fine, but I want to hear Nighte's tale first." He stated firmly.
Winterling:
Nighte uncurls a little, and glances nervously around at all the other members of their group. "Mine's not so cheerful." She says quietly. "After Ozzie and Annian's. But I suppose you should all hear it, since my past is the reason we're here in the first place." She falls silent for a while, putting her thoughts in order, and when she does speak she looks first to Azrael. "I'm not in the mood to repeat this, so these arcanists are going to have to accept the short version." She says, and starts.
"I was born in a very old Lightning clan, but I was never going to be an inventor. My mind wasn't as quick, my claws didn't itch for new gears and metals. I liked the quiet simplicity of museums, of history. I liked the idea of something lasting beyond the lifetime of it's owner." She shook her head a little, as if to clear it of memories. "But that doesn't really make a difference. I ran away when I was very young. That didn't last long either." She snorted bitterly, but it was more at herself than anything else. "To make a long story short, I ended up enchanted and under Smoke's control. I was there for...years, his mate. I was sold out like a mare the entire time I was there. Who knows what my hatchlings' names are, let alone what they..." Nighte turned away and leaned her head against the wall of the cave. "After a time, Cindin grew careless. He let his spell wear off, and I escaped. I didn't wander long before ending up in the South, where I found Mercor. I'm not used to being around other dragons, because the only time I was around others they used me mercilessly." She didn't turn around while she spoke, and she let the silence after her story grow for some time.
The13Inquisitor:
Azrael huffed.
"That explains why you're so shy and quiet." He said with a nod.
"Come on; now you." Fereon prompted.
Azrael snorted at this. 'Why did I decide to bring him?' He asked himself sourly. 'Because he's quick and good in a fight.' Another, more charitable part of him replied.
"Alright. I was born near the Reedcliff Ascent to a small clan. Both my parents were Wind dragons and we were quite content with our humble existence. My mother died shortly before I was hatched and my father, Palion, never told me what happened. The day I was to become an adult, Plague Reavers attacked my clan and killed almost everyone. My father was killed right in front of me while I was in the grip of a paralysis spell some damned Lightning Fae cast on me. My best friend, Val, was the only one I'm reasonably sure escaped, but she was pursue, so to this day I've never been certain she escaped. If anyone else did, I haven't heard about it. The Reavers took me as a slave and took me back to the Scarred Wasteland and kept me as a slave for three years before they decided I was more trouble than I was worth and sold me to another plague clan. I convinced them that I wasn't worth the price they'd paid for me and to go back and wipe the Reavers out; I killed the Reaver band's leader, Ulkair, myself. The Plagues took me in as an actual memmber of their clan after that for a few years before I left and went wandering. I ended up in the Starfall Isles and ran into Brudigan. I helped him out for a couple of years then became a mercenary. Couple of years in to that and on my first return to the Windswept Plateau, I went to a shrine dedicated to the Windsinger and swore an oath to break clans like those Reavers. That's it really." Azrael recited wearily.
Winterling:
Annian sighs a little and rests her head on Azrael's back. She doesn't look like she's enjoying the cramped quarters, but the closeness makes a comforting gesture look like unavoidable touching. "Well, we're one step forward for you." She says. That's it.
Ozzie looks like he wants to add something a little more sympathetic, but after a moment he closes his mouth and curls up to sleep again. Nighte looks up from her place wedged between Annian and the wall and lets her eyes meet Azrael's. In a moment there is the acknowledgement of one scarred dragon to another. Then she puts her head across Annian's back and looks off into the rainy distance.
The13Inquisitor:
They remained into the cave for the rest of the day with the weather showing no intention of breaking.
In the dead hours of the next morning the rain became patchy and by midmorning, it had cleared.
"Let's go get some food, then let's be on our way." Fereon suggested.
"Agreed. We're not getting far on an empty stomach." Azrael replied as Fereon and Ozzie carefully maneuvered themselves out of the cave.
Winterling:
"I'm starving." Nighte agreed, barely waiting for the others to be outside before stepping out onto the wet grass and shaking out her wings. "And I'm hungry for...fish." She runs a few steps before launching herself into the air, heading for the cliffs where they'd camped so briefly before.
Annian was the last out, and she stretched with long laziness, her bones cracking back into alignment "I'm going hunting." She says, mostly to Ozzie. Without further ado she leaps up into the air as well, going in the opposite direction as Nighte.
The13Inquisitor:
Azrael flung himself after Nighte and pulled level with her.
"If it's fish you want, there's a lake not too far from here and I'm sure you'd appreciate a bath as much as I would after being stuck in that cave for that long. Plus, you won't have to worry about salt encrusted fur." He said.
Winterling:
She nods and banks gracefully, falling back a little to follow him. Though the flight wasn't that long, Nighte manages to slip in some loops and dives, happy to be back in the open air after the confines of the cave.
The13Inquisitor:
Fereon's cave did indeed prove to be cramped:
They were all obliged to coil together in a heap to fit.
Annian and Azrael were on the bottom, while Fereon, Ozzie and Nighte sat atop them.
"You know Fereon, if anything were to come along, getting out of here or fighting back would be somewhat dicey." Azrael commented. "In fact, you can take first watch while the rest of us sleep; Oh, and Ozzie, Nighte, please don't move around too much I'm something of a light sleeper at the best of times." He added.
Winterling:
"Thanks for reminding us." Ozzie said dryly. "I'll try not to end up with your magic at my throat." Nighte didn't say much, just curled herself up as tightly as she could and pretended to sleep. If she pretended long enough, maybe sleep would come. She was uncomfortable dozing off so close to so many others, especially after being around only Mercor for a time.
This night passed a lot slower than the one before, and with the rain that sheeted down not long past midnight, it was doubly miserable. Nighte didn't think any of them got much sleep, but the clouds hadn't shown any sign of dissipating by morning.
The13Inquisitor:
"In hindsight, maybe we should've pressed on to Brudigan's lair." Fereon commented as he shook his head to rid himself of the water dripping onto the back of his head.
"I'm beginning to think that myself." Azrael said darkly as another droplet of water found its way underneath his scales.
He'd barely slept the previous night, owing to the somewhat alien feeling of so many dragons sleeping on and around him. He'd spent time with a few clans previously where on some bitter cold nights they'd all clustered together for warmth, but this was different.
"And we can't go now, because well..." As if to finish Fereon's statement a rumble of thunder sounded overhead. "We're going to be stuck here a while." He said after a moment. "We might as well as swap stories." This got no immediate answer. "I'll start," Fereon began. "I was born as the Ashfall, obviously, my mother was a Light Mirror who came through wanting a replica of a famous clan leader's armour. I forget which clan. Anyway, after she sent the replica back to her clan she stayed on and had me. I took up my father's craft and made a decent living out of it until Azrael bailed me out of a Longneck ambush a few years back and roped me into helping him explore an old Naga Temple for a jewel called the Naga's Eye; just so happens he was doing it for Brudigan too." He recited. "I moved to the Windswept Plateau not too long after, since we made a stop at the market and several people I spoke to commissioned pieces from me and I've had steady business ever since." He finished. "What about you, Ozzie?" He asked. The Tundra was a good deal less icy than Annian, he knew Azrael didn't like to talk about his past and he wasn't too sure about Nighte.
"What about me, what?" He asked.
"Your birth clan? How you met Annian? That sort of thing." Fereon replied. "We're not going anywhere anytime soon, so we might as well swap stories."
Winterling:
"Hmm." Ozzie didn't seem averse to the idea, though when he flicked his tail it hit Annian's nose. His mate snorted at him warningly, and the tundra looked back apologetically. "Sorry love." He said. She only made a wry face and sighed. "Alright. Where I was born..." Ozzie collected his thoughts for a moment more, then began. "I was born on the floes, though both my parents were from different flights. My mother was from the Scarred Wasteland, and my father lived among the tidal pools for most of his life. They had become part of an old Ice clan, one known for it's long service to the Warden. I was exalted to his service at a young age, and while it hadn't been my plan, I was as happy there as I could have been anywhere in all the world."
He let his voice trail off for a moment, memories floating to the surface of his thoughts. Then he smiled back to Annian. "That's where I met Annian, of course. We both still serve the Icewarden whenever he needs us, but right now we're mostly left to ourselves." He shrugs. "And somehow I don't think he'd be unhappy with us helping out a fellow clan, and destroying servants of the Flamecaller at the same time." For a moment he lets the silence grow, stretching his neck out as far as it will go in the cramped space.
"Is that all you're going to say on our meeting?" Annian asks, gently teasing.
"I thought I'd leave that to you, dear." Ozzie says brightly, and Annian laughs a little, the first time she's done so.
"Very well." She says. "Well, I was born of a very old lineage, one that has been servants of our Warden for centuries uncounted. I wandered for some years, as guardians are wont to do, looking for their charge. All that got me was ending up back at the beginning. My clan told me that service to the Icewarden would clear my thoughts. It wasn't what I'd expected, but in a way they were right." She drew herself upright, or as tall as she could in the small cave. "I am guardian of all the virtues the Icewarden prizes most, patience, quiet, strength. It wasn't long after this revelation that I met Ozzie." She settled back, and Nighte rearranged herself on Annian's back. The guardian took little notice, and continued her story. "Like I said earlier, we met during a battle. I was cutting through the vines of a seed-mage, and Ozzie was trapped within them. At the time, he was just another exalted, like I was, a soldier. We started by saving each other's lives. I'd just cut the last of the vines, and he launched himself at the Nature wildclaw that had come up behind me."
"Things when uphill from there." Ozzie chimed in, grinning widely.
"You could say." Annian said, her voice cool and calm. She smiled at Ozzie, though, belying the tone of her words.
The13Inquisitor:
"Fereon, I thought I made it clear some time back that I was more comfortable not discussing my past." Azrael said.
"It can't be that bad." Fereon said cajolingly.
"It wasn't bad, they're just painful memories now." Azrael clarified tiredly.
"Fair's fair." Fereon stated firmly.
Azrael made a sound somewhere between exasperation and disgust.
"Fine, but I want to hear Nighte's tale first." He stated firmly.
Winterling:
Nighte uncurls a little, and glances nervously around at all the other members of their group. "Mine's not so cheerful." She says quietly. "After Ozzie and Annian's. But I suppose you should all hear it, since my past is the reason we're here in the first place." She falls silent for a while, putting her thoughts in order, and when she does speak she looks first to Azrael. "I'm not in the mood to repeat this, so these arcanists are going to have to accept the short version." She says, and starts.
"I was born in a very old Lightning clan, but I was never going to be an inventor. My mind wasn't as quick, my claws didn't itch for new gears and metals. I liked the quiet simplicity of museums, of history. I liked the idea of something lasting beyond the lifetime of it's owner." She shook her head a little, as if to clear it of memories. "But that doesn't really make a difference. I ran away when I was very young. That didn't last long either." She snorted bitterly, but it was more at herself than anything else. "To make a long story short, I ended up enchanted and under Smoke's control. I was there for...years, his mate. I was sold out like a mare the entire time I was there. Who knows what my hatchlings' names are, let alone what they..." Nighte turned away and leaned her head against the wall of the cave. "After a time, Cindin grew careless. He let his spell wear off, and I escaped. I didn't wander long before ending up in the South, where I found Mercor. I'm not used to being around other dragons, because the only time I was around others they used me mercilessly." She didn't turn around while she spoke, and she let the silence after her story grow for some time.
The13Inquisitor:
Azrael huffed.
"That explains why you're so shy and quiet." He said with a nod.
"Come on; now you." Fereon prompted.
Azrael snorted at this. 'Why did I decide to bring him?' He asked himself sourly. 'Because he's quick and good in a fight.' Another, more charitable part of him replied.
"Alright. I was born near the Reedcliff Ascent to a small clan. Both my parents were Wind dragons and we were quite content with our humble existence. My mother died shortly before I was hatched and my father, Palion, never told me what happened. The day I was to become an adult, Plague Reavers attacked my clan and killed almost everyone. My father was killed right in front of me while I was in the grip of a paralysis spell some damned Lightning Fae cast on me. My best friend, Val, was the only one I'm reasonably sure escaped, but she was pursue, so to this day I've never been certain she escaped. If anyone else did, I haven't heard about it. The Reavers took me as a slave and took me back to the Scarred Wasteland and kept me as a slave for three years before they decided I was more trouble than I was worth and sold me to another plague clan. I convinced them that I wasn't worth the price they'd paid for me and to go back and wipe the Reavers out; I killed the Reaver band's leader, Ulkair, myself. The Plagues took me in as an actual memmber of their clan after that for a few years before I left and went wandering. I ended up in the Starfall Isles and ran into Brudigan. I helped him out for a couple of years then became a mercenary. Couple of years in to that and on my first return to the Windswept Plateau, I went to a shrine dedicated to the Windsinger and swore an oath to break clans like those Reavers. That's it really." Azrael recited wearily.
Winterling:
Annian sighs a little and rests her head on Azrael's back. She doesn't look like she's enjoying the cramped quarters, but the closeness makes a comforting gesture look like unavoidable touching. "Well, we're one step forward for you." She says. That's it.
Ozzie looks like he wants to add something a little more sympathetic, but after a moment he closes his mouth and curls up to sleep again. Nighte looks up from her place wedged between Annian and the wall and lets her eyes meet Azrael's. In a moment there is the acknowledgement of one scarred dragon to another. Then she puts her head across Annian's back and looks off into the rainy distance.
The13Inquisitor:
They remained into the cave for the rest of the day with the weather showing no intention of breaking.
In the dead hours of the next morning the rain became patchy and by midmorning, it had cleared.
"Let's go get some food, then let's be on our way." Fereon suggested.
"Agreed. We're not getting far on an empty stomach." Azrael replied as Fereon and Ozzie carefully maneuvered themselves out of the cave.
Winterling:
"I'm starving." Nighte agreed, barely waiting for the others to be outside before stepping out onto the wet grass and shaking out her wings. "And I'm hungry for...fish." She runs a few steps before launching herself into the air, heading for the cliffs where they'd camped so briefly before.
Annian was the last out, and she stretched with long laziness, her bones cracking back into alignment "I'm going hunting." She says, mostly to Ozzie. Without further ado she leaps up into the air as well, going in the opposite direction as Nighte.
The13Inquisitor:
Azrael flung himself after Nighte and pulled level with her.
"If it's fish you want, there's a lake not too far from here and I'm sure you'd appreciate a bath as much as I would after being stuck in that cave for that long. Plus, you won't have to worry about salt encrusted fur." He said.
Winterling:
She nods and banks gracefully, falling back a little to follow him. Though the flight wasn't that long, Nighte manages to slip in some loops and dives, happy to be back in the open air after the confines of the cave.
'Why are you frowning?' -Temeraire's first words.
