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Of Blood, Steel and Flame
Topic Started: 7 Jan 2012, 12:55 (845 Views)
Tree
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Galrash remained silent throughout the rest of the conversation, taking in the seemingly unrelated bits and pieces of information. Once the youngest Stormblade had finished stating the obvious, he spoke up.

"The renegades in the south wouldn't surprise me. Even the youngest of wolves can smell blood, and it wouldn't be beyond bandits to take advantage of what's happening in the south to line their own pockets."

He frowned at the younger Stormblade's mention of organized beastmen, whistling softly through his teeth. "So they know what's happened, already- impressive. Granted, I always suspected news traveled through the caravans quickly, but the only way I could have gotten here faster would have been on the wings of one of your great drakes... this is dire news indeed."

As if reminded of something, he peered into his bag. The accursed thing was still in there, and it wasn't bothering anything else. Granted, if it had, the orc would have been considerably more disturbed. Still, he was a little more at ease, upon hearing what Lucien had told him. Galrash hadn't ever met the Commander of the Drakenguard, but his reputation preceded him, and the orc suspected he had far more common sense than the average magistrate.

Perhaps it'd be best if Stormblade's brother and the lady joined them on their little visit. After all, the lady seemed like the type that would want to have her curiosity satisfied, and Damien's account would help corroborate his story.

Besides, if the elf didn't accompany them, Galrash doubted that Lucien could keep his eyes off her long enough to leave the smithy.

"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:





~Proud Sponsor of the "Dian Fei for Admin" campaign. ~
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The Dork Knight
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This one is bold. Luthien thought, smirking inwardly at Lucien’s advances, and the firmness with which he pretty much demanded to know what she did for a living. She figured it was probably better to keep her lineage from him; she didn’t need him bowing before her or treating her any differently than he would treat a human of his equal station. Gods knew she had worked her arse off for equality with her own kin, and still struggled for it with the humans.

She took note of how he addressed her and how he bowed, in the older fashion of the elf kind, and not the newer. She wondered just how old he thought she was, but she’d figure that out later. As he introduced himself with some air of importance, she didn’t really show any kind of response other than a gentle bow of the head towards him. Titles meant as much to her as whether the man defecated gold or pissed a river of the finest wine. Sure, a heavy purse was great and all, but not if it meant they thought they were above her in any fashion. She bowed her head politely towards his brother and his friend, keeping her face expressionless, asides from the easy smile.

“Luthien Baran, of Aldwynn and the surrounding Faywood.” She introduced when he’d asked for her name. She heard the flapping of wings from outside, and the sounds of humans mumbling and talking about a large black dragon having simply touched down and landed atop the well-fortified blacksmith. “And, my companion outside, who seems to be staring at you ominously through the walls, is Sinead.” Through the window, Luthien saw Sinead’s neck curl downward, with her head peering at the workshop’s storefront.

As for Damien’s response to her harmless reprimand, she could only shrug. Some people had a higher tolerance to poisons and it took longer for them to kick in, others were completely immune, and some poisons were created to act slower than others. There were a lot of factors to consider, but she wasn’t about to get into a debate over it in a blacksmith’s shop. She was pretty sure Oswid would throw a fit, if he wasn’t already throwing one over Sinead perching atop his shop. But then again, Luthien’s body was far more different than anyone else’s, even for a dragonborn. She had been trained and raised in a way that was almost long since forgotten; few people even remembered how to train properly the way she was taught, and even fewer managed to survive the training.

Elves had a natural resistance to poisons, illnesses and diseases, but Luthien was completely immune to getting sick or diseased, and her resistance to poison was a lot higher than normal. Decades of drinking various concoctions and exposure to all kinds of things had toughened her up a lot more than just having dragon’s blood running through her body. It was no wonder she became a well-known mercenary. The benefits had their price, though. Luthien wasn’t sure if she was able to have children; she’d been with many lovers and had never birthed a child. Any pregnancy that managed to manifest had miscarried rather quickly. Her skin was paler than that of her kin, and she’d gotten the nickname ‘ghost’ or ‘spectre’ more than once, some elderly women sometimes thinking she’d gotten some kind of sickness, assuming she showed enough skin other than on her face, neck, and hands. Very few people were able to look past her scars and notice the paleness in her face, though.

Lucien’s advances brought up minor defence mechanisms in her subconscious, but she was able to push those thoughts from her mind before they were able to surface and betray her emotions. She was amused, no doubt about it, but if the prettyboy thought he’d charm his way into her britches, he’d better think twice. He was pretty, though. She had to admit, especially when he’d stepped closer and she’d gotten a better view of him. He was built strong, she noticed, and could probably keep up with her, in whatever situation they’d gotten themselves into, if it came to that. His mannerisms were a lot more refined than most other humans, but mayhaps that had something to do with him being one of the emperor’s guards, and some station of nobility. Though, that could also pose a problem; Luthien often butted heads with anyone who was of a higher class than the average human, as she hated it when anyone thought they were better than her, for whatever reason. She’d see where it went, if not for the sole purpose of amusement.

“I will accompany you, for drinks and a visit to the commander, though I cannot promise he will receive me all too well. He’s not fond of a dragonborn with a companion not working for the crown, apparently, or dragonborn and their companions that aren’t humans.” She shrugged lightly at that, not really having any kind of solution for the problem, as unimportant as it was. The commander was well aware of her worth, though, but if he could circumvent hiring her and using his own instead, he’d do his best to keep it that way. Luthien’s methods were rarely to his liking.
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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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Lord Synical
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Lucien looked between all three of his mismatched companions as they spoke, listening quietly. The points raised by Galrash and Damien were compelling and, more than that, just a little worrying. Idly resting his hand on his sword hilt, he turned his crimson stare to the blacksmith as he berated Damien, not really seeing the man, but the illusion was there. Lost in thought, he considered the possibilities of the outcome of an organised beast force. Or, worse yet, army. The prospect wasn't pleasant, though at the same time neither was it too deeply concerning: The Drakenguard could easily wipe out any army that had no means of countering their wyrms.

Against many renegades and bandits, Dragons were surprisingly useless. Due to the bond between Dragon and Dragonborn, side-by-side battle was a very dangerous business. In close proximity, the two tended to reflect each other's emotions and, more than that, physical state. This meant that if a Dragonborn, the natural 'dominant' member of the soul bond, were to be wounded; their Dragon would also suffer the same wound, scaled to be as damaging to the drake. Conversely, if a Dragon were to be wounded, its rider would feel the pain -- but not suffer the associated injury. Though in both cases, death meant a double fatality.

It was not a prospect many riders liked to consider.

Blinking out of his thought tangent, Lucien noticed the blacksmith shaking and realised immediately what had happened. He'd been scowling at his own mental process and, outwardly, it had appeared as if he were glaring dangerously at the portly fellow. The balding craftsman had turned bleach white and stood rooted, staring with terror into the Drakenguard's scarlet gaze. Smiling apologetically, Lucien sought to soothe him. "My apologies, Oswid. I tend to lose track of where my gaze is pointed when I drift off mentally." He dipped his head and the man blinked twice, a little colour returning, but still looking shaken.

Mentally dismissing the incident already, Lucien looked between the other three as if nothing had happened, speaking with his usual charismatic flair. "If there is some sort of organised uprising brewing in the Badlands or the Red Marches, we'll be sure to sort it out. For now, the best bet is to play it by ear and inform the Commander." He looked to Luthien, and then her dragon's head, before looking back to her. "I'd advise you not let your partner approach so casually near Wingborn. Strong as you and your partner no doubt are, Galythrian will rip a strange drake to pieces with very little provocation. The golden beast is rather ill-tempered with non-Imperial drakes."

He smiled at her apologetically, as if to say 'I am not calling you stupid, but merely making a show of it for the commoner. This is the way of things.' Turning from the Elf with another dip of his brow, he fixed his gaze on Damien. "As for you, little brother -- I'd prefer you tend to wounds with more haste in future. Irrelevant of your natural resistances, I'd like for you not to suddenly discover your arm can't swing a blade because you let a seemingly minor wound develop into something massive."

From there, he turned to Galrash, surveying the Orc grimly. "As for you, my friend, I'm afraid that Master Wingborn may be more dismissive of you than you may like, as forewarning. He has a special hatred for your kin, due to his missing arm." He sighed before continuing, "Do not be surprised if he appears close to drawing his greatsword. With Damien and I there, he'll hear you out fairly enough, but don't expect any favours -- or respect. Provoke him, and we won't be able to help you. No one will."

Satisfied he had suitably addressed each person, Lucien looked finally to Oswid. "As a matter of note, Os, I need you to provide the materials for Damien to forge his blade from Drakensteel. Mount Raelgor is only a short flight from here by Dragonback, and we'll need him battle ready as soon as possible." He paused for a second, then continued, deciding to attach a little more to his instructions. "And I'll need the colour-stone to be Topaz, please." Still reeling, the Blacksmith nodded his head silently, too indirectly cowed to be anything more than a slight bit miffed.

In contrast to his usual cursing manner, he was positively meek. Nodding, Lucien looked to his three unlikely comrades. "Well," he said jovially, "shall we be off?"
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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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Luthien felt a well of anger wash over her, and she was thankful she was able to keep the expression off her face, even if her fiery eyes betrayed it. It wasn’t her anger, though. She could hear Sinead growling outside, more than likely at Lucien’s comment, and she was glad that she was the more level-headed of the two, glad that she had well over two centuries of bonding time with her companion, else she might have just reached in and squished the dragonborn beneath her.

She wasn’t all too impressed with Lucien either, though. Yes, it was part of his duty and all of that, but she couldn’t give a rat’s ass about his duty. If he’d have realised anything, he would’ve figured out that she had more years ahead of him and more experience in dealing with people, human or not, and had common sense in general. She didn’t care for his dick-waving. She ignored his apologetic look, rolling her eyes when he’d turned away from her to lecture his younger sibling.

She was getting tired of being in the cramped little blacksmith shop, and the added heat was making her sweat beneath her armour. “I’ll be outside, waiting until you’ve finished your idle conversation.” She announced, turning on her heel and walking out, this time not stopping should anyone try to speak to her.

Outside, she took a deep breath of fresh air, exhaling heavily as Sinead climbed her way off of the shop and onto the streets below. The dragon wrapped herself around the elf, the way she would when she was back in her den with her own children, as if shielding and protecting her from something or someone. “What have you gotten yourself into this time, Luthien?” The dragon asked, peering down at her with her large fiery eyes. The elf only shrugged, leaning her back against the dragon’s large torso.

“A meeting with the commander. One of the dragon guards inside apparently heard of rebellion down in the Marches.” She explained, brushing raven locks out of her face, letting the sun beat down on her features.

“He’s going to send us back down there...” Sinead didn’t seem too happy with the prospect of having to dodge giant boulders and tree trunks being swung at her. Luthien chuckled, shrugging once more.

“He’d have to pay us well...He knows my work doesn’t come cheap.” Giants weren’t the smartest creatures out there, but they weren’t the dumbest either. They were dangerous, though, one of the few foes that could cause significant damage to dragons. At least this time, if they went back, Luthien wouldn’t be lugging a corpse around over her shoulder.
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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
The blacksmith's ranting had broken the tension a little, but the elf seemed incredibly easy to offend. They liked to give advice, but so help you if you give them some.

Damien just grinned when he was scolded by his brother. The young rider had a high tolerance of pain, and never really took his wounds seriously. Though he knew this would cause him trouble one day, it was a hard habit to break. Wincing from a wound in combat can lead to your death in that moment it gives your opponent. Fighting like the wound is not there will cause the wound to worsen, but it will also allow you to find unhindered.

"I think a drink sounds like a good idea." He said, moving over to a small weapon weapon rack, reaching for a steel sword. "Until my other weapon is ready, I will carry this one. I will be unarmored for a short time, but I refuse to be unarmed."

The soldier placed the money on the rack and moved outside to see his dragon. The elf and her dragon were huddled together, almost protectively. It was an interesting sight to see, it seemed as though the two had been together for a long time.

"Touching, isn't it?" Tamriel's voice suddenly rang in Damien's head. "It is an old bond, well developed. Your brother's dragon speaks highly of him as well. You dragonborn, at least the stormblades, seem to treat their dragons well. I made a good choice."
"Aye, that you did." Damien said, climbing the ladder to get to his dragon's perch. The three dragons perched in one place must have been intimidating.

Sitting on top of the shop with his dragon still seemed unreal. His entire family had dragons, and he had feared he would be the odd one out. But here he was, sitting on a roof with a powerful beast that was bonded to him. "What do you say we go for a quick flight, stretch your wings. It is getting awfully cramped in here."

"Lucien!" Damien yelled down through the door. "We are going for a flight, meet you at the pub!"

Climbing onto his dragon, the two lifted off to enjoy the weather.
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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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The orc chuckled. "That's why I need an upright individual such as yourself at my side, Stormblade. At the very least, if something goes awry, you'll know what to do with my ashes."

As the elven dragonrider and Stormblade's younger sibling left the premises, Galrash shook his head.

"First sign of serious business and everyone scatters like leaves in the wind. I swear, the more things change... And as far as the commander's concerned, he can take my arm instead, if it means he'll hear me out...the sooner I can deliver my report, the better. Luc, if you'd seen the half of it... Imperial folks may call us savage, but no tribe would take part in anything half as vile as what I found down south. I thought I'd seen things out on the plains when we were hanging on to our lives by a thread, and this makes any of that seem like a frolic in the park. i'd heard stories of depraved blood magi, but this... I've never seen anything on this scale."

His voice was already lowered, to the point that it was barely a whisper.

"My friend, if they wish to dally, let them, but you and I need to make our way to the fortress. I took great pains to make sure I wasn't being followed, but now that I'm this close, caution must give way to expedience. Should something happen to me at your commander's hand, or should he fail to see the weight behind my words, you must know that the purpose of my visit was twofold. The reason I'd like to speak to your commander is because I know that, bias or no, he's not a man to be bribed, and if my suspicions are correct, this is a lot more than marauding bandits... I think someone intends to bring the Empire into an open war."
"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:





~Proud Sponsor of the "Dian Fei for Admin" campaign. ~
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Cassandra
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The one who wishes to post.
Lamira awoke early, her nerves on edge with the coming day. Today was her first day of actually working as a full shaman. Up till now, she just helped her father in his work by mixing concoctions and aiding in prayers and blessings. But everything would be different from now on. Starting today, she would be leading rituals and blessings on her own.

It was going to be a busy day for father and daughter. They were to head to the center of their traveling town and send off the traders of their tribe with luck and good fortune. There were also others in need of blessings of strength and vitality, such as their warriors who would be buying new weapons and armor from the many blacksmiths.

The coming day filled the young fox with anxiety. It wasn't like she hadn't practiced the different incantations a thousand times over the years. Learned the prayers and what potions were to be used in each blessing. That part didn't make her nervous. It was the thought that she might mess something up and shame her father in the process. He had always held a soft spot for his only daughter and the last thing she wanted to do was disappoint him.

There was a lot for them to do today, and the teen knew she shouldn't hold up their schedule. She wouldn't waste time worrying about what might happen, and instead focus on what needed to be done.

Lacing the last threads of her brown, leather corset under her left arm, Lamira straightened the strings of bones that fell all around her skirt in columns from her waist, down to the hem of her long skirt. She then pulled the blessed beads she used in prayer from their resting place on the small table near her bed and placed them around her neck. Finally, she applied the white paint to her face in the same markings as her ancestors. Once the finishing touches were complete, the daughter joined her father.

Her orange-red hair fell over the right side of her face as she reached her father. A quick hand pulled it back over her shoulder to keep the strands from smearing the freshly applied liquid. Sharp, teal eyes that matched the ones staring back at her betrayed the fox's uneasiness, but she did her best to hide it. "Good morning, Father."
Edited by Cassandra, 17 Jan 2012, 06:43.
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Lord Synical
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Drip, drip, drip...

He felt numb. A strange sense of dimness that affected his senses, rendered him incapable of basic thought. He could feel his body, but in the same manner, it was entirely numb to him. He knew he was moving his fingers, but the muscles could not be felt. Hazily, if he focused, the movement was clear -- yet indistinct at the same time. It was as if a film had been put over his eyes. A pathetic sound came from close by, and with a start he realised it was his own mouth, whimpering. He was whimpering? Yet he couldn't stop.

His eyes, bloodshot, roamed around him to the best of their ability. He could see other people, lying at odd angles, bodies broken. He could faintly hear the muted sounds of others groaning, crying, some muttering incomprehensibly. They lay inside a spacious cavern, centred around some sort of idol. They had been praying, to the God, to some divine being for enlightenment. Yes, he remembered that much. He had ventured forth onto a pilgrimage to discover himself, to discover his purpose on Terra Prima.

A frown crossed his features. Something was glistening nearby. He squinted, and then his eyed widened reflexively. Crimson. The walls, the bodies, all was painted crimson. Above, spires of jutting rock held indistinct shapes, impaled upon them with merciless accuracy. Smashed into them, borne upon them like so much unwanted refuse. His memory, fuzzy, began to return. Something had disrupted them. Their prayer, their... ritual? Yes, it was a ritual. A divine prayer ritual to come closer to the God. But what had interrupted them...?

Drip, drip, drip...

He shifted his head and felt his wounded face rip with agony. Okay, best not to move. Squinting, he peered up. The things resolved into shapes. Human shapes. People had been impaled on the spikes, impaled and murdered, dozens of them. More yet littered the cavern floors and walls, bodies broken, bleeding. He felt his stomach roil as the stench of defecating corpses hit his nostrils, and retched despite having nothing left to vomit.

As his hearing recovered, he noticed something else; footsteps. Firm. Alive. Yet for some reason, they did not give him hope. He had an inexplicable desire to shrink down, to hide, to snuggle under the shit-stained corpses and become invisible. Any amount of stench was better than that. The footsteps drew nearer. His heartbeat raced. "Please..." The word came from his lips, as one by one, the others alive in the path of those footsteps abruptly went silent. His vision cleared. He looked up. Terror washed over him...

Drip, drip, drip...

"Please..." The word was so pathetic, Lucian felt like he should have roused some kind of emotion in response. Instead, he simply lifted his right hand, veins bulging as his final target screamed an unholy, unnatural note. His flesh ripped and blood exploded outwards, evacuating his arteries and veins to coalesce into a condensed orb, hovering a couple inches above Lucian's palm. Sniffing, he made his way to the fanged entrance of the cave. How long had it been since he'd gone to sleep...? The world he knew had changed. It was so strange to be amongst the living again.

Glancing behind him as he exited the cave into the warm embrace of sunlight, he flicked his wrist. The blood he had collected from those that had survived his initial rampage exploded outwards, smashing into the top of the cave with violent reckoning, as strong as steel pillars, it sheared off the top of the cliff. The entrance rumbled, and collapsed, fragmented boulders tumbling down to seal off the entrance. The dust cloud swirled around his ebon robes, but stirred only the hem. His dark hair settled after a time, and he turned away, eyes blank. First, he would find Tiberion. Then, he would investigate how everything had changed.

Drip, drip, drip...

The memory of the sound of falling blood from the spiked roof filled his senses with pleasure. What a wonderful world he had emerged into.



Lucien watched Damien and Luthien go wordlessly, and turned back to Galrash as he spoke. The Orc had a fair point. If all things were left to the whims of others, then nothing would ever get done in any feasible amount of time. Grimacing at his brother's wandering mind, the elder Stormblade turned back to his green-skinned comrade with a grim nod. "We'll fly to the keep," he said levelly. Tyborian would dislike it, but he had faith that the Dragon wouldn't cause much of an issue in terms of agreeing to carry Galrash. The Orc had saved Lucien's life, after all and Tyborian's by extension.

"Let us go, Galrash." The Rider said finally with a turn, moving towards the exit of the smithy. Oswid muttered to himself about touchy Drakenguard, but Lucien ignored him, instead raising his eyes to the heavens when a black shadow covered him. Tyborian landed before them with a thud, terrifying citizens and awing others. One and all were ignored while the Human and Wyrm exchanged physical greeting, an armoured hand resting up an affectionately nudging obsidian skull. "I hope you have a strong constitution, Galrash." Lucien said quietly.

"Tyborian is not one to suffer excrement nor vomit on his scales." It was obviously intended as a joke, but the red-eyed Dragon did not seem to see it as such. Smoke puffed from his nostrils and he seemed to almost leer at the Orc, daring him to stain the ethereally bright black scales. Chuckling to himself, Lucien tapped the Drake's foreleg and, after waiting for it to be possible, calmly climbed up the ridged limb to walk along the Dragon's back to his saddle. Patiently, he began to strap himself into the leg restraints, waiting for Galrash to join him.

When the Orc eventually did, Lucien knew what his course of action would be. He'd take the most direct route to the fortress. A straight, three minutes flight through the city towards the Drakenfort and Wingborn. Tyborian he'd leave on one of the roosting beams and approach the Commander himself on foot. He'd keep Galrash close so as to signify his trust for the Orc, then politely request and audience pertinent to the security of the realm. He'd make sure to impress upon his superior the importance of the information.

'Besides,' he considered thoughtfully. 'Letting Wingborn know that Galrash saved me might help things.' After that, all that remained was the Orc informing Wingborn of his knowledge and, hopefully, surviving the encounter. From there, it just came down to what they were ordered to do. Worst case scenario, Lucien and Damien would be sent to secure the Red Marches. Best case Scenario, Wingborn would deploy a full Thunder to handle it. It all came down to the severity of the news.

Lucien sorely hoped for the latter option.
Edited by Lord Synical, 18 Jan 2012, 04:41.
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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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Tree
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The orc let out a hearty chuckle. "You haven't lived until you've ridden out one of the great gales on a fishing boat with a crew of three., my friend. As long as nothing tries to throw us out of the sky, I think I'll survive."

He looked at Tyborian. "And as for you, sirr, I assure you, you'll hardly notice I'm here, though I'm greatly honored that you're willing to tolerate someone as insignificant as myself." Though he had no envy for Lucien's position, he certainly had a healthy respect for the dragon before him.

Bowing, he carefully made his way up the dragon's back, taking a seat before producing a length of twine from his bag, using it to secure the satchel to the leg restraints. It would have taken a very keen observer to notice that as he did so, he nicked his finger on one of the many blades he'd just purchased, then touched the same finger to one of the symbols sewn on his bag.

"You needn't be alarmed, just a precaution. Can't risk losing this, and it should make things a bit easier..."

His voice was quiet as his eyes closed slightly, feeling the transfer of power from his finger to the rune, through the drop of blood that had issued from the small, seemingly carelessly inflicted wound. To the untrained observer, nothing had changed, and the orc was still sitting on the dragon's back,

To Galrash, though, the entire world had. The world was cloaked in mist, and various glimmers of light that hadn't been present before showed up on his vision. He felt the faint line of crimson around him, securing him to the bag with its many glowing sigils, and both the dragon and its rider seemed to be fashioned from an orange flame. Had he been able to see the elf and her wyrm, they no doubt would have blazed much the same, albeit a different color.

Magic was a funny thing. Most of the people he had spoken to mentioned seeing it in one way or another, but he'd always worked differently. The nature of his gift had forced him to suppress it nearly as soon as he'd become aware of it, and only much later, thanks to a number of teachers, had he been able to access it like this. He felt the flame-that-was-dragon change, becoming more jagged, and focused and making the line that bound him to the sigil fainter, mentally working into knots and patterns, making it feel orange, more subtle, more like the things around it. Of course, the dragon wouldn't help but notice it, regardless of what he'd did; he'd no doubt notice the weight of an orc seemingly shrink to that of a feather.

The whole process was almost instinctive, and though seconds seemed to stretch out in the fog, Galrash knew Lucien expected an explanation, and that communicating simply through his newly formed magic-thread wouldn't make things easier....

"Yes, I know it's more trouble than it's worth. I'll explain later. Shall we get moving?"

Oswid eyed the wanderer, muttering something about mad foreigners talking to themselves. The supposed madman in question ignored it. He wasn't about to let them get tripped up by some wizard who'd managed to track them this far on the way to the fortress, and he could keep a better eye on potential magical threats this way. The featherweight cantrip was more a favor to the dragon than anything else, as the orc had promised he wouldn't be a burden, and also had the added bonus of anchoring the now-much-lighter Galrash to his satchel, and thereby to the restraints on the dragon, quite securely.

Not bad for ten seconds of work beyond tying the satchel to the dragon.
Edited by Tree, 21 Jan 2012, 01:06.
"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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Syaoran
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Why are you such a sour puss?
Violi smiled softly at the young vixen emerging from her cloister. He moved forward to meet her, placing his worked hands on her shoulders, leaning down and kissing her forehead.

“Good morning, my daughter.” He smiled some more, and, tending to his instinct, he licked his forefinger and gently groomed an out of place hair on her ear. Usually a role for a mother, Violi had long since accepted to do all jobs necessary for kit raising. “I see you chose to use your mother's paint...I'm glad.” He continued his soft smile, turning away from her to his work table.

“As you know...its going to be a busy day...first we are heading to the smithing tents, there is a panther we need to tend to. Then we shall deal with the merchants, followed by naming some rabbit kittens.” He turned back to her, handing over a pouch of lice powder for when they arrive at the merchants. The fox cleared his throat, “...I didn't want to overwhelm you on your first day...so you will only observe the sending ceremony...next move, you can lead.” He looked to the door, and then back to her, his smile melting away a little, seeing her nerves.

With a strong paw, he gave her shoulder a squeeze. “Don't worry, Lamira...our job, its less about the magic, about the skill, and more about reassurance. So long as they believe what we did, then it has been effective...be confident in your job, and you do your job...” He paused for a moment, losing himself in his own past thoughts, his eyes giving away his concentration. “...you are going to be great.”

===

The pair entered the tent quickly, Violi moving across the abode to the chair in but a few strides, sparing no moment for formalities.

“Good morning panther born...Tyrade...” The fox had paused to remember the name, all the while giving the cat the once over: looking in his ears, checking the whiskers and the back of the tongue. “I am Violi, and this is my daughter...” He motioned over at the young lady ,“...Lamira. She will be doing your reading today. However, before we start, your palet is a little pale. You should try to eat more greens, even if its an hunter like to do so, its necessary for strong connective tissue.” Violi smiled at the cat, narrowing his gaze a little as he turned the boy's head this way and that, observing the scars ,“...it would help these to either heal, or not form in the first place...Anyway...” The fox turned away and put an arm behind his daughter, sweeping her to be in front of the warrior.

“Lamira, you are going to read this beast's soul. With it we will know what to mark him as, and to bless his armour accordingly. Just remember what I have shown you before...concentrate, because this panther is a halfbreed...his humanity is strong, and you must look past that to his primal instincts...” Standing behind his daughter, the fox took hold of her hands and put the right hand atop the panther's head, and the left on the heart.

The moment she began to concentrate, her essences rocketed through her hands and into the cat. It was as if a cold water was flowing through her forehead and down the back of her neck. It was a rushing flow of knowing and understanding. Tyrade's essence was a long stretch of grey, with a thin strip of red down its centre. Lamira walked this strip, seeing as how time changed the panther's soul and its considerations. Each step along the way caused fantastic lights to erupt the sides of the grey, these his emotions at the time.

Violi's voice was as if a thousand years away, coaching her. “Now walk to the end of his line...and do not allow your own soul to touch his...” At the end of the way was the panther, his body just floating in the nothing, swirls of red and brown over his entire body, the eyes glowing white.

“When you are ready...disconnect and tell me what his elements are...”
Edited by Syaoran, 23 Jan 2012, 03:47.
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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Codemaster of Teal's CD
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tyrade
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Overly hyperactive posting village idiot
Damien was still getting over the rush of flight, seeing the town from such a different angle. The dragonborn had never thought this day would come, being bonded with a dragon, especially one already this calm and intelligent. There was so much adrenaline pumping through his veins he was a little worried his heart would give out if it kept up. It didn't matter, he loved this.

The bird's eye view gave him a better view of the town's activities, which was good since it had just become his responsibility. A small commotion in the market drew his attention and he beckoned Tamriel to land.
The scene in the market was a merchant beating his slave, which looked like a feline subhuman from the dragon's perch. The arrival of the dragon on the scene made all the bystanders look up, and caused the merchant to cease the beating for a moment. As Damien stepped down the man still had his fist raised and his other hand gripping the bleeding Lynx's tattered shirt.

"I hope you understand that beating a slave without good reason is a direct violation of the slave trade treaty between the capitol and the wilds. If you don't have a good excuse you will be relieved of your slave." Damien said, straight faced. It wasn't the first slave treaty violation he had dealt with, but this was certainly the most severe. The man had continued to beat her bloody even after she ceased to move. She looked so... human. Despite her ears, eyes and tail the girl looked mostly human, most likely a half breed. She was beautiful for a human and looked only a little younger than the soldier himself.

"Back off dragonborn. This little bitch wouldn't carry the pack I had for her and now she gets her punishment."

"I see." Damien said, walking towards them. The man seemed to visibly flinch at the closer proximity when Damien lifted the pack that had been thrown aside. Not a difficult lift for a well built soldier, but for a small woman like that it would cave her legs. "This pack must weigh at least one hundred and twenty pounds. You expect that small woman to carry this and then punish for being unable? Yeah, I'm going to be relieving you of your slave now."

"Fuck off!" The merchant shouted as he threw down his slave, causing her to cry out in pain as she hit the hard street. The man drew a sword, letting his temper cloud his judgement. Drawing a sword on a draconian guard meant death, which meant this slave would be without an owner regardless.

The man was no swordsman, thrusting a wild stab at the soldier's chest. A simple step to the side followed by grabbing the man's arm and thrusting a fist into his face flipped him onto his back, killing the merchant on impact.

Summoning a couple of nearby guards to deal with the body and guard the merchant's wares, Damien turned his attention the the injured slave. "Are you alright?"
She didn't really respond at first, not looking at him out of shame. "I'm alright." She finally said, turning her face to him. She had a bloody lip and her eye was swollen, but she would be alright it looked like.
"What's your name?"
"Marrian. You do know that slave trade protocol also says that if a slave's owner is killed, her ownership is transferred to the killer?"
"Hadn't really thought about that, the guy rushed me. Can't I just free you?"
"I would have nowhere to go. Once we are sold as slaves we are not permitted back unless with a master. My brother became a prized warrior, and I was sold off. I can't go home."
Damien sighed, what had he gotten himself into. "Well I can assure you I'll be a much kinder master than that guy was. Let's get you cleaned up..."



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


The shamans had finally arrived. The panther wasn't surprised that they took a moment to remember his name, they had a lot to memorize. Upon the advice about his diet towards his scars Tyrade nodded. "I will keep that in mind shaman." He was a respectful warrior, he never saw himself as a higher being. Though being a half breed probably helped to bring him down a notch, even with his level of skill his bloodline left him to be only considered slightly above equal with the other warriors. His mother had been an elf woman of a strong blood line, and his father a panther breed purebred. The father of his half sister had been a lynx, causing her to have a more nimble body than a powerful one. She had been sold into the slave trade in order to fund medicine for her dying father, who had passed months later.

The female shaman touching his chest brought his thoughts back, waiting for what she would say.
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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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