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The final war of The Dragonriders and Dragonslayers. |
| [Introduction]
DragonRiders: These are people, of almost any race (Except dwarf: too short) who are bonded with dragons as soulmates. Their lives span from eternal to very long, depending on whether they or their dragons die. They all have the ability to use magice, though some choose not to. Their powers are numerous, including elemntals, strength, telekinis, and telepathy. They are distinguished by a silver mark on their palm of either hand. They are all deadly, with bone chilling skill. They are waging war against the DragonSlayers. There are two DragonRiders destined to end the conflict. Both are Christians and gothic. The female sinspirations (Naviel) rarely practices magic, but the male §onny-   (Lorien) does. They both have a deathwish.DragonSlayers: These powerful people, for some reason have a driving hatred of the dragons; hunting and killing them and their Riders, hence the name DragonSlayer. They an ancient group of people, almost dating back to the Creation, posessing uncanny skill with weapons. Some of the more powerful ones use magic at times, but lessers dare not to; as it would probably kill them. Some are born with different, all of them usually posessing two or three like the DragonRiders, though it is rare. Sometimes the use different creature as their steeds instead of horses, such as Gryffins or Pegasus. Adept warriors, they are not to be trifled with. Rules: 1. Please keep profane language to the minimum. 2. please no gay/lesbian stuff. Sorry to those who are, but I simply don't want that a part of this. Invitation requirements. You must have been writing for atleast 2 or 3 years, the longer the better. You would preferably be at home with the fantasy genre. Also, if there are 8 or more people in this, please do not ask for an invite, for that is all the people that will be allowed in this campfire. Thank you. :) *Edit* I am sorry to say that White Tiger has resigned from this campfire and is no longer a part of it.sinspirations has taken her characters spot. |
| Name: Lori'en Morgoth Age: 2,370 Gender: Male Race: Imladris (Imladri plural). This race is almost ageless, taking pride in their almost eternal youth, which is one of their greatest flaws. They are powerful warriors, and skilled metalworkers, and tree-singers. Their race is usually more aggressive and at home with warfare than most. Most have a very pale complexion, with the exception of a few dark complexions from their southern borders, and usually have black or blonde (white) hair. They have long pointed ears similar Elves, and are usually allies with Dragons. A very common race to be found as DragonRiders. Appearance:Lorien has black hair with small dark blue streaks, and it comes down about to the bottom of his ears. Born with strange, unnerving black eyes with a slightly silver pupil. His eyelashes are unusually long and dark, giving him an even eerier look. Both of his ears are pierced with several small silver rings, and one with a blue jewel in it. He has a stud on his right nostril, his left eyebrow is pierced. A strange silver tattoo is marked on his right shoulder, and a silver flame on his left arm. He wears a small linked chain as a necklace, and sometimes detaches it and wraps it around his fist, which are usually gloved with the fingers of the gloves cut off. He also wears a silver necklace with a sapphire set in the middle. There is a scar on his right cheek that he sustained from a particularly brutal fight with a Slayer, and has various other scars across his body. He is clean shaven, looks very young and is extremely handsome. He has pale skin, and attribute from his Imladris heritage. If you would pass him by, you would be extremely aware of the aura of menace that surrounds him. He is tall, and with a very athletic build. Silver mark on his right palm, signifying his DragonRider heritage. Personality: He has a hard time trusting others, since at childhood several friends turned on him because he was a rider. A cold type. He has a deathwish, but can never find deaths blessing. He dislikes most people, save a choice few. He is a born leader, and does not usually abide by the rules. He will hurt, even kill, to accomplish his goals, and sometimes he enjoys it. To those he loves he is compassionate, and somewhat kind, but loses his temper at times. He thinks he has no reason to live, abuses himself, and pushes himself far beyond his limits. Weapon Skills: He is skilled with any bladed weapons, but he prefers his two black bladed swords, with slver guards and hilts, and his black and silver Dragon bow. In his tunic and robe he conceals all manners of blades. He is a master of hand-to-hand combat, and is a deadly proficient magic-user. History: Was born into a family of peasants, but when he was found to be a Rider, went to live in the ranks of the Nobles. He made only a few friends, but three of those turned on him when they found that he was a Rider. He eventually hunted down and killed those three. Two others he made were Navi and her stepbrother. He and Navi shared an intimate friendship. He is the only person who really knows he besides her stepbrother, and even he not as deeply as Lorien. Lorien and Navi soon fall in love. He found his black Dragon egg in the wilderness. The Dragons' name is Shruiken. Info: He and Navi fall in love eventually, meeting in childhood, when Navi's stepbrother forces them to speak to each other. |
| Name: Naviel ‘Navi’ (pronounced like navy) Salign (sa line) Age: 2, 368 Gender: Female Race: Gethori (Gethorien for plural) Appearance: Dark brown, almost black, hair with dyed red tips. Her hair is somewhat thin and bobbed just an inch or two past her chin. Three half braids on each side are tucked behind her ears and touch right above her stomach (mid-back). Haunting deep blue eyes that turn a slight hue of grey near her pupil. Her eyes are big with full lashes. She wears thick black eyeliner around her eyes to make them even more eerie. Pale skin with a hint of red. The only make-up she wears (other then the eyeliner) is black lipstick. She has two tattooed marks above her left brow and a silver piercing in her right, as well as a very small silver stud in her left nostril. She has a tattoo of a silver dragon on her right upper arm and a ring of frozen thorns on the left. She only wears black, sometimes even shirts that show her stomach or back- and sometimes even men’s clothing- but never dresses or skirts (unless she is absolutely forced). Her sword is always seen at her side. She also wears black gloves that cut off at her knuckles. She is 5’10” in height and weights 150 pounds. She is hardly ever seen smiling and one can tell by looking at her that she is a skilled warrior- her many scars are witness to that. Personality: Navi is very distrustful of others. She is independent and doesn’t allow anyone to get close enough to figure her out. She does whatever it takes to survive- even if it means hurting others (though, she tries to avoid this). She has a major problem with authority. She is blunt and rarely cares about others feelings. Navi does not pick fights because she believes confrontation to be a waste of time. She lets people believe what they want to believe, even when she knows/believes it is wrong. For this reason she is very accepting of others and their kind. She is a person of few words, but intelligent. She is often found in nature, thinking. She just wants to be alone and have people leave her alone. Weapons skills: A double-edged sword, with a dragon carved into the hilt, for longer battles- a pair of short twin blades with the same dragon hilts for quick close range battle- and a special dragon-carved wooden bow for long range attack that was given to her by the elves. History: Navi was the only child born to a Dragon-rider named Arnius Marthur Salign. Her mother died in child-bearing and Arnius (Are nee us) was forced to spend most of his time raising the girl until she was able to take care of herself. When Navi was 12 years old her father left to go out on another journey with his dragon. He became well-known as Marthur, a legend among men and rider- someone all riders looked up to. A few hundred years later (during this time Naviel learned to take care of herself), Arnius came home with a surprise for his daughter- he remarried a fellow Dragon-rider. This infuriated Navi. For years she absolutely refused to talk with her stepmother or her stepmother’s son. Because of the marriage, Arnius began coming home less and less. Navi blamed it on the fact that her stepmother was very adventurous and kept wanting her husband to join the adventure. Soon, Navi could not help but finally talk to her stepbrother for she had no one else to talk to and he was very persistent. She soon realized that the two of them had much in common. Then it happened nearly one thousand years later, Navi received word that there had been an incident involving her father and his dragon (the dragon’s name was Hirogi). For some unknown reason the dragon had turned on his rider- killing her father in the process. After this, Navi completely cut herself off. She began to heavily recent all dragons and what they stood for. She swore to herself that she would never take her father’s place as a Rider. Her stepbrother, however, did become a rider. He tried convincing Navi not to hate all dragons and riders because of what happened with her father. For his sake alone she gave up her hatred for riders, but still cannot stand dragons. Info: For some reason, Navi obeys her stepbrother though she hates it. She does love him like a real brother but hardly shows it for she does not believe in love. He knows this, and uses it to try and keep her in line, though it’s a task he’s found as difficult. Her stepbrother is the only person she lets call her Naviel. Gethori Appearance: Women- The women normally have short dark hair that falls anywhere from short and shaggy to shoulder length. Sometimes they have braids or dreadlocks that are longer then the rest of their hair. They don’t wear dresses, and most of them have tattooed marks around their eyes and/or cheeks. 5’6”-6’0” in height. Light skin, few have tan. Dark eyes, usually, but not always, set off by grey or black. Men- Men normally have light hair, such as white, blonde etc. Its long in appearance and falls from their shoulders to torso. Very few men, if any in a village, have the tattooed markings around their eyes or cheeks. 6’2”-7’0“ in height. Tan skin, few have light. Same eye colors as the females. Similar Characteristics: While the men of the village provide for their family more then the females, it is the females that usually defend and fight in the armies for the freedom of their race if it should fall in peril. Those with the tattooed marks on their eyes/cheeks indicated a stance in the army. Special Characteristics: Weapons: Mainly sais (think Elektra) but sometimes swords or bows, even poles with glaives at the end. Ruling System: They are ruled by Queens that are strong in military- sometimes but not always with a King by her side. Age: 3, 000 years old Habitat: Large villages, sometimes even cities, surrounded by mountains and forests. Other: The Gethorien are thought to be among the first to ever ride dragons. Because of this they are mostly thought to be legendary. Their kind dates back to around the birth of Christ. |
| Name: Snow Age: 500 Race: Unknown Appearance: Stands to about 5’4” with a curvy yet muscular build to her. Her skin is a flawless tan, except for a half moon scar on her right hand (she always remembers having it, does not know it’s origins). Her hair falls to her waist in an array of tight pure white curls and is normally gathered in a pony tale with a piece of green ribbon or leather. Her eyes are large, almond shaped and a clear bright green with brown and blue flecks though out. Has five hoop earrings of gold in one ear and silver in the other, ranging from ¼ inch to one inch in diameter. She normally has on a long jacket that’s fitted to her waist and hangs loose to her feet, thick black boots to her knees, form fitting pants and top. Her jacket is a very deep red while the pants and shirt are black like her boots; although the laces are one gold and one silver. The gold earrings are on her left ear, silver on her right ( the laces of her boots are opposite her earrings). A sash of silver, gold and deep red is wrapped around her waist. Also, she has lacquered her scar a deep red to show that she is not fearful or ashamed of injury. Personality: She is determined and fears little. Takes risks without thinking, but knows when thought will benefit her. Soft spoken, yet her voice can be commanding when she wishes it. Will speak her mind when she feels the need, although tends to keep out of business that has nothing to do with her. Watches and listens to the people around her to better understand them and what’s going on around her. She does not care for companions, although doesn’t mind people being around her, she simply likes to travel and work alone since such is when she is at her best since she is the only one she has to worry about and that’s something she doesn’t dwell upon. Weapons Skills: A 15” double bladed ’knife’ (two five inch blades on either side of a five inch handle of dark wood). The blades are slightly curved (one in one direction and the other opposite). She also has two boot daggers and can generally find something to defend herself with if her personal weapons are unavailable. History: Snow doesn’t know her origins, nor does anyone she’s known. Raised by a human farmer and his family since she was a baby - they simply found her nestled in the hay of their barn one morning (she was nearly six months old). Although she has no memory of her time before this family, cold weather tingles at memories deeply imbedded in her mind. Once it was realized that she was destined to be a Dragon Slayer the farmers cast her out for they had, had Dragon Riders in their lineage. With no one but herself, Snow fears little and lives for only herself. Deep down she feels worthless despite any accomplishments she’s made, after all everyone she’s known abandoned her. She was taught by an elder Dragon Slayer, Bilar, but he has since been killed in a fight with Dragon Riders. Her “human” name was Bell, but she changed it once they cast her from their home so that she has no ties to anyone but herself. Chose Snow since the cold seems linked to her past somehow; also the first time she saw snow she felt pure joy. Info: Snow wonders about her past and why she was left at such an early age by her parents. It is also one of the few things she fears, since it may very well confirm her deep seeded belief that she is in fact worthless. (that belief is part of the reason why she is so fearless and determined). When it is snowing is one of the few times in life that she feels pure joy and happiness. She wonders just how long her life span is, but does not dwell upon life and death much, although figures it has something to do with being a Dragon Slayer. At times her hatred baffles her, yet is consumes her whenever she sees dragons or a rider. |
| Name: Damuel – Dragon Slayer Gender: Male Race: Presumed Human Age: Looks 26 Appearance: Taller than the average man though not so much so to pass comment, it is a certain air of authority and charisma that makes Damuel stand out as special. His clothes would not make commoner or noble alike consider him as anything special and his features are more often than not obscured by a hood that flows down into a plain brown cape down his back. Damuel is slim yet strong, with an unremarkable colouring and features that would neither set a heart aflutter nor cause a child to cry. His confident eyes and determined features set him apart in a world used to despair, though only those that he chooses to ever get to see them. Personality: “It was then I saw him. It was the man back at the Inn, the one who had slipped past most unawares as they stared into their tankards and drowned out his footsteps with their songs, but I remembered him. With his cloak dragging across the ground, it seemed as though he floated over to where the dragon had fallen, until he came to a halt next to its girl rider. She had been crying out for help long since her dragon had stopped thrashing, crushing much of the poor girl under its weight. The scream that she uttered as his sword cut through her neck was one of sheer terror. Some thought that he had put the poor girl out of her misery, whereas others thought that he had killed her in cold blood. But as he slowly turned and made his way out of the village, not a single one of them questioned him on it.” Gol Gethwhen, Innkeeper of the Hued Frog Damuel is quietly confident, quite happy to work with others to accomplish his goals although more often than not he works alone. He rarely reveals his plans or actions to others and never places faith or trust in anyone. It is not often that he makes small talk, although he has been known to do so with his quarry. It seems that he sometimes questions the Dragon Riders that he slays at length before killing them – sometimes mid-battle. Sometimes he toys with them, other times he seems to question their philosophy or morals. Whether he does so to try and unnerve them or to justify his slayings is unknown. Weapon Skills: Damuel wields a gently curving blade, similar to a katana. His true strength lies in unarmed combat though. Whilst an expert with the sword, Damuel is in his element unarmed and utilises a dazzling array of complex punches and mainly kicks that he often combines with his swordsmanship to wrong foot his enemies. Damuel is certainly not a ruthless killing machine and is only to be found fighting one on one – all of his fights are almost elegant duels. Do not be fooled into thinking that he is chivalrous, however. He is quite prepared to manipulate others in order to gain an edge. History: Damuel used to travel with a group of men and women many years ago, honing his skills with regular mercenaries. It is said that before that he used to ride alongside Dragon Riders, although this may be little more than pure speculation or fancy. What is known however is that he believes that Dragon Riders are too powerful to be allowed to survive and be given free reign over the skies. For him the hunt is not a battle of good against evil, it is a war that curbs the riders and the evil that they may commit if they had the choice. Info: Perhaps because of his cloak or the way that he moves, Damuel has gained the nickname of “The Wraith” in some backwaters. Few know enough of him to call it to his face, but the name may have other origins. It is also said that he has considerable skill in manipulative and illusionary magic which he is reputed to use on people to stir up their hatred of Dragons as much as he uses it to confuse his targets. Whatever the truth or the lies, Damuel is a powerful foe. |
| Lori'en dodged the spear aimed at him, throwing his dagger. An agonized scream met his ears. He smiled maliciously. Killing, for him, was a joy, something that he could unleash his anger and pain upon with. He retrieved his blade from the body of the Gurnak he had just killed. It lay there, sprawled out grotesquely on the ground. He looked around, scanning the terrain. The Wilderness, a great mass of land in the north of Varrian, was a strange place. Monsters and Warriors roved the land, making it one of the most dangerous places in the country. The terrain itself was dangerous, though it varied greatly. In one place it would be lush woodlands, and others almost desert, and then to freezing mountains and plains. Lori'en was only thirteen at the time, and was journeying through the wasteland area. He was searching for his Dragon Egg. The Dragon had been calling him for a long time, and he was getting closer and closer to it. He would have to face many, many dangers to find it. ~One week later~ As Lori'en gazed into the strange, black orb that he held in his palm, his Dragon grew restless in his egg. :Lori'en.: He smiled, which was rare for him. :What do I call you?: Lori'en asked, mentally. He sensed a chuckle, a deep chuckle. :Shruiken. I am Shruiken.: The Egg he held made even the blackest of nights look pale. It started to tremble, and a small crack appeared at the top. Lori'en had traveled to the woodlands of the Wilderness, and had found this Dragon Lair, a huge cavern, created by Dragons. He sat the Egg down, and watched. Soon, Shruiken emerged, damp, his wings looking wilty. Shruiken was about as long as Lori'ens' arm, coverd in black scales, with thin black wings. His claws were curved wickedly, and were slightly serrated. His teeth were milky white and razor sharp. :Well, you seem fair enough a companion for me.: Shruiken commented, eyeing Lori'ens' black clothes, chains, piercings, and tattoos. :Thanks. You seem a little bit the same also.: Shruiken flapped his wings experimentally, and then fluttered to Lori'ens' shoulder, wrapping his tail around his opposite arm. :The eggshell, you may need it,: Shruiken said. Lori'en raised his eyebrow, and picked the shell up. Lori'en heard a strange sound, like wind, and spun around. An Elf, and an Imladris stood behind him, each clothed like him. Lori'en heard a purring noise, and looked at Shruiken. Instead of feeling surprise or fear, Shruiken felt happy that the two beings were there. The Imladris walked gracefully to Lori'en, and hand him a black leather belt ornamented with silver, and two swords with sheaths attached to the belt. :You have been Chosen, Lori'en.: A deep, powerful voice said, in his mind. "By whom have I been Chosen?" Lori'en asked, his gaze alternating between both men. :By the Imladri, the Elves, and the Dragons. : They both looked at him intensely. :Bear the power, the honor, and the responsibility of there blessing. You have been given great power, and must use it wisely. You are Chosen, Lori'en, you hold the fate of Varrian in your hands.: They spoke several words aloud, and then were gone. Lori'en sensed an infinite power surrounding him. :God is here.: He thought, awed at being able to feel God's presence. :He's everywhere if you take the time to notice.: The Voice said in his head. As Lori'en lived in Tieryn, he had to keep Shruiken outside of the city. He being a DragonRider was to be kept utmostly secret. When he was about eight, a kind lord, named Duvont; who was a very respectable Elf, also a bachelor. Duvont enjoyed Lori'ens' company, even though he was morbid, secluded, and more to-himself. He loved the boy as a son, and Lori'en seceretly loved him as a father. :Lori'en, com let us fly!: Shruiken said gleefully. It had been around a year since Lori'en had been accepted as a DragonRider in that Dragon Lair, and had found Shruikens egg. Lori'en ran and leaped into the air, grabbing a strap from Shruikens saddle, and flipping onto the top. Ever since he had found Shruiken, Lori'en had been visited many times by the two beings that had appeared to him. They had been physically and mentally training Lori'en and Shruiken to an extreme level of strength, alertness, speed, and agility. They also taught him how to use the two magical swords they had given him, which he quickly became a deadly BladeMaster. He was extremely powerful, especially for being so young, and extremely dangerous to any foe. Lori'en had found them cryptic and strange at best, but they had been the best teachers there could have been. Shruiken had grown immensely, and was now around twenty-five feet in length, and close to about six and a half feet tall at shoulder. :Dragons never stop growing, you know.: Shruiken said, as Lori'en marveled at his size. Shruiken, up to the very last inch, looked every bit of the mighty Dragon he was. They soared, higher and higher, until the tree's were dots. Lori'en smiled as Shruiken gave a roar of joy. Their minds melded together, each felt the same joy, the same ecstacy. Then, a vision suddenly appeared unbidden, in their mind. A girl, sitting with her head on her knees, was weeping silently. Lori'en gazed at her, and suddenly her head snapped up. They watched eachother for several seconds. Lori'en was spellbound by her beauty. Then as suddenly as it came, it left. :Strange.: Shruiken commented. :I know, very strange indeed.: Lori'en replied. :No, stupid, how you were enticed by her beauty.: Shruiken said, with a touch of humor. :Shut up. Even you felt the same way...: Lori'en trailed off. :I'd better go now; Duvont will be worrying.: :He always is.: Shruiken retorted. They landed soon, and Lori'en wandered back to the town. His excuse was, as usual, he had lost track of time, while he was exploring. The vision of the girl troubled him, something had made her extremely upset, and he felt pity for her, he had seen the sorrow that had been written all over her face. I'm getting soft. Lori'en thought. :No you are not.: |
Name: Rothane Vorsero Draor Age: 2,479 (appears 26 in human yrs) Gender: Male Race: Gethori Appearance: Rothane stands at around 6’4”, which is average for the males of his race. Like most Gethorien men, he is tan and has long, white hair that reaches down to his shoulder blades. His hair has a silvery hue to it and is usually pulled back. His eyes are a dark amethyst in color and exude a reserved sense of mystery. Personality: Rothane was not necessarily born a survivor, but he has definitely become one. Through the death of his father and the ongoing absence of his mother’s love, he has taught himself many things, including the ways of a true survivor. As a result, he is both strong and independent, but he would never choose isolation over love. The lack of a family structure in Rothane’s life has caused him to become very family-oriented, which is why he cares deeply about his stepsister, Naviel. Rothane has also garnered great leadership skills. He has a quiet confidence and can have charming demeanor when he wants to, but for the most part, he tends to keep to himself. He hopes to be able to open up and build relationships, but it is difficult to do when he still has so many open wounds from his childhood. Weapon Skills: Although he is not needed for fighting in the Gethorien way of life, Rothane does need his weapons for the secret life he carries (more explained later). His weapons of choice are his twin blades, both about 2 ft long and slightly curved at the end. He also has a bow and arrow for long distance attacks. He favors using magic when he can, which is only when his identity is hidden. History: Onira and Vorsero Draor, were an adventurous pair, both riders that loved to take on the world and dive into the thick of all the excitement it had to offer them. When their son, Rothane, was born, Vorsero continued his work while his mother cared for him. And although it was a rare occasion, Vorsero always tried to return home as often as he could to see his son. But when Vorsero was gone, Onira’s attention was wrapped up in daydreams about her husband and riding. Very rarely was she actually all there with her son. Then one day, the news of Vorsero’s death came; he was killed by a gang of dragon slayers. Onira was distraught and sought a way to dull the pain. Instead of staying by her son’s side, she ventured out, resuming work as a dragon rider. Rothane was forced to learn how to live alone and raise himself. Finally, his mother returned to him. But she did not come alone. Alongside her was the infamous Marthur, a legend to all dragon riders. Rothane thought this was just a surprise for him, but things turned out differently. His mother and Marthur had gotten married and he was to live in their new home with Marthur’s daughter, Naviel. This did not bother Rothane at first, but it soon began to trouble him when he realized that his mother was still abandoning him. His mother and Arnius (Marthur’s real name) traveled together as riders, returning home very little to see their family. Rothane had tried to kindle a friendship with his stepsister, but she would not take. Hate dwelled within her, and this he could see. But he persisted until soon enough, she opened up to him soon after the death of her father. Although she still defies authority, Naviel seems to have a soft spot for her stepbrother. She is the only person Rothane has ever had a real relationship with, which is why he tries to be there for her and keep her in line. Likewise, he has a real soft spot for her. Info: Although he is a dragon rider, Rothane has slain quite a few dragons in his life. He is a part of a secret guild called the Elanessë Coamenel, which stands for Dragon Peace, and is more commonly known as the DP or the EC. The guild determines the power of dragons and then exterminates those proven evil or thought to be too much of a threat to mankind. The guild is, however, against hurting dragon riders but will imprison those who abuse their power. He is under constant surveillance to make sure he keeps the power of the riders and their dragons in check. Rothane is also to make sure dragon slayers do not go out of control and gain the upper hand. The guild is against useless killing and will work to eliminate any slayers that take things too far. Through the guild, the best weapons are available to Rothane, as are the most forbidden teachings of magic. He must use these things cautiously though, for he can only work with them when in the guise of the guild. Vorsero Draor is a hero among the guild, having kept the guild victorious for centuries. When the news of Vorsero’s death surfaced, the guild knew exactly who to summon to fill his position. Rothane was contacted during the day, in the heat of his anger towards his mother. It was then that Rothane swore an allegiance to work for the guild, hoping to uphold his father’s legacy. Other: His dragon is a male named Garcere, given to him by the founders and leaders of the guild. |
| The waves smacked against the ship as a steady stream of rain pelted the deck. She stood at the edge watching the rough sea and letting the wind blow her drenched hair about, stinging her face. Only the needed seamen were above deck with this woman, but those men ignored her, as she did them remaining out of their way. Snow simply watched the darkness ahead of them as the seamen went about their work. As far as storms went Snow knew this was a small squall, nothing the ship or it’s crew couldn’t handle. Even so, she enjoyed the pelting rain, fierce sea and hard winds. She had looked far worse storms in the eye, never the less, such rage of nature brought her a sense of peace. She was also grateful for this weather since it gave her a chance to be left alone. The other passengers on this vessel were located below deck. Snow knew that the crew would let her alone as long as she kept out of their way, allowing them to do their duties. The other passengers were a different story, they wanted to probe into her life, find out about her. Ask her all types of questions she’d rather not answer, so she made sure to keep her distance from them. Of course the storm only increased the passengers need for conversation, it quelled their nervousness. Many of them weren’t as sure as Snow that this was a ‘small squall’, even if every crewmen aboard knew it was nothing they couldn’t sail through. In the distance her sharp bright green eyes could make out the lights of the port city. Their destination was close, soon the ship would dock and she could leave the other passengers behind. More importantly she would be upon solid ground where she felt the safest, even if Snow didn’t fear the sea, it still made her uneasy. Though she never allowed that uneasy feeling to stop her from traveling along the sea, she had a task to do and would complete it no matter the challenges that lay before her. After many ventures along the seas, one more was no more dangerous then the first so she simply boarded the ship and let it sail. Snow sighed, seeing the port in the distance meant that she was one step closer to completing her task. A mission that she regretted having to complete, the message was one she wished she hadn’t had to deliver. The news had left her hollow, the last person she’d trusted was gone and she had the task of informing his family. If it had left her in such a state, she wished not to bring such pain upon the loved ones of the man who helped her become who she was, helped make her strong. If only she had gone with him, but Bilar had insisted that she remain behind. Something had told her to follow him, to break his command, but she couldn’t do that to him. She trusted in him completely and wouldn’t break that trust by disobeying his wishes. Now, since she trusted him so, she had no one. She was alone in the world and Snow couldn’t help but wonder if Bilar had known he would not return. Had his order been made to keep her safe? Even if his intension had been good, there was a slight hint of anger toward him for leaving her. For letting her live while he went and died. A part of her believed that he had broken their trust by ordering her to stay behind, the rest simply felt nothing. Closing her eyes Snow listened to the elements around her, feeling the rocking of the ship and the wind wrap itself around her. The earth was all she had left, nature would take care of her for it was the only family she had. “There is something quite wonderful about storms.” Snow glanced at the voice and sighed knowing that the holder had to be the man who was the most guilty of trying to engage her in conversation. Snow couldn’t even recall his name, she had blocked out much of what he’d told her, never really listening to his words. While she normally paid attention to conversations around her, it was different when she was being spoken to. Especially when she wished not to speak to anyone and someone kept on speaking to her. This man simply never took the hint that Snow wished to be left alone. His attempts at conversation was a waist of both of their time. “One should be able to appreciate everything nature ahs to offer, do you agree?” He attempted to draw her in once more. Snow barely glanced his way before shifting her gaze back to the raging sea once more. He never gave up, even though he’d yet to learn her name. “You sir, are as annoying as a fly that keeps buzzing your face.” she spoke just loud enough for the man to hear. Maybe hints weren’t enough, being a bit more blunt might do the trick to get through his thick skull that she wished to be left lone. Although the man chuckled. “I must say, no one has ever told me that before.” “Really, I find that hard to believe.” Snow shuttered a bit at being caught up in even the slightest of conversations with this prying man. Although to her joy, he was silent for longer then he’d ever be around her. Maybe he’d finally gotten the picture that she wished to be left alone. If she hadn’t had to resort to being so crude, Snow would have left him alone, but his persistence left her no choice. The thought of having him buzzing around her while she was visiting the city nearly sickened her, company wasn’t something she chose to have. Bilar Snow couldn’t help but think of her friend and mentor, after all since she’d left home he’d been the only company she’d kept. He had been the only person she trusted, not her wish to be alone was in full force. “Something has been on your mind these past few days, care to unload that burden?” Snow couldn’t believe that this man had yet to figure it out. “No!” she snapped, sending him a deep glare to get her pint across, “I do not wish to speak with you at all!” The man tried to look into her eyes, but soon they looked out at the sea and he spoke, “You are much like the storm my dear. Wondrous, yet dangerous and something not to be trifled with.” With that the man walked away finally leaving Snow alone, for that she was grateful. Out in the darkness of the storm the port city lights gleamed beckoning the ship to it’s shore and Snow a step closer to completing her journey. |
| :Come, Lorien! Move like the Shadows that you adore. Strike like a bolt of lightning.: The Sages' twin voices rang in Lorien's mind as he sought to defend himself from his conjured enemy. He dodged a sword thrust and cut off the hand that held it, the conjuration, made life-like by the Sages' potent magic, screamed in pain. Drawing its dagger with its good hand, the conjured orc sprang at Lorien with a howl of rage. Deftly sidestepping, he watched it hit the ground. With chilling precision he drove his sword through the orcs' spine, killing him instantly. The Sages nodded in approval. :You must never falter slaying your enemy. If you do he will instantly take advantage of you, and most likely end your life. You must be merciless.: Lorien barely had time to nod before the Sages began their magic again. Two beings appeared before Lorien. They were Dark Elves. The most violent and dangerous of the race of Elves. :One of them is a User!: He said mentally to Shruiken. He growled a strong oath...This would be a painful fight. He allowed Shruiken to see through his eyes. Careful...:, he rumbled. The Mage spun to the left raising his hands in preperation to weave magic. A glowing ball of liquid wizards fire flew past him. The bloody Elf thought he would fall prey to wizards fire? Conjuration or no, Lorien would show them that Lorien Morgoth was not to be tried. Whipping a leather strap lined with metal studs from his back, he swung at the charging swordsman with such ferocity that when it connected with his face it threw him back three paces. Putting the strap away, Lorien drew one sword, leaving one hand free to protect himself from the mage. He threw several shields into being. The Mage's face went red with anger as lightning and fire rained from the sky at Lorien. Lorien gave a cold chuckle; his shields were much too powerful for this Elf to break through. The swordsman had regain his balance, and was back on his feet. A long purple mark, lined with cuts, laced from one side of his face to the other. :Lorien! Burn you, don't get cocky!: Lorien shook his head and charged for the swordsman with his sword aimed low. The swordsman countered the thrust with Kingfisher skims over the Pond and attacked with his own Leapord's touch. Lorien blocked it with A Dragon's Sanctuary, one of his favorite counters. Suddenly a log floated into the air and flew towards Lorien. He had no time to react, and the good sized log slammed into his side, throwing him to the ground and knocking the breath from him. He thought he heard Shruiken sigh in exasperation. He let his shields down and hurled a slim spike of white-hot energy at the Mage. Sweat poured off the Mages' forehead as he fought to bring a shield up that would stop the deadly energy. Leaping to his feet, Lorien channeled magic power through his arm and hit the ground with his fist. The earth in front of him seemed to ripple as a massive forcewave ripped dirt and trees up heading straight for the Mage still trying to fend off his other attack. "Noo!" The Mage screamed as it overtook him, and he was no more. Lorien gasped as the swordsmans' blade bit deep into his thigh. Swinging his sword in a deadly arc, the swordsman was unable to block because his sword was embedded in Lorien's thigh. He fell headless to the ground, blood pouring from it's neck. :Good, Lorien. Let us heal you.: Lorien went rigid, as power coursed through his veins, his muscles writhed, and then were whole. :We will expect you at the morrow...at Moon Watch.: Lorien bowed to them respectfully. He felt tired; healing took energy from the one being healed, not vice-versa. :I told you not to get too hotheaded. Yet you did anyway. Look what happened.: Shruiken said as he gracefully made his way through the trees. :Will you ever listen to me, brother?: Lorien smiled, which was rare, and stroked Shruikens neck. "You look magnificent Shruiken." Lorien knew that Shruiken's gruffness was put-on. Shruiken rumbled in happiness. :Do you want to go flying, Lorien? The moon is full tonight, and the stars are beautiful at my den.: "I would like that very much, Shruiken." Lorien climbed onto his back, and off they went. They were Masters of the Night watching the beauty of the Shadows. |
~ Rothane ~ He hated to do it, but he knew there had been no other choice. He could not stay. Naviel couldn’t stand dragons and therefore, she would not join her stepbrother on his journey. He had not told her much about the trip he was taking or why, just that if his stepsister had come, she would definitely have to deal with both riders and their dragons. This was the stopping point for Naviel. So, those many months ago, Rothane kissed his stepsister goodbye on the cheek and left. She had pretended to be disgusted by it, but Rothane knew better. As much as she wanted to hate everything, she just couldn’t find a way to hate him. He was her brother. And for that, Rothane was very thankful. Where Rothane had been all this time was in various cities and villages, traveling and training constantly with the EC, a guild that deals with the balancing of power between riders, dragons, and dragon slayers. He had previously been called to fill his late father’s position, near the top of the guild. And so, even though he tried to stay with Naviel as long as he could, Rothane eventually had to leave. He could not stay home and remain neutral in the war between riders and slayers any longer. He had to go and join the guild and finally accept his new position. “That was brutal last night,” a man spoke as he fell down in a heap onto the ground. He leaned his back against the wall and scooted over to sit next to Rothane. The guild had just returned from last night’s excursion. It had been another strenuous assignment finally accomplished. Most often, the guild would hear of or see firsthand a dragon or rider that was considered a threat. If a rider would not cooperate, which they seldom did, the guild used force as a last result. In these situations, riders were put in prison, and dragons were slain. “I’ve never experienced such a difficult killing,” the man continued. “That was one of the most determined dragons I’d ever seen.” “Determined?” Rothane asked, the amused expression he held hidden beneath the hood he wore, which cast shadows onto his face. “I’d say he was the most evil of dragons we have encountered as of late,” he finished with a slight chuckle. “No worries, I can see how you could get the two words confused.” “Ah, Master Draor, there you are!” A voice shouted as someone came down the stairs. The owner of the voice quickly covered his mouth, remembering how late it was. The guild had friends and contacts in several villages and cities. This man, or Elador, was a part-owner of The Dragon Wing, the most treasured Inn the city of Behrn had to offer. The EC were known to be night travelers, so friends knew to expect their arrival at odd hours in the morning. Elador, who had been excited to see his comrades of the EC arrive, momentarily forgot that all his customers were in their rooms sleeping soundly. “No need to call me that,” Rothane said as he began to stand up. “Master Draor was my father. Please, just call me Rothane.” Elador nodded and pulled Rothane into a big embrace. Unlike most of the tavern men he knew, Elador was a small man and still quite young. His uncle ran The Dragon Wing, and Elador was to become full owner when he was old enough. He had messy brown hair that sat like a wet mop on his head. His face still retained a youthful roundness, and he often had smudges of dirt and liquor mixed together on his arms, hands, and cheeks. Out of all the friends Rothane had acquired while away from home, Elador was one of his most cherished. He liked talking to Elador because he still seemed like a child in some ways, so unsure and naïve. Sure, ignorance is nothing to be proud of or pleased with, but Rothane enjoyed the small talk and silly conversations they engaged in when the EC visited. Rothane could tell that Elador looked up to him. Therefore, he assumed that he enjoyed having someone young like Elador around because it reminded him that he was a brother. The camaraderie he had with Elador always reminded him of Naviel. “Your rooms are ready,” Elador said as he pulled away. “Same rooms as always. And if you’re hungry or thirsty, I can whip you lot up something before you head on up.” Rothane looked to his men and could clearly tell they were indeed very hungry. He turned and nodded at Elador, who quickly dashed behind the bar and began to work. Rothane laughed and joined his men as they all took seats at the bar. “Rothane,” Elador said shakily at first. He paused a moment to compose himself. “Where’s Garcere?” He was, of course, referring to Rothane’s beauty of a dragon. Garcere was a pale green dragon with magnificent crimson markings that went down his neck all the way to his tale. He had a very peculiar look, but it was also very rare and quite beautiful to behold. The problem with Garcere was that he knew what a mighty creature he was and wouldn’t let you forget it. Garcere had always approved of Elador, although he usually disliked people in general. “He decided to sleep in the woods outside of town. Wouldn’t really fit in anywhere around here,” Rothane replied as he took a sip of liquor from his mug. His face contorted a bit, not having had anything so strong in quite some time. After he finally swallowed, he raised his mug up in salute to his men. Despite the fact that customers were trying to sleep, they all shouted out in unison, “To the guild!” Yes, although there was more work to be done, it always felt good to finish a job. Thanks to them there was one less corrupt rider and dragon team flying free in the skies. And even if there were so many more to take care of, getting rid of one could mean everything is such a fragile war. They had lately taken care of quite a few riders, which meant if they were to keep a balance, they would soon have to watch carefully for slayers. After the men quieted down a bit and were finishing their meals, they began to head to the rooms. Rothane remained downstairs to help Elador clean up. “Ah, Rothane, I almost forgot to tell you,” he said excitedly as he set down a cup and pulled something from his pocket. “I’ve been holding this for you.” He handed Rothane a piece of parchment, and it brought a soft smile to the handsome rider’s face. “Thank-you, Elador, I appreciate it,” was all he could manage to say. Elador understood. He ushered Rothane over to a table so he could sit down and properly read the letter. The boy was used to seeing Rothane as more than just a rider, but also as a person. This was one reason the two bonded so well. Elador returned behind the bar and continued cleaning. Every so often he would steal glances of Rothane, to make sure he was okay. The letters came once every month, and they usually bore the rider good news. Elador just wanted to make sure the tradition continued. When he saw Rothane chuckle and smile at the words he read, Elador felt it was safe to look away and fully finish his work. When he was done, Elador walked over to Rothane’s table. “So, how is she?” He asked calmly. “Naviel’s seems to be doing well,” Rothane said, barely able to keep a smile. “She says she has something important to tell me, which could be good or bad.” “Then why are you smiling so much?” Elador inquired as he nudged Rothane with his elbow. “Because,” the rider answered, “she’s coming to visit.” |
| Snow made her way though the port town as quickly as she could. The more distance she could put between herself and the other passengers would put her mind at ease that she would receive some peace. Although she knew it wouldn’t last long, after all she was here to do a job. A job that she wished that she did not have to do, but would have wanted none other than herself to perform the duty. The cottage she sought was on the outskirts of town, about four to six miles from the border of the port city. Looking up at the sky, the storm was clearing and the sun was starting to come out. It was still around late morning so if she traveled at a good pace she should be able to make it to her destination surely before dark. “Well if it isn’t my mystifying storm loving friend.” Snow managed to still her impulse to cringe at the sound of that voice. How could he have found her? Glancing in the direction of the voice Snow had to look up to find it’s source for the man who had constantly badgered her with questions on the boat was now riding a tall black horse. “I see that we are once again heading in the same direction, would you like a lift?” “I can manage just fine, thank you.” The man sighed, “I meant no insult.” “None was taken.” The man shook his head, “I see, as mysterious as ever.” “I only wish to be left to myself that is all.” “I do not wish to anger or agitate you.” Snow looked up at him as he said this and the man looked at her, paused as if he was going to continue, but her look must have told him that he was already too late to be worrying about not agitating her. “Then I am sorry.” He turned back to the road and looked as if he were going to ride off, but turned back to Snow, “There is just something familiar about you that I can not place.” Snow blinked at him as he turned around and trotted off. What would this man know of her? Watching him ride off Snow let his words go. There was likely nothing to them but a resemblance to someone or something he had once seen. She had no recall of anyone in her life that he could represent. She needed to focus on her task, complete it and move on. It was a few hours after midday when Snow saw the cottage she sought in the distance. It was nearly time to pass along the information she carried with her. Thinking of the news she stopped staring at the building, wondering who was inside. She had only met Bilar’s family once many years ago and couldn’t remember what any of them looked like and barely recalled that there was a wife and two children. A son and a daughter she believed, the son being the older by about three years if she remembered correctly. How old would they be now? It had been so long since her visit that she couldn’t even guess at the ages of the children. Taking in a deep breath Snow began to move once more wiping a few shed tears from her face. It would not bode well to have her face covered in tears before ever speaking a word. That would simply make her voice harder to understand and it would be hard enough to speak what she was hear to say without the tears that she knew would come once she saw Bilar’s family. Standing before the door of the cottage Snow took a few more deep breaths trying to clam her nerves. She had never before had to deliver such news to anyone, never mind the family of someone she actually cared about herself. Though Bilar would have wanted her to have given the news and she would do him this last task. Raising her hand she knocked solidly on the door and waited for it to be opened. When the door finally was pulled open Snow could only stair at the person on the other side. He smiled and spoke first, “We just can’t seem to keep apart can we?” It was the man from the ship. Why was he here at Bilar’s home? Staring at him subtle hints, bits and pieces of Bilar began to jump out at her in this man’s appearance. Could this be Bilar’s son? Was it possible, had it been that long? “Tomas, who is there?” a woman’s voice could be heard from father inside. “A stranger, who seems to keep popping up.” The woman came to stand beside her son. This person Snow remembered at Bilar’s wife, Amelia. “Snow.” The woman’s eyes searched all around the younger woman and worry began to line her delecate face. “Amelia…” Snow began but tears broke over her eyes. “I…” All she could do was rush forward and hug the woman. The emotions that she had held back for so long could no longer remain inside at the site of Bilar’s wife. She knew why she was here even without the words being spoken. The simple fact that Bilar was not with her was enough to tell everything. “I’m sorry.” Amelia wrapped her arms tightly around Snow and spoke softly to her, “There was nothing you could have done.” “He ordered me not to go…I could have…” “He would have been disappointed in you if you had.” Snow just stood there wrapped in Amielia’s arms letting out all her tears, there was nothing else she could do. |
| The desert sands brought warmth to Damuel's feet as he walked across the small town square, the watering hole a testament to the lush vegetation that had once characterised the region. Like the desert sands, the sands of time had seen both ocean and civilization alike rise and fall. Some he had heard about, some he had read of, others he had witnessed with his own two eyes. The rich spices and vibrant colours of the desert hamlet had come and gone and would come again until the end of days. One person and one person alone had brought him here, and he occupied more than the usual fleeting thoughts that had crossed the shadow of his mind. Someone had pulled at the strings of his heart and beckoned him here, at first with a silent song and then by invitation. The song was clearer now, more focused and even without it the small guarded shack that the hamlet people seemed to flee the shadow of had all the markings of his stopping place. The two towering guards that stood at either side of the entrance were clad head to toe in furs and chain armour, patches of which were rusted with age. Desert men certainly, though the song lingered with them also. If needs must he could best them although it would not be easy. Damuel's slow paces stopped several feet from the men, his eyes levelled at the draped entrance. The bristles and edges of these giants sparked the war inside him and his blood flowed with fire, his bones scratching for motion. “You are expected.” As they spoke, their powerful arms lifted aside the drape, the light of the high sun being swallowed up by the darkness within. The song beckoned him into the ink, his only choice being to go forth. In his many years, Damuel had never once gone back. The air in the tent felt cool, yet damp and heavy, the ground gaining a dampness that was alien to the region. It was difficult to pick out where he should be going if it weren't for the presence directly in front of him. If he had relied on his sight alone, the man would be invisible. As it was, the sheer power that the man possessed burned brighter than any beacon. “Please, sit.” Damuel made his way slowly to what felt like some kind of reed mat and sat down slowly. The only real thing that hung in the air was the heavy dampness. Why a man of such power felt the need for such total anonymity was beyond, if not totally alien, to him. “Why have I been summoned?” Somewhere in the darkness a shape moved. “Your reputation precedes you of course.” Although the voice had a certain youth to it, it bore the mark of ages. Sitting straighter in his seat, Damuel focused on the vague shape in the darkness. “Times are changing, Damuel. The time is fast approaching when old orders will be purged and new ones will rise to take their place.” “What would you have of me?” “Things are not as they once were. I remember a time when few dragons flew the skies and those that existed lived in thrall to... higher powers. The time that I came from. Tell me Damuel, have you ever had a time, a place of your own? I can feel the sadness that covers you fuller than any cloak.” Why was it that the aged always felt the need to unburden themselves to a captive audience? Moments came and went with Damuel still staring into the blackness, motionless and unthinking. A soft laugh echoed around the tent causing Damuel to stiffen. “Your long fight is destined to come to an end soon Damuel. How it is to end is down to you and others like you.” “What do you mean?” “You have heard the prophesy of course. Of the two Dragonslayers, destined to end the feud between their and your kind.” Damuel nodded into the darkness. “The time approaches.” Damuel couldn't help but wonder however idly, if the stranger had somehow seen him nod in the blackness of his confines. “Then I am destined to die.” “Is that what you fear, or hope I wonder? In any case the prophesy is unclear, as is their nature. The two may be destined to bring peace to the realms, or they may be destined to die and become the last of their kind to fall.” Damuel had never placed too much stock in portents, but the strangers interpretation sounded unlikely. “We have common goals, Damuel.” “You could not possibly know of what I seek.” Damuel said coldly. “Perhaps so, but your actions speak for themselves. How many dragons have fallen to you? How many times have you been soaked in the blood of your enemies? I wish to see an end to the dragons dominance of the skies as much as you. I am also aware of your interest in the arcane.” Damuel tilted his head and glared at the darkness ahead of him. “Your teachers, they were the Magisters of the Sun Rock, were they not?” “How did you know that?” Damuel said, rising slowly to his feet. “I know a great many things. I know that you covet knowledge of your already impressive mastery of deceptive magic. You are even stronger in the art of illusion than I. Perhaps one day, you can teach me a little of it.” The voice raised gently at the end of the sentence, thick with condescension. “Are you making me an offer?” Damuel said, relaxing slightly. “The offer is not mine to make.” The stranger said cryptically. “My mistress knows a great deal more than I. I believe she even had a hand in teaching some of your old mentors.” Damuel's head swam. That isn't possible! “I have heard enough.” Damuel turned on his heel and made his way toward the draped door. “You wish me to speak more plainly Damuel? So be it.” Damuel slowed in his tracks, eyes still facing the door. “The time is approaching where allegiances must be forged and old loyalties are to be tested. I have arranged for you to meet with a representative of the Elanessë Coamenel. Whilst they may use dragons they have many sympathies with your cause and once they have served their purpose...” The voice trailed off, leaving his sentence to Damuel's macabre imagining. “You seem to have this all planned out.” “Just be at the meeting and let that make up your mind.” “When will these anointed two Dragon Riders take to the sky and settle matters?” Damuel said whimsically. “Perhaps they will not have a chance.” For the briefest of moments, Damuel felt he had crystal clarity and turning to where the figure sat, he felt a blazing gaze pass through him and into the desert. The nimbus of power that surrounded him changed subtly and despite the scorching heat and thickness of the desert air he said, “It depends on which way the Snow settles.” |
Name: Tarika "Tar" Age: 62 Gender: F Race: Rwindian. This race was born over a millenia ago, created between a union of elves and humans. They are born warriors, full of pride and a fierce independence, and live for honor. Physically they resemble humans, but with slightly-pointed ears and large, oval-shaped eyes reminiscent of elves. They have a natural grace and dexterity and have keen eyesight and hearing. They live an average of 300 years, years spent learning and perfecting the art of war. They are hired as mercenaries by every land and culture across the world. Appearance: Tar is 5 foot 8 inches tall, slim and slight of build. Her hair is a deep mahogany, tied back at the nape of her neck. Her eyes are hazel in color and burn with a fierce desire, a thirst for revenge. She wears mail, as befits a dragonrider, with boots, gloves, a cap, and a thick cloak to guard against the frigid temperatures through which a dragon flies. She also carries a longsword on her back. Her crossbow attaches to her packs; since becoming a dragonrider, the weapon has rarely been used. Personality: Tar is a loner. She was only ever close to one person, her brother. She wants revenge and won't rest until she can get it. Weapon Skills: No Rwindian is ever without their long-knife. This is a slim, slightly-curved dagger about 18 inches in length (plus hilt) and 3 inches at its widest point. This is the first weapon a Rwindian is ever taught to use and becoming proficient is a rite of passage into adulthood. Tar is no stranger to bar brawls and attempted muggings and defends herself with her long-knife and her fists and feet. For most of her life, she has hunted for food and can shoot down a pheasant at 50 ft. History: She's always been an oddity amongst her people having discarded the warrior life to pursue a career as a traveling minstrel. She left home at 21 and has only been back once, for her brother's funeral. She's traveled extensively and speaks a number of different languages. Other: Ferdinand is Tar's dragon partner. When Tar's brother, her twin, Tariq, died, Ferdinand and Tar found solace in each other. As a minstrel, Tar can sing and her primary instrument is the harp; her secondary is the lute. Tar gave up her music and her life when her brother died. Ferdinand is a blue dragon. His colors vary from the lightest of light blues along his body to a deep, dark navy blue along his wingtips and extremities.  Tar stepped into the Dragon Wing, her favorite hang-out in Bhern. She tossed back her hood and stepped up to the bar. She waved and smiled shyly at the proprietor, an old friend. "Tarika!" exclaimed Yaser. He ducked out from behind the bar to pick her up in a bone-crunching hug. When she was back on her feet, he asked, "Are you here for business or pleasure?" Tar couldn't help smiling at her welcome, it did much to put her at ease. She hadn't seen Yaser in perhaps fifteen years and it was gratifying to know that he could still recognize her. She shook her head, pushing back her cloak. She watched as Yaser saw the longsword she carried across her back, seeing his smile falter. "Not for pleasure or for business, I'm afraid," Tar answered. "I'm just passing through." "Is that .. what I think it is?" "Yes, but, Yaser, I'm not here to tell stories. I need to speak to the EC." He touched her shoulder gently. "I'm sorry, Tar. Look, it's late and everyone has hit the sack, but the EC is here, you're in luck. In fact, my son is friends with them." "Oh, yes, young Elador. How is he? Why, he must be all grown up now." Yaser laughed. "Aye. Come, let's pull up some chairs by the fire and drink some wine. You can tell me how you came by that sword." Frowning, Tar crossed her arms over her chest. "I don't want to talk about it." "Sure, sure," replied the inn's owner, reaching behind his bar for glasses and a bottle. "But we can still enjoy a drink." Somewhat unwillingly, Tar followed him across the room, removing her cloak and sword as she went. She placed them on a table, stopping and staring up at an object upon the wall. "I can't believe you still have this thing," she said, reaching up to run her hand across the wood. "Why wouldn't I?" asked Yaser, handing her a glass and sitting down. "How could I forget the most profitable night of my life? You saved this place, with that harp, and your glorious voice." He eyed her quietly for a moment. "I don't suppose you still play?" She dropped her hand, looking away. "No." "Gone back home then?" "Yes, but -- damn, Yaser! You're not going to rest until you know, are you?" "Tariq was my friend, too." Sighing, Tar slumped into a chair and took a deep draught of her wine. "Then I may as well tell you why I'm here. I'm looking for my brother's killer. That's what I want to talk to the EC about. I know they hunt dragons and their riders, in that obscure code of theirs. She might be one of theirs or they might know who she is. In any case, she has a lot to answer for." "How do you know who killed him?" She studied the coals of the fire for a moment. Then she said, "Ferdinand brought Tariq to me. He'd been shot, from the back, with a poisoned dart. It took him three days to die. She'd come up to him, to look her prey in the eye, a woman with white hair and green eyes. She hadn't said anything, only pulled the dart from his back and left. And there was one more thing. She had some kind of birthmark on her palm." "That's not much to go on." "I know." She sighed. "And Ferdinand can tell me nothing, he--" Yaser sat upright. "Ferdie? Is he still alive, then?" "Well, ah, yes. Yes, he is," answered Tar, blushing. "How extraordinary!" He leaned back in his chair and poured himself some more wine. They were silent for a long time, lost in their own thoughts. Tar fingered her glass, swirling its contents. Yaser drank his and regarded his guest with interest. They had spent many a night drinking and spinning yarns when he was still a young man and Tar's singing had brought many, many people into this bar when he'd become the owner many years ago. She didn't look at all like the carefree, happy young woman who'd left on yet another grand adventure some fifteen years ago. "What will you do when you find this woman?" Tar looked him straight in the eye. "I will kill her." |
| Name: Calibur Xylien Alignment: Dragon Slayer Age: 28 Gender: Male Race: Sentinel: The Sentinels are a race of organized warriors. Their culture is built upon battle and the warrior pride. Weak Sentinels are usually disposed of by their mentors and only the strong survive through their barbaric training methods, which begin when a Sentinel is capable of walking and understanding commands. The Sentinels are always over six feet and have bronze complexions. They signify their race by having the mark of black skull with a red sword through it magically implanted onto their right shoulder. The Sentinels leave to be over three hundred years old, however, they continue to look the age of twenty-five until their last days. Within the last days of their life, they usually age rapidly, averaging five years a day. Appearance: Calibur stands a towering 6'8 with broad shoulders. His body type is that of a lean muscular build. His skin is the pigment of a golden bronze. His eyes are crimson and glisten in the dark. His hair fits over his scalp and is of the shade of black. On his chin, a tuft grows matching the color of his head. On his torso, he wears red chest guard made of titanium and a silky black shirt underneath it. He wears loose fitting black pants and firmly fit black boots which a rigged with magic to allow him to jump great heights in order to take down a dragon. Both of his hands have titanium gloves fused and reinforced by dark magic which allow him to have greater strength and carry his colossal sword. Personality: Calibur is an arrogant, prideful, and barbaric individual. His praise as a warrior by his race makes him arrogant. His inherited warrior mind makes him prideful. And his vicious training has made him barbaric. He is cold, insensitive, and a bit reluctant to work with others. If he is working with someone, he is either planning to double cross them, or they have won his respect for being a great warrior. One moral Calibur has is the mutual respect for a warrior. If he encounters a warrior with phenomenal skill, he may allow the warrior to live if they are defeated by him. However, that number is few. Weapons and Skills: Calibur wields the sword of the Sentinels; which is a large red sword ranging six feet in length. Calibur also possesses great strength, even without the titanium enhanced gloves. Calibur also suffered a mutation, which in turn proved to be an advantage. He can eject a red energy from his hands that explode when it makes contact with a target. However, he rarely uses this technique, simply because it drains most of his energy. History: Calibur comes from a family of divine warriors and is a native of the Sentinel Empire, Sentry. Ever since he was able to walk, his father had trained him to become the most prominent warrior in all of Sentry. By his early teens, Calibur accomplished the goal of his father. He became a missionary for the Sentinel Renegade; a group of Sentinel warriors that roam the world conquering inferior civilizations; at the age of sixteen. Since then, he has raised in rank as he grew in age. He has become a Divine Missionary; the highest and most praised rank of the Sentinel Military. The Sentinels have always had a problem with the Dragon Riders and Dragons, because they usually stood on the way of their conquering empire. Due to his impressive skills as a warrior, he has been assigned by the Grandmaster to eliminate the Dragon Riders. ******** The night sky was illuminated by the full moon and bright ivory stars. A crisp breeze ran through the entire forest, while nocturnal creatures roamed below. Above the towering green trees that crowded the forest floor, a bronze dragon zipped across the horizon. The Rwindian rider turned around, pulling out his crossbow and launched several arrows behind him. The projectiles raced for their target, which was a figure atop a creature of black. When the Rwindian did not hear any cries of death, he looked over his shoulder to see the thing still on him. The Rwindian kicked the side of his dragon, making the creature go faster and rise in altitude. Once again, the Dragon Rider looked over his shoulder to see a figure coming his way. The dragon roared in pain as it was jerked down by the weight of another body landing on top of it. The Rwindian quickly drew his sword just as a gigantic red blade came down on him. He was able to stop the blade, but felt a sharp pain in his stomach, as if metal were digging into it, before flying back. The Rwindian was able to catch the wing of his dragon and flip back to his feet. He stood up, looking the figure in its sinister red eyes. “You Dragon Riders are pitiful.” It said, revealing a deep voice. “And who are you to make such a claim?” The Rwindian countered. The figure laughed and stepped into a better lit area of the dragon. He was tall, standing well over six feet. His glowing red eyes sat out against his bronze skin. “I, Calibur Xylien, Divine Missionary of the Sentinel Renegades declares so.” Calibur answered proudly. The Rwindian frowned fiercely and went in to charge at the figure, but he was run through by the enormous red blade. Thick crimson poured onto the dragon’s back as the two halves of the Rwindian plunged to the ground below. Calibur looked down, laughing as the body parts fell. He then looked down at the dragon that continued to fly. Gripping the handle of his sword, Calibur did a powerful chop, slicing off one of the dragon’s wings. The dragon screeched and began to twirl. Calibur grabbed the neck of the creature, and swung his sword across the dragon’s neck then jumped away. Black blood spewed out of the wound and a loud crunch breathed when the dragon crashed into the trees and then to the ground. Calibur landed several yards away from the fallen creature, grinning at his task. “This is way too easy.” He said as he began to back away and hop on his obsidian mount which has landed behind him. With a kick to the mount’s side, Calibur was in the air, searching for another victim and leaving a grisly scene behind. |
| ~Present Time~ Time had come and gone, the seasons changed. The Wheel of life turned, death came, and birth renewed. Lorien sat in a den of oak trees and willows, meditating. The Sages had left him long ago, speaking of intricacies to come, plots that were already woven, and saying that they would return to him when the time was right. Unfortunately, and almost coincidently, that time had not been revealed. Visions of the girl, or now young woman, had continued. After each appartition, Lorien felt more and more strangely connected to her. He and Shruiken had discussed this at great length. The idea of an unkown bond between the two was troubling and bizarre. Several of the visions had quite disturbing as the girl went through bouts of extreme depression, and seemed to take out whatever it was that was troubling her upon herself. During these visions Lorien became destraught and felt helpless, as he watched her inflict pain upon herself without Lorien being able to do a thing. Now other matters tugged at his thoughts. The constant feud between Rider and Slayer had become increasingly fierce. Lorien and Shruiken had built quite a reputation as they racked up substantial numbers of kills and had been involved in many harrowing skirmishes with the Slayers, even the rogue Rider. There were rumors about ancient evils resurfacing in the South, and the prophecies were coming into play. The EC had secretly become more active, hunting down the rogue DragonRiders, and taking down the overzealous Slayer; the casualties rivaling the number of deaths at the beginning of the first set of Dragon Wars. __________________ :Lorien,: He opened his eyes as Shruiken runbled in his mind, :Yes?: :I've found something as I've been flying... I think you ought to come see it.: Lorien's brow creased in in curiosity. :Couldn't you just will me what it is you wish me to see?: :It'd be best if you saw it with your own eyes.: Was Shruiken's reply, :I can stand your physical tantrums. You mental assualts are quite uncomfortable, though.: Lorien heard Shruiken chuckle grimly. :Funny.: :Go through the portal to Daal'Rith. I'll meet you there.: Lorien sighed, and pulled his black hooded cloak over himself. He looked at the dark clouds brooding in the sky. :See you there.: "What in God's name?" Lorien exclaimed. He stood before a desolate and burning village. The growing wind whipped up the smoke, making the coals of burnt houses flare up. The stench of burning flesh was strong. He had visited this place before; having discovered future DragonRiders and had come to encourage them in their learning. Now they were dead. The entire village had been burned, their bodies strewn about, some of them having been half-eaten, mauled, or gnawed upon by some animal of prey. The village had been small, but had it's own village elders. The only thing of value that it could would be the scrolls of prophecy that the elders posessed. Lorien turned to Shruiken. Tthe weather seemed to worsen with Lorien's mood. Shruiken looked down at him, his blue eyes unblinking. "Well?" Lorien prompted. :Your guess is as good as mine. It may have been bandits, using some hunting beast... but it seems nothing has been taken from the village except its books and scrolls of prophecy. Everything else was virtually untouched.: Shruiken let out a rumble of anger. Lorien stood and looked around, his expression cold. He believed prophecy to be the collected jibberish of mad men... which they most likely were.It was a complete outrage for so many to be murdered over something he regarded so trivial. Obviously, it must have been very important to the killers. "I'm not so sure about bandits, Shruiken... I'd say that some bastard of a Slayer was looking to lay his hands on the prophecies, but he didn't want to draw much attention to himself. " Few people visit this village." He chuckled, "I'd guess he wasn't bright enough to go to Aerelia and look through the libraries there. Maybe he was pressed for time. Maybe he decided to feed his mount while he was at it." His face twisted in disgust. "Burn them." He turned, pulling his hood up, as it began to rain. "Come on," he said, "I've got to pay a visit to the EC. Something is going on... and I would like to know bloody what." |
| Snow sat up her blanket wrapped around her tightly trying to fend off the chill that encompassed her whole body. It had happened again, another dream of dragons and their riders, of her unknown hate and desire to rid her sight of them whenever they appear before her. The nightmares are always events from her past, some she can recall during waking hours, others she knows are truth, yet she seems to only remember them when asleep. Her hate baffles her to the point of fear for it is normally unwarranted by anything the dragon or rider has done to her. The feelings of hate began long before she’d ever met Bilar and began learning from her coming in closer relation to the loss of ones you know. Now the dragon riders have taken away the only person Snow cared about, still that did not make her feelings seem any more comprehendible. “Why…Why…does this happen to me?” Snow repeated the question a few times before a sound outside her door made her stop. Glancing at the door it took her a moment before comprehension developed -- she was still at Bilar’s home and the sound was a light knocking on the wood. “Yes.” she called softly, partly hoping whomever it was wouldn’t hear her and go back to sleep. Though her hopes weren’t to come true, since the door opened slowly to reveal Thomas. His smile was a friendly one. “I didn’t wake you did I? I had thought I’d heard your voice while passing.” Snow sighed, looked down at the blanket then spoke, “I was awake.” Thomas shook his head as if he understood, “Couldn’t sleep either?” Snow nodded, she would rather not talk about her nightmares with anyone, in fact Bilar had been the only one she entrusted them to. Now she had no one to confide in. “I can’t believe…” Snow began. “None of us can, but we were prepared for this day…as well as anyone could be that is…” Snow nodded, “I guess in his line of work, it’s an expected or accepted at least, job hazard.” Thomas chuckled a little at the reference, “You could say that. Would you like some tea? Helps calm the nerves sometimes.” Snow nodded and Thomas backed out of the doorway, “I’ll get it started, join me when you’re ready.” “I will.” Thomas left her room, his soft footsteps could just barely be heard moving toward the kitchen. Snow sat on her bed a few moments before getting up, throwing on a wrap and walking to the kitchen. Thomas was seated at the table with two steaming cups placed on either side of the piece of furniture, one before his seat and the other for Snow. Taking the empty seat with the tea before it, Snow looked into the steaming cup at the dark liquid. Snow took a sip of the tea, “It is very good.” Thomas nodded, “Thank You.” Looking back into her cup, Snow spoke as if she were speaking to it rather than Thomas, “Bilar spoke of you often.” “He loved you like family, I hope you knew that.” Snow nodded, “He was all I had really…though I understood that he would have always have someone.” “As would you, Snow, you were and still are always welcome here.” Snow finally looked at Thomas, “Bilar always told me that, but I am not true family and … I never wanted to interfere with his time with you both.” “You are a true part of the family, maybe not by blood, but by my father’s fondness for you.” Snow looked away, “Do not become teary eyed because you speak so…sentimentally.” Although Thomas looked less teary eyed then Snow felt herself and she knew her words were more for herself then Thomas. “I’m not sure I can go back…” Snow glared at her tea as if it had caused her to speak. “No one will blame you for taking some time away.” Snow lifted her eyes to look at Thomas the spoke, “I meant ever.” |
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