| abstract
| - The pile of blankets on Syton's bedroll stirs and one of the many blankets falls away to reveal half of Syton's face. He is sleeping now, as he has been all day, in a death-like coma. The young freelander mutters half a word, twitches, then sits up abruptly. He seems to have been sleeping in his armor. Syton blinks and shakes his head to clear it, looking around the tent. Wolfsbane pauses in his digging around the depths of his pack, his head tilting upwards to the roof of the tent. He cocks his head, listening, a small frown spreading across his face. "That's odd," he mutters to himself. "Very odd. Sounds almost like it's nearing." He draws his hand out of the leather bag and leans on the ground with it. "Does not sound very good," Katriana comments absently to herself, setting her bow down on her bedroll, removing her gloves and setting them down next. Fingers now bare, the Nillu rakes her fingers through her hair, pulling out the quickly unraveling braid, starting to rebraid afresh. "Oh, but Norran, it's not beautiful or free here at all!" Milora looks somewhat frustrated as she murmurs this, dropping the Duke's hand and moving away. "Never mind!" ... A pause, and then the thunder strikes and Milora furrows her eyebrows. "Thunder? I didn't even notice a storm," she says, moving to her own bedroll and focusing her attention momentarily on Syton. "Awakening at last, Master Temple? It's about time." "Ah, rain. Just what I asked for," muses Norran aloud, offering a quick grin toward Milora before rising to his feet carefully and reaching to retrieve the claymore he has nearby. Edging toward the tent's flap, he begins to sheath it into the scabbard on his back as he walks to investigate. The armored figures of Lucius Nepos and Hugo Wheat walk through camp, getting back to the outside area of the Imperial tent in time to see thunder in the distance. Lucius's shield does not shine tonight, covered by its leather case but the man looks curiously onto the horizon. "What in the Light is that?" Hugo answers, shrugging both shoulders. "No idea, Lucius." *VWOOM* The setting sun gives way to a silhouette in the eastern sky; dark and unremarkable, not by form but by distance. The rolling fogs part in the path of the object, the thunder getting louder crash by crash, indicative of something on the move. *VWOOM* Each beat of that thunderous sound occurs sooner than the last, the interval between each powerful reverberation lessening with every concussion of air and sound. Once dark and unremarkable, the object begins to take form as it draws closer - an arrow of metallic crimson across the dusky sky. *VWOOM* Something large this way comes... "Wha?" Syton says meaninglessly, rubbing his eyes for several seconds. He gets to his feet, each of his knees cracking as he stands. He runs a hand through his mussed hair before looking about once more. His eyes settle on Milora and seem to finally focus. "What is happening?" he asks as he reaches for his gear. "Was cloudy outside, if I remember. But they weren't storm clouds," Wolfsbane states to anyone who cares to listen, glancing about the tent, and then to the entrance as Norran peeks out. "And it's moving pretty quick, from the sound of it. Still, if it's going to flash rain, at least we have the tent." Katriana Nillu is very busily braiding her hair once again, pulling the strands back and weaving them together as she watches Vhramis curiously. "If they weren't storm clouds, then why does it sound as though a large storm is about to approach?" she inquires. "Thunder!" the smaller Lomasa repeats to Syton, raising her eyebrows at him and shaking her head. She stands, too, after a minute, grabbing her bow and adjusting the strap of her quiver, then reaching back to open it. "I feel odd," she says to Syton quietly. "Almost ... quite nervous. Do you suppose I'm anxious for nothing?" Celeste steps from one of the tents, already dressed in her obsidian armor. The thunder almost heralding her entrance as she looks about the camp. She repositions the mace on her hip as she draws closer. As he exits the tent, Norran glances upward at the rain coming down from the sky with a faint grin, reaching both hands up to pull the leather hood of his cloak over his head to emerge from the tent and give a nod toward Lucius. "I'm sure the tent will stand up." "Ooh Light, is that what I think it is?" Lucius asks nobody in particular. His comrade, for one, doesn't seem to feel like answering the other soldier. Instead they both let their eyes adjust to the far away object, before the Eastwatcher pipes, "It looks like something in the distance, but I can't be sure. Something that is certainly not lightning. Vhramis!" The thunder does, indeed, herald a storm; yet it is not a storm of rain and wind, but rather a storm of scale and claw. What first sounded like distant thunder soon reveals itself as something that is less than a weather front, but still a force of nature in its own right all the same. The crimson arrow takes on form as the ambiguity of distance is removed from the equation, revealing a long, slender body attached to two powerful wings of dark scarlet, flanked on the rear by a sinuous whip-like tail, and on the front by a sleek neck that links to a wedge-shaped head. There's a call of "DRAGON!" from around the camp, the clatter of weapons and armor following in the wake of the alarm, the booming revealed as a noise created by the rapid displacement of air around the crack of those sleek wings. A crimson haze approaches. Here there be Dragons. Syton perks up, energy coming to him quickly as the alarm goes up. He throws his quiver and bow over one shoulder and grabs his quarterstaff in his hand. "At least you were not nervous for nothing," he says to Milora, brushing past her and shouldering his way through the tent flap. He jogs over to Lucius straight away, then scans the horizon until he spots the approaching crimson haze. "Well... maybe the storm clouds were just further than I could see?" Wolfsbane suggests with a sheepish look to Katriana, blinking upwards again at the sounds of the rain beginning to pour over the tent. "Well. There it is." And then the warning from Lucius, and then the camp rolls over the ranger, and a deep sigh escapes his lips. "Had to choose now," he mutters, springing into movement as he springs to his feet. He tugs up the side of the bed roll and grabs the twin scabbards from the ground, tucking them under his arm and turning to bolt to the tent exit to jump outside. Milora shivers visibly, exiting the tent with haste. She is silent as she scans the area, but visibly rattled from the alarm - Lucius is spotted, zoned in upon, and moved quickly towards. "Dragons. Dragons!" she whispers to herself, the sound almost lost in the bustle. Katriana Nillu looks up at Lucius' call, tying off her braid and tugging her gloves back on before taking up her bow. "Dragons?" murmurs to herself, rising up to her feet quickly. Celeste looks towards the sky as the call goes up. The rain going unnoticed as it begins to plaster her hair against her head. Only her eyes seem to be moving as she tugs free the mace. "Shades, not much I can do to hit it from here," she mutters to herself. "Dragons, hm?" mutters Norran aloud to himself, peering off in the distance toward the approaching figure with his own, private smile. He keeps his standing position near the tent, a hand reaching to rest on the pommel of his sabre as he glances toward Lucius. "I guess you'll wish for me to stop talking about now, then?" "Yes. This is always a good idea. I'm glad that he's coming to the camp. Maybe it'll cow those arses up in the city to surrender the Lady to us and leave, eh?" Lucius asks with a ruefull grin. He pulls his cloak over his head. "Be wary, Imperials! They could take this time to shoot at us, if they're wily enough." He yells now, motioning up at the city walls. He chuckles. "Something like that, Norran." Wolfsbane takes the time to peer about the camp as he emerges, blinking at the sight of the weapons being gathered. "For Light's sake, he's not attacking! The muffled thunder of beating wings and displaced air is replaced by silence as the red dragon known as Val'sharax spreads his winds to their full span and enters into a glide, his tail sweeping to the right and he changes first his pitch, yaw, and then angle of roll to place him on a direct landing angle between the Siege Camp on his left (to the south), and Crown's Refuge on his right (to the right), with his body acting as a wall between the two for the duration of this "visit". With nothing but silence following behind him, the dragon swoops; his altitude drops rapidly as he controls his descent with a few precise flicks of wing and tail alike until - almost in the blink of an eye - two hundred feet of dragon, tail and body alike, lands without a sound in front of the stunned onlookers of the camp. A crack of his wings as he shifts them from an outspread angle to a holding "V" heralds his arrival; the sudden displacement of air upon the ground sending a gust through the camp that threatens to up heave tents and cast Humans and Syladris alike onto the ground as he proudly stands before those that now scramble away and those that stand in awe in equal measure. Though the rains now fall independent of his thunder, Val'sharax doesn't seem to mind, the rain dripping from his head or running down his sides in rivulets that only serve to enhance the illustrious sheen of his metallic crimson scales. Amber orbs look upon the camp as the shockwave from his landing runs through the area, yet no trace of his landing is evident upon the ground beneath him. Indeed, it seems that not even a single blade of grass has been forsaken beneath his claws. Val'sharax the Arbitrator has arrived. Syton watches the Drake come in to land, his eyes wide, captivated by the crimson beast. He takes a half-step back and braces himself against the gust accompanying Val'sharax's landing, weathering it just fine. As the beast settles in, however, the color drains from Syton's face. He takes a step back, grabs his left shoulder, and stares for a moment. He blinks, turns abruptly, and scrambles away from the Drake, farther into the Verdigris. Wolfsbane takes the time to peer about the camp as he emerges, blinking at the sight of the weapons being gathered. "For Light's sake, he's not attacking!" he calls, turning about to stare at the massive draconic form landing, digging his feet into the ground against the sudden blasting of wind battering his form. The ranger licks his lips as he feels the familiar chill from the presence of such a being beginning to creep into his muscles and bones. Tightening his grip on the scabbards he holds, almost as if to fortify his will, he begins to pad forward towards the waiting drake. Syton watches the Drake come in to land, his eyes wide, captivated by the crimson beast. He takes a half-step back and braces himself against the gust accompanying Val'sharax's landing, weathering it just fine. As the beast settles in, however, the color drains from Syton's face. He takes a step back, grabs his left shoulder, and stares for a moment. He blinks, turns abruptly, and scrambles away from the Drake, farther into the Verdigris. Wolfsbane takes the time to peer about the camp as he emerges, blinking at the sight of the weapons being gathered. "For Light's sake, he's not attacking!" he calls, turning about to stare at the massive draconic form landing, digging his feet into the ground against the sudden blasting of wind battering his form. The ranger licks his lips as he feels the familiar chill from the presence of such a being beginning to creep into his muscles and bones. Tightening his grip on the scabbards he holds, almost as if to fortify his will, he begins to pad forward towards the waiting drake. The landing of the dragon makes Katriana blink and stare, shifting enough to keep her feet as she watches. Her hands tighten over her bow, teeth clamping down on her lower lip as a shiver crosses through her body, but she remains standing strong, watching silently. Parting her lips slightly as the dragon lands, Milora seems, despite her small size, to stand the gust of wingbeats admirably. Her hair is another story, whipping all around her head so that she has to rake it back to keep her sight. Taking in the sight of the creature, she draws her breath and feels something very strange go up and down her spine. She furrows her eyebrows anxiously and closes her mouth. From the wind buffets from the wings, Norran barely reacts, handling it much like a stiff breeze as he peers upward toward the familiar dragon. When the beast nears, however, an odd thing happens to the usually calm young Duke who's faced the drake once before - he takes on an alerted look and, much like Temple, quickly clambers his way back into the tent that he had just stepped out of. As the dragon lands, Celeste takes a step back. Her hand trying to tug the mace free as she trips over one foot to the other. "Shades...she was right," she cries out. Her sea green eyes flying wide in panic at the sight of the beast. Lucius Nepos steams to weather the figurative and literal storms at the same time, standing strong as Val'Sharax comes to a stop next to the bluff. He plants his feet and bends his knees a bit to stay up. Nor does he seem to be sent into a panic at the sight of the Drake but simply stands as he has before. He decides to keep back of the Drake, saying to his charges, "Come now, stand tall! If he wanted to hurt you he'd have done it already." "Amusing logic." Evidently entertained by the results of his entrance as Fastheldians and Wildlanders alike either scramble for cover or embrace the storm, the red dragon smoothly rumbles his reply to Lucius's statement, the tip of his anfractuous tail swishing back and forth over the rain-moist ground behind him. His is a standing posture at this moment in time, stood on all fours with his wings held above his back as he looks upon the chaos that's taking place on his left flank. "Yes, if I wanted to hurt you, I'd REALLY need to gain the element of surprise." The ruffle of wings behind folded is maintained throughout the commotion that continues in the wake of his comments, the dragon furling his wings to drape them over his back like a cloak of dark red leather, his scales glistening with a subtle radiance that casts a crimson hue upon the ground around him beneath what is, otherwise, a dark and rainy night. "At least nobody shot at him," Wolfsbane mutters to himself, his attention focused somewhere on the Drake's chest as he moves out of the camp. He pauses in front of Val'sharax, forcing him to tilt his head sharply upwards to look to the Arbitrator's head, and the ranger suddenly finds himself without an inkling of what to say. The rain drips along his head as he sways slightly, the thought obvious on his face, until he seems to realize there's nothing /to/ say. Aside from a greeting. "Hello." The man takes the extra scabbard into his other hand and holds both up in offering. Katriana Nillu watches from just inside of the tent, neither moving back, nor forward, a small frown on her lips. Her eyes seem entranced on the sight before her, shifting back and forth between Vhramis and the Dragon. Stepping forward, the smaller, blonder Lomasa quickly finds herself stepping back again. The knuckles on the hand wrapped around her bow are white, and the corner of her lower lip has been drawn into her mouth to be _fiercely_ bitten. A peculiar look is present on her face as she examines the Drake: something between humble fascination and quiet terror. Vhramis' greeting seems to reach her where no one's actions otherwise do; she bows her head here. The larger Lomasa, however, has taken to huddling by his bedroll inside the expedition's tent. Expression a mixture of fear and agitation, he peers off toward his nearby pack. Feverishly digging through the contents, Norran begins to quickly pick out and tear off pieces of bread from within to stuff into his mouth. He continues this, the act seeming to at least calm him down just a little. Celeste, still prone upon the ground, mud and dirt seeming to gather beneath her as she tries to crawl back from the creature. Her eyes darting across the camp as she pushes back, lips moving in unspoken tandem of words. Lucius Nepos doesn't really see it necessary to respond to Val'sharax's comments. Probably, though, he thinks it best /not/ to respond to the Drake, watching the proceedings with interest but keeping his distance. "Kahar." The image they present must be a remarkable one for those who are still around to look on from the sidelines; the ranger, Vhramis Wolfsbane, stood before a red dragon thirty-times the man in length, and at least a third of that in height. And that isn't including the wings. Droplets of rain cascade down the dragon's snout and maw as Val'sharax looks down upon the Fastheldian that stands before him, creating both a new downpour of scattered rains upon the poor ranger while shielding him from the greater downpour beyond. The returned greeting is an abstract one, depending on how much one knows of Vhramis Wolfsbane and, indeed, the dragon himself, but it's a greeting all the same. Stood there in the rain, dragon before human and human before dragon in kind, the former extends his left claw - talons and palm up - towards the ranger. "I imagine you know why I am here, Vhramis Kahar; we have a trade, and one you must reiterate before we make the transaction. Two trinkets forged of the Tears of Sho'var in trade for my flight to a location within Fastheld. That is the trade, is it not?" Regardless of the deep, smooth rumble that is the voice of a dragon, Val'sharax sounds almost pleased with himself for some reason. His tail swishes back and forth behind him in a mirthful manner, though seems to leave little trace upon the earth. Syton cringes as the Drake speaks, sinking back behind his tree. However, a short time later, he peeks his head back out again. He does not make the slightest sound, barely even breathing, and certainly not doing anything to draw attention to himself. The sudden sustained pouring of water over Wolfsbane's head causes the man to take a tiny step backwards, to bring himself out of the main body of it. "Yes. To the location where the aspect of the Ravager was sealed," he dips his head in affirmation at that, lifting his left hand to brush over his eyes with a finger, still holding one of the sheathed weapons, while his other lowers to a more relaxed position. "I accept the conditions, Arbitrator." Katriana Nillu continues to watch, glancing back over her shoulder towards Norran, her brows drawing together. Her lips press together but she looks back to Vhramis and the Dragon once more. She watches and waits. Norran remains completely unaware of Katriana, however, just fine with rummaging through whatever bread he may have in his pack. While a bit calmed, he shows no intent of focusing on anything else rather than huddling near his pack and chewing enthusiastically on his rations. Celeste continues to back away from the dragon. Her hands slipping and sliding in the mud, her gracefulness lost. Lucius Nepos lifts his eyebrows up, alarmed at the words of Val'sharax and the response from the human who stands in front of him. "Light, he intends to go back now? This does not bode well..." He takes on a slightly more nervous posture, running his free hand over the segments of his metal cuirass. "Well," Val'sharax begins, looking up and away from Vhramis to rest that burning amber gaze upon Lucius, his ears perking to attention as he regards the other Fastheldian, claw still held out towards Vhramis to deposit the weapons upon. "After a short detour, but that is *hardly* something that *you* need to concern yourself with. However, I do have a second trade proposal for your collection of Imperials, if only because I find you all *quite* entertaining." The Dragon laughs; a sound that proclaims doom and salvation all at once, depending on what your relation to that laugh may be. A shift of his head has him looking down upon the ranger once more, rivulets of water running down his body to drip upon the crimson-hue kissed ground. "It seems you're faced with a quandary in regards to the lair of "free" humanity and the curiously intriguing Syladris; one I may be able to swiftly resolve for you, for the right price. Interested?" There's this glimmer in his eye... Syton looks left, then right, then back to the Drake. He readies himself and, once he has worked up the courage, darts out from behind his tree. He moves up to the treeline swiftly, settling in behind another tree, one that is smaller but closer to the action. He continues to watch quietly, now with a better view of the goings-on. Perhaps suddenly realizing that his part of the deal is waiting to be fulfilled, Wolfsbane lay the pair of scabbards into Val'sharax's outstretched claw carefully. Quite carefully, really. This, unfortunately, requires him to step a bit closer towards it, though as he's in the process, he glances upwards to listen as the conversation turns away from him. A curious expression crosses his face, one of mild suspicion. "His intervention?" he mutters to himself, before rising his voice in question to the drake. "What could the price be?" he asks. Katriana Nillu moves a bit further back into the tent, reaching out to touch Norran's shoulder lightly. "Are you alright?" she asks quietly, concern appearing on her features. She shifts her bow onto her shoulder, nibblingon her lower lip. Shifting her eyes upward, Milora continues to ... stand and watch, exactly as she's meant to do. Her eyes shift for a moment; it is discovered in this time that several people are missing from the party, and rather that attending to the exchange between Vhramis and the Drake, she seems distracted by the process of tracking the location of these men. Moving so much to draw attention to herself, however, is out of the question. Norran blinks as Katriana reaches out to touch his shoulder, staring at her somewhat blankly for a moment. Eventually, he responds with, "Shfarsh frosh," or something /very/ similar, his mouth quite full of bread. Either way, he slowly rises up to his feet to begin curiously making his way toward the tent's entrance, glancing back to Katriana as he busily chews on his impromptu meal. Celeste takes a deep breath, actually a -few- deep breaths. Her hand letting the mace remain on the muddy ground as she looks up to the dragon again. Again her breath catches and holds, but her eyes seem to narrow slightly. The near panic retreat slowly coming to a halt. "What would that be, Arbitrator? Name your request, if you please, and we will see about satisfying it." Lucius gives a nod of the head at the Drake. Whether this is to assure himself of the fact that yes, he has just spoken directly to Val'sharax and that it was indeed a good idea, or perhaps it is a token sign of respect. Who knows, but Lucius? "It has come to my attention," Val'sharax begins, looking away from Vhramis and back upon Lucius again as he does so, his tail sweeping in a wide arc behind him, "That you have an trinket also forged of the Tears of Sho'var; as does the Kahar here, and the Light blessed Zahir named Soravyn who, it seems, is not within the camp right now. He pauses, looking towards the Verdigris behind the Siege Camp. "Interesting. That little girl is with him. Regardless, for your shield, and your bow - quaint items that they may be - I *may* be able to find the time to undo that which your friends at Ebonhold have started." Val'sharax tilts his head to the left, and then looks upon those Fastheldians that are still in sight, seemingly addressing the collective rather than the individual now. "Feel free to discuss it among yourselves." he states with a yawn, smirking a little as various members of the Blood Guard sneak back out of the shadows of the forest beyond. "I have time to spare." Syton kneels down behind his new, closer tree, wrapping an arm around it as he continues to watch the Drake. Though he glances around the camp a bit, he hasn't seemed to work up the enthusiasm to leave this tree quite yet. For the time being, he stays put. Wolfsbane frowns at that, reaching back to instinctively touch the bow referenced by the Drake, it being slung over his shoulder. "Does this concern the balance?" he asks after a few moments, staring upwards at the Crimson Drake as he begins to move away in a slow pace. The Arbitrator stepping into directly change the course of mortal matters? "For you to offer your intervention there must be much greater at stake than it seems, at first, Arbitrator." Katriana Nillu shrugs at Norran's reaction and moves back towards the tent's entrance, watching Vhramis and the Dragon. "I wonder what is to happen," she murmurs to herself. "Profoly shroing tro right shem awn shire," replies Norran conversationally to the Nillu, the Lomasa now curiously peering out over Katriana's shoulder at what's happening. He's chewing a little loudly in her ear, but he's otherwise peaceful enough. Celeste continues to watch the dragon from her reclined repose in the mud. Her breathing slowing as the fear seems to subside some, her mace lost to her thoughts as the rain only plasters the blonde hair to her head and armor. Listening to the creatures words, she levels her gaze towards Vhramis. Lucius Nepos doesn't look particularly shocked at this pronouncement, but glances down at his shield. He unfastens the leather cover, letting the Lady's Aegis breathe, its seraphite glow blue and its wildstone and gold trim show proud. Then he looks back up at Val'sharax with some hesitancy. "I will do it, Arbitrator. Vhramis. Will you?" "If it concerned the Balance, do you believe that Ebonhold would still be standing?" Though he seems mostly amused by the question, the answer he gives is one that comes equipped with a dark smile that does very little to alleviate any perception of malicious undertone, nor does it hide those teeth of his. Regardless of perceptions, Val'sharax finally decides to lower his haunches and adopt a very regal sitting position, one that is almost cat-like in appearance, watching the conversations, events, and the players, with some degree of interest. "No, Vhramis Kahar, I can assure you that this is all *very* mundane and trivial and petty. All of which are elements that your kind find HIGHLY entertaining, I'm sure, but it's all very droll when you're a creature such as I. However, Ebonhold has traded for information before, and the trades have always been.... mmm... *mostly* fair. I do admit to manipulating things to my advantage, but one might just attribute that to being a superior form of life, would they not?" And THAT," he offers to Lucius in turn, "Is DELIGHTFULLY unexpected of you." First bootsteps, then a silhouette from the direction of the river, and finally, Thayndor Zahir emerges from the shadows and steps towards Lucius, Vhramis and the Drake. "Nepos," he says. "Wolfsbane." His eyes turn slowly up -- WAY up -- to the Drake's head. "Far be it from me to intervene in your private barter. But it would be in our best interests if you learned more of the consequences that would come from your honored guest's involvement in the affairs of Crown's Refuge before accepting his offer." The Zahir clasps his hands behind his back. "For instance." His hand returns, gesturing, as he speaks to Lucius. "If the great Drake intervenes to cousin Soravyn's foes from the town ... how much of the town might we expect to remain standing afterward?" The ranger shifts his weight, gloved fingers running almost lovingly over the scales on the longbow over his shoulder. "Kalath'aria gifted me this," he states to himself, the proposition not seeming to be sitting well with him. Thayndor is glanced to and stared at for a moment, before Wolfsbane peers back up to the Drake. "Your interest in this is troubling to me, though I don't know why so. I remember the times you've refused to deal with me, saying that for you to simply whisk in and solve our problems would be a more terrible occurrence than us facing them ourselves." "An interesting turn," Katriana notes to herself, eying Thayndor's approach with curiosity. Her eyes flicker back up to the Dragon for a moment, but now the focus seems to be on the Zahir and Vhramis. With one soldier present and accounted for (Mily smiles at Norran briefly, but doesn't bother to try and catch his eye), the young girl turns her head to locate Temple. Finding him nowhere in sight Milora frowns rather deeply, inhaling and clicking her tongue quietly against the back of her teeth. Celeste finally seems calm enough to stand. Her hand plucking up the mace by instinct alone as she approaches the drake as well. Coming stand behind the ranger, she tilts her head back to look up at the beast. The mace quickly being affixed to her hip, she slowly crosses her arms to listen. "...omens," she is the only softly whispered word that seems to escape her pale lips, a near whisper in the rain. "And so the will and whim of Drakes is not ours to understand, Vhramis! As long as the city is preserved well and the Lady saved, I don't see why we shouldn't sacrifice some small object of ours." Lucius looks rather crossly at the ranger, ignoring Thayndor for the moment. "This is a city of over ten thousand people, and you're unwilling to let your luxuries go?" "My interest is purely selfish." Val'sharax admits, bobbing his snout once or twice to affirm his statement before pausing to yawn; teeth and tongue on display for all to see. This accomplished, the dragon shakes his head, licks his teeth, and then evenly regards Lucius and Thayndor in turn for a moment before looking back down upon Vhramis. "You have something I would like, and I have the ability to resolve something that is a problem to you. Equal trade, the Balance is maintained. One gives and receives items of equal value. This is not a case of your kind looking to mine to solve all of your problems every time one arises, Vhramis Kahar; this is benefit from sacrifice, but your choice is your own. I assure you that Crown's Refuge will remain unscathed, and I'll iterate that I do not require all three items so lend *some* assistance." As he shifts, Thayndor's cloak rustles wetly; the cloth is soaked through, as if his appearance was perhaps not as sudden as it seemed to be. He stands between and a few steps behind the ranger and the soldier who are ostensibly his lieutenants, eyes on the Drake now with an unreadable expression. "If this can be done without harming Crown's Refuge or our allies within its walls, Wolfsbane --" Thayndor begins, but cuts himself off, looking nervously between the Drake and the Ranger as if he had said too much. When he speaks again, his tone is the carefully modulated, warmly impartial purr of the House of Vipers. "You are better appraised of the implications here, of what lies in the balance between Soravyn Zahir, his Guard, Crown's Refuge ... and agents of Ebonhold ... than I, Wolfsbane. Choose carefully," he says at last. "I am inclined to ask that you do it to further our purpose here beyond the Aegis. I am equally inclined to wonder on which side this deed places us on the scales of power out here. But I trust your judgment." Syton's bright, blue-gray eyes leave the Drake for a moment, regarding Thayndor curiously for a second before they return to Val'sharax. He leans back, off of his quarterstaff, and ventures a few steps closer, to eavesdrop on the conversation more clearly. "It's not about 'luxuries'!" Wolfsbane blurts, glancing to Lucius, his eyes widened, even as his contact with the bow gross less gentle, and somewhat more desperate, gripping onto it tightly. He looks upwards back to Val'sharax, staring at the massive form as Thayndor talks, and whether or not he actually hears the Zahir is another matter entirely. The water pours over him, though he seems oblivious of it as he stands, looking for the most part, entirely lost. Katriana Nillu continues to watch the Dragon, and blinks. "Kahar?" she finally inquires to herself curiously. Her lips press together and she seems to be thinking or concentrating on something. "Can there be another trade?" Celeste calls out to the drake. "Perhaps another weapon here to your liking? That does seem to be what your requesting for, is it not?" She takes a step closer, a flicker of a glance towards the ranger before focusing on the Drake again. Milora follows Syton's lead, edging slowly closer. Her bow is still clasped in her hand, and her coarse hair is now plastered in large chunks to her forehead, saving her from the trouble of having to brush it back. "I wonder what services the Drake could provide that we, with some motivation, could not find the means to provide for ourselves," she says quietly, half to herself. Actually, almost all to herself. "Then if it's not about luxuries and has something to do with the welfare of people, state it and I'll leave you alone." Lucius states simply, the man ignoring everybody else except for Celeste, to whom he says, "I doubt that." "If you have other trinkets hidden beneath that armor, Celeste Mikin, forged of Tears of Sho'var, then I would be more than happy to consider them." Val'sharax answers, confirming Lucius's suspicions as he regards the former Scourge, "However, I am inclined to believe that you do not, and I can QUITE assure you that while the trinkets you DO have beneath your armor may be of interest to your companions, I harbor no such desire to aquire them." The dragon smiles a mirthless smile after that, finally getting tired of waiting around as he looks back upon Vhramis. "This is *not* a difficult decision, Vhramis Kahar," he offers, sighing in a somewhat condescending manner, "It is a proposal with a simple "Yes" or "No" answer that I'm SURE your species are capable of comprehending. The fate of Crown's Refuge remains undecided either way; if you believe the gains should be earned, then that is a respectable position to take, and FAR less self-serving than that of your counterparts within Ebonhold, and - indeed - many others within Fastheld. Some things are just worth working for, are they not? Others, well..." He shrugs a draconian shrug. Thayndor Zahir sidles to the right, his voice quiet in Vhramis' ear. "Kalath'aria gave you that bow because you had what is necessary to wield it, and because she had faith you would wield it for proper purpose. You are the real weapon and her faith is the real gift; the bow is a tool. Decline this offer only if it is what Ebonhold will do after Crown's Refuge is retaken that you fear. Otherwise you would betray Her faith and our purpose here." Syton looks between Val'sharax and Celeste, frowning. Despite his typically good humor, he does not, at the moment, seem terribly amused by the Drake's exchange with his friend. Overall, he is still quite tense, gripping his quarterstaff firmly as he taps it against the ground at his side. "There's nothing simple about it," the Imperial ranger responds to Val'sharax, his voice flat and strained, muscles in his arm aching under the leather from his iron grip on his bow. "You can't understand. For all the knowledge you hold, you're still simply incapable of understanding, because you're not human, as you unheedingly remind us so often." His form tenses all the more as Thayndor steps closer and whispers to him, his expression flinching slightly at his words. Turning his head, he regards the Zahir with a pained look on his face. Vhramis' arm twitches, and fingers finally loosen about the soft blue glow of the seraphite bow. In a stiff motion, his arm extends and he rolls his shoulder, the weapon sliding off of his shoulder and landing onto the wet, cold ground with a thud and splash. Haunted eyes stare down at the discarded weapon, a storm of emotions and thoughts flowing through that green gaze to match the more physical storm about the area. He seems about to speak, before he instead turns about on his heels and trudges away. Not towards the camp, but off to the Verdigris forest. Celeste looks down to the discarded bow, and then up at the drake. "You truly don't understand, do you?" She turns on her heels as well, moving to follow after the ranger. The drake forgotten in the wake of the rangers open emotions. She only follows behind him quietly, or as quiet as the obsidian armor would allow in the storm. Lucius Nepos moves towards the deposited Lady's Flight, giving Vhramis a respectful dip of his helmeted head. He too lays down the seraphite item, beautifully crafted shield pulsing in colour even under the heavy rainfall. Then he backs up to watch what happens after. Lucius Nepos drops: The Lady's Aegis "I mean no harm," Milora says quietly, approaching Lucius' side and inclining her head towards him. She seems to have picked up some confidence and also perhaps some vocal volume during her trek from the huddled group to the dragon's shadow. "That is, I only wonder whether we might be too hasty to seize the aid of the Drake where it is not so crucial an acquisition." Pausing for a moment, she gives Val'sharax a small curtsey. "I beg your pardon, O Drake. But, tell me," she says, at last focusing her attention back upon Lucius. "Could we possibly be buying a cow when there in milk in the kitchens?" Frowning, Milora turns as Vhramis retreats, looking alarmed. "No," Val'sharax offers in the wake of Celeste's accusation, his voice threatening to break from that smooth tone into a deep rumble of a laugh, the various emotions and comments utterly beneath him. "I do not think I could ever understand such trivial attachments to the baubles and trinkets that your kind seems to take preference to over life and prosperity; or is your Empire not built upon the back of financial gain and profit at the expense of someone else's labor, hmm?" The dragon's tail twitches behind him, eventually shifting into a smooth, slow, swish back and forth across the ground. He regards the seraphite items that have been placed before him, and then offers a curious glance towards Milora as she speaks her wisdom in the form of a question; and to that he DOES smile. "My dear Lady Milora," he purrs, amber orbs alight with mirth as he regards her, "If you were not so obviously an Imperial, I could almost mistake you for a Dragoness with that voice of wisdom." He pauses to collect the forsaken relics, and then glances back upon Milora with a *knowing* look about his draconian expression, and winks. "Perhaps." is the only answer he will offer before, quite abruptly... he stops the rain with a single word spoken in the harsh and guttural draconic language, peering up at the dark sky a moment later. "Now then, it seems I have my end of the deal to uphold." "We have a purpose here, Lady Milora," Thayndor explains to the woman quietly, watching the Drake prepare his end of the bargain. "I am uneasy about giving over tokens whose worth we do not fully understand, the same as you are. But every day we spend beyond the Wall is a day we might die before achieving our goal, and Lucius and Wolfsbane know more about their now-lost relics than I. They are my lieutenants and I am at a considerable disadvantage if I do not trust their judgement. Simply put ..." He turns to face Milora, reaching back to unstrap his longbow. "I am concerned we lack the time to fetch the milk." "Wolfsbane!" He calls, drawing his longbow from the quiver. "Perhaps you should take this and consider coming back in one piece?" Syton's eyes are able to leave the Drake much more easily now than just a few moments before. He watches Vhramis walk off, then watches Thayndor, and finally turns to look at Crown's Refuge. He frowns thoughtfully and takes a deep breath. It is the Drake, this time, which gets a brief glance. Wolfsbane pauses as his name is called, glancing over his shoulder to Thayndor as he calls to him, regarding the man for a moment, and then the longbow he holds in offering. The ranger sways slightly on his feet. "Another time. I don't need it. Listen to Val'sharax in the meantime, and try to make sense of him. He speaks poorly of the trinkets he himself is, at the same time, about to mercenary himself out for in order to obtain. And at the same time, he denounces something he can't understand, because he can't.." His words cut off as his eyes flit to Celeste's dark form. "Stay where you are, Sister. Don't follow me. Never follow me. You won't like where I lead." He looks ahead again and stalks off. Katriana Nillu takes a few steps in Vhramis' general direction, drawing her brows together with a scowl. She then looks to Thayndor and Lucius, tightening her grip over her bow. Celeste falters watching Vhramis as he speaks. "We are a team, are we not? No man should walk alone in his own shadows, Master Wolfsbane. If for nothing more than to have a kind voice nearby to speak with when our own darkness threatens." She shakes her head, crossing her arms. Being spoken to directly by the Drake has much the same effect as a blow to the back - it knocks the breath from Milora's lungs, and she turns pale momentarily ... however, her color returns when his speech is finished, and she is able to give him a small, withered smile and another curtsey. Upon straightening however, Mily folds her hands in front of her and exerts her wrists, wringing them once to show mild distress. When Thayndor addresses her she opens her mouth to reply, then seems to think better of it and instead nods and pronounces a humble agreement: "As you like it, Your Excellency." She presses her lips together firmly and watches. "Don't be foolish, for two days previous you were all concerned about possibly being killed for going up to Crown's Reach in an assault. Now, this has been prevented and we have done a great service to those who are our brothers and sisters outside of the Empire." Lucius says, not with a bitter voice but a reflective one. "Neither should you, Celeste, go with him. Let him go on his own." Without much warning Val'sharax gracefully moves into a standing posture once more; the shift from sitting to standing a remarkably fluid one for a creature such as a dragon, the level of subtle agility on display just another aspect of the curiosity that is his kind. His tail whipping behind him as he moves, the crimson drake walks towards Crown's Refuge, offering a thoughtful glance towards the palisade wall as one of the 'defenders' decides that launching an arrow at the dragon might make him back off. Which is, of course, a somewhat fatal mistake to make at the best of times, but on this occasion Val'sharax seems to ignore it. Instead he places the various seraphite items on the ground and draws a somewhat arcane looking pattern in the earth beneath him, looking back upon Crown's Refuge once or twice as he does so, before nodding to himself and recollecting the trinkets from the earth. This done he takes a few steps back, places his left claw on the rune that has been torn into the earth, utters a single word in draconic... And then the night explodes in a vociferous wave of phosphorescent blue light as Val'sharax's magic evidently shatters some other form of enchantment; a sundering of forces that blinds all but the dragon himself for a split second, the commotion causing a torrent of bird to flock en-masse from within the heart of the Verdigris Forest, wolves to howl, and all forms of life to cry out against the clashing of powers. When normality returns to the world, and sanity prevails again, all that is left of the event is a brief flicker of an image of dragon made entirely of shadow glaring down at the world from above Crown's Refuge - a mere glimpse into another plane of reality - and then nothing. Val'sharax, is seems, harbors a curiously neutral expression about him. "I will be very displeased with you if it turns out you'd have needed it after all," Thayndor notes to Vhramis, tucking the longbow back into its place with a practiced hand. "Interesting." He returns his eyes to the Drake, arching an eyebrow. Both rise, actually, and he's momentarily speechless at the sight of the immense creature rising to its feet. After a moment: "If I may ..." Thayndor inclines his head to the arcane being as the Drake prowls away. "We could have performed the same service at considerably higher risk and retained your Tears of Sho'var, Master Nepos. What are trinkets to us are something entirely --" That's about as far as Thayndor gets before even the Zahir loses his composure, the blinding light and sudden unfelt force enough to send him staggering back with one forearm drawn over his eyes. Darkness restored lifts the darkness from Thayndor's eyes again, and he looks uneasily towards Crown's Refuge. "We have made our choice, Lady Milora, good or ill," he says. "The immediate consequences will help us. What we have done in the long-term ..." His Adam's apple bobs. "...remains to be seen.' "Shades!" Syton shouts, taken a bit by surprise. He cringes and covers his eyes at the release of magical energy. Syton lowers his hand slowly, actually looking a bit irritated for a moment. He inspects at the Drake, then the town, and finally to those around him before frowning and shaking his head a little. He plants the end of his quarterstaff into the muddy ground and leans against it once more. "Sweet Light," Katriana whispers at the display of magic, her face draining of all color. Her knees wobble and give out, leaving her in the dirt, trembling. Once it passes, she gives a very small whimper, looking around her, breathing out a held breath as she pushes herself back upwards. Celeste eyes remain on the retreating ranger. The flash of light mostly blocked by her turned back, though she still closes her eyes with a wince. When they are opened again, the man is gone. The dragon going unheeded in its passing. "What price do we pay?" She muses softly. "Things solved too easily are usually not worth having, no... there’s a price that was paid; we just don't know it." She sighs softly, "You were right to speak of drakes, cousin." Raising her hands, Milora can only clasp her face in her hands, bearing the display of polished power as though she were standing beneath a waterfall. This light blinds her unfailingly, and for a moment all is lost to white light - and then it's as though someone snuffed a candle. Milora's mind returns perhaps somewhat slower than most; after a moment she is still blinking away white spots from before her eyes. A breath is taken before she drops her hands haplessly, turning wide-eyed to Thayndor: "I hope for good," she says hoarsely During the display of energy, Lucius simply watches wide eyed and rather scared, actually. He covers his face when the burst of blue energy is released, but continues to look after. Finally, after he says, "My shield, for me was nothing but an object of incredible beauty and personal protection. The latter can be fulfilled by another shield. The former is trivial. You know as much about these objects as I do. There was considerable more personal risk which I weighed in heavily. We may not even have succeeded. This is for the best for us and those in Crown's Reach." Other than that he watches what is to happen inside the city. "We paid a price, Celeste! Artifacts of the Drakes, that was the price!" "There." the red dragon finally states, turning back towards the Siege Camp and those that dwell within it - be they Fastheldian, Wildlander, or Syladris - with one leg tucked under his body to keep a hold over the treasures he's acquired this day. His wings flick, unfurl, and then fan out to their full length behind him, tail swaying lightly all the while. "Where there were once many there is now only one; the enchantment that placed others under the sway of the antagonist in this tale has been broken, and now you have but one foe to deal with in what ever manner that you choose. Which I'm *sure* will involve a lot of blood and posturing and will all be very droll and uninteresting, but I digress." Glancing back towards Crown's Refuge a final time - and the glance is troubled, it seems, but by what one cannot say - he finally nods at himself, beats his wings once or twice, and then offers some final words to those that look on. "My work here is done, Crown's Refuge will welcome you back, and I shall take my leave. "I look forward to the day when I have something you value," Thayndor offers to the Drake, inclining his head. "If we can complete the task this Drake has rendered considerably more easy, then we will have a real ally beyond the Aegis in whoever has given agency to Soravyn Zahir, and quite possibly one fewer enemy. Tonight is a good night, heroes of Fastheld, regardless of what the next will bring." He looks up towards Crown's Refuge, brows knitting. Almost absently -- and perhaps true to the Drake's prediction -- his hand rests on the hilt of his sword. "Yes, let us go and slay the one shadow he left standing," Celeste repeats dryly. "It would seem that there were people that may have been within those walls that would have turned and helped us to victory... they're gone now from that one bargain." She shrugs her shoulders, "what a glorious victory we have." Syton continues to frown darkly at Crown's Refuge for several more seconds. He mutters something to himself, shakes his head once more, and takes a step backwards. The young Freelander begins to walk back around the camp in a wide circle that will take him, eventually, back to the Imperials' tents. "-We- will need to speak to the Archon, Master Nepos," Thayndor corrects. "We will engage this enemy. We will remain here until we have learned all we can from Crown's Refuge and its people about what lies ahead, have attempted to make alliances where beneficial, and have restocked our supplies." He adds dryly, "I believe one shield and one longbow are among our necessary acquisitions." For now it seems that regardless of what has happened on this night, the gates of Crown's Bulwark remain firmly sealed, and the Wildlanders and Syladris of the Siege Camp are more focused on getting their camp back in order and their belongings straight before they'll hazard a move towards the freehold itself. Even less so due to the Archon not being among them.
|
![[RDF Data]](/fct/images/sw-rdf-blue.png)