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Of Blood, Steel and Flame
Topic Started: 7 Jan 2012, 12:55 (867 Views)
Lord Synical
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Permanently Angry Australian
[ *  *  *  * ]
Sunlight blanketed the city of Maretheum, dancing with sparkling radiance over high-topped spires and monumental homesteads. Flagpoles bearing the dragon-head standard of the Empire fluttered in idle enjoyment within the cool morning breeze. Around the sprawling metropolis, amidst cobblestone streets and chaotic bazaars, the citizenry had already begun its morning ritual. Goods were traded and exchanged, gossip passed on and notices of services required pinned to the myriad bounty boards surrounding the city hubs.

Imperial forces in red-trimmed black armour marched with stern gazes through city streets reminding visitors of the power of the Emperor, while nobles drifted airily amidst common folk and along the sky bridges connecting the various tall spires, bedazzling all others with their wealthy frivolity.

Raucous laughter echoed from the insides of the city's many taverns, those who had remained there the night staggering out under the watchful eye of the city guard, while others laughingly pushed their way into the establishments to begin the day with speech and hearty drink. Criers called the news of the week while messenger pigeons and house errand boys darted to and fro delivering missives and completing chores as required. Children laughed and ran amidst the crowded streets and urchins cut purses while maintaining wary gazes for approaching guardsmen.

Most impressively of all, large winged serpentine shadows shrouded those below in shade and awe as they passed overhead, some visitors and rural denizens pointing upwards excitedly, to the fleeting amusement of the city's born and bred residents. Dragons. Massive, ancient leviathans roaming the skies of Terra Prima. Red, Black, Blue, Brown, Purple, Orange, Gold, Silver or otherwise; they alighted on massive platforms attached to spires or specially built metal beams jutting from the walls and watch towers of the city. Their slitted eyes observed everything with unnerving clarity, while their claws shone with lethal potential.

Long, spine-riddled tails whipped to and fro with mesmerising motions whilst serrated-toothed jaws snapped and crackled with idle gouts of flame. Stranger and perhaps more mystical still were the men and women who appeared upon the dragons, seated in leather saddles made in part of the dragon's own scales. Armour adorned them in almost every case, bejewelled with Gem Catalysts in some cases, while others simply comprised steel and paint to signify their station.

Insofar as was visible, all the riders maintained the armband of the Imperial Drakenguard, armour painted a glorious white with golden trim -- clearly contrasting that of the marching ground troops below. Swords, axes, lances and even bows sat in various different gauntlets and strung alongside saddles, whilst some possessed no visible armament at all. Many of the riders appeared to be conversing with attendants upon the walls and towers, as if idly passing time and awaiting something.

One such man, seated upon the back of a sturdy, long-limbed black drake flew down to nonchalantly land in the middle of a bustling square. Soldiers and citizens alike recoiled in fear, surprise, admiration and uncertainty when the obsidian wyrm touched down. Its eyes, red as rubies and burning with primal power, regarded them like the inferior creatures they were, standing proudly as its rider dropped the nine or more feet from the saddle on the lowest part of the drake's upper spine, landing with a thud of metal.

He waved idly to the crowd and turned to the Dragon, removing his gold-plumed white helmet. "Now listen, Tyborian." The drake turned its head, regarding him with one unblinking, saucer-sized eye. "I'm going to go find my brother. You go hunt and I'll call you if I need you." The Dragon blinked once, then parted its maw. "As you desire, Lucien." The rider smiled and affectionately scratched the creature's scaly jaw. "Fly true, Tyborian Blackwing." The drake flexed his wings and dipped its head. "May you hunt well, Lucien Stormblade." His wings beat downwards just as Tyborian launched into the air, the Dragon's body rising rapidly and ascending away.

Turning, Lucien blinked upon finding a small boy gaping at him. "Yes, lad?" Came the amused enquiry, one raven brow raised in curiosity. "What did it say?" Asked the child in a conspiratorial whisper. At that moment, much to his chagrin, the Drakenguard realized he'd been speaking in Draconic. Taking a moment to remind himself not to do so in future around other humans, he explained. "Tyborian -- that's his name -- told me to enjoy myself while he went hunting." The boy's eyes bugged out and he squealed in excitement, "Way cool!" Lucien laughed and patted his head, "Yes, kiddo, I guess it is."

The lad's mother soon appeared and began repeatedly apologizing, all of which Lucien waved away. "Nonesense, good woman! He was just curious." Turning from the tittering mother and grinning boy, he began to make his way through the crowd, humming jovially and ignoring the stares of wonder, fear and even dislike thrown his way. No one was ever perfectly happy with the Imperial Guard at all times. Lucien, however, was not some lone guardsman. He was more. He was Dragonborn.

After a few moments, the crowd thinned and the Rider arrived at his destination; an inn called 'The Burning Fang'. Pushing open the door, he waved away the sudden concern on the inn-keeper's face and plodded ominously over to an empty table, holding up a hand for a flagon and settling carefully into a simple wooden chair. In full armour, a Dragonborn could weigh in excess of four hundred kilograms. Only their naturally enhanced stamina allowed them to wear such heavy plate as easily as a normal man wore leather.

Though technically just a soldier, Drakenguard Riders were still far above the reproach of anyone save the High nobility and served as the Emperor's personal guards. Of course, that usually meant more time in the field than standing as pretty ornaments outside the palace, unless of course the Imperial family sought to travel anywhere. But that, of course, hadn't happened in years. His flagon arrived along with a very attractive waitress -- he knew that was no accident -- and he very carefully accepted the flagon and gently assured her he had no further need of her services, looking away to emphasize his point and focusing on the door.

Lucien cut quite the figure within the tavern. Garbed in resplendent white and gold armour, standing at 6'10" and sporting a diamond-studded sheathed longsword at his left hip, with a gold-filigree hilt and very much noble, aristocratic features. He was striking, to say the least. Gorgeous, to say the most. Yet he was only a private in the Guard. A greenhorn, as it were. Lucien was nobody important, just another guy with good looks and the added bonus of a Dragon. His hair fell in idle raven strands to frame a pair of powerful scarlet eyes. They were slitted at the pupils, two cat-like black lines that greatly enhanced his vision.

All that was left to do, at that point, was sit, drink and wait. Hopefully his sibling would have something worth sharing. If not... He glanced at the barmaid. He could find other things to consume his time. He smiled quietly and took a long gulp.
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Double 'The Fun' Felix, Jul 10 2008
12:55 AM
And I just wanted to say that using different colors in your roleplaying posts is distracting and should probably be avoided unless your name is Lord Synical, because he is an exception. A big exception. To everything. Thanks. He's also batshit insane.
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tyrade
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[ *  *  *  *  * ]
It was a good day for flying. When the son shined this brightly and the wind was this gentle even the dragons itched to fly on this sort of day.
A particular dragon, Tamriel, was enjoying his first flight with his new rider. His rider, Damien, had a meeting with his elder brother to break the good news to him that he had made his bond. The dragon was a calm one, and had put up little fight to the bond. The dragon had mentioned something about not wanting to be "grouped in with wild savages" any longer, and that Damien had the heart that he wished to serve.

Damien had not even been looking for a bond, he had wandered too far and been attacked by the animal like tribals who's territory he had wandered into. Escape was not difficult, but leaving their area would not be as easy.
The dragonborn's heavy armor was of little hindrance to him, though he knew had he not been wearing it he could have run faster.

The young man had escaped into a cave, which seemed to be some sort of dwelling. If it was more natives the smaller space would make fighting easier.

What the soldier found, however, was fairly more terrifying. The sleeping dragon roared angrily as it was awoken. "If one more of you barbaric savages-!" The dragon looked down to see a human, dressed in plate armor. The armor was black, painted with red and gold trim, lacking a helmet which had been lost to an arrow that had barely pierced it. The long, dirty blonde hair was a mess and his blue eyes looked back at the dragon. Even at his height of 6'4 the dragon towered over him like he was an ant.
"I am no savage dragon, I entered your dwelling to escape a group of them. There are too many outside this cave for a single soldier to fight, even a dragonborn." Damien responded. He was trying to be polite, he was exhausted and didn't have much experience fighting dragons.
"You speak in tongues, boy? Yes, a dragonborn this far into the wild. Perhaps we can help each other out. You clearly lack a dragon to bond with, and I refuse to remind in the same group as those savage wild dragons. You posses a heart I can respect."


As the dragon burst from the cave with his rider on his back, the natives scattered in fear as a few braver ones fired arrows that bounced.
"It is a good day to fly!" The dragon shouted as he spread his wings and took off. "I am Tamriel, child. What is your name, my rider?

Damien, Damien Stormblade.



It was a long flight, but they had finally reached their town. Damien had just calmed down from the adrenaline rush of flying, and he knew his brother would be proud. Damien led his dragon on to one of the great perches as he touched down. judging from the looks he was receiving of awe and recognition, he assumed his brother was already here.
People looked up in awe, it was an unfamiliar dragon, and a young rider. It was easy to assume a fresh bond. The dragon was a dull, golden color with a black breast leading up to his jaw and red lining along the wings. Tamriel perched with uncertainty on the metal beam.
"Will this hold me for long?"
"They are built to hold dragons, and you don't need to stay here. As a bonded dragon you are free to roam the skies of the city. I must go meet with my brother. I will return later."

As Damien entered the tavern his brother was fairly easy to spot. Sitting at the table with his sibling he saw that Lucien had already gotten a drink. The blood running down his face from the arrow had long dried, but was obvious, and his hair was a mess from the wilds as well as the ride. "so brother, how has your day been?"
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It seems every serial killer is someone you least expect, meaning we are safest around those we expect to kill us
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Lord Synical
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[ *  *  *  * ]
Lucien hummed quietly to himself, eyes closed, resting back in his chair. His right hand remained curled around his flagon, left folded behind his head. The laughter and discussions going on near and around him were like waves breaking against the rock of his sub-conscious. Little to no attention was paid to them and no heed given to the random tidbits of information that made up the major body of the rumours circulating the city. This King had declared independence, this governor had seceded, the senate was plotting something. It was the normal, ignorant citizen gossip.

Another Guardsman may have intervened, but not him -- he was happy to let the citizenry have its paranoia.

In the darkness of his mind, images and memories fled before his sight like a moving collage, details of his life previously erased or forgotten brought to life within the confines of his mental self. Reminiscences about childhood and growth, of training and swordplay. Growing up in the noble courts, being taught to Master his Dragonborn gifts by his instructors. Knowing he would one day bond a Dragon, serving in the City Guard, meeting Tyborian... that memory made him smile. Tyborian had been excessively proud, even for a fire-type. It had taken all of Lucien's skill to best the drake and force his submission.

Had it not been for fate, or divine providence, or whatever had aided him -- he would have been killed. Only a sudden and urgent reaction to some unknown provocation allowed him to dodge the would-be fatal tail swipe from the black wyrm and bring his blade to the killing point. At that moment, he had felt it, the submission. The bond had washed over him in a haze of power and awareness. When he had awoken after passing out, he had felt reborn. New scents, new sights had become available to him. He had seen the world with new eyes and, at last, transcended simple humanity.

He had truly become Dragonborn.

The sound of a chair scraping across from him snapped Lucien's eyes open and he blinked to see his brother sitting down. Shorter than Lucien, Damien was his complete opposite. Blonde hair and blue eyes contrasted the elder's black and red while earnest goodness stood in face of the older Stormblade's amoral neutrality. His brother had been wounded, but Luc did not do more than raise an eyebrow at the wound, instead focusing on Damien's features. That new awareness...

"You did it." He said with a sudden grin. "Congratulations, Dam. Have you been to the palace yet? Have you spoken to the Lord Commander?" He immediately gestured for another flagon of ale and leaned forwards, ignoring his brother's inquest into his own day, dismissing it with a wave of the hand. A normal day for him; training, breakfast, training, patrol, tavern. "What is its name? What type is it?" He smiled, "Tell me everything."
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Double 'The Fun' Felix, Jul 10 2008
12:55 AM
And I just wanted to say that using different colors in your roleplaying posts is distracting and should probably be avoided unless your name is Lord Synical, because he is an exception. A big exception. To everything. Thanks. He's also batshit insane.
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The Dork Knight
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Her Dorkness
[ * ]
The sound of beating wings above the city could be heard once more, and a large gust of wind picked up, billowing cloaks and flags and dresses and picking up debris and dirt from the ground. A massive shadow covered the market square as an even larger creature came swooping down from the skies. As it neared and touched down, one would recognize the beast as one of the majestic dragons that flew around the city. Except this one didn’t bear the mark of the imperial guard anywhere upon them. The rider hopped down from the leviathan’s back, landing on the ground with a heavy crash and clamour of armour, a large sack of sorts thrown over their shoulder.

Her name was Luthien Baran, a professional hunter, a contract killer, a mercenary. But more than that, Luthien was one of the dragonborn, a revered and feared breed of warrior in the Terra. Her recent contract was to find the kidnapped son of a wealthy noble, and with her soft spot for children, she set out on the hunt. “Bring back my son.” Was all the noble had asked of her, and the words ‘dead or alive’ hung unsaid in the air as she departed.

Now, she returned to the human city on the back of her trusted leviathan, bearing the corpse of the young child she’d spent weeks searching for. Her armour was as black as night itself, with hints of a dark crimson colour to it when the light hit it just right. It was menacing-looking, to be sure, created to look like a smaller, more humanoid skin of a dragon. And that’s exactly what it was; the skin and scales of a dead dragon, forged and remade to suit Luthien’s muscled stature and height, standing at a good six feet and three inches tall, taller than a good number of the humans she worked for. It took years to finish the suit of armour, but it was well worth it, especially since it withstood the flames of her immolation and her dragon’s breath. Two swords hung at her hips, a quiver of elven arrows on her back, and an elven longbow slung across her shoulders.

Her helm came off; long black hair fell down her back and over her shoulders, pointed ears poking out through the dark locks. Her eyes were as fierce-looking as her armour, varying shades of reds, yellows, and oranges, like living flames in her eye sockets, with the signature black slit of a dragon’s eyes. Her features were angled and exotic, like most of her elven kind, though much sharper due to her dragonborn qualities. Her once flawless skin was now marred by three massive claw marks moving diagonally over her face, long since healed but never to go away. Not even the most powerful healers in her kingdom could do anything about the scars. And yet, she remained entrancing, even if she almost lost half her face.

The story of her scars dated to many decades ago, almost a century, to when Luthien had first come across her enormous companion, before their bond had been sealed. It was a long, incredibly destructive fight for dominance that left Luthien with most of her face missing, but she was more stubborn and proud than the dragon itself, and was finally able to find an opening and swoop in. The dragon was suddenly terrified, having underestimated her opponent, and finally submitted. The sudden feeling of a newly created bond had overwhelmed Luthien and rendered her unconscious for some amount of time. When she had awoken, her face was bandaged up and covered in who knows what kinds of ointments and herbs and what have you, in a nearby elven village, with the beast sitting outside of the building she was resting in, waiting patiently.

The dragon herself was a marvel to behold, just like any other dragon. She was a lot older than most bonded dragons, but then again, compared to the people she worked for, Luthien wasn’t that young, either. Her scales were as black as obsidian, and in the right light, you could see flecks of dark red. Her under side, from tail to jaw, was a deep, dark crimson colour with hints of the obsidian the rest of her body was covered in. Her eyes were as fierce and fiery as her companion’s, and her wings threatened to knock over buildings if she wasn’t careful.

Luthien turned to her companion, tucking her helm under one arm and reaching out with the other to stroke the dragon’s muzzle, smiling weakly. “You’re free to fly and hunt as you like, Sinead. If I have need of you, I will call upon you. Once I’m done with this grizzly business, I’m going to see what other shenanigans I can get us into.” She said to her in the harsh draconic language.

“No more giants this time,” Sinead replied, peering down at her, almost scornfully. “They tend to throw large rocks that are hard to avoid, and swing trees at us.”

Luthien only laughed and patted the dragon’s head before turning off, leaving with the sound of the dragon taking off behind her. Her business with the noble was sorted out shortly after, and she made her way towards the tavern with a heavier purse, and needing a drink before she’d head out in search of new job opportunities.

She had enough of a reputation so as to not get arrested on sight, but still, the presence of a non-human in any human dominant place was unsettling. If the stares, curses, and silence bothered her at all, you wouldn’t even know it. She just waltzed into the tavern and took a seat at the bar, nodding to the bartender for a drink, setting her dragon helm on the bar top beside her and waiting.
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"The darkest souls are not those which choose to exist within the hell of the abyss,
but those which choose to break free from the abyss and move silently among us."

Eurennas Chronicles; part one: The Awakening (Reboot) IC | OOC
Hellbound Chronicles; part one: Omen IC | OOC
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tyrade
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Overly hyperactive posting village idiot
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"You are the first human to know, the only ones before you were the dragon and the tribals we scared off. It is a most peculiar story, my patrol wandered too far and we got ambushed. Bloody lot of those animal people for a savage tribe. Aren't they supposed to be civilized? crazy bastards attacked us on sight. Most of the men got wiped out right away, though it was expected considering the captain sent me with a bunch of green horns. The rest didn't last long in the jungle, and one of them put an arrow in my favorite helmet. Didn't have time to rip the arrow so I just tossed the damn thing on the trail. Had a few stuck in my shield but I couldn't just toss that now could I?" Damien raised his shield, full of puncture holes and a couple of ax marks.

"So after fighting for a while, I stumble upon this cave, looks ominous but I can funnel them in there. For some reason they won't follow me in, like they are frightened. I don't have much choice at this point so i go further into the cave, and an earth dragon was in there. His name is Tamriel, and he did not like being a wild dragon, as he considers them as savages. The dragon said hat we could solve each others problems, saying I have a heart he was willing to bond with and he could get me out of there. We burst from the cave and the tribals scattered like roaches. our first flight was amazing, I have never experienced anything quite like it."

The young man had rambled in his excitement, he had not expected to be bonded this early, especially on a day like this where he was nearly killed. He knew the emperor would need to be told, and he would join his brother in the imperial guard. However Damien did not dread this, it was what he had wanted since Lucien was bonded and accepted.

The young man fidgeted as he waited for his brother's response. good news came with bad news as his patrolmen had been killed, but he had bonded a powerful dragon. Damien ordered a drink while he let Lucien process everything. Wiping the blood from his face with a wet towel the barmaid had brought, he thanked her and paid for his drink.
Edited by Lord Synical, 8 Jan 2012, 05:31.
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Lord Synical
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Permanently Angry Australian
[ *  *  *  * ]
Lucien raised an eyebrow at his brother as he recalled the exploits that led to the acquisition of his new bond-partner. It was amusing to see the excitement prevalent in his younger sibling's words. Settling back to listen, he sipped his drink and smiled dotingly, soaking up his brother's enthusiasm with mutual enjoyment. "So, I assume from your fantastic tale, your partner is an earth-type?" From the sound of the creature's logic, it made sense. Earth-type Dragons were by and far the most level-headed of the creatures, capable of rationalization and control in their unbound state that was staggering. All Dragons attained a greater sense of self-control, but it scaled differently. Fire-types received the most from the bond, while Earth-types received the least.

"I remember the first time Tyborian had shown reasoning skills," he mused in memory. "I nearly fell out of the saddle from shock. He wasn't thrilled." A smile cracked his features and Lucien shrugged. "Either way, this is a cause for celebration, brother! You've finally attained your partner. It's time for you to begin your journey." He tipped back his flagon and drank down the ale to the dregs, slamming it onto the table -- much to the shock and startled reaction of nearby patrons -- and rose, white cloak fanning out behind him.

"Come. It's time to see Lord Commander Wingborn. You need to be inducted." It wasn't a question, as there was simply no other option. Due to their heritage and the nature of the Empire, Dragon Riders were required to enlist into the Guard. It was precarious, however. There were times when both wyrm and rider were deemed impure or unfit to serve... and the consequences were fatal. Rogue Dragonborn were too big of a threat to the stability of the Empire and that meant that, in order to secure the future of the people, they were... removed. Permanently. Lucien had already witnessed one such event. He still dreamt of it.

Bidding adieu to the barmaid who had sought to seduce him, much to her blushing approval, he clapped his brother on the shoulder to follow and strode out of the tavern amidst stares of envy, awe and resentment. The third expression, oddly enough, was the more common -- though it probably had to do with the way women often seemed to melt at the sight of Drakenguard soldiers. It couldn't be helped; they were men unlike any other in the Empire.

Outside, Lucien could sense Tyborian had returned from his hunt and was perched upon one of the upper beams, gargantuan black body blotting out the sun over a small bazaar on the east side. Deigning not to call him as yet, he waited for Damien before setting off at a brisk pace towards the palace, the pair of them cutting a swathe through the crowd by force of presence alone. Dragonborn seemed to exude an aura of power and, for the most part, the common folk unconsciously moved out of their way. Possibly it was an effect of the bond; the sub-conscious understanding of the fact that through it, Dragonborn became the top of the food chain.

"Now remember, Damien." Lucien said in a mild tone, "Lord Commander Wingborn does not suffer fools, nor braggarts. Present yourself proudly, but modestly. Do not show cowardice, but remember not to be aggressive. When he tells you to call your Dragon, be sure to remind it that it must be non-threatening in its approach. Galythrian, Wingborn's drake, is a Gold Air type. I've seen it destroy other Dragons with but a single rake of its thunder claws. Be sure to show proper deference. I cannot save you if things go badly."

Satisfied he had properly prepared his sibling, he set course for the monolith at the centre of the city. A towering fortress of dragon-flame tempered rock and steel that sat as the central bastion of the Human Empire. It was so large that even from a maximum flight altitude, it was easily discernible, an ominous black square upon the earth. Watch towers and garrison spires ascended its body and a compound large enough in each lane for dragons to walk three across surrounded it. Roosts and resting beams dotted its inner wall and the surrounding fortifications. It dominated a good fifth of the city, with several avenues of trade cutting through it.

It was the grandest citadel in Terra Prima. It was the Empire's heart.

The Drakenfort.
Edited by Lord Synical, 8 Jan 2012, 07:08.
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Double 'The Fun' Felix, Jul 10 2008
12:55 AM
And I just wanted to say that using different colors in your roleplaying posts is distracting and should probably be avoided unless your name is Lord Synical, because he is an exception. A big exception. To everything. Thanks. He's also batshit insane.
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tyrade
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[ *  *  *  *  * ]
"I thought as much, I had almost hoped for it." Damien said when his brother announced their coming trip. The familiar sight of Tyborian blocked out the sun, giving a sense of ease and familiarity to the mood. A simple nod toward his brother's dragon and Damien quickly picked up pace to catch up. "I understand brother, I shall not disappoint. Tamriel had already noticed their departure and flew in the sky above them. He was a calm, self-declared civilized dragon. Though he had yet to find a dragonborn worthy of his bond until today, he understood human code.

The sight of the drakenfort was a marvel both to the dragonborn who had seen it countless times, and the dragon who lay eyes on it for the first time.

As the two approached the steps Damien got light headed and dizzy for a moment, stopping to catch himself. A sudden wave of new senses hit him, like suddenly taking in a wave of information he didn't know existed. The new rider didn't fully understand it, but it was an almost intoxicating feeling. As they crossed the many threshholds into the fortress Damien's heart beat like a war drum. It was something the young man had always looked forward to, a goal he had spent his life obtaining. He was here at last, ready to bring the news of his accomplishment.

The cool breeze was almost welcoming on the hot day, a seeming congratulations to him. The the soldier knew it was a matter of perception, it was still a nice feeling. His hair was unkept and still had dried blood in it, but his face was clean and presentable, he could comb his hair while he awaited the commander.

Lucien was quiet and calm, radiating pride as they neared their destination. Damien laughed to himself as it seemed like his brother had been the one to make his bond today considering the amount of joy he seemed to give off.

The fortress buzzed with activity, very few giving notice to the dragon flying overhead as it was an everyday thing. Warm smiles seemed to greet the two as they walked through the crowd, as if they knew.
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Lord Synical
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Permanently Angry Australian
[ *  *  *  * ]
Lucien glanced up when he saw his brother's new dragon shadowing them, a wry smile curling his lips. Likely the creature was overhead for different reasons than Tyborian had been on Lucien's induction day. The black wyrm had expressed concern for his partner going into the fortress and had sworn to destroy any who tried to harm him. It had been amusing to feel Tyborian's shock at the sight of Galythrian. The gold wyrm was staggeringly large. Damien would see that soon enough. The trip to the fortress had been short, thankfully, but the passage through its gates was not. Traffic of the human kind was heaviest through the giant gateways that provided access to the fortress proper.

Dragon-mounted sentinels were stationed above the gates at all times, with regular Imperial soldiers in black and red on station below. There were eight gates in total, two for each side of the fortress' walls. The walls themselves had two layers; the inner boundary and the outer boundary. The outer boundary led into the through fare, where the majority of traffic flowed. The fort had been purposefully built to be the fastest means of travelling between the four sections of the city, which all converged at the fort itself.

These routes, however, were not of interest to the Stormblade brothers. Instead, they moved through the crowd to one of the inner gates, Lucien's scarlet gaze flickering with irritation as black-armoured Royal Guards levelled their pikes at him. Drakenguard were above reproach, but they were still envied and resented by those beneath them. "Who goes there?" Demanded the lead Royal Guardsman, his voice gruff and unfriendly. By way of response, Lucien bowed mockingly, "Drakenguard Lucien Stormblade and potentate Damien Stormblade, assigned for the Trial of the Fang."

The guards paused for a second, then -- in what they naturally assumed to be nonchalance -- glanced down to Lucien's diamond-studded blade hilt and filigree sheath. The Drakenguard wasn't about to insult them by noticing, of course and when they stepped back to let him pass, he gave them a slight dip of the head in thanks and moved on, gesturing for Damien to follow. The gate to the inner fort revealed a completely different location. Dragons walked in pair amidst massive pathways, while Draknguardsmen drilled in squads of five. Royal Guards watched from a distance as drill instructors put the Dragonborn through their paces. The ring of hammers against anvils told of the tell-tale damage that had been inflicted to weapons and armour, while steel ringing against steel revealed the source in the sparring.

All the Dragonborn were quite obvious, wearing the same white-and-gold adornment as Lucien, every one of them just as bulky as their comrade. Some more so. Height-wise, he stood out, but only to a moderate degree. There were others near or at his height. Past the main area and to the western end of the inner fortress, Lord Commander Wingborn was evident, standing with his one remaining arm by his side, his left contained under a specially made pauldron. The massive greatsword on his back, however, was easily wielded one-handed by the soldier. He was decades from retirement.

Behind Wingborn, Galythrian sat with one serving-tray sized golden eyes staring out at the training soldiers drilling under Wingborn's eye. The golden wyrm was truly a leviathan. His body was massive, his head nearly the size of Tyborian's torso. His midsection was too large to properly estimate, likely capable of allowing him to swallow most younger dragons whole. His tail was curled around a watchtower lazily, easily capable of crushing the stone construct with little effort. Galythrian was, in a word, terrifying.

Lucien approached and the golden eyes shifted to him, at which point he bowed low. "Lord Dragon." Galythrian blinked once and then returned to watching the soldiers, Wingborn turning to regard them. "What's all this about, Stormblade?" Growled the Lord Commander, nodding to Damien. "Who's the runt?" Lucien stepped forwards and to the side, "This is my younger brother and a new Drakenguard potentate, my lord. Damien Stormblade. He just bonded his Wyrm. An Earth-type."

Wingborn lifted an auburn eyebrow. His features were scarred and grizzled, with curled red hair and a fierce beard. His eyes were silver, and slitted, with actual horns curling from his forehead. His armour was as gold as Galythrian, sparkling in the sunlight and shimmering with power. Wingborn had been the Lord Commander of the Drakenguard for centuries. Thanks to the bond, Dragonborn lived for a very long time and Wingborn was no exception. Most mortality rates were the result of battle, not age. Very few riders lived long enough to actually be considered old. The Emperor was one of the few exceptions.

Wingborn motioned for one of his Archons to take over and walked over to the brothers, eyeing Damien up and down appraisingly. "You believe you're cut out to be Drakenguard, lad? Tell me why." Silently, Lucien crossed his fingers behind his back and prayed.
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Double 'The Fun' Felix, Jul 10 2008
12:55 AM
And I just wanted to say that using different colors in your roleplaying posts is distracting and should probably be avoided unless your name is Lord Synical, because he is an exception. A big exception. To everything. Thanks. He's also batshit insane.
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tyrade
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[ *  *  *  *  * ]
Damien was accustomed to the spite of the guards, and wordlessly watched as Lucien backed them down with his presence alone. it was an interesting sight, watching the men act as though they had been the ones to intimidate when they were ready to bring rust to the legs of their armor should either dragonborn make a move. With a glance at their weapons the guards stepped aside to allow them in, knowing that holding them further would bring punishment. Obeying his brother's nod Damien followed at a quick pace into the gate, stopping to turn to a guard he was familiar with.

"This may consume my evening, so please carry a message to the captain. Patrol seven followed the wanted man into the wild and he was killed, but savage tribesman killed all in the patrol but myself. Please request reinforcement to that station, and preferably fewer green men."
Seeing the blood on his face and the severe damage to his shield and armor, the guard merely nodded and waved him along. The soldier bore the damage of a fierce fight and the men did not question.

Moving within the gates Damien's breath caught in his throat, nearly causing him to stop and take a step back at the sight of the massive golden dragon calmly observing the activities. The initiate caught his nerve and stepped forward without a break in his stride.
Bowing in accordance with his brother's actions, he stood at attention when the commander stepped forward, not interrupting when his brother was speaking.

The man stood still as he was inspected, standing at a calm attention. Though this inspection held much more weight, it seemed as routine as a common inspection. When asked a heavy question, Damien did not have a heavy answer. He simply gave the best answer he could.
"I do not know if there is an answer that will ensure my acceptance, the only answer I can give is that my loyalty is strong, my sword is sharp, and my life is led to serve and protect my emperor. I would rather die in the service as a drakenguard, than live my life as a patrolman. I choose death before dishonor, sir."

Whether it was a good answer or not, it was the answer in his heart. Damien could only hope it was enough. Tamriel had perched nearby where it seemed acceptable, watching until he was called.
Edited by Lord Synical, 8 Jan 2012, 08:13.
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Lord Synical
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[ *  *  *  * ]
Lucien listened to his brother's answer and, for a moment, his heart leapt into his throat. That was true, but he wasn't sure what Wingborn's reaction would be. Would the dedication inherent to the words, the sincerity, prove enough to sway the legendary soldier? Or would Damien's honesty be lost amidst the elder man's jaded disbelief.

Seconds passed like eternity, matching the pounding of Lucien's heart, though he did his nerves well. After what seemed an age, Wingborn finally nodded. "Very well, lad. I can see the truth to what you say." He cracked a grim smile, "Welcome to the last group you'll ever join. Drakenguard serve for life."

Turning, he motioned idly as Galythrian brought his gargantuan head towards them ponderously. "Galythrian will test your Dragon, now, lad. You best hope he likes what he sees. For your sake." Exhaling, Lucien glanced up at the golden dragon and dipped his head, moving away from Damien. "This is for you to face alone, little brother." He murmured, moving to join the small crowd of Drakenguard watching intently.

A couple nodded to Lucien, but the greater majority ignored him, more focused on the scene before them. Many were hoping to see Galythrian rip Damien and Tamriel apart. Lucien knew it. It was always amusing to see, but this was his brother.

Crossing his fingers, he reached out to Tyborian, seeking reassurance from the black drake. 'Everything will be fine.' Draconic was communicated into his mind. 'Your brood brother will not be harshly judged.' Lucien blinked and mentally sent back a question, 'How can you be so sure?' The reply was a little delayed in coming, but it was more because Tyborian sought the correct wording.

When it came, it was entirely certain. 'Because you are my rider and he is your blood.' Lucien took a moment to process this, then smiled.

'Thank you, my friend.' The silent feeling of warmth was his only reply before Tyborian returned to his vigil atop the beam, tail flicking idly. Lucien, for his part, felt far more confident and looked to where Tamriel was perched, almost as if the earth-type was anxious. "Come on, Damien..." he muttered under his breath "...make me proud."
Edited by Lord Synical, 8 Jan 2012, 08:28.
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Double 'The Fun' Felix, Jul 10 2008
12:55 AM
And I just wanted to say that using different colors in your roleplaying posts is distracting and should probably be avoided unless your name is Lord Synical, because he is an exception. A big exception. To everything. Thanks. He's also batshit insane.
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tyrade
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[ *  *  *  *  * ]
With a discipline long practiced Damien gave an unwavered nod and extended his arm to Tamriel, who accepted the cue and moved towards them. Extending his golden wings he took flight, calmly making the short flight between his perch and the platform the stood on. The dragon landed with a gentle proudness, allowing his wings to remain spread as he set down. Damien moved next to his dragon as the golden beast lowered his head to his hand.
"Are you ready for this Tamriel?"
"I do wish we would have had more time before going before our judgement, but I will not waver."
The dragon stood respectively before the great golden dragon. Tamriel had heard rumors of the beast's size, but had not anticipated a dragon of this massiveness. Neither of the two newly bonded beings knew what lay in the judgement process: ferocity, intelligence, civility, thinking on their feet. There was a number of things, perhaps things they had not even thought of, but the two stood together ready to face whatever challenge was in store for them. Damien gave a simple nod to his brother, having faith that this would not be the last time Lucien saw his brother in one piece.
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Lord Synical
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[ *  *  *  * ]
Galythrian observed the two of them silently, the beast's eyes unblinking as they focused on the rider and drake. Something seemed to be passing within the golden globes, something primal and incomprehensible. For a time, there was stillness, silence as the Lord Dragon scanned them in a way only he could possibly understand. Then, with no visual provocation, he threw back his head and roared, a gout of white, energy-infused flame crackling into the sky. The force of the dragon's bellow shook the ground and the keep's very walls.

Lucien smiled in relief, and the rest of the Drakenguard began to applaud, congratulating their newest comrade. Wingborn moved forwards and nodded to Damien and Tamriel. "Welcome to the Drakenguard." After that he turned, beckoning Lucien over with naught but a pointed look. Hurrying forwards, the elder Stormblade bowed and then stood at attention. "Lucien, take your kid brother to the city and see him to the smithy. He needs new armour, I think."

Grinning broadly, Lucien saluted. "As you wish, my Lord Commander." Turning to Damien, he winked at him and nodded respectfully to Tamriel before hooking his arm around his brother's shoulder and setting off for the gate. "That was fantastic!" He said encouragingly. "Such a fast decision! Galythrian normally ponders for twice as long. You must have some crazy good energy, kiddo." Another laugh and he led him out of the inner gate, the two guards on station looking to them questioningly.

"Induction." Was all Lucien said and for a moment, their expressions turned sour with envy when they looked at Damien. Doubtless, they wished they could have a slice of Drakenguard glory. Ignoring them, the elder of the two led the younger into the city one more, laughing amiably. "You little pocket rocket, I knew you'd pass! Tyborian sends his regards, by the way." He nodded to the distance, where a massive shadow detached itself from the black walls of the city and flew overhead. "He's going to go take Tamriel to the Drakenroost."

Suddenly, Lucien smirked and turned towards the artisan's throughfare. "As for you, my dear brother, you get to go to the beastsmiths and have yourself outfitted for Drakenguard armour." A grin was given, "and a new sword!"
Edited by Lord Synical, 8 Jan 2012, 09:18.
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Double 'The Fun' Felix, Jul 10 2008
12:55 AM
And I just wanted to say that using different colors in your roleplaying posts is distracting and should probably be avoided unless your name is Lord Synical, because he is an exception. A big exception. To everything. Thanks. He's also batshit insane.
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tyrade
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[ *  *  *  *  * ]
The dragon looked the two over for a short time, and Damien nearly jumped out o his skin at the dragon's roar. Only when the other drakenguard began to applaud did Damien relax, expected that call to mean failure.
All the new rider could do was nod at the welcome, a little shaken still.
He could only relax when Lucien aproached him and was given instruction. A trip to the blacksmith seemed like a good idea, be it new armor or even a repair the current condition of his armor was nowhere near ready to start a battle in. It had punctures and ax piercings, as well as gashes from sword swings. The shield on the drakenguard's arm was in equally bad shape, the blacksmith would probably have a fit at the condition of the metal.

Lucien was in good spirits, seemingly in a mix of relief and pride. Damien didn't give much thought to the quickness of the decision, he was simply happy he was on his way to the smithy rather than on his way to a dragon's digestive tract.

"New armor sounds good to me. This suit is getting a little breezy, after that let's get some food. I'm starving! A battle and a trek through the wilderness, and then meeting a dragon sure makes ya hungry."

The young man was exhausted, but his mood had lifted. his life's ambition had been met. He had almost forgotten that just that day he had been fighting for his life, though he was happy the test did not require a show of combat skill. plenty of combat testing had been provided that day, though nobody saw it.

When they reached the smithy the dragonborn could see the flash of horror in the blacksmith's eyes when he looked at the battle-ruined equipment. It was difficult for Damien to keep himself from laughing.
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Tree
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[ * ]
It was good to be home.

Or at least, it would have. But for Galrash, this was not home. Home was a place far removed, a place so distant that it was merely the whisper of a memory, and with that memory came another, of a voice of a person long dead.

Remember, my son, you are part of a tribe. You are not with them now, but one day, you will find them, and you will help them crush this land beneath their heel. Then they will know how they have erred, and the cycle shall be broken....

Yes. The tribe. The thought made Galrash want to laugh as he walked through the bustling city streets in his rough-spun brown robes, leaning heavily on a walking stick as he moved towards the palace, a painstakingly sewn medicine bag slung over his right shoulder. A hooded cloak hid his face from view.

After all, he thought to himself, I wouldn't want to alarm anyone. He chuckled at his little private jest.

After all, Galrash was a citizen of the Empire, for better or worse. The tribes could keep to themselves, for all he cared.

His thoughts were interrupted by the ringing of steel; the smithy, and his destination, wasn't all that far away. Granted, this delivery was different from his normal business, a favor for a friend of a friend... provided that everything went well.

"... and a new sword!"

Galrash looked up. He knew that voice....

The orc smiled, a rare thing indeed. "Well, what do we have here?" His sonorous baritone seemed to roll through the marketplace as he moved to greet a familiar face. "Judging by the sound of things, it seems that talent runs in the family, hmm?"

He pulled back his hood, revealing a face that wasn't quite human, framed by a square jaw and a topknot of dark hair. His dark skin seemed to have a greenish tinge to it, and piercing grey eyes met the unfamiliar face wth a look of approval. Galrash's wolfish grin only seemed to echo the sentiment. So, the runt was following in his brother's footsteps after all.

Even walking with a slight hunch, as he did, Galrash nearly equaled the elder Stormblade in height, and though he lacked the finery of either brother, something in the way he stood seemed to insinuate that it was unwise to meddle with this stranger. Of course, some of it was an act; Galrash was a scholar first and a fighter second, but the orc could certainly handle himself.


He nodded to the younger Stormblade. "My congratulations to you."

Then, realizing that they were chatting at the smith's doorstep, Galrash gave the craftsman his best, disarming smile. "Oh, don't mind me; this fellow's business is much more important...."
Edited by Tree, 8 Jan 2012, 09:51.
"Through literacy you can begin to see the universe. Through music you can reach anybody. Between the two there is you, unstoppable." -Grace Slick

I enjoy being flowery as much as the next guy! :euphoria: Err... tree.

Yes, I went there. I came back, too, in time for tea... what? That was your cucumber sandwich? Well, it's mine now. :P

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Lord Synical
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Lucien smiled and tossed the smith a bag of gold, turning to face Galrash when he approached. "Well, this is a face I didn't expect to see today." Despite his vehement dislike of orcs, the Drakenguard couldn't bring himself to completely disparage Galrash's company. It likely had something to do with the fellow saving Lucien's life during a particularly brutal skirmish with some savage beasts on the edge of the Empire, but more than that it was the fact that the green skin was simply a good man.

Resting his left arm upon the hilt of his longsword, he tilted his head and peered intently at the Orc. "What are you doing here anyway, Galrash? I thought you were busy in the red marches." A few people paused to gawk at the Orc and Lucien fixed them with a hard, slitted-pupil stare to send them on their way, looking back to Galrash thereafter. "Don't mistake me, of course, I'm certainly glad to see you. I just find myself curious. Did you find what you were searching for in the south?"

Nearby, a pair of city guardsmen were engaged in quiet conversation with two very haughty looking merchants, who were gesturing irately towards the Orc and the two Drakenguards. The soldiers, despite their wary glances at Lucien's regalia, nonetheless hefted their pikes and approached -- shoving their way through the crowd and making as if to advance on Galrash. Sensing them, Lucien turned his head, left arm still resting on his blade hilt. Officially, he didn't have authority to command them. He was simply above their laws.

"Is there a problem, Guardsmen?" The humans paused, glanced at Lucien and then looked to their Sergeant. The man squared his shoulders and nodded to Galrash. "Some merchants were concerned about his type lurking around the stalls." Lucien arched an eyebrow, "Concerned, Sergeant?" The man nodded, evidently disliking having to explain himself. "You know these types. They'll nick your pouch and cut your throat. Walking stick or not, this one's no different."

When Lucien simply looked at them, several assumed it was consent and moved to grab Galrash. Instead, one staggered back and another was knocked off his feet and skid backwards along the cobblestones. The rest levelled their spears, then swallowed harshly. Lucien stood in front of the orc, his right hand extended palm-first with the lightning fast push that had sent one of the troopers flying and his left arm still resting on his blade hilt. His eyes were no longer warm; they were angry. Primal.

"This Orc saved my life once, Sergeant. I'm afraid I can't tolerate your treatment of him." The man purpled and opened his mouth angrily, "What the hell makes you think you can stop us, Drakenguard!?" Lucien's smile was dangerous, and victorious, when he replied. He straightened and pointed upwards with his right forefinger, as a shadow fell over the entire area. "That does." Above, Tyborian hovered in the air, ruby eyes burning with rage and maw flickering with crimson flames. The entire squad paled at the sight, well aware of the power of their nation's dragons.

"Now, I suggest you take your misbegotten hides and leave. And if I hear a whisper of revenge against my friend here, I'll make sure you have a much closer look at Drakenguard warfare. Am I understood?" The soldiers, sergeant included, nodded vigorously, turned and shoved their way through the watching crowd. Several people eyed Lucien appreciatively, while others seemed almost disappointed that he had stopped the soldiers. Whatever the case, things returned to normal fast enough.

Sighing, the elder Stormblade turned back to Galrash. "Those primp fools serve the Senate, not the Emperor. The Drakenguard are the true soldiers of His Majesty. Those black-clad thugs just follow the whims of the Chancellor and his lackeys." Grunting, he looked to the trembling blacksmith. "See to my friend's requirements first. Mine can wait until the Master Beast returns." Nodding hurriedly, the human offered a shaken smile to the Orc and bid him to enter his shop. Lucien led the way before either of them, entering the large smithy as if he owned the place.

Force of presence. It didn't hurt that Tyborian had chosen a nearby metal beam to land on, reminding everyone of what exactly Lucien was.
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Double 'The Fun' Felix, Jul 10 2008
12:55 AM
And I just wanted to say that using different colors in your roleplaying posts is distracting and should probably be avoided unless your name is Lord Synical, because he is an exception. A big exception. To everything. Thanks. He's also batshit insane.
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tyrade
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[ *  *  *  *  * ]
Damien knew of this orc, but had never met him in person. The younger sibling went to extend a hand in greeting before the guards moved in on the poor guy. Lucien's show of force was impressive, but nothing Damien hadn't witnessed before. Seeing the guards running with their tails between their legs at the thought of a dragon getting involved always made him laugh to himself. it was better this time knowing that the younger brother could now do this on occasion.

With the issue now settled the group moved into the smithy and the new drakenguard took a seat while he waited. Patience had always been one of the young man's strong-suits and waiting on a friend of his brother's was no worry at all. The tense and worrisome part was over, the worst that could happen is the armor being too tight. All the tension had seemed to drop from his shoulders. Tamriel was outside getting acquainted with Tyborian while the brother's sat in almost silent celebration of the day's achievements.

Damien eyed the orc with curiosity, the man held a lot of his brother's respect, and that did not come easy.
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Tree
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[ * ]
Galrash's hands remained calmly on his staff through the confrontation, his eyes half-closed. As Lucien handled things, he shook his head, sighing. He never got the opportunity to have any proper fun in the city, but perhaps that was for the best. After all, broken bones weren't as easily explained away as the Drakenguard's intimidation was.

Reaching into his bag, he pulled out a letter bearing a foreign seal, as well as a coinpurse significantly larger than the one Lucien had given the smith.

"Today is your lucky day, sir! A commission from the Lord of the Red Marches himself, with details enclosed in that letter. You'll find the pay significantly better than what your used to, in part because he informed me that a courier will be visiting within the week to pick things up. He was quite insistent on outfitting his guard with battleaxes fashioned from Imperial steel... consider it an opportunity to diversify! Oh, and that reminds me... I asked for a good set of blades myself, some small knives..."

The blacksmith shook his head, then vanished into the back of the shop, returning with a baldric of braided leather, used to hold five of the aforementioned knives. Carefully, he took the belt, retrieving one of the knives and inspecting the blade. He whistled softly.

"Well, I have to say, sir, I am indeed impressed with your work. I can only hope that Lord Redmarch has a similar appreciation for good steel..."

He turned to Lucien, smiling grimly. "Oh, I found what I was looking for, all right, and then some. I wouldn't be surprised if a detachment of the guard end up down there by season's end. Nasty business... of course, it always has been down there, with the elves so close by... I was trying to find out what got them riled up, but apparently, Lord Redmarch seems to think the way to deal with it is to bar travelers from venturing further south. He's hiding something, but I didn't have the clout to do much, not even being in the Imperial army..."

He smiled knowingly at the elder Drakenguard.

"So, I figured the best I could do was play the diplomat, and so I'm back here."


"Through literacy you can begin to see the universe. Through music you can reach anybody. Between the two there is you, unstoppable." -Grace Slick

I enjoy being flowery as much as the next guy! :euphoria: Err... tree.

Yes, I went there. I came back, too, in time for tea... what? That was your cucumber sandwich? Well, it's mine now. :P

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The Dork Knight
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[ * ]
The little bell at the door of the workshop jingled once more, and the sounds of the blacksmith cursing about constant interruptions was heard from the back. “I’m comin’, I’m comin’!” He called out, grumbling as he waddled his way into the front of the shop again.

Luthien stepped through the doors, ducking a little so as to not crack her forehead on the human-sized doorframe. The dim lighting of the smithy had cast a shadow on her face, making the scars seem all the more grotesque, the dancing lights bringing the fiery colours of her eyes to life, adding a mystical shimmer to her dragonskin armour. She waited patiently, silently, her eyes fixed on the flickering flames of a nearby torch. Wherever her mind went in that short amount of time, it left and came back to reality when the smith stomped into the room and cursed some more.
“You again!” He wiped his hands on his apron, snorting. “How’d I know ye’d be back?”

“If you don’t like me paying you more than others will for your services, Oswid, I’d gladly go find another smith who’s more than capable and won’t charge me as much.” Luthien’s speech was heavily accented, even for an elf. For those who studied such things, they’d be able to recognize that she was from a smaller group of elves in the far northeast corner of the continent, one of the older groups.

The blacksmith, Oswid, snorted and threw his hands up. “Where’s yer axe?” He asked, noticing that it was missing from her back, as she drew a sword from her belt.

“Lost in the back of a giant’s head.” She replied casually, handing off a broken longsword to him.

“And the sword?” He took it from her, examining the break where half of the blade had snapped off.

“Giant’s femur. Was hanging off of it for a while before the damned thing finally fell face-first into the dirt. Blade broke in the process.” She explained, then handed him the helmet, which sported a dent on the top right.

“Let me guess, giant’s club?” He rotated the dragonskin-plate hybrid helm in his hands, observing the dent.

“No, I fell off of Sinead’s back and into a tree trunk.” The look the smith gave her was of astonishment as to how she could’ve fallen off of her dragon and remained alive.

“What?” Luthien asked, blinking as if nothing was wrong. “I’d like to see you stay atop a dragon’s back when giants ambush you with flying boulders...” Oswid only shook his head and grumbled again, setting the helm aside and reaching beneath the counter, drawing out a large bundle.

“Yer lucky I made extras the last time ye were around...” He muttered, unwrapping the bundle and handing her a longsword hilt-first. A battleaxe sat wrapped up in the bundle, which he began unwrapping while she examined his handiwork. “The helm will be repaired by the evenin’, or come pick it up tomorrow if yer too busy tonight.”

“Ah, you’ve learned.” She grinned, sheathing the sword and taking up the battleaxe, strapping it to her back after removing the quiver and hooking it to her belt. “I’ll take any arrows you might have, as well. I wasn’t about to go fishing in corpses for mine when I was still being bombarded by stone...” The smith just put a palm to his face and shook his head at the comment, rolling his eyes. Luthien reached out and dropped a heavy pouch full of coins on the counter, smiling. “If I didn’t trust in you, Oswid, I wouldn’t be paying you so much. You’re also one of the rare few who can work my armour properly.”

“Yer work alone keeps my family full and warm.” He commented, nodding. “The sword will be fixed in due time, I have t’ complete the order fer the drakenguard behind ye before I can get t’ yers, asides from the helm. A couple whacks o’ the hammer, and it’ll be fine.”

“A pleasure doing business with you, as always, Oswid.” She shook hands with him and turned, nodding to the dragon soldiers standing patiently in the shop.
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Syaoran
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Why are you such a sour puss?
[ *  *  * ]
With the rising of the sun each day, the gentle cries and yells of the tired crack the edges of the moving capital, Tirna. The city had been moving north to follow the changing seasons, trying to keep the warm weather for the crop that moved with them in soil carts, but also for the nessisary trade with the human civilisation.

Its three main tribes began to stir into living. Made entirely of tents and temporary buildings, privacy was not something to expect, or to need. Blacksmiths began lighting their furnaces using flames brought round by the bakers, whom's ovens had been cooking all night. Youths ran too and fro with messages from their parents to other individuals, laughing and joking about as they did. Slowly each family made their way out to their respective businesses, and all began placing benches out into the main square.

Today was the seeing off of the traders, and as such, each beast needed to be seen to by the shamen.

===

Violi, High Shaman of the Caravan, Canine Tribe, Son of Maela, stood in front of his garb of lineage, removing pieces from its sleeping place and onto himself. The fox was of standard height, six feet five, naturally blessed with a sandy cascade of fur binding to his bones tight muscles. With a swish, the leather skirt, adorned with bones of ancient heroes and villains was wrapped about the waist, tied at the side, leaving a slit down the left leg. About his torso slid his multi pouched belt, going from the left shoulder down around the right waist.

With an experienced, and careful index, Violi dipped into a small bowl of black liquid and began to apply his face paint. From forehead to the tip of the nose was a single stripe, soft swirls of air whisping from the same origin, but going around the temples and over the cheeks, connecting to the line over the bridge of the nose. Closing his eyelids, he applied two thumb dots to the skin over his eyes, lastly drawing crosses over his palms.

Holding his arms aloft, he took this moment to consider the day, allowing the air to dry the applied liquid. Today was vitally important to him, it was the day his daughter began to become a true shaman. Any moment now, she would emerge from behind her own separated part of the tent, moving aside the red silk that divided their quarters in similar garb, and they would prepare for the day.

For today they needed to send off the merchants, blessing them and giving them the necessary concoctions to allow safe passage, and also to see some of the warrior families, to ordain their armour with their essences. If time permits, they may even find their way to the rabbit quarter to name a new litter of kittens.

Things would be different from now one, and it scared the dog more than any army ever could.
Had sex, undressed, saw her boobies and the rest!

Fox: If I was asked to describe my perfect day, i'd just say 'Brianna'. says:
whats to say im not an idiot now
Bri: I love you, Gavin says:
o.o The lack of penguins.
Fox: If I was asked to describe my perfect day, i'd just say 'Brianna'. says:
so to be an idiot, you must have penguins
Fox: If I was asked to describe my perfect day, i'd just say 'Brianna'. says:
?
Bri: I love you, Gavin says:
>>
Bri: I love you, Gavin says:
<<
Bri: I love you, Gavin says:
Yes.

---

Bri: To you, I pledge my eternal soul says:
You are the.. genuinly good nature show on my public broadcasting line up.

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Lord Synical
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[ *  *  *  * ]
Galrash's tale left Lucien's right brow raised in curiosity, scarlet eyes fixed on the orc intently. As the other man continued, his other eyebrow joined the first, a rather surprised and interested expression on his features. "So what you're telling me is..." He glanced at Damien, the blacksmith, then lowered his voice tactfully, "...there's a possibility of rebellion in the Red Marches?"

Rebellions happened, of course. One lord or another would seek to secede from the Empire, believing himself unassailable, taking all precautions against siege and Drakenguard incursion -- only to have his fortifications and, indeed, his entire army proven useless.

Pondering the news, the elder Stormblade glanced at Damien. "Ironic we receive this news on the same day as your indoctrination, little brother. You're going to have your work cut out for you, by the sounds of things." Looking back to Galrash, he frowned. "But what I want to know is what you're doing providing aid to such a man, my friend. Your position in the city is precarious enough. You've no need to make it worse."

Nodding to the entrance to the smithy, he continued. "Those guards would have had an excuse to kill you if you had attempted a fight. You need to be more reserved."

Pausing, he turned his head at the sound of approaching footsteps and blinked at Luthien. Immediately, his pupils expanded at seeing her scars, before relaxing inwards again after realising there was no foreseeable threat. Smiling at her, he dipped his head in greeting, politely allowing her to conduct her business with the proprietor.

Leaving her to her devices for now, he turned back to Galrash. "Either way, you should avoid being seen returning to the Red Marches until you speak to one of the city Magistrates about what you've learned. I'll accompany you, if you wish -- a little insurance you aren't thrown out." He winked and nodded to Damien.

"Or I could send my kid brother. I'm sure he'd love the opportunity to use Tamriel to intimidate some guards." A fond smirk was given to his younger sibling before he looked back to Luthien when she turned to leave. A point of her conversation had struck his interest. "Pardon me, miss. Did you say Giants?" Giants were common in the south and west and if such were the case, then she may have been near the Red Marches.

"Did you happen to see any kind of war preparations when flying over the Redfort at the Marches?" A dragon's-eye view of things was far more informative than what any one person, Human, Elf, Orc or Beast, could see from the ground.

Waiting for her to consider, he glanced at Damien, "See to fitting your armour, brother. You'll need an easily-detachable cloak, too. And a new sword and shield."
Edited by Lord Synical, 9 Jan 2012, 07:57.
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Double 'The Fun' Felix, Jul 10 2008
12:55 AM
And I just wanted to say that using different colors in your roleplaying posts is distracting and should probably be avoided unless your name is Lord Synical, because he is an exception. A big exception. To everything. Thanks. He's also batshit insane.
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tyrade
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Overly hyperactive posting village idiot
[ *  *  *  *  * ]
Talk of rebellion, a potential war, going into service fresh out of trials. Seems like Damien would be sleeping in flight if things kept moving this quickly. The rider sat quietly as he took in the information around him. the subtle rise and fall of stress levels in voices, the smell of the chemical reaction as fuel burned away, leaving only useless carbon in its place, the strikes of the hammer against the steel, and the gentle vibrations it released. It was a wealth of information, though at the moment it provided little more than practice at sorting it out.

When his brother's voice dominated his hearing with mention of new equipment Damien stood, looking at Lucien through a hole in his shield. "Shame, I had just put a peephole in it too" The joke was meant to break the tension, targeting his sibling's battle centered sense of humor.
The soldier stood and released the remaining strap holding his armor on, and the breastplate fell to the ground with the sound of a lousy gong. The white cloth shirt underneath was ripped and blood stained, and Damien plucked a broken off arrow head from his shoulder. "Little bastard has been itching all day..." He quipped, tossing it into the fireplace.

The younger dragonborn did not have the massiveness his brother held, but his body was a medium frame, toned to perfection for the reflexes and bursts of power and aggression his combat style relied on. Ripping off what remained of the shirt, Damien inspected his wounds casually as he carried the mangled breast plate to the blacksmith. Saving it would be impossible, but melting it down for scrap would provide some usefulness.

"Good lord boy did you run through a herd of wild lions?" The blacksmith scolded when he was handed the mangled steel.
"Close enough, savage abhuman tribals. Nowhere near the civilized kind we are used to working with."
"I'm going to have to build everything from scratch, this could take a while. Fighting style?"
"Sword and shield."
"Good, I already have the moldings for those out."

--------------------------


Damien was not the only young warrior getting fitted into armor, the panther breed abhuman warrior, Tyrade, was being outfitted with a fine set of armor, having proven himself to be a key figure in the combat power. The boy was strong, at just the age of eighteen he had received numerous breeding requests from families looking to improve their bloodline. He was shorter than average, standing at six feet tall with a slim but powerful build, built for speed and stealth, surprise attacks and cat like reflexes. His black hair matched the fur on the ears sticking out from the top of his head. Yellow, slitted panther eyes took in every detail around him. Even as he stood nearly naked while his measurements were taken by the daughters of the blacksmith caste, he watched them all closely. They were civilized beings, but that didn't mean a spy couldn't be among them. A few scars among his body showed the hard lesson he had learned in that aspect. The felines body was mostly human, save for his ears eyes, tail and retractable claws in his fingertips, he could almost walk through imperial borders unhindered.

With his measurements done the warrior sat in his chair provided in the fitting area. It would take time before the armor and weapons were made, and the shaman and his daughter would be by for the armor blessing. All that could be done was sit and wait now, Tyrade hated waiting. Going into battle was like a sweet release of tension. No longer wondering if he should watch out, knowing that danger is there and allowing his senses and reflexes to work freely. It was like a natural high to him.
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It seems every serial killer is someone you least expect, meaning we are safest around those we expect to kill us
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Tree
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[ * ]
"I don't think you catch my meaning, my friend. Despite talk of an uprising, the main threat to the Red Marches is from without, not within. The area's remained an unincorporated territory, but Lord Aglarond is and always will be the Empire's man, pointy ears or no. No disrespect to you, milady," he continued. nodding at Luthien with a smile. "And as far as the senators' lapdogs are concerned, you needn't worry. if you'll recall, I didn't have a moment to get a word in edgewise."

At the mention of the magistrate, he scowled. "I'd honestly prefer to speak to someone a bit higher up, but if you're there when I give my report, I suspect it'll actually get somewhere."

That wasn't the way of things, of course. Elves who held anything resembling a position of authority were nigh-unheard of in Merethium, and as much as Galrash liked to believe that the empire was relatively cosmopolitan, people like himself were more usually seen in wild border towns than in the Empire's heart.

He carefully fastened the belt of knives around his person in such a fashion that his cloak concealed the blades, sighing to himself. He knew how things like this went. He'd expected to spend a few peaceful weeks in the big city, to simply relax... but he had a feeling that as soon as someone got wind of this, he 'd be traveling along with some of the Empire's finest back to that godforsaken province.

The last thing he wanted was to be caught between two battle lines....



"Through literacy you can begin to see the universe. Through music you can reach anybody. Between the two there is you, unstoppable." -Grace Slick

I enjoy being flowery as much as the next guy! :euphoria: Err... tree.

Yes, I went there. I came back, too, in time for tea... what? That was your cucumber sandwich? Well, it's mine now. :P

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It's so SHINY... Yes, I know I shouldn't say that about objects of incredible power, but... So PRETTY... :euphoria:





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The Dork Knight
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Secrecy was something Luthien was used to; her employers rarely ever told her more than she needed to know, and yet she somehow managed to find out more in her own special little ways. So when the dragon guards and the orc spoke in hushed tones, it didn’t really bother her. Besides, she was an elven dragonborn; her senses were far superior to anyone else’s. Walking away from their secrets didn’t take much thought; if she really wanted to know, she’d know.

Her departure was halted when the elder dragonborn had spoken to her. She stopped and turned to him, fiery eyes giving him a once over, just to figure out some idea of who was talking to her. Not bad... She thought, nodding ever so slightly. His question made her stop and ponder before she ever replied; she hadn’t really seen too much when she was down there, and she tried her best to remember anything she saw.

“I’m not quite sure what sort of preparations you’re thinking to find. I was down there rescuing a noble’s son from a group of renegade dhoine*, disloyal to the crown, who had many giantfolk for allies.” She explained, running a gloved hand through her jet black hair. “I’ve not much of an idea as to what they were up to. It was an in-and-out sort of thing, and didn’t have much of an opportunity to investigate further without the risk of losing a limb, or worse.”

Luthien would’ve looked into it out of sheer curiosity or boredom, but she had better things to do that offered her quite the handsome payment, so she wanted to get the contract completed as fast as possible, and move onto bigger and better things. Besides, lugging around a corpse wasn’t necessarily her idea of fun. But, now that she heard the empire’s guard talking about it, she was slightly more interested. The possibility of adventure and shenanigans always appealed to Luthien, especially if the crown was involved. Whether it was payment or plunder, the payoff would be great.

“Something is going down there, though I can’t really tell you if it’s anything grand or worth sending the empire’s guards to look into.” She shrugged again, grinning wryly when she heard Oswid go off on the younger dragonborn. She watched him unceremoniously pluck out an arrow from his shoulder without so much as a cringe, and toss it off into the fire.

“Usually you’d want to pull that out long before you get back to a city, young one. Prevents infections, or in worse cases, poison, from spreading quickly.” Luthien herself looked incredibly young, the bonus of being an elf with dragon blood; she would age even slower than her kin, and possibly outlive most of them. There were a rare few people who were able to pinpoint her age, usually off by about half a century.

She turned back to Lucien, offering him an easy, comfortable smile. “Is there anything else I can help you with?”




dhoine - human(s), in elvish
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but those which choose to break free from the abyss and move silently among us."

Eurennas Chronicles; part one: The Awakening (Reboot) IC | OOC
Hellbound Chronicles; part one: Omen IC | OOC
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Lord Synical
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[ *  *  *  * ]
Lucien watched Damien nonchalantly remove an arrowhead, and was less than pleased. A frown touched his lips at his younger brother's reckless lack of self-preservation. That sort of thing could get a man killed in a fight. Still, that was a conversation for another time -- he wasn't going to humiliate his brother with a reprimand in front of an orc, an elf and a blacksmith. It would not only violate the honour between Drakenguard, but terribly betray his sibling's trust in him. No, he'd speak to Damien later. Quietly. Alone.

Turning back to Galrash, Lucien listened intently to what he said, running over the information in his mind. The orc clearly didn't believe it was necessary to leap to the conclusion of open rebellion, yet he wasn't ruling it out either. Listening carefully, the Drakenguard deduced that the Orc was hinting that were was something far more intriguing happening in the Red Marches. Obviously, he wasn't going to share it immediately -- Lucien could hardly blame him. But he was not opposed to the Dragonborn accompanying him to deliver the tidings. That was good.

A grin was given to Galrash, "You're bloody sly, Orc. But I approve. I'll try taking you to Commander Wingborn, but be wary: He will not hesitate to feed you to Galythrian if you anger him." A wink was given and Lucien turned back to Luthien as she addressed him, brow quirking. He examined her discreetly as she spoke, of course, taking in note of her build and expressions. Well. Not just her build and expressions. The way her hair fell, the strength prevalent in her eyes, the stance she held -- the primal way she seemed to exude determination. Not only that, but the manner in which she held herself: proud. Powerful.

She was... quite enchanting, to put a word to it. Elves had always possessed an unnatural, feline kind of beauty to them. Slim, fluid and tall creatures -- some were muscled, yes, but for the most part they were more... streamlined. High-boned features and imperious expressions. This one even had a thick accent, and used the Old Language in her speech. That was curious.

When she turned and began to gently reprimand Damien, Lucien suppressed at first a growl of rage, then a smirk of amusement. The change in his feelings was reflected only in his eyes, and the way they seemed to roil much like his Dragon's. He listened to a fair assessment, and watched the way her body swayed when she spoke, accentuating her modest, but not unpleasant curves. When she turned back to him with her easy smile and polite enquiry, he moved closer to speak to her.

"I would know more of this, and your regular duties." He said firmly, then shifted to a more suggestive tone -- though it was subtle. "Perhaps over a drink?" He glanced at Galrash, then amended. "And you could accompany us, Miss..." He trailed off when he realised he didn't know her name, and then remembered his own lack of forthcoming. "Emperor! Pardon my rudeness, milady." He bowed expertly in the Elven fashion. Not the new one, the older one. "Drakenguard Lucien Stormblade, Scion of the House Stormblade." He gestured to Damien, who was getting fitted. "MY younger sibling, Damien." Then to Galrash. "A friend, Galrash."

He looked back to her, "And you are, my lady?"
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Double 'The Fun' Felix, Jul 10 2008
12:55 AM
And I just wanted to say that using different colors in your roleplaying posts is distracting and should probably be avoided unless your name is Lord Synical, because he is an exception. A big exception. To everything. Thanks. He's also batshit insane.
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tyrade
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[ *  *  *  *  * ]
Friendly advice from the elf eh? Damien couldn't help but smile. It was a sarcastic gesture, and what seemed like an attempt to show higher intelligence. It was, however, a matter that could be settled politely.

"Happened just a few hours ago, my patrol got jumped by natives while we were pursuing a thief. I was too busy fighting and escaping to go through the trouble to remove my armor to pull it out, and attempting to pull it out through the hole it left in my armor would have pushed it in deeper. As for poison spreading, had that arrow been poisoned it would have taken effect during the fight considering I was still fighting through their wilds an hour after it hit me." Damien's measurements had been taken, and the blacksmith was now cussing about the damage to his sword and shield. "Is there anything you didn't fucking destroy today? My god boy! And where the hell is your helmet?"

This drew a small laugh from the drakenguard before he turned his attention back to the others. "Sanitary issues aside, I find it odd that the tribals, even the savage ones, would be bold enough to attack an imperial patrol so close to our borders. It was like they were hell driven, even well our of their turf they still pursued me in large numbers. I don't like it, but I don't know what we can do about it. We can't just march into the badlands and just start killing every abhuman we see. The violent ones blend right in with the peaceful ones."

The sight of his men falling right in front of him was still fresh in his mind, and there was a hint of anger in his voice when speaking of it. It wasn't something he could just let be shadowed by his success, it was a major problem that needed to be addressed. Damien's hand gripped his shoulder where the arrow wound had been bandaged along with his other wounds. They had been organized, efficient. It was all just too strange.
Edited by Lord Synical, 10 Jan 2012, 12:48.
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It seems every serial killer is someone you least expect, meaning we are safest around those we expect to kill us
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